Imagethief

  • How to survive a Chinese drinking party

    Imagethief is in Shenzhen, supporting a Japanese client company at the Seventh Annual China High Technology Exposition, currently occupying a huge amount of space at one of Shenzhen’s two convention halls (our first taxi driver took us to the wrong convention center this morning). We’re also staying at one of two hotels with nearly identical names, which caused us some problems yesterday. Shenzhen is a confusing town.

    It’s extra confusing when you’re drunk. After a hard day’s teeing up interviews for our client with the Chinese media, they invited us to a lavish dinner at the Beihai Fishing Village Restaurant. Like all Asian dinner parties, it was really an excuse to drink ruinously and publicly shame friends and colleagues. A free flow of lethal Chinese brandy and beer was arranged. Thankfully, delicate Japanese sensibilities (I presume) kept baijiu, China’s liver-and brain-dissolving white spirit, off the list.

    Despite their often-reported political and cultural schisms, the Japanese and Chinese share one thing in common: they love social drinking. It’s the time when protocol hits the road and everyone becomes loudly friendly, until they pass out. This shared interest notwithstanding, I was interested to see a clear segregation of Japanese executives at one table (with one Japanese speaking Chinese manager) and Chinese and Imagethief at a second table (with two Japanese executives). Given that one Japanese executive at my table spoke both English and Chinese, it may have been simple linguistic segregation rather than some kind of spooky, racial arrangement.

    The national table arrangements didn’t stop much cordial toasting back and forth. Yours truly was seated next to a young Chinese executive who spoke passable English and was both friendly and, apparently, interested in seeing exactly how much alcohol would go down an American’s throat before his head exploded.

    I learned a valuable lesson tonight. These kinds of ganbei toast-o-ramas are not tests of your drinking abilities. They are tests of your wits. The contest is not who can drink the most or hold their liquor the best. The test is who can slyly cajole his friends and colleagues into drinking more than he does. It’s all about duplicity, challenges, evasions, filling the glasses of people in the bathrooms, and gentle belittlement to encourage people to risk alcohol poisoning.

    Imagethief is a quick study. I rapidly sent my brandy glass away, as just having it in front of me was going to result in my painful and premature death. I also never let the waitress fill my beer glass more than halfway, and often stopped her at a third. That way I was never far from a gan bei (dry glass). I went over and toasted the other table as a group to pre-empt them coming over and toasting me one by one (the lone white boy is always a toast-magnet). Finally, I drank 1.5 liters of water during the evening, in addition to my liquor, as good hydration helps to mitigate both drunkenness and, especially, hangovers.

    While I was employing these tactics I observed various other forms of duplicity, including toasting beer against brandy; diluting beer with water; toast deflection (finding someone more worthy of a toast than you  – this often victimized the women) and, the coup de grace, one Japanese executive actually pretending to be passed out at the table. He somehow managed a miraculous recovery when it was time to walk to the bus.

    I figure I earned a B- for my performance. I was called out for sending my brandy glass back after three shots, but managed to go toast-for-toast with my beers and sacrificed only a moderate amount of face. One Chinese executive who upbraided me for quaffing water was doing the same thing ten minutes later. I was never caught dumping or cutting liquor, and I never shied from a toast that was offered me. I am still sober enough to write this, and should be borderline functional tomorrow. Which, in PR, is par for the course.

    But I’ll probably be sleeping in the bathroom tonight as I get rid of that liter and a half of water. Nothing in this world comes free.

    Coda: It is now the next morning. There is nothing sadder than a bunch of hung-over executives slinking around an incredibly noisy and hot convention floor. That might be the definition of hell.

  • The strange lunacy of translators in airliner cockpits

    Singapore is now completely infatuated with China, and the average Straits Times has about seventy-six pages of news from China. I am really good friends with two of the ST correspondents in Beijing, so I will mention that much of this coverage is of the highest standard. Now that I am done sucking up to journalists for the day, I was interested to see an article in today’s (unlinkable) ST on China’s shortage of pilots.

