Integrating a spiritual civilisation with a material civilisation

The modernising reforms of the late 1970s were aimed at technological development and economic expansion, reflected in the Four Modernisations of agriculture, industry, defence and science. Hence, Deng Xiaoping tried to shift the political emphasis away from the ideological focus and towards pragmatism (Vogel 2011). However, he was faced with the difficulty that the conservative side of the party centre was concerned with the deleterious impact of material welfare on social morality. These ideologues, headed by official party historian Hu Qiaomu and Propaganda Department director Deng Liqun, pushed for a campaign against spiritual pollution which started at the end of 1983 (Gold 1984: 947–74). The campaign fizzled out after a few weeks, as it aroused fears of a return to the frenzy of the Cultural Revolution and threatened to nip the resurgence of science in the bud. Nonetheless, Hu and Deng were not removed from their positions and the notion of a socialist spiritual civilisation, which complemented material development, remains present in the most important policy documents on media and culture issues. While it lacked a detailed substantive meaning, it signalled the party’s continuing claim to a leading moral position. Morality gained new traction in the mid-2000s, as continuing corruption and increasing inequality were deemed to erode social coherence. As a new exhortation, the Hu–Wen administration launched a new moral concept, the eight honours and eight disgraces (barong bachi) in 2006. ⁵ These, in turn, serve as the central notion for the ‘socialist core value system’ (shehuizhuyi hexin jiazhiguan tixi), a term that is equally empty but with an equally important signalling function (Von Senger 2012: 399–414). The function of the media is to provide, among other things, an environment conducive to the realisation of this morality. This is realised through big-budget government-sponsored main melody (zhu xuanlü) films, online campaigns with themes such as ‘surfing the web in a civilised manner’ (wenming shangwang), and television programmes extolling the glory of Chinese culture and history. Nonetheless, an intractable tension remains between idealised notions of moral behaviour and a perceived crisis of social conduct, particularly in relation to official corruption and privilege. Also, the concept is opposed to tendencies that are defined as ‘excessive entertainmentisation’. This pushed the State Administration of Radio, Film and Television (SARFT) to come down strongly against popular television programmes including dating shows or talent competitions, as these are deemed to exert a negative influence on public morality.

Liberating thoughts, letting a hundred flowers bloom and a hundred schools of thought contend

This term directly harks back to the pre-Qin era when the Chinese territory was taken up by small feudal states that were locked in continuous warfare. Philosophers were often retained in courts to advise on matters related to internal ordering, diplomacy and warfare. The resulting flourishing of political philosophy became known as the ‘Hundred Schools’, and counted Confucius, Mencius, Mozi, Laozi and Hanfeizi among its luminaries. However, this period came to an abrupt end as the First Emperor ruthlessly suppressed dissenting opinions. Philosophers were buried alive and all books, with the exception of those relating to legalism, agriculture, medicine and divination, were burned (Lai 2008).

In the mid-1950s, the confident new CCP regime relaunched this notion as it started to encourage differing views on, and criticism of, the regime. The party had gained control over the Chinese mainland, implemented land reform, succeeded in drawing western forces to a stalemate in Korea and completed campaigns aimed at eliminating anti-Communism and capitalism. It seems that the leadership believed that criticism would either relate to specific problems in bureaucracy that could be resolved, or come from misunderstanding the superiority of party rule, which could be countered through argument and persuasion (Cheek 1997). However, the ensuing torrent of criticism took the party by surprise. Millions of letters were posted to government institutions, newspapers published critical articles and street rallies were organised. Hundreds of public postings criticised the privileged position of party members, the party’s intervention into private life and the relationship with the Soviet Union, among other matters. Retaliation was swift. In July 1957, Mao ordered the end of the campaign and cracked down heavily on those who had expressed criticism (Hua 1990: 234–56). By the end of the year, 300,000 had been purged or punished in this Anti-Rightist Movement. Mao himself openly referred to the First Emperor: ‘He buried 460 scholars alive; we have buried 46,000 scholars alive … You call us Qin Shihuangs. Wrong. We have surpassed Qin Shihuang a hundredfold’ (Sun 2012). This crackdown heralded the hardening of ideological positions, and the disasters of the Great Leap Forward and the Cultural Revolution.

