There were always going to be challenges, and the fractious nature of Chinese society meant knitting together a nation based on a shared commitment to republican ideals would be a herculean task, but Sun had help.  The young organizer Song Jiaoren, a trusted lieutenant of Sun’s, worked tirelessly to build a national party capable of winning a majority in the yet-to-be-seated national assembly.  Unfortunately, Song was assassinated less than a year later by agents of Yuan Shikai.  Yuan then dissolved parliament, outlawed opposition parties, and watched a “Second Revolution” launched by Sun in 1913 founder and fizzle.  After Yuan’s death in 1916, what was left of central authority crumbled and the old Qing Empire became a failed state, a patchwork of warlords and occupying powers.

Sun and others argued that the political consciousness of China’s people was too limited to support the kind of popular participation required in a republican government.  Sentiments still echoed today.  Most recently, Han Han, the Justin Bieber of China’s literary world, posted a series of provocative essays conceding that even a century later, Sun’s assessment of the political potential of China’s populace was essentially nil.

A term which gets thrown around a lot is “suzhi” 素质, an amorphous term which captures everything from somebody’s education and manners to slightly more insidious connotations of heredity and ‘essential quality.’

Frankly, I find the argument that Chinese people are “too base” for democracy a little dismissive and patronizing.  But while it can be tiresome when my urban middle-class Chinese friends resort to the “suzhi” argument, I have little patience for foreign ‘friends’ of China playing the same card.  When well-heeled urban Chinese make this argument, it’s asinine and classist, but when trotted out by non-Chinese commentators, most of whom grew up with a full complement of civil liberties and legal protections, it comes across as not a little bit racist as well.

100 years ago, Sun famously compared Chinese society to a heap of loose sand, 400 million individuals who needed to be awakened so as to play a part in the forging of a new nation based on republican principles and rule of law.  A century later, Sun’s vision has come true – if not for China as a whole – than at least for the people of Taiwan.  Whatever can be said for the ‘suitability’ of democracy as a political system, in China or elsewhere, at least we can stop the lame excuses of ‘national condition’ or ‘cultural compatibility’ and other worn out essentialist pseudo-arguments.

——————–

A recent study on human evolution and the settlement of the Τibetan plateau has raised new questions about settlement patterns on the roof of the world.

Life at high altitudes forced ancient Τibetans to undergo the fastest evolution ever seen in humans, according to a new study.

The most rapid genetic change showed up in the EPAS1 gene, which helps regulate the body’s response to a low-oxygen environment. One version, called an allele, of the EPAS1 gene changed in frequency from showing up in 9 percent of the Han Chinese to 87 percent of Τibetans.

Such genetic changes suggest Τibetan ancestors split off from the Han Chinese population about 2,750 years ago, researchers say. But only those most evolutionarily suited for life at high altitudes survived when they moved to the Τibetan Plateau.

This has caused a bit of discomfort among those who advocate for Τibetan independence, not to mention Chinese politicians a little miffed to learn that Han might not be biologically suited to settling the high-altitude plateau but here’s the thing…

The study, while certainly interesting from a human evolutionary science perspective, is meaningless in terms of the continuing dispute over the political status of Τibet.  There are many groups who are genetically similar but are considered different “ethnicities” or “nations.”  (An argument, if there ever needed to be another one, that ethnicity is hardly a stable signifier.)

Following this line of reasoning, the Economist’s Banyan blog briefly sketches China’s hysterical historical reasoning when it comes to the sensitive issue of national boundaries and territorial integrity:

When it comes to the contentious issue of China’s political and territorial claims on Τibet, the basis of its current repression rests not on a sense of common heritage or shared ancestors but on a sense of legitimacy based on territories historically controlled by the Qing dynasty. They were Manchus who ruled China from the mid-17th to early 20th centuries and expanded the country’s borders. The irony is that while the communists cling to the frontiers of the Qing empire, their official history condemns the Qing as feudal, foreign, imperialist and usurping.

Holding to the Qing frontiers calls for some curious historical nomenclature. Because ethnic Mongolians live within China’s borders today, Genghis Khan is given star billing as a “national minority”—yet he never set foot in what was then China, and his offspring conquered the place. In north-east China lie the archaeological remains of the Koguryo kingdom of 37BC-668AD, the fount of Korean culture and myth. Chinese historians claim them as Chinese. Scholars and others thus project current political imperatives on to the past, and the notion of “minorities” affirms one big, longstanding Chinese family.