    Anyone who has flown domestically in China will have experienced the fallout (no pun intended) from this problem, as it’s quite clear from the vertical takeoffs and spleen-rupturing landings that many of China’s pilots are actually professional longshoremen or swineherds who are simply moonlighting as pilots for extra cash, or to make time with stewardesses.

    Like many nations with shortages of pilots, and in order to minimize the number of swineherds in the cockpit, China has looked overseas for qualified personnel. The article notes:

    There are now more than 50 foreign pilots from the United States, Canada, Switzerland and Hungary flying for Chinese airlines today. But they do not speak Mandarin, which makes it difficult for them to communicate with air traffic control.

    …and with their co-pilots and with traffic control and with their passengers, it scarcely needs be added. Perhaps I’m old fashioned, but in this era of congested airports and skylanes, and considering Beijing’s shroud of visibility-reducing pollution and southeast China’s constant supply of typhoons, the ability to communicate smoothly with air traffic controllers would seem to be…well, “friggin’ mandatory” is the phrase that springs to my mind.

    But fear not. The rocket scientists at the CAAC, China’s civil aviation authority, are on the job:

    In July the CAAC issued regulations governing the employment of foreign pilots by Chinese airlines, which included a rule stipulating that a qualified English-Mandarin speaking interpreter must be on board an airplane flown by a foreign pilot.

    I am overcome by a warm sensation of security and bliss. But that is because I am still feeling the effects of the Valium I took before my flight on Singapore Airlines this morning. If that had worn off I would now be running in circles and gibbering in terror at the thought of having to rely on translators in airliner cockpits.

    Look, when you’re barrelling along at 300 knots in zero visibility, let’s say during your typical browned-out summer approach to Beijing Capital Airport, and the shit suddenly hits the fan (or turbine blades) for some reason, I should think that every second counts. Do you really want to wait for your air-traffic control instructions to be filtered through a translator on their way to the pilot?

    Furthermore, in my industry we handle a lot of translation, both of written materials and for live speeches and interviews. There is a huge amount of what we in the industry technically refer to as “shit translation”. Now, ninety-nine times out of one hundred, that’s no big deal. We edit or clarify, and no harm is done. But, with rare exception, we in the PR industry are not landing 747s (although we do deal with the aftermath when someone else fails to land one). If I was asked to pick the one time out of that one hundred when it is a big deal to have instantaneous, one-hundred percent accuracy with no exceptions, it would be in commercial airliner cockpits. Or, possibly, nuclear reactor control rooms. It’s a toss-up.

    It really doesn’t take a huge leap of imagination to envision how the scenario of cockpit translators could go wrong, especially in a moment of extreme stress:

    Pilot: “Air China 138 heavy on approach.”
    Translator (to tower): “Air China 138 heavy on approach.”
    Tower: “138 heavy turn two seven zero and descend to 2000.”
    Translator (to pilot): “Turn to two seven zero and descend to 2000.”
    Bang!
    Pilot: “Air China 138 heavy declaring an emergency. Port engine has ingested a goose, is on fire and has lost power. Clear the runway!”
    Translator (to tower): “Air China 138 Heavy is anxiously requesting roast goose! Our sexual prowess is dimished! Please empty the promenade!”
    Tower: “138 Heavy, how much goose do you want?”
    Translator (to pilot): “Why do you want goose at a time like this? We are doomed!”
    Pilot: “Motherfucker!”
    Translator (to tower): “138 Heavy extends warm greetings to your parents!”

    Perhaps I’ll take the train.

  • The Great Donkey Meat – Tiger Piss – Media Whore Axis

    Trust me, it all connects.

    Americans just don’t understand the reality of Chinese food. Mu shu pork, general’s chicken, all that Chinese restaurant crap you get in the US, has almost no relation to anything you can get in China. The defining highlights of Chinese cuisine, with the possible exception of dim sum, which followed the Cantonese diaspora, are conspicuously absent from American menus.