After Deng Xiaoping gained control over the party at the end of 1978, his ally Hu Yaobang reinstated the ‘Two Hundreds’ and called upon the party to liberate its thoughts (Hu 1979). This was a reaction against the ideological purism of the Cultural Revolution and aimed to support scientific and technological expertise, as well as limit ideological ossification through enhancing debate. Again, this open space invited critical voices, with the public posters on a wall in Beijing that become known as Democracy Wall (minzhu qiang) arguably the best-known example. At first, criticism was aimed at the excesses of the past decade, which Deng tolerated because it supported his reform efforts. Very rapidly, however, the posters started criticising the leadership of the party and Deng Xiaoping himself. On 5 December 1978, a young electrician working in the Beijing Zoo, Wei Jingsheng, posted a call for a fifth modernisation, democracy. This was beyond the limits of what Deng could tolerate (Hua 1990: 234–56). Democracy Wall was torn down, Wei and other activists were imprisoned, and Deng instituted four cardinal principles which would be beyond argument: persisting in the socialist path, the dictatorship of the proletariat, the leadership of the party and Marxism-Leninism–Maoism. Nonetheless, the ‘Two Hundreds’ principle still appears in most media policy documents. It does not aim to foster political pluralism, ideological liberalisation or a loyal opposition. Deng Xiaoping himself indicated that the party’s mistakes were always corrected by the party itself, and that no one should use party mistakes as an excuse to resist party leadership (Lin 1990: 272). Rather, it serves to provide a space for debate on technical issues in support of overall political objectives, differentiate the correct political messages for different target groups, and generate feedback on policy implementation and local issues. As such, it is perhaps the clearest boundary for the different discourse registers that are permitted within the Chinese media: it permits the publication of different opinions on certain aspects of policy within a clear and carefully defined space where no criticism of fundamental principles is countenanced.

Seeking truth from facts

This phrase originated in the Han Dynasty when it referred to a scholarly attitude of not passing judgement before grasping facts to the fullest extent. It was at the core of a reform movement which started in the Qing Dynasty which aimed to return to the core texts of classical learning, rather than late commentaries. In turn, it became the motto of the Yuelu Academy in Nanchang, where Mao Zedong studied (Chen 2005). Mao later adopted it into CCP doctrine (Mao 1940), referring to the need to pragmatically learn from reality. After Mao’s death in 1976, the term reappeared in the power struggle that erupted between Hua Guofeng, Mao’s appointed successor, and Deng Xiaoping. The rally for public opinion was primarily fought through newspapers. Hua had sponsored a People’s Daily editorial outlining the ‘Two Whatevers’ policy, upholding all Mao’s policy decisions and following all his instructions. Countering this, Deng sponsored an editorial in the Guangming Daily entitled ‘Practice is the sole criterion of truth’, which was followed up by a speech for the military. Both texts exhorted the need to seek truth from facts (Vogel 2011: 211–13). It has been a key part of Chinese policy since.

In brief, this phrase requires the integration of practice and theory, and the integration of universal Marxist principles with the concrete experience of the Chinese revolution. The new policy also aimed to reinvigorate science, echoing nineteenth-century reformers who already identified science as the key necessity for saving the nation. This policy has been very successful in rapidly transforming China’s industrial structure. More relevant to understanding media policy is that this tenet is applied in philosophy and social science as well (Central Committee 2004). Again, pluralism is not the objective of scholarly activity. Rather, its role is to explore how fundamental theories of socialism materialise on the assumption that society, like the natural world, operates according to objective laws that can be deduced through scientific study. This impacts on the media in two ways. First, in terms of context, the role of the media is to spread the excellent results of philosophy and social science in order to educate the population and illuminate the ‘historical development laws of humankind and society’ (Central Committee 2004: para. II(5)), while debate is limited to the specific technical method that is used, rather than fundamental assumptions or observations. Second, in terms of governance the assumption seems to be that media operations can be improved by specific scientific means. In other words, as part of society, public communications also works on the basis of objective laws, and discovering these is deemed to enable the ‘perfection’ (wanshan) of regulatory frameworks. This in turn results in popular, high-quality and commercially successful media products.

Guiding the people with correct public opinion

One of the core notions of traditional Chinese philosophy is the role of self-cultivation and education. A human being is born as a blank canvas and should attain morality through diligent study and the emulation of models from the past. Again, this paternalist requirement to follow predetermined moral imperatives differs from the liberal notion that proposes individuals should primarily pursue moral notions as they see fit. Furthermore, the substantive rules of ethics are determined externally. In imperial times, morality was determined by the Confucian classics. In the 1930s the Nationalist (i.e. Kuomintang or KMT) government aimed to mould the population through the purist, austere New Life Movement (Dirlik 1975). Throughout the Communist era, there have been ample model citizens and normative behavioural codes, including Lei Feng ⁶ and the above-mentioned core socialist value system.

