Archive for the ‘Uncategorized’ Category

the miracle baby

Posted: October 30, 2015 in Uncategorized

since there’s been so much talk about China’s ending of the One Child Policy, I attach here an old story I wrote about how an aborted baby managed to survive.

This_baby_could_change_the_world.pdf

OPINION

China’s feminists defy government oppression

Young activists’ ability to inject their agenda into the public sphere is worrying Chinese authorities.

20 Oct 2015 08:12 GMT | Human Rights, Politics, Asia, China

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In recent years, there has been increased feminist activism by well-educated, social media savvy women, writes Zhang [Facebook]In recent years, there has been increased feminist activism by well-educated, social media savvy women, writes Zhang [Facebook]aaa2ea222c8e4230b327c3e1ad450ff0_6.jpg

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Lijia Zhang

Lijia Zhang is the author of "Socialism is Great!" A Worker’s Memoir of the New China.

"Shameless". That was how Hillary Clinton described Chinese President Xi Jinping’s recent hosting of a meeting on women’s rights at the United Nations.

The event was to mark the 20th anniversary of the Fourth World Conference on Women, which was held in Beijing. The Democratic Party’s presidential candidate was appalled by the hypocrisy of the Chinese leader’s presence at the meeting just months after his crackdown on women’s rights advocates.

On the eve of International Women’s Day in March, five young feminists weredetained for their plan to place stickers on public transport in Beijing, urging the police to increase efforts against sexual harassment.

For 37 days, the young women endured humiliating interrogations and rough treatment, including sleep deprivation. Though later released, they are still being treated like "criminal suspects".

Meeting a Chinese feminist

NGOs are a relatively new phenomenon in China. In fact, there were no autonomous women’s NGOs in China before the country hosted the ground-breaking event in 1995.

Back then, some 2,000 NGOs from around the world descended on Huairou, the designated conference site 50km north of Beijing, bringing with them colourful displays, lively discussions, parades, and new ideas.

Hillary Clinton, then the first lady of the US, told the Chinese in her speech that women’s rights were human rights.

Because of the participation of international NGOs, the authorities had to allow some local NGOs, mostly government sanctioned, to set up shop.

Feminist activism

Since then, self-organised women’s NGOs have started to emerge, providing legal aid to women in need, helping sex workers, offering support to marginalised groups, such as LGBT or HIV victims, or dealing with issues such as domestic violence or poverty alleviation.

In China, the government marked the 20th anniversary by publishing a white paper on gender equality. The paper contained a long list of the country’s achievements, from prolonged life span for women to expanded legislations for the protection of women.

Does the government really want to improve the lot of women? No doubt yes, but the party wishes to be the only actor in the effort, setting the agenda they feel comfortable with and acting at their own pace. This is a mistake.

Later this year, China is expected to pass a first ever, nationwide domestic violence law. The passing of the law will be a monumental step forward for women’s rights. It has come this far thanks partly to the prodding of many women’s NGOs and activists.

Li Maizi (real name Li Tingting), 26, one of the Feminist Five and a personal friend, famously staged a stunt – or what the activists termed as "performance art" in the hope of avoiding the authorities’ scrutiny – dressing up in a costume of fake blood-splattered wedding gown to protest against domestic violence on Valentine’s Day in 2013.

In recent years, there has been increased feminist activism, carried out by women like Li Maizi: well-educated, social media savvy and mindful of international norms.

A few days after the "injured brides" show, Li joined others to occupy men’s toilets in Guangzhou, and later in Beijing, to protest against the shortage of toilets for women.

In a separate act of defiance, dozens of women from several different cities simultaneously shaved their heads, silently voicing their anger at the gender discrimination in admissions standards at universities, which often set higher entrance requirements for female students.

Another feminist, Xiao Meili, walked all the way from Beijing to Guangzhou to promote awareness of child sexual abuse, leading to public discussions on the subject and encouraging more victims to come forward.

Some of their actions have borne fruit: The Guangzhou and Beijing governmentshave promised to build more public toilets at the female-male ratio of more than 1.5 to 1.

Crackdown on NGOs

The arrest of the Feminist Five is widely seen as a broad and intensifying crackdown by Xi’s administration against civil liberties, activism and NGOs.

Head to Head – War on women, war on liberty?

Other NGOs, notably Transition Institute, a well-known independent think-tank, have also been shut down. Many human rights lawyers have been arrested, including Wang Yu, a female lawyer who represented one of the Feminist Five.

In the case of the Feminist Five, perhaps the authorities, who are obsessed with "wei weng" – maintaining stability – might have been alarmed by the fact that young activists are bringing their agenda into the public sphere.

The impact of the arrest was devastating. Most of the NGOs the feminists were associated with were forced to close.

The Chinese Communist Party can indeed make a number of claims about its promotion of women’s rights. After taking power in 1949, the party granted women equal rights, liberating them from the shackles of thousands of years of patriarchal society. Mao famously declared that "women can hold up half of the sky".

Deng Xiaoping’s reforms brought plenty of opportunities for women, but there were also setbacks as the market and cold-hearted capitalism took over.

Female graduates are now facing difficulties finding employment, where previously, before the introduction of reforms, jobs were allocated by the government regardless of gender. Additionally, the income gap between men and women has actually widened.

Without the state’s intervention or support as before, women’s representation in all forms of social activities has decreased.

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In the past 20 years, women’s NGOs and activists have done tremendous work in meeting such new challenges, as well as advocating for gender equality.

Does the government really want to improve the lot of women? No doubt yes, but the party wishes to be the only actor in the effort, setting the agenda they feel comfortable with and acting at their own pace. This is a mistake.

Given the limited governmental resources and a growing complex urban landscape, it is quite impossible for the authorities to take over the task of advancing women’s rights.

Women’s NGOs should be strengthened instead of restricted. And without giving them space, Chinese women’s dream of holding up half of the sky will, sadly, remain just a dream.

Lijia Zhang is the author of "Socialism is Great!" A Worker’s Memoir of the New China.