    This is probably because the Chinese eat, not to put too fine a point on it, a lot of nasty shit. (Civit cat?) Don’t get me wrong, the Chinese have some fabulous food as well. But this is country of extremes, and as lofty as the culinary highs are, the lows are scraped straight from the floor of Hell’s own takeaway lunch counter. I’m fairly well inured to Asian and third world diets, having prowled much of the Indonesian archipelago and Indochina (not to mention China proper). But I do have my limits. And I reckon this dish –actually a scam– tests those limits:

    Chinese Eatery Sold Donkey in Tiger Urine

    SHANGHAI, China (AP) – A restaurant in northeastern China that advertised illegal tiger meat dishes was found instead to be selling donkey flesh – marinated in tiger urine, a newspaper reported Thursday.

    The Hufulou restaurant, located beside the Heidaohezi tiger reserve near the city of Hailin, had advertised stir-fried tiger meat with chilies for $98 as well as liquor flavored with tiger bone for $74 a bottle, the China Dailyreported.

    Damn, that’s nasty. On two levels. First, that people though they were eating tiger meat. Yes, I know that tiger meat is supposed to confer sexual prowess, etc. But tigers are still cats, and I own cats, and I can tell you with complete authority that cats are nasty creatures better looked at than eaten. Anyone who has seen what comes out of a cat on a daily basis will understand this. Tigers are pretty and regal, but, when carved into deli slices, they’re still cat meat. By the way, it’s worth reading the China Daily coverage as well, if only for this statement:

    After inspection, the owner, Ma Shikun, confessed that the so-called tiger meat was actually donkey meat that had been dressed with tiger urine, to give the dish a “special” flavour.

    It’s special alright.

    Donkey I have no real issue with. Somehow the idea of eating donkey just seems somehow more savoury (in the metaphorical sense of the word) than eating tiger, and not just because donkeys are neither photogenic nor endangered. But donkey marinated in tiger urine? Check yourself in for therapy if that concept doesn’t automatically make your skin turn green and crawl like a carpet of millipedes. Only one thing on the face of planet should ever be marinated in tiger urine: Paris Hilton. In all circumstances, any form of cat urine should be treated like radioactive waste and interred in abandoned mines in Nevada under a “plain of thorns” sufficiently pointy and tall to dissuade future civilizations from excavating the site. Come to think of it, might not be a bad idea to put Paris Hilton down there too. And Da Shan while they’re at it. Of course if the two of them are put down there together with an unlimited supply of virility-inducing tiger urine, future civilizations stupid enough unearth the site may be confronted with a lost, buried society of hyper-white, inbred, bilingual media whores. I shudder at the prospect.

    There is, of course, more, in this case from the AP story:

    Raw meat was priced at $864 per kilogram.

    The sale of tiger parts is illegal in China and officers shut down the restaurant, only to be told by owner, Ma Shikun, that the meat was actually that of donkeys, flavored with tiger urine to give the dish a “special” tang, the newspaper said.

    The report didn’t say how the urine was obtained.

    Authorities confiscated the restaurant’s profits and fined Ma $296 it said. It wasn’t clear what Ma was fined for. Selling donkey meat is not illegal in China and it is widely consumed in the northeast.

    $864 a kilo is a lot to pay for piss-marinated donkey meat, under any circumstances. I am clearly in the wong business. I have to toil for days to earn $864, and that’s before Chinese government taxes and health contributions. Now many people may suggest that piss-marinated donkey meat and press releases really aren’t all that different, but I don’t write by the kilo no matter how much it may seem that way to journalists.

    As to how they collected the urine, I suppose that’s the hidden cost of earning $864 on capital costs of roughly zero, assuming that donkeys are dirt cheap and the cost of rasing and keeping the tigers wasn’t born by the restaurateur. It occurs to me that $864 might be actually be a justified price for piss-marinated donkey meat considering the health implications of collecting (and working with) the ingredients. I mean, how does one collect enough tiger urine to marinate a donkey?