Politically speaking, however, there was also a strong moral obligation on rulers. Philosophically, their legitimacy was derived from the notion of the Heavenly Mandate, an entrustment from Heaven to govern. In contrast with the divine right of kings, the mandate was dependent on the behaviour of rulers. If they would not be able to ensure the livelihood of the people, which they would do by acting morally, Heaven would withdraw its mandate and the dynasty would be overthrown. This doctrine justified popular scrutiny of the action of rulers, although not the content of the moral rules themselves. This is echoed by the notion of the masses monitoring acts of individual officials and government departments, which was a core function of CCP press from the very early beginnings of the People’s Republic (Central Committee 1950).

In current Chinese politics, this is embodied in the notion of ‘public opinion supervision’ (yulun jiandu), introduced at the thirteenth party congress in 1987. Former Premier Zhao Ziyang stated that in order to establish social dialogue and consultation, the masses must know major issues, and these must be discussed with the people (Zhao 1987: para. V(5)). This mood changed very rapidly after the 1989 riots when the leadership – from which Zhao had been ousted because of his conciliatory efforts to reach a compromise with the student demonstrators – asserted strict control over public communications because maintaining stability became the CCP’s overarching imperative. A number of media outlets had supported protesters’ demands, and this was deemed to have exacerbated the problems for the leadership which nearly caused the overthrow of the party regime. Consequently, public opinion supervision was counterbalanced with public opinion guidance (yulun daoxiang). In a speech at the end of the year, new propaganda chief Li Ruihuan laid down the components of this policy (Li 1989). Newspaper reports should mainly report and propagate positive matters, criticism should be concentrated on problems that can be resolved and critical reporting should include information on the resolution of the problem. At the same time, Li called for structural reform: propaganda art should be improved, and news and propaganda personnel should be better trained in how to perform their duties in accordance with the guidelines of the centre. Since then, the party has established a considerable public opinion monitoring and guidance structure, including traditional media outlets, presence on the internet, education, culture and tourism, aimed at ensuring that reality is presented correctly to, and perceived correctly by, the population.

One last important notion is the militaristic language often used in these documents. While after 1989, the party ratcheted down the classical Communist notions of class struggle and collective ownership, party documents are still written in a strident tone echoing military campaigns. The 2011 Central Committee Resolution states that ‘consolidating the common ideology and morality for united struggle of the entire party, country and all ethnicities’ is necessary, and that the party and people must be armed with socialist and scientific theory to develop along the correct path. It seems to be part of the political culture of the CCP that some form of antagonism is indispensable as a justification for mobilising the masses in pursuit of common objectives. Throughout its history, the party has done so by opposing external enemies, such as the Japanese, imperialist nations, the Soviet Union or Vietnam, but also the KMT. After 1949, the CCP externalised certain classes of persons to struggle against, most recently with the anti-bourgeois liberalisation campaign of 1987. While the CCP’s stability-oriented method of leadership realised after the Tiananmen uprising largely refrained from such ideological campaigns – apart from the occasional anti-Japanese or anti-US riot – the culture bureaucracy seems to be reluctant to shift its tone of regulation away from mobilisation. Another important consequence of this is the perception of the role of public communication in the public sphere. In policy documents, this is described as the ‘ideological battlefield’ (sixiang zhendi) which must be occupied and dominated by the voice of the party.

In short, in contrast to the liberal notion which holds that governments are not entitled to limit the liberty of expression unless compelled to do so to prevent harm to other individuals, the Chinese view is teleological. In this conception, public communications are purposive means to an end, the rejuvenation of China, and individual liberty is subordinate to that end. Morality and social truth are determined by the leadership, not through pluralist debate, but are pre-established by the CCP. Not everyone should be able to access the sphere of public opinion, but only those representing sufficiently advanced levels of insight and education, and vigilance against threats from inside and outside must be maintained. The next question then is how institutions and rules are structured in such a way as to realise these objectives.

Structures

The regulatory structure established to implement the above philosophy took its definitive form after 1989, as the CCP reasserted control over media and aimed to regain control over the ideological battlefield. Unsurprisingly, both institutions and rules are designed in such a way as to maintain control over the content of publicly available expression, as well as the actors who can produce or distribute them. Hence, the aim is not to create a framework of rules and principles that clarify the rights and obligations of all concerned parties, within which individual actors can pursue their own objectives, but to manage the sphere of public communications in support of a specific set of political objectives and to do so in a flexible way and with a high degree of discretion (Keller 2000: 151–80).