The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect Al Jazeera’s editorial policy.

https://lareviewofbooks.org/review/the-peppery-napoleon-who-once-led-china-deng-xiaoping

Deng Xiaoping: A Revolutionary Life

author: Steven I. Levine , Alexander V. Pantsov
publisher: Oxford University Press
pub date: 06.25.2015
pp: 640
tags: History

Julian B. Gewirtz on Deng Xiaoping: A Revolutionary Life

The Peppery Napoleon Who Once Led China

September 16th, 2015RESET+

AS XI JINPING prepares to visit the United States late this month, how should observers understand the Chinese leader and his goals for his country? Xi himself has made clear whom he sees as his primary symbolic predecessor: “Comrade Deng Xiaoping is a great man,” and “we must learn from Deng,” Xi has repeatedly said. Indeed, in November 2012, when Xi departed Beijing for his first official domestic trip, his destination was the booming southern metropolis of Shenzhen, a former backwater that Deng, as China’s paramount leader, had designated the first special economic zone open to private enterprise and foreign investment in 1980. Xi went to Shenzen not simply to call attention to its complete transformation into a wealthy city in a single generation; he was there specifically to pay homage to Deng. He made his way to the six-meter-high bronze statue of Deng Xiaoping that overlooks the city. At the feet of the man who had towered over generations of Chinese politics despite standing just under five feet tall, Xi — bold and authoritarian though he may be — bowed.

Behind these panegyrics, who was this Deng Xiaoping whom China’s leaders still “learn from”? Americans may best remember Deng for his own trip to the United States in 1979, the first visit of a top Chinese Communist Party (CCP) leader to the United States, during which he donned a ten-gallon hatand smiled for the cameras as if to embody the new “opening and reform” that he was launching in China. Back at home, Deng was the supreme leader sitting atop a system undergoing a dramatic transformation affecting nearly every aspect of Chinese life. How did Deng manage to become both “a great Marxist” and “the chief architect” of China’s move toward the market economy, as Xi called him in a 2014 speech on the 110-year anniversary of Deng’s birth?

In the recently published Deng Xiaoping: A Revolutionary Life, Alexander V. Pantsov and Steven I. Levine have provided the fullest answers yet to these essential questions, which are more important than ever now that Xi’s connection to Deng has become so clear. Pantsov and Levine, two US-based historians and previously co-authors of Mao: The Real Story, follow Deng from birth to death and seek to provide a comprehensive portrait and assessment: “Deng was definitely an outstanding revolutionary leader, a great economic and social reformer, a talented strategist and tactician, and a skillful political organizer. But he was also a bloody dictator …” They state plainly, “[C]oncepts such as humanism and morality were not in his lexicon,” and “for him the end always justified the means” — and that end was always the power and endurance of China under the CCP. Through the CCP, Deng operated on a stage and scale where his good decisions lifted hundreds of millions out of poverty, and his ruthlessness and misdeeds over decades cost many thousands of innocent lives, including the Chinese citizens killed at Tiananmen Square in 1989. Pantsov and Levine follow from a comment from Deng himself: “I would be quite content if I myself could be rated fifty-fifty in merits and demerits.” Their biography sets out to pinpoint, as accurately as the historical record will allow, where these “merits and demerits” lie.

Pantsov and Levine are excellent storytellers with a gripping tale to tell. In contrast to their main competition — Ezra Vogel’s Deng Xiaoping and the Transformation of China, published in 2011, which offers an account primarily focused on Deng’s triumphs in the 20 years after Mao Zedong’s death and rushes past the first 60 years of his life — this biography distributes its attention from beginning to end. Their book adds not only rich detail to the earlier part of the story but lingers also on the darker parts throughout, and for the first time draws upon newly available Soviet sources.

Their story begins with Deng’s birth in the hamlet of Paifang, Sichuan Province, on August 22, 1904. Deng grew up in a moderately well-off landowning family. He was an energetic man with lively features (his daughter would describe her father, in the authors’ translation, as having “a round face, wide forehead, light eyebrows, white skin, small eyes, plus a rounded nose tip”). After boarding at a primary school in Chongqing that aimed to send its young graduates to France for secondary school, Deng left China at age 16 to study in Paris. Rebellion had overthrown the Qing Dynasty in 1911 and China’s future remained unclear, but Europe seemed to offer opportunity. The authors provide the best information yet in English about Deng’s formative years in France from 16 to 22; given the thinness of the documentary record, this is perhaps as much as we will ever know.

In France, Deng and his fellow Chinese students struggled to acclimate. He soon dropped out and found work in a steel-rolling shop in Burgundy and a rubber factory in Loiret. Alienated from French society and industrial work, he became fast friends with Zhou Enlai, a leader of the European branch of the newly founded CCP whom Deng would call his “elder brother.” (Zhou Enlai would eventually become China’s long-serving premier.) Deng embraced communism by the summer of 1923. “I acquired class consciousness then when the capitalists and their tools — the foremen — slighted and exploited me” in France, he wrote. This experience contrasts with many other CCP leaders, including Mao Zedong himself, who arrived at “class consciousness” through intellectual exploration — and partly explains Deng’s characteristic pragmatism and focus on making judgments based on experience rather than dogma alone.

Newly red, Deng fled France in 1926 for the capital of the international communist movement, Moscow, and its University of the Toilers of the East. Pantsov and Levine offer extraordinary insight into this period and its effect on Deng, based on previously unexamined Soviet archives. Deng embraced the necessity of both the New Economic Policy (which, Stalin said, “aimed at permitting capitalism while the commanding positions are held by the proletarian state”) and centralized political authority. We hear the voice of the young Deng: “Centralized power flows from the top down. It is absolutely necessary to obey the directives of the leadership.” This training in Moscow — and the “absolute” obedience to leadership that it emphasized — defined Deng’s political behavior for the rest of his life.

Soon, Deng returned to China to serve the CCP as it competed for control with Chiang Kai-shek’s ruling Guomindang. Deng earned a reputation as a reliable staffer and savvy operative, and he rose up the ranks swiftly. A “peppery Napoleon” who tipped the scales at 110 pounds but knew how to throw his weight around, Deng soon made himself indispensible to Mao as the latter rose to supreme power within the Party during the Long March of 1934–1935. Deng would later joke that he “just followed” on the Long March, but in truth, he was busily developing deep relationships with military commanders and political operators across the CCP’s ranks and proving his loyalty to the Party’s decrees. By the time that the fighting against Japan ended in 1945 and a bloody civil war with the Guomindang recommenced, Deng had earned Mao’s “enormous trust,” Pantsov and Levine write; Deng himself “believed that Mao and the Chinese revolution were indivisible.” Their complex, tempestuous bond was based on Deng’s adoration of the man who seemed capable of saving China from its “century of humiliation” — and together, these two men would define China’s political life for the half a century to come.