    Nice kitty! Hold still…

    Thanks to Hose-B for the article.

  • Do you, uh, Yahoo? You’re busted!

    Do you, uh, Yahoo? Not, one would hope, if you’re a Chinese dissident or journalist on the wrong side of the authorities.

    It seems that American technology companies can’t stay out of trouble in China. The last two days has seen widespread coverage of Yahoo!’s alleged implication in the arrest of a Chinese journalist wanted for “releasing state secrets”, which is a euphemism for embarrassing the government, among other things. The BBC has one of the more interesting articles, because it covers the bigger picture without dwelling on the usual shopping list of scare figures, like the 40,000 lurking net monitors (cited in theTelegraph’s coverage – does anyone else notice that number inflating?):

    Yaman Akdeniz is the director of cyber-rights.net, a web-based e-mail service set up in the wake of tighter laws in the UK about the traceability of e-mail communications.

    He advises activists using the web in oppressive regimes around the world to make sure they did not set up accounts with firms which have offices in the country in question.

    “Providers with offices in China have to obey specific rules. We operate in the UK so I don’t have to reply to any requests for information made by the Chinese government,” he said.

    While cyber-rights.net collects no information about its users it is not a completely untraceable way of sending communications.

    If asked by the UK government to supply information in a fraud or terrorist investigation it is likely its parent company Hushmail would comply, even though it is based in Canada and not bound by UK law, said Mr Akdeniz.

    “But if the request was for information about the account of a journalist it is likely it would be more reluctant to comply,” he said.

    I don’t know if Yahoo! is guilty or not, but, as a PR pro, and in the wake of recent scandals concerning the conduct of fellow tech firms Cisco, Google and Microsoft in China, something is clear: there should be a whole category of crisis public relations for tech firms named as complicit in Chinese government censorship or detainments.

    It doesn’t make much difference to those firms’ business in China, of course. For one thing, not many people are likely to hear about it here. But I wonder if it will start impacting technology firms internationally. I think back to noisy, well-organized public campaigns against companies doing business in apartheid-era South Africa, or in Myanmar. So far, the calls against tech firms complicit in censorship (and now arrests) in China have been pretty scattered, and confined primarily to the digerati rather than to the great mass of customers. That might change.

    So far, most of the firms confronted have given variations on the “we comply with the laws of our host country” explanation. This is accurate and understandable, but as a PR holding statement it doesn’t do much to diffuse the perception that western tech firms are knuckling under to a repressive government in search of massive bucks. Just the thing to put college students in a righteous snit. Yahoo! hasn’t issued a statement on this situation that I can find, which is also not a great idea because NGOs like Human Rights Wach and Reporters Without Borders are busy filling the silence.

    I can see the dilemma for big, listed Internet companies. Their shareholders will punish them ruthlessly if they aren’t aggressively pursuing the Chinese market. But to do business in China, they have to submit to the Chinese government, in all it’s capriciousness. These are really media companies – the only foreign media companies allowed to do business here – with real influence over Chinese people and a commensurate level of scrutiny from the authorities. But none of them will dare foresake the market on principles, and that leaves them vulnerable to PR problems whether petty, as in the case of Microsoft’s banning of general words from it’s MSN China Spaces blogging site, or sinister, as in Yahoo!’s possible complicity in an arrest. It doesn’t seem that many of them have thought in advance about how to deal with these problems.

    Sooner or later, these companies are going to have to come up with a better explanation than “just following the law of the land”, or they will end up on the wrong side of a really aggressive, negative PR campaign that will hurt a lot. For the life of me, I can’t think of what that explanation might be; give me some time to work on it. But public statements of principle on matters of free speech and protection of the rights of journalists might be a good start. These are media companies, after all. Manufacturing companies have been down this road with China sweatshops and sketchy contract manufacturers. They’ve had to submit to independent monitoring and create codes of conduct for their contractors. And they’ve been held to account, although not often enough. Could a similar situation arise for the media companies doing business here?