The institutional aspects of China’s media governance include party organs, state departments, state-owned enterprises and industrial associations. ⁷ Confirming its Leninist identity, this structure is divided along functional lines, and the different organisations within it do not have a mutually balancing or safeguarding function. At the top level of this structure are informal discussion groups within the Standing Committee. These feed general objectives to the Central Propaganda Department (CPD), a party organ that is in charge of all matters related to thought and culture in China, including newspapers, radio, television and the internet, but also the education system. In turn, the CPD formulates general policies and guidelines to the ministry-level state institutions: the Ministry of Culture, State Administration of Press, Publications, Radio, Film and Television (SAPPRFT), ⁸ the Ministry of Industry and Information Technology, and the State Council Information Office (SCIO). These formulate concrete rules for media enterprises, with particular stress on procedural aspects, such as registration and licensing procedures, as well as administrative punishment for violations. Where necessary, other ministries cooperate in rule making in cross-jurisdictional cases. For example, the General Administration of Customs assists in drafting and implementing rules on the import and export of cultural products.

Less conspicuous in terms of rule making, but therefore not less important in implementing policy, are the media enterprises. In principle, the party has maintained complete state ownership or majority state control in all significant parts of media distribution. All television stations, newspapers and distributors of foreign films must be state owned. Furthermore, in activities where private companies are permitted, state-owned enterprises remain in the dominant position. The Xinhua press agency, for instance, is the most important source of online news, as government instructions often oblige news outlets to only use Xinhua copy. Similarly, while there are a number of private film distributors, China Film Group remains the most powerful in this field, partly due to its shared monopoly on the lucrative distribution of foreign films. Only in the field of social media is state ownership absent. However, this may make them more susceptible to strict state control as they are less well connected through party channels than state-owned enterprises.

Lastly, there are a number of sector and professional organisations. Some of these, such as the All-China Federation of Literary and Artistic Circles, the Chinese Writer’s Association and the All-China Journalists Association, have been part of China’s media structure for decades. The function of these associations is to provide a space for interaction between the party and these professional groups, as well as providing feedback for policy making and a targeted platform for new policy. Following the expansion of the internet, the leadership has actively supported the establishment of new sector associations and self-regulatory initiatives in the online world. These organisations officially fall under the supervision of the relevant ministry, but are also controlled through party means.

In fact, true to its Leninist origins the CCP maintains considerable direct power over this entire structure through direct intervention as well, creating effectively a double command structure. There are mandatory party organisations inside all state regulators and media enterprises. Furthermore, many private internet enterprises, such as Sina ⁹ and Tencent (SZNS News 2011), have established party groups as well. The role of these groups is to ensure policy implementation and provide ideological education and professional training. They also ensure that all levels of media governance and commerce are linked to the party. For example, the head of a ministry will often be the secretary of the party committee as well, as in the case of Minister of Culture Cai Wu (Xinhua undated) and SAPPRFT director Cai Fuchao (Xinhua 2011). Also, party members may hold different party committee positions, such as Hu Zhanfan, who is the director and party committee chair of China Central Television (CCTV) and a member of the SARFT Party Committee. This control through individual staff is further enhanced through the nomenklatura appointments system, through which the party controls all significant leading positions in the media structure (Burns 1994). This power was used to appoint the conservative Yang Jian as party secretary of the Southern (Nanfang) Media Group, which is well known for its relatively independent political stance (Bandurski 2012). At the same time, the requirement for media entities to have a sponsoring government unit creates a strong incentive against straying too far from the line, as few officials would welcome closer scrutiny from higher levels. Also, news outlets, particularly People’s Daily and Xinhua, are not only responsible for openly reporting news, but also for composing ‘internal reference’ (neican) reports for the leadership. These are regularly published briefing documents containing news that might create disturbances if posted publicly, such as reports on policy implementation or corruption (He 2008: 73).

Rules

The structure of regulatory documents echoes the institutional structure, and the power of rules varies in scope and application, depending on who formulates them and for what purpose. The Central Committee and the ministries regularly publish policy documents, outlining shifts in priorities for the media following economic development and technological evolution, but these contain few binding provisions. Rather, they are the prism through which the state institutions and media enterprises are supposed to lay down, interpret and apply the rules. The State Council, which groups all ministries, drafts the top-level rules for different media sectors, such as the Radio and Television Management Regulations, the Film Management Regulations and the Internet Information Service Management Rules. In turn these are substantiated through subsidiary ministry-level rules.

