Tide Players: The Movers and Shakers of a Rising China

by Jianying Zha

  The Cassandras. People in this school generally find present-day China unappealing and its future alarming. Even if they are impressed by the speed of China’s economic ascent, they do not see that rise as a necessarily positive phenomenon. They are convinced that, under China’s authoritarian regime, unchecked power does not balance efficiency with fairness or advance inclusive reform but instead creates payoffs largely for the political elite themselves. The official class is hopelessly corrupt and recalcitrant in its resistance against any real, meaningful democratic changes. Economic inequality, an abusive justice system, intolerance of dissent, environmental deprivation, shallow consumerism, and the periodic flaring up of an uptight nationalism all point to a future China that, at best, would be a gross, strident new Asian empire and, at worst, a fascist military state or a big collapsed mess in the wake of an inevitable implosion.

  The Cheerleaders. People in this school find today’s China remarkable and its future inspiring. Awed by the transformation of the past three decades and recalling China’s glorious imperial past, they foresee a renaissance of Chinese civilization that, combined with the country’s size and economic might, will turn China into a new cultural mecca over time. They talk admiringly about the “Chinese model of development” where the state plays a strong, decisive role, cutting red tape and supporting enterprises to achieve amazing results. For veteran critics of capitalism and Western hegemony and those uncomfortable about a world where America is the sole superpower, the prospect of a “G2” world where U.S.-China relations will be the dominant bilateral relationship is a welcome phenomenon on the way to a multipolar, more balanced international order that is more sensitive to the stories of developing nations.

  Both of these views contain some truth, and yet I cannot fully embrace either one. The Cassandras I respect and often admire; many of my good Chinese friends are severe critics of the Chinese government and Chinese character and are pessimistic about China’s future. I consider their criticisms and misgivings extremely valuable and helpful in alerting everyone to the pitfalls and the potential disaster—in fact, their loud protests are partly why their predictions will probably not come true. Personally, however, I just don’t see a great doomsday ahead for China. On the other hand, I’m skeptical of all the rosy, romantic interpretations about China and its unique mission for humanity’s future. China may be number one in foreign-exchange reserves, but, in per-capita terms, it is still a developing country lagging behind the majority of the world. And it certainly hasn’t sorted out the conundrum of its own conflicting values. What exactly is this “harmonious society with a socialist market run by one Party only?” A riddle? Or a symptom of a schizophrenic muddle? In my opinion, at this point and for a long time to come, China’s biggest enemy, biggest concern, and biggest project will still be China itself—amounting to more than one-fifth of humanity!

  Nevertheless, after three decades of extensive reform and explosive growth, China has entered a different stage of development and is facing a different set of problems. While I don’t believe that anyone can really predict its future, I do see a number of fundamentals as crucial in shaping its trajectory.

  1. The economic reform since 1978 has put China on a highspeed track of relatively peaceful change. Despite all its flaws and problems, it has mainly been a success story. The period will go down in Chinese history as an age of great industrialization and urbanization. It has lifted hundreds of millions of people from poverty, improved the living standard of the majority of Chinese, produced a sizable emerging urban middle class, laid the foundation of a modern infrastructure, and turned China into the largest manufacturing center in the world. While the pace of growth is likely to slow down at some point, the great process of urbanization and development will continue for decades to come, spreading to the vast, still-poor interior and western regions, dominating the Chinese imagination, and channeling a great deal of national energy through it.

  2. The Communist Party has survived numerous crises, remains firmly in power, and is gradually changing. Thanks to reform achievements, it has regained a level of legitimacy both domestically and internationally. It is no longer a Party of utopian ideology but a Party of assorted material interests and a pragmatic agenda. Though not openly admitting its past mistakes, it is acutely aware of the trust deficit as well as the legitimacy issue. It is corrupt. It is paranoid. It jealously holds on to its power and ruthlessly crushes any challenger. But it is also resourceful and resilient. Up to a point, it is adaptive and responsive to the circumstances and the times. However, breakthrough change—from a Party that rules by the threat of violence, coercion, and lies to a Party that accepts general elections and the rule of law—is extremely difficult and will probably take generations to accomplish.

  3. Totalitarian culture—top-down rule; primacy of the collective over the individual; a sophisticated, self-serving mammoth bureaucracy; a subservient, fatalistic attitude toward officials and politics; lack of public spirit—has existed in China for two thousand years and has formed certain deeply ingrained mind-sets and habits. Though profoundly challenged by the values of Western modernity, it still endures as the most tenacious obstacle in China’s path toward true democracy. The emergence of a civil rights movement in recent years, gathering a swelling rank of people from all walks of life, offers a ray of hope but faces a long, tough road ahead.

  4. Through its economy and via its huge Internet and myriad circulations and exchanges, China is now deeply, irretrievably connected with the rest of the world. A growing sense of interdependency compels mutual accommodation. While the world is coming to terms with China (including making occasionally disturbing gestures of appeasement), China is also more than ever influenced by and concerned with the ideas and the ways of the world. Joining the WTO and hosting an Olympics are just two major events to indicate China’s desire to be a respectable global citizen. Inside China, the growing personal freedom and social tolerance, the more diversified and cosmopolitan strands of culture, the more assertive demands for human dignity and individual rights, the lively, spirited battle against censorship all have to do with the fact that China has become a more porous and open society through its increased connections with the outside world.