    In the meantime, there is some good advice in the BBC article above. If you’re a Chinese journalist or dissident, perhaps you shouldn’t host your e-mail with a company doing business in China. Perhaps the Electronic Frontier Foundation, an advocacy group for online privacy and anonymity, would care to make some of its very good privacy information available in Chinese.

    Of course, it would probably be blocked…

    Update, Sept 9: And sure enough, Yahoo!’s defence is just as predicted above. From Reuters, via the Australian:

    “Just like any other global company, Yahoo! must ensure that its local country sites must operate within the laws, regulations and customs of the country in which they are based,” Yahoo spokeswoman Mary Osako said in a statement emailed to Reuters by the company’s Hong Kong arm.

    This is meeting the predicable response from Reporters Without Borders, who ask:

    “Does the fact that this corporation operates under Chinese law free it from all ethical considerations? How far will it go to please Beijing?” it asked.

    “It is one thing to turn a blind eye to the Chinese Government’s abuses and it is quite another thing to collaborate.”

    People who read this site know my opinions on the Chinese government’s treatment of journalists and the media. But looking at this strictly from a PR point of view, I think Yahoo! and the other firms will find their “just following the law of the land” defence progressively less tenable. That is because the NGOs and activists targeting them are attacking the morality of the laws that these companies are claiming to comply with. Go back to the apartheid comparison, above. If a company had cited compliance with the law of South Africa in submitting to apartheid, how do you think activists of the era would have responded?

    The explanation still needs to evolve. Expect more trouble ahead.

    Update 2: Other interesting links (both via Peking Duck)
    Angry Chinese Blogger translates the document that got Shi Tao busted. (Proxy link.)
    ESWN dissents on condemnation of Yahoo, although I suspect he will be a voice in the wilderness.

  • Dark table tennis match of the soul

    The Western stereotype of Chinese people, and Asians in general, is that they are inscrutable.

    This is balls. They are as scrutable as anyone else. Thick face, black heart; Art of War; it all feeds the mythology. As one of my colleagues, an experienced China hand, has pointed out, the Chinese themselves and the consultants who make zillions brokering deals for foreigners in China are happy when Westerners see the Chinese as indomitable super-businessmen who cannot be beaten at the negotiating table.

    But it turns out that what many people took for amazing business prowess was simple cultural ignorance, poor preparation and a shaky legal framework that could be exploited by those who knew the ropes. Anyone who thinks the Chinese aren’t emotive has never walked down a street in Beijing. And it turns out that there are plenty of situations in which Chinese people will reveal their inner character.

    One of these situations is during a ping-pong match. This was demonstrated to me during our Autumn company outing yesterday, during which I was challenged to a game by Wendy (not her real name), one of the more recent arrivals to our company.

    Wendy is one of those tiny, irrepressibly cheerful, twenty-something Chinese girls who chirps around the office like a pony-tailed swallow leaving a trail of sparkly effervescence and gossip in her wake. She radiates the kind of relentlessly happy mood that I had previously thought was limited to the hosts of Children’s television shows. But she revealed her inner character to me across that ping-pong table. In reality, Wendy is the The Merciless Serpent Lady.

    The transformation began the moment I stood at the opposite end of the table to receive her first serve. Wendy’s smile remained, but her eyes narrowed dangerously and took on a steely glint as she evaluated me: 85 flat-footed kilos and clutching my paddle the way a three year old might clutch a large lollipop. I was dismissed as unworthy before the match had begun. Wendy, forty kilos dipped in concrete and rolled in chocolate sprinkles, went onto the balls of her feet, folded her paddle oddly behind her wrist, with the face parallel to the ground as though she was hiding it and planning to prestidigitate it mid-swing, turned from the hips so her left shoulder was facing me, and bounced the ball off the table.