As you can see from the number of inserted links, these are topics we’ve covered in this space before, though I take issue with “Chinese historians claim…” as being a little misleading.  Obviously there are a lot of historians from China, and not all take their marching orders from the Politburo.  Nevertheless, the Chinese government — and its academic surrogates — do frequently put forward historically suspect, if not downright weird, narratives which have little to do with historical research and everything to do with an ongoing project of CCP state building.

Where it get messy of course, is when historical precedent and political exigency collides. The DL is an old man and this incarnation will not be with us forever.  While the DL was (and is) one religious leader among many for Tibetans, the elevation of the DL to temporal power during the Qing and the current DL’s visibility as a charismatic soft-power superstar means the selection process for the next incarnation is sure to be hotly contested.  As Banyan notes:

In Τibet the narrative is enforced with a few blandishments and many shows of state power. Like the Qing dynasty, the communists invaded Τibet on a pretext. Like them, they control the Buddhist religion by claiming a right to select lamas.

Qing precedent, over two centuries old, matters. Emperor Qianlong sent a golden urn to Lhasa, in which the names of candidates proposed for reincarnation would be placed. Its later use was fitful. But in the mid-1990s the urn was brought into service again. With it the communists chose their own Ρanchen Lama, the Yellow Hat sect’s second-most-revered reincarnation. The [DL]’s earlier choice simply vanished. The boy, his family and the abbot who oversaw his selection have not been seen since. This month China’s atheist leaders, led by President Hu Jintao, used the occasion of the [DL]‘s 75th birthday to say bluntly that only they, with the golden urn, would approve the ageing man’s reincarnation.

There’s no question that the Qing Emperors became involved — some more directly than others — in the selection process for the DL, but that doesn’t mean that the emperors actually chose the DL.  Rather the ritual was a form of investiture whereby the Manchu court recognized the incarnation as named by Tibetan religious authorities. (A process that was far from pure or smooth.  Let’s just say that the shenanigans of Lama picking probably deserve their own post…)

In his influential, and not particularly partisan, history of modern Τibet, The Snow Lion and the Dragon, Melvyn Goldstein describes the connection between the DL and the Qing rulers as a priest-patron relationship which while serving an important political function also involved a spiritual bond that transcended politics.  Even the most cynical PRC Τibetologist would have a hard time describing the current government’s relationship with the Gelugpa Sect (of which the DL is the head) in such terms.

As I wrote in the aftermath of the March 14th riots in Lhasa:

The Qing rulers, great patrons of Lamamism, consolidated their rule by maintaining cultural and religious ties with Τibet beyond mere military occupation. They also – generally but not always – ruled with a light touch, allowing relative autonomy in religious and cultural matters, which suited the situation quite well. The Qing Dynasty was, after all, a large, multi-ethnic empire and maintaining order and peace in outlying territories was the utmost concern.

The problem is that the PRC is a nation-state, and the demands a nation-state places on its people are different than those of an empire. It is not enough that Τibetans merely pay taxes and not revolt, they must also identify with the nation-state first and foremost, with other cultural and religious aspects secondary to the demands of modern state building. Empires want to be respected, nation-states want to be loved. That’s a sticky wicket the Qing never had to face.

It’s not surprising that when we look at the world’s hot spots we see the legacies of colonialism and decolonization. As empires give way to new forms of political organization, there is resistance and tension. Modern states attempt to preserve the territories bequeathed to them from empires of old, while former subject peoples seek greater autonomy and even independence.

Unfortunately, history is a poor arbiter of who gets what, and too often (as in the case of Τibet) history becomes warped and carved, tugged and torn, by states and separatists, to suit the political demands of a contemporary crisis.

There will be more written in the coming months and years on this controversial subject. But I will leave you with one last thought: The CCP has no idea how much they will miss this incarnation of the DL when he’s gone.  The 14th DL is their Arafat.

Think about it.  The Israeli government HATED Arafat, he was the bête noire for three generations of Israelis, but….they could work with him.  It was only after Arafat died that Israel realized just what it meant to deal with the Devil you know.  The CCP will soon learn a similar lesson.  Even if they rig the selection process, they can’t magically create legitimacy for their choice, and it will be nearly two decades before the 15th DL is ready for prime time anyway.  In the interim, forces held in check by the 14th DL’s relative moderation will bubble to the surface bringing to the fore leaders even less willing to work with Beijing.  And who knows, there may be equally charismatic figures waiting in the wings.