Generally, these rules cover three major areas (Creemers 2012). The first area, content control, is usually worded in vague terms with a standard list of prohibited categories that returns in most documents. These categories include content violating the constitution, endangering national security, insulting others, propagating obscenity, gambling or violence, or endangering public morals. It also contains an open-ended category of other content prohibited by law or regulation. This vagueness is intentional, as it allows the administrative body significant discretion in applying these standards during the mandatory licensing processes of products and businesses. The second area covers licensing procedures, which are often the most elaborated parts. Licensing requirements are imposed for most activities relating to public communications and provide a convenient method for managing the number of businesses active in this area, as well as their products and services. The third area comprises the punitive provisions that apply when the rules are broken. With a few exceptions, these are either administrative punishments imposed by the regulatory authority or criminal punishments.

Below these general rules there is a continuing stream of notices, circulars and orders that impose new rules, clarify or reiterate older provisions, and inform about specific campaigns related to law enforcement, celebrating politically significant activities or supporting special events, such as the Beijing Olympics. Furthermore, where news media are concerned, the CPD and the SCIO send daily instructions to editorial departments on whether and how to report certain developments (Brady 2010). As the spread of news has speeded up through the internet, they may even directly contact news outlets with orders that must be implemented at extremely short notice, often minutes (China Copyright and Media 2010). Generally, the strictness and acuity of media regulations vary with the perceived impact and speed of the platform at issue. Books are regulated more lightly than newspapers which are read more broadly. Television and the internet, being mass media able to spread news at high speed, are under even closer watch. In order to control better the mercurial internet operators and social networks, some rule-making work has been outsourced to sector organisations or, under the name of self-regulation, to the enterprises themselves. One of these is the Weibo Community Pact through which Weibo users are contractually liable for any objectionable content they post. ¹⁰ Nonetheless, it does not seem unreasonable to assume that if this is not implemented sufficiently well, Weibo will itself come under fire.

There are few civil laws that directly influence the content of public communication. One important exception to this is the Advertising Law (People’s Republic of China 1994), which regulates the content of advertising, which is limited further by the Anti-Unfair Competition Law (Supreme People’s Court 2003). Furthermore, some headway has been made in certain private aspects of media content. For example, Article 101 of the General Principles of Civil Law provides for a right of reputation and prohibits insult and slander. Article 120 provides that in cases where this right is harmed, citizens may demand redress before the courts. Two Judicial Interpretations of the Supreme Court added details on how to implement these provisions (Supreme People’s Court 1986, 1993 and 1998). Further provisions regarding the right to reputation were present in drafts of the 2009 Tort Law, but were removed (Liebman 2006: 43). The Tort Law does include the protection of civil rights on the internet, and defines user and internet service provider (ISP) liability for internet-related infringement of rights. Furthermore, at the time of writing, a research project into a potential Human Dignity Law (renge quan fa) is under way, and a draft implementation manual for dealing with media-related torts is being tested in a pilot court in the Haidian People’s Court. ¹¹

Defamation is also included in the Criminal Law (People’s Republic of China 1997b: Article 246). Conversely, the Criminal Law also contains very broad provisions for dealing with offensive content. Some of these provisions are shared with western restrictions on the freedom of expression, such as the prohibition of ethnic discrimination present in Articles 149 and 150. However, some provisions provide a legal basis to restrict messages that offend the powers that be, especially in cases of political dissent. While the crime of counter-revolutionary activism was removed from Criminal Law in 1997, it was replaced with the crime of endangering state security in Part Two, Chapter I, and little substantive change resulted (Clarke 1998). For example, Article 105 of Criminal Law prohibits subversion of state power. This was the legal basis for the conviction of the activist and Nobel Peace Prize winner Liu Xiaobo. In other words, criminal suits are an effective way for the party-state to silence dissent through legal procedure.

Economic transactions of cultural and media products are protected by the Copyright Law. However, other legal frameworks, such as competition, have relatively little impact on traditional media outlets. This is largely the case because they are differentiated regionally and functionally, but also because, as party institutions, they are part of the administrative structure outlined above. Hence, they are not free operators in a competitive marketplace. This is different for private enterprises which are mostly found on the internet. In February 2012, there was a high-profile spat between video websites Youku and Tudou (Xinhua 2012). This case was never brought to a conclusion as a few months later the two websites announced their merger, which created some issues of competition and market dominance in itself (China IP Lawyer 2012). Consequently, it remains to be seen how media competition and other economic issues would develop, especially as private enterprises increasingly compete with the state media entities.