The NY Times had an interesting article a few days ago: How Chinese Censorship Affects Writers in the West. It talks about how China’s influence is growing so large that writers, even those in the West, are censoring themselves out of fear of repercussions from Beijing. People are fearful not of physical violence but of getting on the wrong side of Beijing’s politics. Some writers, after offending China, have allegedly found it hard to get visas to the country, which, if one is a writer with interest in China, can make one’s life rather difficult.
This is how the censorship is developing:
Last fall, in advance of the Frankfurt Book Fair, China pressured organizers to disinvite two dissident writers to a symposium on “China and the World.” (They were reinvited after a public outcry.) But more often, potential critics silence themselves pre-emptively. In a 2002 essay in The New York Review of Books called “China: The Anaconda in the Chandelier,” the China scholar Perry Link described Beijing’s censors as a dangerous creature coiled overhead. “Normally the great snake doesn’t move,” he wrote. “It doesn’t have to. . . . Its constant silent message is ‘You yourself decide,’ after which, more often than not, everyone in its shadow makes his or her large and small adjustments.”
After a while, people get in the habit of censoring themselves.
While I think it’s important to encourage freedom of the press, this soft kind of censorship is nothing new. It’s just a byproduct of institutional power, which China is slowly developing. When you’re on the wrong side of a party with institutional power, you face a soft censorship. Asian American writers have dealt with this kind of censorship for years. Write about Asian American men in a good light? Into the recycle bin! Stories about heterosexual Asian men? Recycle bin! Real stories about real Asian American people doing cool things like beating Vegas? Recycle bin…or we make the main characters White. Stories about Asian women escaping their rapist Asian fathers into the arms of White guys? The marketing wizards will promote and sell your book as the next bestseller!
Sheesh…welcome to our world.
Related posts:
But here is an...
I agree with everything you said. About #1…I think...
When it comes to china, the nytimes is the last place to go to for unbiased reporting. NYtimes has a staunchly anti china bent, as does most of the western media. The journalists love to idealize china as the oppressive, corrupt, human rights hating, free speech banning anti-christ that must be destroyed and the poor poor chinese people who must be rescued condescendingly from without because they’ve been “brainwashed” and don’t know better.
This “essay” (WTF is that anyway?) that is published by the nytimes fits perfectly with their narrow worldview of china. I’ve come to expect nothing less than blatant lies coming from the NYTimes. Really. Who in hollywood takes china seriously? Other than Richard Gere and a few other self righteous on a messianic hero trip.
And another thing, the only thing the western publishers want to publish on china are china bashing books. Go to b&n or borders and look for books about china. One might really think that china is the anti-christ after a perusal.
The NYT is equally harsh toward Singapore and the Emirates. They really don’t like centralized power.
This reminds me of an awful Cato podcast recently about the “threat of China”. The guy was saying that since China is anti-democratic AND free-market, it’s growing its economy so quickly that it’s now better able to franchise its anti-democratic policies abroad. So despite bringing about market reforms that are feeding a billion mouths, China spreading anti-democracy is harmful? And despite being democracies and holding regular elections, African countries are still piss poor. I think the NYT and so many others (libertarians equally) are threatened that China is so openly challenging our political convictions.
ADVICE FOR AMERICA
AS IT FACES
THE END OF EMPIRE
(FROM THE ENTITY
FORMERLY KNOWN
AS THE BRITISH EMPIRE).
BY KATE HAHN
- – - -
All right, mate? Mind if I sit? Costa del Sol’s so bloody crowded this time of year—can’t find a seat at the bar even at 10 a.m.! That’s why smart blokes like us get here at 9:30, right? Sorry, bit rude of me, haven’t introduced myself. I’m the British Empire. Well, used to be. Hard to shake the name. Might remember the “old me” from the early 20th Century section of your history book. I was the big map. The sun never set on me. Bit exhausting really. And dangerous, especially with my complexion. Got a couple funny spots I have to have checked out. See this on my neck? Shaped a bit like China.