The CCP is gambling that with the 14th DL out of the way, the Τibetan independence movement loses its most important unifying figure.  But that ignores the diversity of the Τibetan plateau.  In many cases the DL is a DIVISIVE figure.  His proscription of a protector deity important to the Kham Region has led to a schism within the Gelugpa sect, one that continues to divide families, villages, and monasteries.  In fact, the most powerful recent force in unifying the fractious Tibetans has been the nearly universal disgust at CCP policies in Τibet, especially in the wake of the 2008 riots.  One reason the Karmapa Lama can be seen as a potential “successor” even though he represents the Kagyu and not the Gelugpa sect, is that the CCP may ironically be succeeding where the DL has failed in reducing sectarian tensions on the Plateau…simply by giving the people there a common foil.

History. Biology. Philology. Academia is often pressed into the service of politics, but as I noted two years ago, the increasingly shrill rhetoric of national unity has long since taken on a “Queen Gertrude watching the play” quality.  Whatever happens in the future, the question of Τibet will not solved by resorting to historical arguments or biological determinism.

Over the last few years, I have seen the Chinese government’s learning from its PR mistakes and trying to improve its skill in handling the media.  Some journalists may disagree with me, but I feel they actually have gotten better, or at least more effective, in controlling the stories and getting the official spin out.  Nevertheless, China still has a long way to go. We saw ample evidence of that this past week with the kerfluffle over Jiang Zemin’s reported death.

Responsible and reputable journalists cannot write an article based only on a rumor. Many of my foreign media colleagues held off reporting anything, waiting instead for the government to officially announce Jiang’s death. However, once the government started to delete all Weibo and BBS messages about Jiang’s death, blocking search results about Jiang Zemin, and even restricting searches for the character “jiang” (江) the foreign news bureaus had a ready-made story.  News of Jiang’s possible demise – and the Chinese government’s nervous censorship of any Jiang-related discussion – became major international news.

Groundless rumors eventually die out. After all, unlike inflation or tainted food, news about a former president doesn’t affect the lives of most Chinese netizens. However, as soon as the information is censored, our natural curiosity is aroused.

Chinese netizens are as nosy and curious as any other group of news junkies in the world. Even though many of them must rely on the party-controlled media for their news, the Party’s absolute monopoly on information is a thing of the past.  Many people my age would rather get their information online, even to the point of believing an unsubstantiated rumor on Weibo.  This is true especially when the government is trying to block the rumor.  In today’s China, it is government censorship which gives credibility to unsubstantiated rumors, and that turns rumors into news.

So far it seems that Mr. Jiang is still alive.  But one thing is clear: in an information hungry society like China, Chinese people are no longer satisfied with Party-line pronouncements.  Social media has become a major part of their lives, for good or ill, and until the government develops a softer touch, the ability of sites like Weibo to turn passing rumors into international news will continue.

As the CPC’s 90^th anniversary approaches, a recent “Red Song” campaign is receiving a lot of attention in the foreign media. Many of my colleagues from foreign news outlets have been looking for “Red Song choirs” to interview and to film. Some articles are even calling the campaign a “Red Revival” and see possible parallels to the Cultural Revolution.

However, is that true? Does singing “Red Songs” really signify a new revival of the old Party spirit? Or is it something that has been happening all along but makes for easy headlines with Bo Xilai’s recent Chongqing campaign and the CPC anniversary just around the corner?

Many ordinary Chinese of my parents’ generation wouldn’t think singing about the Party is anything new. They learned those revolutionary songs as teenagers and young adults during the Cultural Revolution. They sang them every day during the most important, formative, and unforgettable decade of their life. These songs mean a lot to them. For many people, the songs are the only ones they know how to sing and for which can remember the lyrics.

Once my husband and I were watching the documentary Morning Sun, which is about the Cultural Revolution. As soon as a revolutionary song started, my mom, who was cooking in the kitchen, started singing along. I have never heard her sing a pop song or love song. (When I asked her why, she said it was because she can’t remember any of those lyrics.) However, four decades after her miserable experience of heavy manual labor in a remote village during the Cultural Revolution, she can still remember every single word of those revolutionary songs. She couldn’t understand the English-language documentary, but the songs instantly brought her back to those days and her youth.

