Few would say it has. The forum’s organizers admit that authorities could shut them down anytime. They and other Chinese who test the limits of political discourse do so in the face of an ongoing crackdown in Beijing, a harsh reminder that the Communist Party will not tolerate organized opposition. Standard operating procedure–except that, less than a year ago, things seemed much different. Then, a remarkably tolerant mood seemed to signal the first signs of a new ““Beijing Spring’’ of lasting political liberalization. What happened? ““The activists kept pushing the envelope,’’ says one Western diplomat. ““Finally, the envelope pushed back.’’ In fact, last year’s relaxation never approached the emotional pitch of 1989’s heady pro-democracy movement. Neither is today’s crackdown as brutal as those in the past. Still, something is going on: while dissidents are paying heavily for their courage, throughout the nonpolitical corners of Chinese society the winds of unprecedented freedom continue to gather force. Says Democracy Wall veteran Ren Wanding, China’s most famous dissident outside prison, ““People like me can do nothing, while others can do just about anything.''
That’s an exaggeration, of course. Stability is President Jiang Zemin’s watchword for the crucial year ahead. Beijing’s leaders are worried that several politically touchy dates–from the 10th anniversary of the Tiananmen crackdown in June to the 50th anniversary of the founding of the People’s Republic in October–could spark unrest. The government’s No. 1 target is the embryonic China Democratic Party; three of its would-be founders, along with a labor organizer, were thrown into prison for 10 years or more. More than two dozen activists got lesser punishments, or have been detained. The party’s Propaganda Department has instructed publishers and editors to avoid ““sensitive topics’’ such as Tiananmen–or risk censure. A small paper was shut down for reprinting a decades-old article supporting multiparty politics.
The economy is Jiang’s other headache. For decades the legitimacy of the regime has rested on its ability to deliver prosperity. Now, even the Finance minister has acknowledged that China’s economy is besieged from within and without, ““leaving no room for optimism.’’ Chinese leaders last week denied again that Beijing plans to devalue the yuan, but the Asian financial crisis continues to threaten exports. Prime Minister Zhu Rongji’s crusade to trim the bloated state sector has sent joblessness soaring as high as 20 million. Labor protests are erupting around the country. Recently a demonstration by 3,000 Guangdong farmers calling themselves the Society to Lower Taxes and Save the Country was dispersed by paramilitary police wielding tear gas and clubs. The regime is equally alarmed by a spate of unsolved explosions that have killed 29 people this year alone. ““Why write about China’s crisis?’’ asks editor Li. ““So that we can avoid the dangers and grab the opportunities ahead.''
““Danger’’ and ““opportunity.’’ The Chinese characters for these two words, once combined, make up the ideogram for ““crisis.’’ For many apolitical Chinese, though life feels more free every year. Even some politically ““sensitive’’ personalities are optimistic. ““You can’t say there are no freedoms now,’’ says China’s most famous rock-and-roll celebrity, Cui Jian, whose songs of anomie were the ballads of Tiananmen. For several years Cui was barred from huge public performances. But since last November, inexplicably, he has been allowed to appear before vast audiences–like last week’s throng of 8,000 in a Hubei stadium–but only outside Beijing. ““Problem is,’’ he says, ““you never know if something’s permitted or not–until you just do it.''
Indeed, the Chinese are taking control of their private lives. In the past, the party meddled in everything from marriage to hairstyles. To be sure, it still wields a heavy hand in family planning. But now many citizens just try to ignore the government, even pushing against official taboos. When conservative lawmakers proposed to ban adultery last year, the public raised such an outcry that the draft law was put on hold. These days, Chinese commonly quote an old proverb: After you have enough food and clothing, your thoughts turn to sex. The government-controlled news media are giving people the tales of lust they desire, including the recent story of two government security guards who were caught using official phones to call raunchy sex lines. The bill: $9,000.
Snooping party hacks used to ensure that everybody conformed to the social norm; now yesterday’s misfits are popping out of the closet. ““Comrades’’ are no longer old revolutionaries; today the word is slang for ““homosexuals.’’ Beijing’s ““comrade hotline’’ is one of three in the country catering to the gay and lesbian community. ““It’s fashionable for some people to act gay, even if they’re not,’’ says Jerry, a 24-year-old cruising at the windowless ““101’’ gay bar in Shanghai.
So here is China’s new rule of play: stay out of politics, and you can do almost anything. The Chinese hunger for information is already impossible to control. ““As long as you’re not against the party,’’ says one businessman who regularly downloads pornography off the Internet, ““it doesn’t matter what you look at.’’ For activists dreaming of true multiparty politics, ““it’s time to wait and prepare,’’ says dissident Ren, who previously did two stints in prison. Ren predicts a decade will pass before fundamental political reforms will stick. The ups and down are much like playing the stock market, adds a liberal academic. ““Now there’s risk; later there’s reward. Democracy is worth the investment.’’ And the smart players stay in for the long haul.