Deng’s fealty would be handsomely rewarded when he was named the boss of the vast southwest region of the People’s Republic of China (PRC), established in 1949. He soon enthusiastically implemented Mao’s campaign against “counterrevolutionaries.” The region under his control witnessed an “orgy of executions,” including a six month period that saw an average of 46 executions per day in one area of western Sichuan Province. In April 1951, Mao wrote to Deng urging him to slow the killings. “We should not kill too many people,” Mao warned. Even so, Mao was delighted with Deng’s speedy implementation of land reform and aggressive suppression of his enemies. In July 1952, Mao brought Deng to Beijing as one of his chief deputies. “Whether politics or military affairs, Deng Xiaoping is good at everything,” Mao declared.

These years marked the peak of the collaboration between Mao and Deng, who soon became general secretary of the Central Committee. Deng “is just like me,” Mao said happily in September 1956. Thus the Great Helmsman again tasked Deng with decimating “rightists” and “counterrevolutionaries” in China. “The rightists,” Deng declared in 1957, “resemble a snake which has slithered out of the earth, scented danger, and wants to slither back in, but has been strongly seized by the tail.” Approximately 500,000 such rightists were “seized” and sent to labor camps for “reeducation.” Mao was so delighted that he praised Deng as “a great growing force” and “the best of my comrades in arms.”

Yet this bond was not to last. That winter, Mao announced that China would begin a “Great Leap Forward” to industrialize rapidly — a fevered, utopian vision, the product of an absolute cult of personality. Famine soon gripped the countryside, and millions of peasants were starving. Deng did not speak out against the Great Leap Forward like the brave, doomed general Peng Dehuai — but Pantsov and Levine argue persuasively that the catastrophic failure of the Great Leap Forward shattered Deng’s faith in Mao and his utopian egalitarianism. As he grew apart from Mao, the more practical, independent-minded, and thus more familiar Deng emerges. In 1962, Deng openly praised policies that created incentives for peasant households to produce more crops, anathema to Mao. That year, Deng first used an aphorism that would become closely associated with him. “It doesn’t matter if the cat is black or yellow, as long as it can catch mice it is a good cat,” he said. (Over time, this metaphorical cat would change from “yellow” to “white.”) Mao was livid.

Aiming to “bombard the headquarters” and eliminate suspected enemies of his rule, the dictatorial and insecure Mao launched the Cultural Revolution in 1966, starting a harrowing decade of struggle and chaos. Deng became one of its chief targets. He was branded China’s “number two capitalist roader,” second only to the ousted PRC president Liu Shaoqi. Liu died in 1969 after beatings at the hands of the Red Guards, the Revolution’s violent adolescent vanguard. Deng was spared this fate, but the Red Guards put his entire record under frenzied examination and accused him, for example, of being “a pitiful coward” when he “[fled] to Shanghai to hide from danger” during civil war in 1931. Deng would spend two years in almost total isolation, accompanied only by his wife, Zhuo Lin. Deng’s younger brother, persecuted as a relative of the “number two capitalist roader,” killed himself; Deng’s son, Pufang, attempted suicide and was left paralyzed from the neck down. Yet in spite of the tragedies that befell his family, Deng would later tell Mao that he spent these years “waiting” to serve the CCP again.

Perhaps Mao also suspected that he would someday need Deng once more. The cancer-stricken premier Zhou Enlai urged Mao to rehabilitate the uniquely talented Deng, and in 1973, Mao made a stunning reversal. He called the criticism of the 69-year-old Deng to a halt and appointed him deputy premier, positioning him to succeed the ailing Zhou. The “doughy little man with the melancholy eyes,” as Henry Kissinger called Deng, was once again “the Chairman’s man,” in the words of his biographers, who argue that the only explanation for Deng’s willingness to ignore the assault on his reputation, the destruction of his family, and the damage inflicted on China itself was his fealty to the CCP, although surely his satisfaction and confidence in his own leadership potential must have been significant as well. Mao’s wife Jiang Qing even succeeded in purging Deng again in late 1975, but with Mao’s death in September 1976, she and her “Gang of Four” were swiftly deposed and imprisoned.

Despite these repeated purges, Deng — overwhelmingly popular with the Chinese people because he was seen as a proponent of practical solutions to economic woes and closely tied to the beloved Zhou Enlai — seemed like a natural candidate to become China’s next leader. By 1978, he and a motley alliance of septuagenarian military brass and development-focused intellectuals had outmaneuvered Hua Guofeng, the provincial official whom Mao had plucked out of obscurity and designated as his successor as CCP chairman. On a platform of “seek[ing] truth from facts,” taking “practice [as] the sole criterion of truth,” and denouncing the “cult of personality,” Deng and his faction triumphed over those within the CCP who wanted to “uphold whatever policy decisions Chairman Mao had made.”

Deng’s new administration initiated a sweeping policy of “reform and opening” that with remarkable speed yielded the Chinese colossus that we see today. Deng rejected the failed model of the command economy, rehabilitated many of the Cultural Revolution’s victims, formalized Sino-American rapprochement, and started a period of rapid, market-oriented growth that lifted hundreds of millions of Chinese people out of poverty. This economic and social transformation has witnessed economic progress more rapid than in perhaps any country at any time in human history.

How did Deng, a loyal Party apparatchik, turn out to possess the imagination needed to envision and lead this remaking? Pantsov and Levine provide few new insights into this question, showing that Deng mainly just knew what problems needed fixing. Socialism should not “boil down to shared poverty,” Deng said. And elsewhere: “The key task is to expand the productive forces.” To determine what this goal would actually entail, Deng promoted a younger generation of able reformers, including General Secretary Hu Yaobang and Premier Zhao Ziyang (both of whom would later be purged). These men gathered around them advisers who drew on international ideas from both reform-socialist and capitalist countries and careful study of China’s situation to preside over what participants have called a “golden age” of reform and openness. From the late 1970s onward, these policymakers and intellectuals formulated the policies that resulted in the “socialist market economy” system that was enshrined in the Chinese Constitution in 1993 and which to this day remains the designation of the Chinese economy. Most of all, the Deng administration let the Chinese people advance themselves — which, more than any single government economic policy, allowed the economy to boom.

