Empty Promises on Media Openness

In six and a half months, amid the dusty heat of a Northern Chinese summer, the world’s top athletes and sports enthusiasts, as well as thousands of foreign journalists will descend upon Beijing for what will be a true test of a rising nation: the 2008 Olympics.

When the International Olympic Committee declared that Beijing’s bid for the games had been successful back in 2001, it was a glorious achievement for the world’s last Communist superpower. In the throws of excitement, throngs of Chinese citizens, waiting to hear news of the outcome, waved a sea of little red flags over Tiananmen Square in eager patriotic fervour – an eerie contrast to the bloody protest movement of twelve years earlier.

Of course, most of the supporters cheering on their government that day would have had no knowledge of the events of June 4 1989, nor would they know of the stringent action taken by their government against any reporter brave enough to mention the incident – a mention which can result in anything from redundancy to arrest. Just last year, when an advert for the mothers of the Tiananmen victims got past a junior clerk on the Chengdu Evening News, three editorial staff were sacked. The junior clerk didn't even know what June 4 referred to.

Such is the situation in China: just half a year before Beijing’s debut as an Olympic village, the Communist Party, while trying to promote an international image of press freedom and tolerance, still employs a draconian system of media manipulation that keeps their own journalists on a very short leash.

After its historic success in the Olympic bid, Beijing and the IOC reassured the international community that issues of press freedom would be dealt with, if not immediately, then as a result of the Olympic movement providing a platform for positive change. However, the IOC’s dealings with Beijing have been kept secret, with requests for information to the IOC being deftly cast aside.

In spite of this, optimists were quick to jump on the bandwagon of the Olympic spirit, and hopes ran high that China would, under the watchful gaze of the world, only prove to change things for the better in the long run. In keeping with this tide of optimism, the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) announced new regulations for foreign journalists in late 2006. They stated that, as of January 2007, foreign journalists working in China would be free to travel anywhere and interview anyone without the tedious restrictions and bureaucracy previously in place. These restrictions will last until October 2008 after the Paralympic Games have ended, but optimists believe that like-minded regulations would replace them and we will see a gradual emergence of a more democratic China.

Jonathan Watts, Beijing correspondent for the Guardian, regards himself as one of these optimists, stating that the situation would gradually open up “as long as there is no major political turbulence in the interim.”

In spite of this optimism, his worries are well founded: China has allowed looser restrictions on the press and the arts in the past, but these have existed only to be met with crackdowns from above when the situation got out of Beijing’s control. The post-Tiananmen onslaught on the media was in revolt against a particularly open climate of opinion pre-1989. And more recently, the SARS crisis saw the government handle the situation well, only to freeze up and shut down numerous online news portals and blogs in the aftermath.

But unlike events of the past, when it was domestic media feeling the benefits of a freer platform of debate, the Party has learnt that its best way of improving its public image is to keep its own media strictly under check while allowing their foreign counterparts much greater freedoms.

Last October, the 17th National Congress of the CCP was seen by the Party as a perfect opportunity to promote their image of press freedom worldwide. Foreign journalists were granted more access that ever before for such an important event in Beijing’s political calendar.

But, unsurprisingly, these lifted restrictions did not quell Beijing’s domestic paranoia. Instead, in the run up to the congress, 2,500 websites, blogs and forums were taken offline by the Party in order to ensure smooth running of the event in the capital. Moreover, there are still 33 journalists jailed in the country – the highest of any in the world.

At home, the government have been more occupied in maintaining a positive image for the Olympics. Daily broadcasts on the state-run TV channel CCTV keep the nation up to date with athletes and preparations—preparations which are estimated to have cost 41.7 billion Yuan (£2.94 billion)—in the capital. On the streets of Beijing, the five slightly demonic looking Fuwa—official mascots of the games—are on billboards on every street, and plied by hundreds of touts. Nor can one escape the calligraphic Chinese character jing meaning “capital”, the unmistakable logo of Beijing 2008. This is what the Olympics mean to China, a month long festival symbolised by furry little Beibei the fish and her counterparts, a chance for the economy to take another great leap forward, and to hopefully triumph in as many events as possible for a little bit more national pride.

For the rest of the world however, it means more than that. For optimists it presents a chance for a democratising force to enter China. But for many more, such as Human Rights in China (HRIC) and the Committee to Protect Journalists (CPJ), it has not been dealt with effectively.

That China will change dramatically because of the Olympics is a far-flung belief. More likely is that we shall see real effort on Beijing’s part to ensure greater freedoms for the international press are protected. However, with such a long history of propaganda and thought-work policy, it is unlikely that we shall see a platform for real open debate in the Chinese domestic media anytime in the near future.