  Keeping these fundamentals in mind, I tend to cast myself as a cautious optimist when contemplating China’s future. The nation has paid a very steep tuition to learn the cost of ignorant radical excess during the mad epoch of Maoism. Secular pragmatism and respect for knowledge, major traits of the Chinese attitude toward life in the Confucian tradition, have enjoyed a comeback since then. There is an excessive focus on money-making and materialistic success in present Chinese life, but this is understandable given the long history of poverty and the current vacuum of spiritual belief. However, common sense and decency, moderation and restraint—other aspects of Confucian and Taoist virtues—are also being discussed more and more. Calls for social justice and political reform are getting more insistent. Protests against forced land and housing evacuations, environmentally hazardous projects, police abuse, and state media censorship erupt more frequently, as do workers’ demands for higher wages. Among policy-makers and the media, green economy, sustainable development, the need for a more humane labor and migration policy, the importance of indigenous innovation, and soft power have gained new currency in the public discourse. The younger generation, schooled on nationalism and weighed down by an intense, high-pressure education system and an increasingly competitive job market, is also showing signs of renewed interest in culture, historical memory, and social activism.

  I’d also like to state my reservations about and disagreement with some of the prevailing arguments in the current Western press about how China is doing and where it should be going. In the wake of the world economic crisis, many praised the Chinese government’s able response through a massive stimulus package, and then pushed China to raise its currency value and encourage domestic consumption. Reality is far more complex. The large stimu
lus package was indeed effective immediately, as reflected in GDP growth figures, but it went heavily into supporting state enterprises, infrastructure projects, housing, and stocks speculation, which has dubious long-term implications: it strengthens an already powerful state at the expense of small- and medium-sized private enterprises; it drives up housing prices, exacerbating inequality and risking a bubble; it builds more roads, railways, and airports so that the same low-wage production model can keep going and reach the interior and western regions. I am disturbed by and critical of the first two happenings, though I find the third one both logical and justifiable. People sometime forget the simple fact that there are several Vietnams in China’s vast interior, figuratively speaking, that are still poor and waiting for that road and opportunity. Shifting away from exportoriented low-wage production, upgrading its economy, improving social services, and boosting domestic spending are the right and inevitable direction, but it won’t and can’t happen quickly due to China’s huge population, complex state politics, warped yet hardto-reform education system, and long cultural tradition that has never emphasized science, technology, or even originality. The situation is far more entangled and difficult than Paul Krugman et al. have made it out to be in the press. Raising the yuan quickly will solve it all? I don’t think so. It won’t solve America’s job and trade imbalance problems, which is clearly Krugman’s primary concern; nor will it solve China’s inequality and development problems. Even though China is nowhere near Japan in 1987 when Tokyo bowed to U.S. pressure and let the yen appreciate quickly (by 50 percent), some Chinese have taken note of the two-decade Japanese recession that followed afterward. The moral of the story? Gradual, incremental adjustment rather than drastic change is the wiser and probably fairer way to go.

  On a related issue, I’d caution against premature reading of recent Chinese strikes for higher wages as a powerful major development toward democracy. So far there has been only one major strike (in a Japanese-run auto factory) that revolved around wages and succeeded. I signed an open petition in support of the strikers but, after logging on to their Web site, I was appalled by all the ugly violent sloganeering posters harking back to Maoist times. Another major worker incident had to do with suicides in a Taiwanese plant (a big Apple supplier), and wages were raised only after the Chinese press and commenters on the Internet started a passionate public campaign. Other incidents of labor unrest have often revolved around corrupt deals government officials and bosses cut at state plants that sell out workers’ interests and were often violent, sometimes resulting in bosses being beaten to death. Official rubberstamp unions have always existed, but independent unions are still strictly forbidden. Wide alliances among workers and thoughtful leadership connecting labor concerns with larger democratic issues have yet to emerge.

  Though proud of the country’s recent economic ascent, many Chinese elites are keenly aware of the two big questions their nation faces these days: the question of democracy and the question of creativity. The next great transition, from compliant subjects to true citizens, from Made in China to Created in China, will be even harder to achieve than what’s been accomplished thus far. It needs a good deal of bold yet careful rethinking about existing political institutions, economic structures, educational philosophy, and cultural conventions. It needs patient consensus building, complicated negotiations, and difficult reforms. It needs vision, resolve, talent, and some luck. It takes courage. It takes time. But everyone understands that only when China solves these critical problems can one then talk about a true cultural renaissance.

  Over thirty years ago, the poet Bei Dao wrote: “我不相信!” (“I do not believe!”). More than twenty years ago, the rock singer Cui Jian sang: “我一无所有” (“I have nothing to my name”). These were two of the most famous lines from two of the most celebrated Chinese pop culture icons. They were disillusioned, angry, and sad declarations of an entire generation standing on the ruins of a passionate revolutionary era. After decades of hard work and fast growth, most Chinese today will no longer declare, “I have nothing to my name.” Indeed, some Chinese have a lot to their names—China can boast more millionaires than France now and is widely reported to be second only to the United States in the number of dollar billionaires. But what about “believe”? Do the Chinese dare to believe again, and in something besides money?