Those are the achievements for which Deng is celebrated. Yet Pantsov and Levine are keen to stress that alongside Deng’s embrace of the development-oriented “Four Modernizations,” he remained steadfast in his commitment to the authoritarian “Four Cardinal Principals,” which upheld the power of the CCP. Deng approved the brutal crackdown on the student movement that gathered in Tiananmen Square in spring 1989 — making a choice betweenthese two sets of values that showed his absolute commitment to the “Four Cardinal Principals,” his biographers argue, even if it meant endangering his entire program of “reform and opening.” (“You are old, Xiaoping!” some students’ placards read. “Old-man government is due for retirement!”) Yet Pantsov and Levine show, too, how anxious Deng was that economic reform would continue after the crackdown on June 4, 1989, crescendoing with his historic Southern Tour in 1992. On that trip to special economic zones like Shenzhen (self-consciously echoed by Xi Jinping in 2012 on what became known as “Xi’s Southern Tour”), Deng declared bluntly, “Whoever is against reform must leave office!” This two-sidedness — market-driven economic liberalization under the control of an authoritarian political system — continues to define China today. China’s leaders and boosters may believe that these characteristics are mutually reinforcing and that any contradictions can be managed, or even that CCP-led authoritarian rule is necessary for spectacular economic growth. But Pantsov and Levine show that these dynamics were continually in tension throughout the Deng era and, as a result, their continuing coexistence was never inevitable.

Deng died on February 19, 1997, knowing that he would not be forgotten. Indeed, shortly before his death, he viewed “a new television film about himself” from his hospital sickbed. Almost completely deaf, he had the nurses shout the lines into his ear. His legacy was on his mind: Deng insisted to Jiang Zemin, who succeeded the purged Zhao Ziyang as CCP General Secretary, that he should not be valorized in the manner of Mao after death. “None of us, including me, can be called a ‘great Marxist.’ When I die, don’t call me that either,” Deng said. Sure enough, though, Jiang soon extolled Deng as a “great Marxist,” an epithet that endures to the present day.

Pantsov and Levine state that their goal in taking on Deng’s biography was to set the record straight — in contrast to Vogel’s study, which they mock as “sunny,” “unrealistically positive,” and “lacking in objectivity” (countering, for example, the judgment of reviewers for both The Wall Street Journal and The Economist that called it “definitive”). Indeed, the historian Perry Anderson lambasted Vogel’s book in the London Review of Books as “an exercise in unabashed adulation.” But their introduction, which lobs barbs at Vogel and makes sweeping claims that this is “the only complete and objective biography” of Deng (italics theirs), is more likely to annoy than persuade readers. (It is also worth noting, given their sour words about Vogel’s book, that their footnotes cite his original research and even private email correspondence from Vogel himself.) Setting aside these grating moments, however, their handling of Deng’s positive and negative qualities is impressive. Unlike Vogel’s, their biography is not likely to become a bestseller in the PRC, if China’s censors permit it to be published there at all, because of this more balanced assessment.

An unexpected irony is embedded in this scholarly debate, as Pantsov and Levine present it: their quarrel mirrors the debate over Deng’s legacy that a critic of the CCP within China might have with the Party’s propagandists. The CCP has been leading the current “Deng Xiaoping fever,” deifying Deng as a symbol that legitimates Xi Jinping’s consolidation of power — and a remarkable ten titles — for himself. (In August 2014, the 110-year anniversary of Deng’s birth, nationwide celebrations included the state television debut of a 48-episode documentary lauding Deng’s leadership; Xi himself delivered a major speech honoring Deng, and the official Xinhua News Service trumpeted: “To reignite a nation, Xi carries Deng’s torch.”) But in practice, as critics of the regime suggest, Xi is at best carrying forward an updated version of the real Deng’s two-sidedness: a leader who, as Xi himself characterized Deng last year, is “filled with reform and innovation,” and an autocrat insisting without any qualification that the CCP must be the basis for China’s continuing progress and, as his critics rightly point out, willing to harshly repress any Chinese voices calling for democracy.

It is not just the CCP that appropriates and reinterprets Deng’s legacy inside China. Some Chinese liberals have recently taken advantage of the state-sanctioned “Deng Xiaoping fever” to more effectively promote reforms like advancing the rule of law, breaking up state-owned enterprises, and promoting greater social equality, and to criticize a China that is burdened today by environmental crisis, slowing growth, and rampant corruption. (Others, of course, condemn Deng for his brutal repression.)

For these liberal reformers, the more positive, less balanced version of Deng is a way of proving that reform can work in China. It would grossly misunderstand the context in which they operate to condemn them for knowingly distorting the past, even though that is precisely what they are doing. It would mischaracterize their goals to claim that any treatment of Deng that prizes present-day uses of the past is on the wrong side of history.

In assessing Deng’s life, we are confronted with no less a question than how people in the present ought to view the past. Professional historians, particularly in free societies, typically aspire to “complete and objective” renderings. But history can also be a useful tool, deployed in order to make meaning of the present. This is especially true in China, where a century of iconoclastic upheaval first shattered people’s faith in traditional Confucian society, then in Maoist utopianism, and then in socialism itself. The cult of Deng, like the cult of Mao before it, can be seen as a secular religion, albeit one that upholds the CCP’s edicts as its orthodoxy and positions Xi Jinping as its high priest. The point becomes not truly to know Deng, but to appropriate elements of his life to create useful parables and mantles of present authority. Over time, Xi may choose to favor the version of Deng as the “creative,” “selfless,” and “pragmatic” reformer of CCP propaganda, or he may choose the “fifty-fifty” steely “dictator” revealed in this new biography. Wouldn’t it be marvelous to imagine if, instead of laying rhetorical claim to Deng the great reformer in public but following the hidden “fifty-fifty” Deng in practice, China’s rulers might behave more like the Deng they praise?

