China's Olympic Shame
Thursday, Apr. 10, 2008 By SIMON ELEGANT/BEIJING
Why didn't they see this coming? Despite more than seven years' worth of meticulous, down-to-the-last-detail planning that has gone into the Beijing Olympics, China's leaders have seemingly been caught off guard by the most predictable of challenges: discontent in Tibet and international condemnation of Beijing's record of repression. The extent of their surprise can be gauged by their reaction--a brutal crackdown on dissent at home and a deaf ear to criticism from abroad--which is more reminiscent of the heavy-handed communist regime of old than the modern, moderate Beijing that the Olympics are meant to showcase.
China's response to the mid-March riots in Tibet has galvanized its critics around the world, who intend to use the run-up to the Olympics as a showcase of their own. The Olympic-torch relay has been hounded at practically every step--in London, Paris and San Francisco--by pro-Tibet activists. In the French capital, security officials were obliged to turn off the flame on several occasions to protect it from protesters. Even before it arrived in the U.S. on April 8, activists unfurled FREE TIBET banners from the cables of the Golden Gate Bridge. On April 9, San Francisco police were forced to shorten the relay in the city, citing security concerns. Beijing vowed to proceed with the relay unchanged, but more protests are expected in the 15 places the torch will visit before returning to Chinese soil on May 4.
So far, Chinese authorities have responded to the clamor by further tightening the clamps on domestic dissent. On April 3, prominent human-rights activist Hu Jia received a 3 1/2-year prison sentence on charges of inciting subversion of state power. Hu's conviction, apparently stemming from articles he wrote and interviews he gave linking the Olympics with human rights in China, was the latest in what rights advocates in China say is a string of detentions of activists all over the country. Beijing is also applying pressure on China's huge online population of some 230 million, which is often cited as the country's most powerful force for greater openness. Thousands of websites have been shuttered, and government control and blocking of sites outside China have intensified in recent months. As Irene Khan, secretary-general of Amnesty International, put it in a report released April 1, despite assurances by both the International Olympic Committee and Chinese officials that restraint would be exercised, "the crackdown ... has deepened, not lessened, because of the Olympics."
The question is, Why? Given the international scrutiny of Beijing's actions, the hard line has left many observers puzzled. The wiser course would seem to be a more measured response: to practice better crowd control, manage the media better, try negotiation instead of knee-jerk repression. But China's rulers have shown little such dexterity. Some of the reasons are straightforward. The Communist Party is deeply secretive and highly bureaucratic, and its members are steeped in a long-standing culture of self-preservation. "Part of the head-in-sand problem has to do with entrenched bureaucratic interests," says China expert Perry Link of Princeton University. Officials who have devoted most of their careers to defending authoritarian rule "can't stop chanting that mantra without puzzlement over what to say instead and without a bit of panic about their own rice bowls and even, almost, their own identities," Link says.
Leaders like President Hu Jintao are of a generation that received a Soviet-style education in the 1950s. "They don't have the knowledge or imagination to make better decisions," Link says. They operate under a system of collective decision-making that constrains the state's ability to be flexible in the face of new challenges. "Like the bureaucrats beneath them," Link says, top officials "are frightened about their own positions and don't want to be seen as making 'mistakes,' especially mistakes of softness." This insecurity underlies the central government's heavy-handed tactics and rhetoric, even though repression reduces the country's stature in the global community. "When the rest of the world looks at China, they see this increasingly powerful and confident country," says Wenran Jiang, director of the China Institute at the University of Alberta. "But when the Chinese leadership looks at the country, they see the exact opposite: weaknesses everywhere, rising inflation and civil unrest, environmental disasters and corruption. So the overall mentality of the central authorities is very insecure and nervous." In the case of Tibet, Chinese leaders are now trapped by their own words, which have fueled nationalist sentiments among ordinary Chinese, who believe that Tibet is Chinese territory. Any appearance of compromise by Beijing would likely be intolerable to the public.
China's problems are not confined to Tibet. There have also been rumblings in the far-western Xinjiang province, populated largely by the Uighur Muslim minority group. Protests by hundreds of Uighurs over religious issues were reported by rights groups in late March. The Chinese press has meanwhile reported several recent clashes with separatist rebels in the province, and in early March the press reported that a Uighur woman had attempted to bring down a domestic passenger jet with a homemade bomb. Add to that widespread discontent over issues such as corruption and rapidly worsening inflation (the price of pork has gone up two-thirds in the past year), and you have the makings of a perfect storm.
It's a storm that threatens to blow in just when everyone's watching--and deciding whether to participate in--China's Olympics. The Prime Minister of Poland has already indicated he will boycott the opening ceremony because of events in Tibet; French President Nicolas Sarkozy has said he wouldn't rule out a similar move.
The authorities will no doubt make it virtually impossible for journalists to enter Tibet in the months leading up to the Olympics. But it remains unclear exactly how they intend to deal with the estimated 30,000 foreign reporters expected to witness the event, all of them eager to take advantage of Beijing's regulations specifying that they can interview any Chinese people who agree to talk. "They still don't have any idea what is going to hit them," a senior Western academic with close ties to the upper echelons of the Beijing establishment said months before the Tibet eruption, "or how bad they will look to the outside world." They're already starting to find out.
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