My mom is not alone. Every summer night, a group of middle-age people spontaneously gather around in our local park to sing for entertainment. Of course, all the songs they pick are Red Songs. I don’t think they intentionally do so because of party spirit, it is just they know those songs really well.

My parents’ generation witnessed one of the greatest transformations in Chinese history, but the changes often came at a cost and many were left behind during the Reform and Opening era. They may have lost their jobs in early 90’s during a restructuring or privatization of the SOE where they worked. They may not be able to afford an apartment for a son who is already past the marriage sell-by date. They are the ones who feel left out by the rapid change of this society. However, when they sing those songs, they can take comfort in a nostalgia they can share with other “old comrades.”

Sometimes it can be hard for me to understand their love of those songs. After all, many people suffered terribly during the Cultural Revolution. Many young people, like my aunties and my mom, were sent to poor and remote villages to be re-educated with heavy labor work for many years. Others couldn’t go to college because their parents were labeled as “bad elements.” Many families were ruptured when one family member accused another of being a counter-revolutionary. Some of those ruptures have never healed.

However, many decades later, many people still love those songs that they sung during one of the most difficult period of their lives and even those songs that praise the Party who caused all their pain.  When I asked my dad about the reason, he said “Yes, back then people’s lives were really hard and poor, but at least everyone was equally poor and miserable. Right now, officials are corrupt and people all look toward money (向钱看). The gaps between the rich and poor are huge. The whole society has gone bad.”

For our post-80’s generation, those “red songs” are not unfamiliar either. I remember when I was in elementary school all the songs I learned were revolutionary songs. Plus, we had to sing those songs in our school’s singing competition every year. Even when I was in college, every cohort in every department still needed to prepare a “Red Song” for the university singing competition held each December.

The first song I learned was “There is no new China without the Communist Party” (没有共产党，就没有新中国). It was a part of the school’s patriotic education. Unlike countries with multi-party governments, in China the Party makes sure you know that loving your country is equal to loving the CPC and loving the Chinese government. Thus many patriotic songs are about the CPC or about Mao.

The big difference for our generation is that we also had Jay Chou. We also had Michael Jackson. We had all the pop stars from Japan and South Korea. We were “corrupted” by Western and Korean pop culture. For us, singing “Red songs” was a chore, something we did without any emotional attachment. Growing up in Chinese schools, the political significance of the songs was irrelevant to our lives and we never took them to heart. 60% of my college classmates had joined the CPC by the time we graduated, but very few of them believe in Communism.  It is just something you do under the circumstances. For our generation, singing Red Songs is the same, just another political task for young people.

No matter how glamorous, prosperous and international Beijing and Shanghai seem to be on the surface, some things never change. Most Chinese people, especially my parents’ generation, know that the party is everywhere. It is hidden under the surface, but it is never far away from any individual of this country. The Party leaves its mark in everyone’s life and “red songs” are just one of those marks.

I say no, but I’m willing to bet Captain Dye Job would have to think about for a second before giving his final answer.

We just returned from two weeks in the “Free Internet Zone” known as New Hampshire to find that things online in China are as bad, or maybe worse, than ever.

The latest variation seems to be the “punish the IP address” approach.

It works like this:

• I use a VPN too much to access materials that the man-purse brigade who run things around here finds objectionable.  This could be anything from “Wen Jiabao in a Poodle Skirt” to accessing overseas libraries and journals on Chinese history.

• After a period of time, VPN stops working.  Upon turning off the VPN, I find that while Chinese sites load normally, ALL foreign websites – no matter how benign – are now blocked.

• After a short “time-out,” things get back to normal and I can then view overseas sites and use the VPN again.

• Rinse. Lather. Repeat.

Never mind that even in the best of times overseas websites load at about 10% of the speed of domestic sites as packets of data are funneled through a few specific Internet choke points so that recently minted graduates of Fan Binxing’s Hogwart’s School for Censorship and Disinformation (Read: Beijing University of Posts and Telecommunications) can zap anything too lurid, like, say, a history of Tibet written by actual Tibetans or a sex video with Hu Jintao’s wife and a gaggle of rabid chimps.

For me personally, this is all more annoying than anything else.  Eventually the VPN kicks in and I’m able to get work done.  It might take a little longer, but it is what it is.

But this obsessive need to control information also speaks to a larger truth: No matter how well China is doing or how satisfied people are with their lives, the Chinese government consistently acts like the once-cuckolded husband who can neither forgive his wife nor forget her fling…even after 22 years of relatively good times.