To watch China’s rulers today is to witness power caught up in history, as the ambitions of Xi Jinping tangle with the two images of Deng that he has inherited. Taking the long view, however, neither Xi nor any Western historian will pass a conclusive judgment on Deng’s legacy. We may look forward to the day when a Chinese scholar can write the definitive biography of Deng Xiaoping that China so deeply needs.

Finding Freedom in China on Film: A Q&A with Jia Zhangke

Filmmaker Jia Zhangke. Credit: Kino Lorber

By Jonathan Landreth

Jia Zhangke is among the most celebrated filmmakers China has ever produced—outside of China. His 2013 film, A Touch of Sin, a weaving-together of four tales of violence ripped from modern-day newspaper headlines, won the Best Screenplay award at the Cannes Film Festival and drew high praisefrom the critics of The New York Times, yet, despite being cleared by censors for production and slated for release, it never made it to the big screens of mainland China. But nor was it officially barred, and it remains in a state of official limbo even today.

Jia’s latest film, Mountains May Depart, also a Cannes premiere, screened at the New York Film Festival in late September and is, he says cautiously, slated for release in China in late October. Like all of Jia’s films, Mountains May Depart contains strong social commentary. The film, which stars Jia’s wife, Zhao Tao, explores freedom: how one conceives of it, what one does to get it, and how others try to limit it. The story is told in three separate sections, set in 1999, 2014, and 2025—years far enough apart in a country where breakneck change is a given, that the whole world seems to upend on screen every 40 minutes or so.

If one of these sections were to prove an easy target for China’s notoriously thin-skinned and mercurial film censors as they prepare to approve its release, it’s the film’s third act, in which a father and his son, named Dollar, try to rebuild a life in Australia, speaking a dysfunctional mix of Chinese and English more than a decade after fleeing Chinese President Xi Jinping’s widespread anti-corruption campaign of 2014.

Are you free to live as you please and make films that you believe in?

How we see or understand freedom differs from person to person. Some people see freedom as money, that somehow buys more freedom by bringing you out of poverty; and some people see freedom as an ability to be mobile and travel freely. For some people, freedom is access to certain information, not only domestically but also internationally. As a filmmaker, the clearest issues have to do with the censors in China, and how I can maintain a certain level of freedom within the limitations and restrictions imposed upon me.

There are a lot of different sources of restriction of freedom within the film industry. The market deters certain filmmakers from making certain films. Sometimes investors say not to make films starring elderly or sick people, or with poverty in them, just because they won’t sell. This really puts a lot of restrictions and limitations on what kind of freedom one enjoys as a filmmaker.

I think the most important restrictions we must realize and deal with are those that we impose on ourselves. How do we motivate ourselves to embrace what we have, to liberate ourselves from those restrictions that we actually impose on ourselves?

There was chatter online that Mountains May Depart might be named China’s official submission for the Best Foreign Language Film Academy award nomination, but that honor appears to havegone to French director Jean Jacques Annaud’s Wolf Totem, a film co-produced by the state-run studio behemoth China Film Group. What happened?

I knew that Mountains May Depart had to be submitted with the government’s blessing to represent China [in the best foreign film category at the Oscars], and the three Chinese producers saw this as an opportunity for this film to gain exposure, to be received and understood by the cinema world. They were in charge of initiating the submission, which, as it progressed, became such an interesting process to me.

I used to think that of the hundreds of films made in China each year, maybe four or five would qualify to be submitted, and then you would have a selection committee to decide which film would then become the finalist to represent China. Then I realized it doesn’t work this way. Even before the deadline, which is October 1, the producers and the distributor of Wolf Totem announced in August that the film would represent China in the Best Foreign Language Film category. The word came from the Wolf Totem distributor, so we didn’t even know if this was an official state announcement or not. So our producer approached the Film Bureau to verify that this was indeed the case, that Wolf Totem was the film to represent China. If that were the case, then we wouldn’t pursue it. You know, what’s done is done. But the state agency never actually responded and that’s why our producer started to pursue this whole process of application, because we never got a no from the Film Bureau.

Then, suddenly, the producer of Wolf Totem attacked us on social media. It became a big controversy. Later on, the government came out to say for sure that Mountains May Depart would not be China’s submission for the Best Foreign Language Film. At the same time, they never confirmed that it would beWolf Totem. Basically they said “not you,” but remained vague about who it would be.

Watching how this played out made me realize there are huge problems with the whole process. First, who’s on the committee selecting the film? Second, which films are actually being considered before the committee makes a final decision? Third, what are the criteria for the committee’s decision-making? It doesn’t matter whether it’s my film or another film that represents China in the Best Foreign Language Film category, I think that there should be some kind of procedural transparency that people can observe and follow. I care more about that than whether or not my film is going to be the one chosen.

Mountains May Depart opens on young Chinese dancing, in 1999, to the Pet Shop Boys’ 1993 cover version of the 1979 disco classic “Go West” by The Village People—celebrities of the gay liberation movement in 1970s New York. In the late 1980s, the song was a pro-democracy anthem in the Eastern Bloc. When did you first hear “Go West” and what did it mean to you?

The first time I heard it was around 1994 or 1995 in a Beijing disco called NASA, a very popular hangout next to the Beijing Film Academy. I really loved the song when I first heard it and I think it was very much about the rhythms and beats. It gave a very attractive sense of freedom at the time. Between the beginning of the “Open Door Policy” in late 1970s and the moment I heard the song in 1994-95, there was a huge influx of foreign products and foreign songs—Michael Jackson, Pink Floyd, and ABBA were very popular. A lot of us in 1994-95 listened to this song. There wasn’t a lot of ideological or symbolic meaning to it. It was just very catchy.

Listening to this song now represents the collective memory of my generation at the time. It also triggers the muscle memory we used to have and it transports me back to the physicality, the vitality, and the energy I used to have in the disco, just dancing the night away.

The Chinese diaspora is growing around the world. Your film depicts an enclave that ends up living in grand style in Melbourne, speaking a mix of Chinese and English. What’s shaping their experience?

I didn’t used to pay much attention to Chinese immigration because in the past I’d had friends who left for other countries and it seemed a very organic process: they studied overseas and afterwards found a job and decided to stay. It wasn’t something on my radar but, suddenly, in the past two years, a lot of my friends have made the decision to leave their very comfortable lives in China behind and take their whole families to different countries, for better education opportunities for their children, or over their concerns about food safety or air pollution.