What’s that look? All I said was China! Wait a minute; I didn’t recognize you right off. You’re America! The new me! Or the new “old me,” right before I had my fall. I didn’t imagine I looked so knackered. But maybe you were just up late doing midnight karaoke at the timeshares. Nice condos those—all mod cons. Perfect for retirement. Persian Empire lives there. Just had his powder room done over in travertine. He does a mean “Don’t You Want Me” in Farsi.
What’s that you’ve got a pitcher full of then? Sangria? “Sangre” means blood, you know. I’ve learned a few words in the native tongue—never used to have to do that back when I was subjugating entire civilizations. Keeps the mind sharp though. Thanks, don’t mind if I do. Cheers. Hair of the dog. Hair of “el perro.” Good Lord man, you can barely lift your glass you’re shaking so much. But we all know you’ve spread yourself as thin as a head of Guinness drawn by a Chinaman.
Bollocks, I’ve said it again! Sorry. Look, I’ve been there. Coffers empty. Troops everywhere. Economy sour. Your empire’s finished. But just because I’m retired doesn’t mean I can’t be useful. Here’s how you get through it.
First off: lean on your family. And by that I don’t mean the hearth-and-home sort, I mean royals. Make the office of the president of the United States more regal. Pomp and circumstance distracts you from the fact that you don’t matter anymore. Have guards stand outside the White House gates in some kind of regalia. Celebrate the president’s birthday—not just the dead ones, the one you have now. What’s his … Bomama … Obama, yes, yes, the Kenyan.
Ah, Kenya. Mine once. Moment for Kenya.
Anyway, that Bomama family would make for a nice series of collectible portrait plates. We do them for all our kings and queens and jubilees and palaces and parades and authors and, oh, the list goes on. It makes us feel special. Softens the blow. Do up a lot of collectible plates of princesses Masha and Sally and maybe that Twain fellow. Fallen empires love commemorative coins too. Why d’you think archeologists find so many Roman coins? Commemorative—issued for the end of empire, if you ask me.
Next thing you do: get obsessed with celebrities, even more than you are now. What gaping hole inside myself was I trying to fill that I had to bend entire nations to my will when I just could have lain by the pool all day reading the tabs? That’s what my spiritual advisor Angelica—her office is over the chip shop—made me realize. Don’t even miss the bloody battles with Raj followers anymore. I’d rather speculate on what’s going to happen on Dr. Who or look at pictures of Billy Piper on holiday.
Yeah, she’s bloody worth crying speechlessly over isn’t she? Oh, you’re shedding tears for your lost ideals? You say you pissed away your Manifest Destiny? Yes, yes, I understand. All right then, if it will make you feel any better I’ll, as Angelica says, share. Don’t tell the Persian Empire this but when I first retired, I used to flat out bawl for hours. I’d whinge on about England and pith helmets. Didn’t know what to do with myself. I felt as scattered as those tapas plates they serve here instead of a proper meal. Used to sit in my room in the dark and order Chinese.
Oh, bollocks. Sorry. Don’t moan. You’re not the only one hates those Mandarin bastards. Heard of the Boxer Rebellion? That empire tried to kill me but now if I want a good pool noodle I’ve got no choice but to buy it from them. Those buggers have import/export locked up. I know. I destroyed nations so I could ship tea to Europe.
But what I’ve found as time has passed is I’m mostly grateful. Relieved. By God, who wants to be the example for the entire world to follow? And I think you’ll like it here. I’ve been looking for a fourth in golf and I’m happy to let you in on the bribery action if you want to help judge the yummy mummy bikini contest on Thursdays.
Oh that’s another thing—end of empire means a nation even more obsessed with breasts. No breast is too massive, too bouncy, too tan, too exposed for the British. You in America think you love boob. But you really have nothing on us. If you’ve never seen Jordan, go directly to the internet café by the scooter rental and log onto the Daily Mail!
Ah … there’s that famous American smile. Enjoy it; the teeth will go soon enough. But for now, a toast. To fallen empires. I wouldn’t trade retirement for all the tea in China. Oh, bollocks.