After nearly 20 years, a veteran correspondent returns to find that most Chinese don't miss the days before Deng's reforms.
Two decades ago chinesepolitical dissidents wrote their slogans by hand on "big character" posters and stuck them up on Beijing's "Democracy Wall." Covering China in the late 1970s, I used to make furtive late-night trips to the wall to copy down the sentiments of activists like Xu Wenli. Now, back for a second tour of duty as Newsweek's bureau chief, I find that today's dissidents spread their message by fax, phone, beeper and e-mail. When Xu, now 55, was arrested last week for trying to organize an opposition political party, the news swirled through cyberspace. His activities have been closely watched by Internet users across China and in the Chinese-speaking diaspora overseas.
As China prepares to celebrate the 20th anniversary of Deng Xiaoping's "Four Modernizations" campaign, the reforms begun by the late Paramount Leader have flourished beyond most people's expectations. Proclaiming that "to get rich is glorious," Deng set out to modernize industry, agriculture, technology and the armed forces, but he drew the line at democracy. When student activists tested those limits in 1989, the tragedy of Tiananmen ensued. Yet even without Western-style democracy, society has blossomed. In 1980 proper wedding attire consisted of his-and-hers army greatcoats; today it is white lace, accompanied by wedding consultants and mobile phones. Many educated city dwellers are now firmly plugged into the global village. In a roomful of Chinese university students who know all about Monica Lewinsky, I discover that the only person present who has not seen the movie "Titanic" is me. Western culture has long since seeped into the big cities. At a nightclub in Beijing, I listen to a Hungarian jazz band and chat up the proprietor, a former Chinese Army officer who happens to be the first prominent mainlander to have undergone a sex-change operation.
Despite frequent reports of labor unrest and massive layoffs by inefficient state-owned enterprises, most Chinese seem to think that Deng's reforms have delivered the goods. A recent survey by Horizon, the country's top polling and market-research firm, asked city dwellers to name a Chinese hero. Deng was No. 1; Mao Zedong came in a distant fifth. Asked whether they were happier now than in the previous year, more than 96 percent said yes. In tandem with preparations for the 20th-anniversary celebrations, a cult of reform is in full swing. When Beijing's National Museum of Chinese History announced an exhibit on the modernization campaign, thousands of citizens sent in "reform artifacts," mostly ration coupons and other symbols of their prior deprivation.
Deng's successors are still stoking the fires of reform--and still struggling to discipline the forces he sometimes unwittingly released. New technology has transformed political debate. One source of news about Xu Wenli's arrest was a U.S.-based online magazine called Da Cankao (VIP Reference), which claims to reach 250,000 e-mail addresses in China. The magazine, which advocates more democracy, may worry China's ideologues as much as people like Xu. In Shanghai last week, a computer engineer named Lin Hai faced a secret trial on charges of "inciting the overthrow of state power" by providing 30,000 e-mail addresses to Da Cankao, which the authorities described as an "enemy publication."
The continuing lack of political freedom, and sometimes of fair trials, is only one reason Deng's reforms are not universally admired. Prime Minister Zhu Rongji uses a slash-and-burn approach to civic problems, crusading to shutter unprofitable state enterprises, even when it means throwing thousands out of work. In some intellectual circles, apocalypse is all the rage, with government critics warning that armies of workers from downsized factories and footloose migrants could yet plunge the country into chaos. Author Wang Shan charges that Deng never should have "liberated" the peasantry. "Pollution, wasted natural resources, migrants--now we see there's no such thing as a free lunch," he says.
The gap between rich and poor continues to grow. "The capitalist road was an easy shortcut," says retired blacksmith Chen Kechang. "But no matter how much money you make now, your mind is uneasy." He points out that Deng's reforms have led to inflation, while in Mao's day, the price of flour hardly deviated by a tenth of a cent. True enough. But 20 years ago, dinner out for most city dwellers consisted of dumplings or noodles eaten in a seedy restaurant with chicken bones on the floor. Now people throng to spiffier Chinese establishments or to fast-food restaurants like the Dunkin' Donuts and Pizza Hut outlets near my apartment building.
The fact that individual citizens can grumble openly--though not organize politically--is part of Deng's legacy. Most Chinese seem genuinely grateful to Deng for ending the intolerant Maoist excesses of the Cultural Revolution in the 1970s. That long national nightmare continues to haunt China, coloring its view of almost anything. Even Bill Clinton's sex scandal reminds some Chinese of their own bad old days. Says one young member of the Beijing elite: "Politics over law, a mother forced to turn on her own daughter--we've seen all that here before." Though democracy still seems a long way off, the Chinese are tasting freedoms they haven't enjoyed in decades. After the demise of the Democracy Wall in 1979, I was moved by the plight of Xu Wenli's relatives, who at first had to wander from prison to prison seeking news of his whereabouts. He spent 12 years behind bars. Now I learn that one of Xu's "detentions" earlier this year was actually a state-paid vacation at a Chinese resort--he briefly considered bungee-jumping--to keep him quiet during Clinton's visit. Encouraged by such baby steps, many Chinese still hope for a great leap toward democracy.
With Lijia MacLeod in Beijing
Комментариев нет:
Отправить комментарий