These new immigrants have a lot of issues, including the problem of language. They lack the experience to preserve their own language and culture and pass it down to the next generation. In my research [for the film] I found the parents’ generation, especially the fathers, very much living in Chinese culture and in a Chinese environment, creating a home away from home. They watch Chinese television programs, read Chinese newspapers, and probably know more stuff than I ever would inside China. On the other hand, you have their children, and all they care about is assimilating into the local culture, linguistically and culturally. You create these two different generations and there are huge gaps.

Since so few moviegoers in North America—which for now remains the most lucrative film market on the planet—are used to reading subtitles in the theater, do you think it makes sense for Chinese filmmakers to shoot in English to tell China’s story?

I still think it’s better for Chinese films and filmmakers to speak Chinese. I don’t think it’s a good thing for the Chinese characters in the film to speak English or other languages in order to cater to the market needs. For this particular movie it made sense and was necessary because it’s about immigrant families in a new country, and the deep generational gaps because of these linguistic issues.

In the film’s 1999 and 2014 sections the Fenyang dialect of Shanxi is spoken a lot, and it’s there for a reason. Language has a lot to do with how you think and how you experience reality. A lot of producers wanted me to make the film with people speaking Mandarin in order to have a wider market in China, but that wouldn’t do. Just like the Chinese language should not be lost to using other, foreign languages, the dialects are also something that we need to preserve.

A version of this interview was published on ChinaFile. It was interpreted by Vincent Cheng, and transcribed with help from Yishu Mao.

Recently, a student in Anhui rushed over to help a fallen elderly woman but the later held the young girl to be responsible for her fall. This again triggered a debate on the Internet: why is it so hard to be a Samaritan in China. It reminds me another infamous incident a few years earlier.

see below my piece in the Guardian.

How can I be proud of my China if we are a nation of 1.4bn cold hearts?

Lijia Zhang

The death of the two-year-old run over as passersby ignored her is symptomatic of a deepening moral crisis

Yueyue’s mother after she was called to where her daughter was found. Photograph: China Foto Press / Barcroft Medi China Foto Press / Barcroft Medi/China Foto Press / Barcroft Medi

Saturday 22 October 2011 17.07 EDTLast modified on Tuesday 3 June 2014

Shame on us Chinese! Last Thursday a two-year-old girl was run over twice, about 100 metres from her home in a hardware market district of Foshan, a prosperous city in southern China. As she lay on the ground, writhing in pain, before being hit by the second vehicle, 18 people, on their bicycles, in cars or on foot, passed by but chose to ignore her. Among them a young woman with her own child.

Finally, a 58-year-old female rubbish collector came to the girl’s rescue, but it was too late. By the time she was brought to the hospital, the girl Yueyue, (whose name translates as Little Joy), was brain dead. She was declared dead early on Friday morning. She was a good girl, full of life, her mother said a few days ago in an interview. She said she had just brought Yueyue back from her kindergarten. She popped out to collect the dry clothes and returned to find Yueyue gone – probably trying to look for her elder brother.

It might have been a different story if one of the 18 people had lent Yueyue a hand. None even bothered to call for emergency services. Later, when interviewed by a journalist, one of the passersby, a middle-aged man riding a scooter, said with an uncomfortable smile on his face: "That wasn’t my child. Why should I bother?"

Before giving himself up to the police, the driver of the second vehicle, a van, told the media why he had run away. "If she is dead, I may pay only about 20,000 yuan (£2,000). But if she is injured, it may cost me hundreds of thousands of yuan." What’s wrong with these people? How could they be so cold-hearted? The horrific scene was caught by a surveillance camera and has been watched by millions of viewers since it was posted on Youku, China’s equivalent of YouTube.

This is only the latest incident where tragedy has struck as a result of the callous inactivity of onlookers. Last month an 88-year-old man fell over face down at the entrance of a vegetable market near his home. For almost 90 minutes, he was ignored by people in the busy market. After his daughter found him and called an ambulance, the old man died "because of a respiratory tract clogged by a nosebleed". If anyone had turned him over, he might have survived.

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Both cases, the death of Yueyue in particular, have provoked much public outrage and a nationwide discussion about morality in today’s China. From Shanghai, someone with the cybername 60sunsetred wrote: "The Chinese people have arrived at their most morality-free moment!" There was plenty of condemnation of the cold-heartedness of the passersby. But, astonishingly, a large percentage of posters said they understood why the onlookers did not lend a helping hand. Some admitted they would do the same – for fear of getting into trouble and fear of facing another "Nanjing judge".

Let me explain the story of the muddle-headed Nanjing judge. In 2006, in the capital of Jiangsu province, a young man named Peng Yu helped an old woman who had fallen on the street and took her to a hospital and waited to see if the old woman was all right. Later, however, the woman and her family accused Peng of causing her fall. A judge decided in favour of the woman, based on the assumption that "Peng must be at fault. Otherwise why would he want to help?", saying that Peng acted against "common sense". The outcry from the public in support of Peng forced the court to adjust its verdict and resulted in Peng paying 10% of the costs instead of the total. Since that incident Peng has become a national cautionary tale: the Good Samaritan being framed by the beneficiary of their compassion.

It’s true that in China you can get into trouble when you try to help. Weeks ago I spotted an accident on the fourth ring road in Beijing as I returned home one night. A man was hit by a "black car", an "illegal taxi", and his face was all bloody. Watched over by a crowd, the injured man behaved aggressively towards the driver. I got off my scooter. As I tried to pull the two men apart, I was struck myself. When I asked if anyone had reported this to the police, the driver said no. I couldn’t believe that people just stared as if enjoying a free show, without doing anything. I called the helpline and the policemen turned up soon after.

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The fundamental problem, in my view, lies in one word that describes a state of mind: shaoguanxianshi, meaning don’t get involved if it’s not your business. In our culture, there’s a lack of willingness to show compassion to strangers. We are brought up to show kindness to people in our network ofguanxi, family and friends and business associates, but not particularly to strangers, especially if such kindness may potentially damage your interest.