    From the moment the ball hit the table, things happened very fast but with stunning clarity, like they do in a car wreck, which is pretty much what I had. The ball floated up from the table. Wendy’s left hand extended out from her body, palm towards me like awuxia master. Her front shoulder dipped and she uncoiled from the hips. Halfway through the turn, the paddle flicked into being from behind her wrist, turning flat towards the ball. When she hit the ball, it ceased to be round and stretched out into an orange blur with a crack that sounded like the noise a housefly might make if it broke the sound barrier on the way from the window to your half-eaten Danish.

    Newton’s second law of motion settled over my body like one of those lead aprons the dentist drapes you in just before he goes and stands behind a concrete wall in the next county while shooting your head full of X-rays so he can justify why he’s going to charge you $500 to drill into your skull. By a coincidence, a lead apron would have been useful to me as the ball drilled into my sternum and dropped to the floor. Wendy’s point.

    And so it went. Wendy, flinty eyed and nimble, slid and shifted like an oiled cobra while I flailed like the Michelin Man on an Army obstacle course. The ball went past me. The ball went through me. The ball ricocheted off my paddle and went into the squash court, onto the foosball table, onto the pool table and into the sink on the far side of the cocktail bar. Final score: some astronomical number to one. I think it was a “face” point so I wouldn’t have to resign from the company. Doubtless that point was thrown to me to prevent inconveniencing the team rather than out of sympathy. During the process, Wendy’s outer personality of “bubbly office girl” was stripped away and I was treated to a glimpse of her real self. The resolve, the pitiless calculation, and the iron will to dominate at all costs. She still had the sparklies, though.

    So I learned a valuable lesson. I’ll never go head-to-head with Wendy across a negotiating table. There is no mercy in her soul. And, when I want to appraise Chinese business partners in the future, I’ll skip the karaoke lounges, godawful banquets and all-night baijiubenders — the usual arsenal of Chinese character tests — and head for the ping-pong table.

    Ping-pong doesn’t lie.

  • Why I empathize with the WSJ’s American expats in Chongqing

    An interesting discussion broke out today on The Peking Duck, in Richard’s post on a Wall Street Journal article on the travails of an American expatriate family living in Chongqing. There was a fair bout of criticism of the family for insulating themselves from Chongqing and China and for moaning about the difficulty of living in Chongqing even as they live all-expenses-paid luxury.

    It’s worth reading the article, posted here on Howard French’s “A Glimpse of the World Blog”. You can also go read the extract on Richard’s blog.

    It made me think a bit about how I perceive “expats” and the expat lifestyle. I spent nine years in Singapore, where only my first job, which lasted for one year, was on an “expat package”. I was pretty well localized by the end of my stay (married to a Singaporean with more Singaporean than foreign friends). In Singapore I became completely contemptuous of foreigners who isolated themselves. But Singapore is a completely accessible city: wealthy, modern, English-speaking and with all the Western comforts you could ever hope to find. (In fact, Singapore often comes in for the opposite criticism, that it isn’t Asian enough, although I think only people who don’t know where to look make that claim.)

    But when I think back to my arrival in Singapore, even it was difficult enough at the time. I remember how thrilled my business partner and I were when we discovered a mass-market Italian restaurant. I remember how akward I felt on public transportation for many weeks. I remember how long it took me to feel like I knew my way around the city. I remember how many dumb mistakes I made managing my staff, and how long it took before I started having good, Singaporean friends.

    And that’s the thing about culture shock. It doesn’t really matter what the amenities are, or if the language is the same. There are degrees. You could be an American moving to England and still be culture shocked. You could move from California to New York and be culture shocked. You could damn well move from San Francisco to Iowa and be culture shocked. It might be less severe than coming to Asia, but it would still happen. And different people with different motivations will react differently to the experience.