  These days the Chinese pop culture scene is awash with new voices and new images. Sensibilities have changed. Parody and laughter thrive. Entertainment reigns: a thousand TV shows bloom; singing contests and karaoke bars proliferate. An estimated 70 million bloggers have turned the Internet into a crowded space of opinion silos and populist outbursts. Serious probing and artful protest are also alive and kicking, though they must operate with a delicate balance: if their voices do not get drowned out by the deluge of amusement and catch wider attention, then they are carefully watched and must be watchful in turn. The line is blurry and constantly shifting. But prison, staged trials, or the lonely road of exile are always there, awaiting the last hardheaded troublemakers standing. The situation causes confusion, fear, and paralysis: George Orwell stays relevant, but Aldous Huxley has joined him in the Middle Kingdom. The new CCTV building in Beijing stands over this fantastic, irony-charged scene as a giant symbol: an ultra-futuristic, transparent piece of architecture designed by Rem Koolhaas to house the ultra-conservative, opaque headquarters of Chinese state media. The bizarre, potent blend—a Brave New World patrolled by Big Brother—could kill all hopes in the bosoms of warm-blooded idealists, for it seems to mean the worst of all possibilities.

  Yet life defies theories. In the face of cheerful indifference, jaded apathy, fearful compromise, cynical swagger, and pure evil, acts of noble courage and idealism—or just common decency—continue to rear their head and surge forward, sometimes when you least expect it. I see it every day in China among civil rights lawyers and NGO workers, investigative journalists and scholars, young bloggers and retired Party officials, wealthy entrepreneurs and small businessmen, student volunteers and lone artists. Some of them are famous public figures; others are ordinary citizens and anonymous individuals. I have written a few of them into this book, but mostly I like to keep them cradled around my heart as lights that sparkle and inspire in moments of soul-eroding pessimism. To me, their existence means that the dream of a future China as not merely a nation of plenty, a nation of strength, but also a nation of grace, is alive and well.

  “Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world,” the cultural anthropologist Margaret Mead once wrote. “Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has.”

  Well, if they can change the world, I’d like to believe that they can change China.

  Acknowledgments

  Once again, I must thank André Schiffrin, my editor and publisher at the New Press. Ever since publishing China Pop, my first book in English, he has urged me to do a sequel, but only nudged me in the gentlest possible manner and waited with seemingly endless patience and unswerving belief. André’s steadfast support over the years and his many judicious comments and helpful suggestions on the manuscript are deeply appreciated.

  Thanks to Henry Finder, whose brilliance has always dazzled me and who helped me revise and adapt three chapters from this book for the New Yorker. Henry is the most laconic and the most amazing editor that I have the good luck to meet and to work with. It has been a great pleasure.

  Thanks to Molly Friedrich, my agent, who has a knack for lighting up a day instantly, whose exuberance, candor, insight, and humor have always accompanied her suggestions and advices. Many thanks, Molly, for all your support.

  I want to thank the Guggenheim Foundation for a fellowship awarded in 2003 when I moved back to Beijing that helped me get started on this book. Acknowledgment is also due to the India China Institute at the New School: my job, as the China representative for the institute since 2004, has offered me invaluable opportunities to work, travel, and interact with schol
ars, journalists, and civil society groups in India, China, and the United States. It has been an enriching, sometimes eye-opening experience, and I have benefited intellectually from the many conversations I had with ICI fellows or the ICI-sponsored events in the course of writing this book. To Bob Kerrey, Arjun Appadurai, Paul Goldberger, Tim Marshall, Ashok Gurung, Grace Hou, Anita Deshmukh, Suzanne Dvells, and Nina L. Khrushcheva, all at The New School, for friendly support and encouraging comments on my writing.

  I am of course deeply indebted to everyone I have interviewed or talked with in China for this book. Some of their names and their words appear in the book; others, for various reasons, don’t. But I am grateful to all those who have informed, debated, argued, and discussed with me on the topics and the characters explored and depicted in this book.

  I want to thank Emmett McTigue for reading many draft chapters and offering detailed, useful feedback and for his distinctive perspective, friendship, and enthusiasm about these essays. Appreciation also goes to Leo Carey, who made many good suggestions and helped me revise the chapter “The Barefoot Capitalist.”

  Thanks to the New Press team for all their assistance with the copyediting and production of the book, especially Jyothi Natarajan and Sarah Fan, whose patient coordination, meticulous attention to detail, and smart professionalism made the process as smooth as it was pleasant. To Hai Zhang and Kaushal Man Shrestha for their helpful feedback on the book cover design.

  Finally and as always, I must thank Benjamin Lee, my husband, for his affection and humor; for his tough, discerning comments; for those stimulating, meandering, fun, and helpful discussions over long drinks or long walks after he read a draft; for the “hammer, boost, and light at the end of the tunnel” approach. After all these years, it is still a ball.