Fei Xiaotong, China’s first sociologist, described Chinese people’s moral and ethical characteristics in his book, From the Soil, in the middle of the last century. He pointed out that selfishness is the most serious shortcoming of the Chinese. "When we think of selfishness, we think of the proverb ‘Each person should sweep the snow from his own doorsteps and should not fret about the frost on his neighbour’s roof,’" wrote Fei. He offered the example of how the Chinese of that period threw rubbish out of their windows without the slightest public concern. Things are much the same today.

Under Mao, citizens were forced to behave themselves in both public and private spheres. Every March, people were obliged to go into the street to do good deeds: cleaning buses, fixing bicycles and offering haircuts. Now relaxed social control and commercialisation over the past three decades have led people to behave more selfishly again.

People are enjoying, and sometimes abusing, the vast personal freedoms that didn’t exist before. To start with, it is now safe to be "naughty". Back in the early 1980s, when I worked at a rocket factory in Nanjing, one of my colleagues, a married man, was caught having an affair with an unmarried woman. He was given a three-year sentence in a labour camp and the girl was disgraced. In today’s society, having extramarital affairs or keeping an ernai – second wife or concubine – is as common as "cow hair", as the Chinese would say. For a novel I am writing on prostitution, I have interviewed many prostitutes and ernai. Many see their profession as a way to gather wealth quickly, feeling few moral qualms.

China’s moral crisis doesn’t just manifest itself in personal life but also in business practice and many other areas. The high-profile "poisoned milk powder" case and the scandal of using "gutter oil" as cooking oil have shocked and disgusted people around the world. Last year an article, "Why have Chinese lost their sense of morality?", in which the author tried to find an explanation, was widely read. He reasoned that China has introduced the concept of a market economy from the west but failed to import the corresponding ethics, while the traditional moral principles of China no longer fit the market economy model.

There’s a lot of sense in that. I believe that the lack of a value system is also deepening the moral crisis. Before Mao, the indifference towards others once so accurately described by Fei existed but was mitigated by a traditional moral and religious system. That system was then almost destroyed by the communists, especially during the 10 mad years of the Cultural Revolution from 1966 to 1976. Nowadays communism, the ideology that dominated Chinese people’s lives like a religion, has also more or less collapsed. As a result, there’s a spiritual vacuum that cannot be filled by the mere opportunity of money-making.

To drag China out of its moral crisis will be a long battle. The pressing question is how to make people act in cases of emergency and the solution is law. After the "Nanjing case", there have been discussions about introducing a law that imposes a "duty of rescue" as exists in many European countries. I am all for it, because that’s probably the only way to propel action for a people who do not see a moral obligation in rescuing others.

The Yueyue incident revealed an ugly side of China. I hope the entire nation will take the opportunity to take a hard look at ourselves and ask ourselves what’s wrong with society. There’s at least hope in the action of the rubbish collector who rushed to Yueyue’s side without hesitation.

China’s economy is galloping like a horse without a rein and its position in the world is rising. We Chinese have every reason to feel proud about what we’ve achieved. Now we demand respect. But how can we possibly win respect and play the role of a world leader if this is a nation with 1.4 billion cold hearts?

UN Women: Press China to Protect, Not Persecute, Women Rights Defenders
(Network of Chinese Human Rights Defenders – September 16, 2015) CHRD is concerned that the Chinese government is to co-host a world summit with UN Women on gender equality and women’s empowerment, at a time when women human rights defenders and NGOs are facing unusually harsh repression under President Xi Jinping. Xi will open the global meeting at the UN headquarters in New York on September 27.

“China has no right to sponsor this world summit on women,” a woman defender told CHRD.“The government doesn’t give even a sliver of protection to women and girls, especially women petitioners and women with disabilities, either politically or economically. Giving it a ‘leadership’ role as a co-host for the summit is very disturbing.”

CHRD supports UN Women’s agenda to promote gender equality and female empowerment, but the UN group is sending the wrong signal to women’s rights activists in China and around the world by partnering with the Xi government. UN Women and the Chinese government announced the summit plans just two days after the detention of the Five Feminists, young women advocating for women’s and LGBT rights; the announcement in effect gave Chinese authorities a propaganda boost at a time when the international community should have been condemning the detentions. The prominent role of President Xi—he is not only opening the event but also chairing a session on youth and women’s rights and gender equality—completely ignores the fact that he has presided over one of the most severe crackdowns on civil society in decades.

“There aren’t any signs that the government is doing any better in protecting women’s rights and women defenders after being made the co-host of the UN women summit,” said one women’s rights activist. “President Xi should at least keep his government’s promises on women’s rights and, especially, keeping his hands off women’s rights NGOs.”

It is particularly disturbing that UN Women has partnered with the Chinese government while women defenders in China face serious reprisals for trying to engage with UN human rights instruments or participate in UN activities.

One woman, Cao Shunli (曹顺利), paid with her life for trying to engage with the UN: she died in March 2014 after authorities denied medical treatment during a five-month detention. Cao had campaigned for civil society participation in the 2009 and 2013 Universal Periodic Review (UPR) of China. Police seized her at the airport in Beijing as she was boarding a flight to Geneva, where she was to attend the UPR, and repeatedly refused her lawyer’s requests for medical bail as her health worsened. Since her death, the Chinese government has intimidated her family and refused to allow an independent investigation into her death. China and other like-minded countries blocked international NGOs attempt to hold a minute of silence in Cao’s memory during the UN Human Rights Council session in March 2014.

Women rights advocates who worked alongside Cao Shunli—Chen Jianfang (陈建芳), Ge Zhihui (葛志慧), Liu Xiaofang (刘晓芳), and Peng Lanlan (彭兰岚)—have also been punished with detention and torture. Women defenders Ye Haiyan (叶海燕) and Wang Qiuyun (王秋云)faced obstacles and punishment when they also tried to participate in a UN review of China’s record on eliminating discrimination against women. Ye was detained when she tried to raise public awareness about the review, while police prevented Wang from traveling to Geneva to discuss problems concerning Chinese women affected by HIV/AIDS in a program partially funded by UN Women.