    I came to China because I wanted to engage with it. I wanted to feel what it was like, and talk to Chinese people and “have a cultural experience”. I specifically sought out the feeling of discomfort and displacement that I first had when I got to Singapore because I missed the thrill and challenge of discovering someplace new. It has been tremendously rewarding, but also difficult. I invested two years in learning Mandarin before I arrived. I quit a good job to come here and arrived with no guarantee of work. My long-term future will be in Asia, and I will need to have some experience in China. I had every incentive to get into China.

    And yet, even as an Asiaphile with nine years in the region, it was difficult when I arrived. Classroom Mandarin got me almost nowhere on the street. I was scared of the bus, scared of the supermarket, intimidated at the thought of trying to speak to people and generally completely overwhelmed. And I was in a language program surrounded by other Westerners.

    Even today I still seek my Western comforts. I live in an international apartment with cable TV. The Internet is my lifeline. I damned well beat a path to the local Jenny Lou’s because I am incapable of giving up Western breakfasts. And I consider myself pretty culturally resilient.

    Now, what if I had no experience in Asia and no emotional investment in getting under the skin of China? What if I was here solely for professional reasons and knew I was going to leave in two years? And what if I was in Chongqing, a city far less accessible to foreigners than relatively cosmopolitan Beijing? And what if I was desperate to socialize my young Children as Americans?

    I’d probably grow a bunker mentality as well, and concentrate on emerging unscathed. And that’s why I find it hard to criticize the woman in the story.

    Sure, I think it’s a wasted opportunity to come to China and not engage with it as deeply as possible. I love it here. But not everyone seeks the same opportunities and experiences as me. And I can’t be too critical of that.

  • Why American tech companies betrayed me, not China

    American technology companies are helping China censor the Internet. I am angry and disappointed — probably more than the Chinese people actually affected. Yet, in a world full where corporate amorality is often taken for granted, why does this bother me so much? I’ve been trying to understand the reasons for my anger.

    The remaining wisps of my youthful idealism are largely responsible. I started using commercial online services in 1992, and I started building websites in 1994 when I was in grad school. The Internet’s promise as a publicly accessible and democratizing mass medium hypnotized me and dictated the course of my career, into the technology industry, to Singapore and then to China.

    The story of the technology industry’s moral collapse before the gleam of Chinese gold is the story of my commercial coming-of-age. The reason why I am so disappointed by the concessions of Microsoft, Cisco, Google and other complicit companies is that these are the companies of my generation. In my naïve heart of hearts, I hoped they would be different. Different from the oil companies that we somehow naturally expect to do business with sordid governments and wallow in environmental depredation. Different from old industrial giants, the car makers and manufacturers that we linked with rust-belt smokestacks, layoffs and economic decline. Different from the defense companies that were happy to sell weapons to our despotic allies. Different from everything that had come before.

    It didn’t help that I was deeply immersed in the utopian fit of the technology bubble. I was so steeped in the rhetoric of the unstoppable, transformative power of the Internet that I internalized those beliefs and carried them even after the once bright-eyed startups auctioned the last of their Italian furniture. But technology companies still do their best to keep these fantasies alive. To this day, they market to us in the lexicon of freedom and transformation.

    Where do you want to go today? asked Microsoft, suggesting that it could be anywhere you want, and never hinting that they might choose to keep some destinations off limits.Any time, any place, any device, they said, but not any word, they neglected to add.

    Do no evil, lectured Google. The first line of their mission statement: Google’s mission is to organize the world’s information and make it universally accessible and useful.Universally accessible. That’s a nice idea. I wonder if it would work, now that we know Dan Gilmore was wrong all those years ago.

    Our culture drives us to set high standards for corporate integrity and to give back by using our resources for a positive global impact, says Cisco, in explaining their corporate citizenship. But some parts of the globe are impacted more positively than others.