Female empowerment starts with allowing members of civil society the space to promote and protect women’s rights without fear of reprisal. But women human rights defenders and NGOs championing women’s rights have paid a heavy toll under the Chinese government’s escalating crackdown against civil society, with leading women defenders subjected to criminal detention, violent assault, intimidation, and other forms of mistreatment.

One of the few female human rights lawyers, Wang Yu (王宇), has disappeared into secret detention for more than two months after police broke into her home on July 9. Wang has been an influential figure in her field and represented women and girls in cases of sexual violence and discrimination, as well as prominent female activists like the Five Feminists and Cao Shunli. She was the principal target of the current crackdown on human rights lawyers, which has subjected more than 20 lawyers to some form of enforced disappearance, where they are at great risk of torture and mistreatment. Five UN human rights experts and the High Commissioner on Human Rights have condemned China’s targeted crackdown against lawyers.

Journalist and champion of media freedom, Gao Yu (高瑜), was sentenced to seven years in prison after being convicted on a state secrets charge in April. Imprisoned in the past for her role in the 1989 pro-democracy movement, Gao was previously honored by the UN with theUNESCO World Press Freedom Prize. Gao, 71, is in urgent need of proper medical treatment for heart problems and high blood pressure, among other illnesses, but authorities have repeatedly rejected requests for medical bail.

Chinese women who seek to participate in local politics, where women are not well represented, can face tremendous risks. Two women activists Liu Ping (刘萍) and Li Biyun (李碧云) faced repeated attacks when they tried to run as independent candidates in their local People’s Congress elections in 2011, including being locked up and tortured by police on numerous occasions. Liu is currently serving a six-and-half-year sentence, and Li continues to face police surveillance and violence by unidentified men, following 14 months in detention.

Housing and land rights activists Su Changlan (苏昌兰), Jia Lingmin (贾灵敏), and Feng Jiawen (凤加文) have all been detained since last year. Su is accused of “inciting subversion of state power” for supporting the Hong Kong pro-democracy protests in October 2014, and has still not been brought before a judge. Jia, detained in May 2014, was put on trial with marred court proceedings on a charge of “creating a disturbance,” and is awaiting a verdict. Authorities sentenced Feng to 14 months’ imprisonment on a “creating a disturbance” charge for fighting against the discrimination against rural women in land cases, and she recently lost her appeal. Feng’s case is emblematic of persistent discrimination against against rural women in China, in part due to the government’s failure to protect rural women’s equal rights to land.

Women from disadvantaged social and economic groups account for the vast majority of detainees in China’s illegal black jails, especially since the abolition of the Re-education through Labor (RTL) system. Women detained in these lawless makeshift facilities face sexual assault, verbal abuse, and other degrading and humiliating treatment. Victims of the notorious Masanjia women’s RTL camp have not been compensated for the torture they suffered. Instead, many have faced retaliation, including prison, for their persistence in demanding justice. Zhu Guiqin (朱桂芹), a Masanjia victim, was detained for seeking compensation and will be put on trial this week.

The Chinese government also targets women simply for speaking out for their loved ones. Such is the case with the poet Liu Xiu (刘霞), in poor health and under house arrest for years after calling for the release of her husband, imprisoned Nobel Peace Prize winner Liu Xiaobo. Authorities sentenced recent university graduate Bian Xiaohui (卞晓辉) to three-and-a-half years in prison after she demanded the right to see her father after he was jailed for his religious beliefs.

To show meaningful effort towards promoting gender equality and women’s empowerment and to live up to the honor of co-hosting a UN summit, the Chinese government must immediately take the following steps to improve its record on protecting women’s rights:

  • Release all detained women human rights lawyers, journalists, and activists, as well as the family members of defenders; and drop all criminal charges against the Five Feminists, and allow them to freely conduct their work on behalf of women and girls without fear of retaliation;
  • Release “black jail” detainees, who are mostly women, and take actions towards bringing those responsible for operating these illegal facilities to justice; and
  • Pledge to allow an independent investigation conducted through international bodies into the death of human rights defender Cao Shunli.

CHRD also calls on the international community to sign this petition calling for the release of Chinese women rights defenders, and help send a message to UN Secretary-General Ban Ki-Moon and UN Women that a country co-hosting a global summit on women must protect women’s rights and female defenders.

Contacts:

Renee Xia, International Director (Mandarin, English), reneexia, Follow on Twitter: @ReneeXiaCHRD

Victor Clemens, Research Coordinator (English), victorclemens, Follow on Twitter: @VictorClemens

Frances Eve, Researcher (English), franceseve, Follow on Twitter: @FrancesEveCHRD

Wendy Lin, Hong Kong Coordinator (Mandarin, Cantonese, English), wendylin, Follow on Twitter: @WendyLinCHRD

Follow CHRD on Twitter: @CHRDnet

Boxer Rebellion Walking Tour

Posted: September 14, 2015 in Uncategorized

This Sunday, I went on a boxer rebellion walking tour to the old Legation Quarter – where the embassies used to be. The boxer Rebellion, an anti-imperialist uprising by a group of mythical rebels, took place during the end of the Qing Dynasty. In the dreadful summer of1900, the legation quarter was under siege for 55 days by the boxers, armed with swords (they believed that they were invulnerable to foreign weapons!) and Qing troops. Some 4000 foreigners, missionaries, diplomats and business people and their families as well as Chinese Christians, all gathered here. Danish sinologist Lars Ulrick from Beijing Postcards Thom led the tour. He explained the background, the aggression of the foreign powers, the growing anti-foreign sentiments and the drought as we walked past the tree-lined former embassy land where some colonial buildings still stand and he vividly recounted – sometimes acted out – some of the colorful stories: the murder of the German ambassador, the bombing of the French embassy; and how 200,000 bullets flew into the air without hitting one target and how some westerners ate their horses, washed down by plenty of alcohol – the only food item abundance.

The impact of the Boxer Rebellion was profound. It sped up the collapse of the Qing Dynasty and pushed China into a modern world.

I personally found the Boxer Rebellion fascinating as it is one of the historical events that got dramatically different interpretations. At school, we learnt it was a patriotic movement while many western academics regarded it as a barbaric uprising: many missionaries were brutally murdered. Well, it all depends on who’s point of view. The truth may lie somewhere in between.

What an enjoyable history lesson. I can’t imagine a better way to spend a sunny Sunday afternoon.