    As a spin-doctor for technology companies I have written words like these myself. I, above all people, should be cynical about them. But I always carried that core of idealism with me. The Internet would be different, I thought to myself, and the people who had founded technology companies, many of them from my cohort, would somehow bring a different set of values than business had previously known. These were the companies of my generation. I had forgotten the core of greed and shallowness that lurked behind the technology industry’s evangelical mask in the terrible years of 1999 and 2000, when we all piously awaited the digital Rapture.

    It was foolish, of course. The system is what it is, and it exerts its own terrible, transformative power, even on the most noble of companies. I had ridden one of those companies myself, a once promising venture in Singapore that crumbled from the inside as we succumbed to our own avarice and desperately pushed numbers around to please investment bankers with fast smiles and empty eyes. In the end we were unemployed, poor and bitter, but wiser. Or so we thought.

    Technology entrepreneurs told us they would transform the world, and they were right. It has been a miraculous decade, and I wouldn’t change what the Internet brings me, especially here in Beijing, so far from my friends and family. But when we heard “transform the world” we only saw the good implied in that statement. Any technology brings its dark side, and we have spent the last five years discovering the Internet’s teeth. A tool for opening minds can be a weapon for closing them, and the arms merchants can turn out to be people we thought we knew.

    So we confront the uncomfortable question of how we expect American companies to represent “our” values. By this, I mean the noble American ideals that we casually throw around in conversation but which are so fiendishly tricky to nail down in practice: freedom, democracy, human rights. The same words that vanished from MSN Spaces in a cloud of dark irony. The depressing reality is that public corporations, as much as they have their place, generally make dismal ambassadors for these ideals. It’s not because they’re evil, or because they are run by bad people. They’re not. It’s simply that the incentives the system creates lead in a direction where idealism is hard pressed to follow. But that doesn’t make the disappointment less bitter.

    Meanwhile, the Chinese will manage without our hand-wringing. They can use the proxies if they want, choose to avoid MSN Spaces, cheerfully internationalize despite the best efforts of the CCP. They’ll wrestle with the problems in their own way. They might discover that there are places besides the Internet where interesting ideas can flow more easily. And if the climate in the US was ever to change, we might someday discover the same thing.

    And that’s why I am so sad, and why it doesn’t matter whether the Chinese themselves care about this or not. It wasn’t about China’s expectations. It was about my own. In the end I wasn’t angry because technology companies had betrayed China. I was angry because they sold out the promise that I fell in love with twelve years ago. They betrayed me.

    Some notes:

    Several recent events made me want to write this. The first is a tightening of control domestic websites and blogs by the Chinese government, most recently with the MII’s website registration act. This is part of a general trend that has also affected mainstream media. (Both of those links from the invaluable Danwei.org, and see also this good storyfrom the UK’s Guardian via Howard French’s “A Glimpse of the World” blog.)

    The second event is the renewed vigor of the Chinese government’s censorship of foreign blogging engines, with Typepad the most recent in a string of victims. The third is the outing of Microsoft’s entirely voluntary attempts to placate China’s censors in advance by preventing the use of the words “freedom”, “democracy” and “human rights” in the titles of posts in the China version of their Spaces blog engine. While the blocking of Typepad has been noticed mostly by bloggers themselves, Microsoft’s move was widely reported and generated scorn and outrage. (Wired; BBC; Financial Times, etc.) Rebecca MacKinnon haswritten a good piece on the overall situation for Yale Global, and it has been picked up by several newspapers. She’s also explored the Cisco situation in some depth.

    The entire trend is part of a worrying regression by the Hu Jintao government (here analyzed by Philip Pan of the Washington Post), long suspected of a somewhat less progressive outlook than that of Jiang Zemin (and there’s an alarming statement). The combined effect has been to call scrutiny to the complicity of American technology companies in China’s strengthening censorship apparatus. We should keep that issue alive.

  • Sanitized For My Protection: Imagethief’s Self-Censorship Policy Explained

    In a recent comment, an old friend of mine posed a very interesting question:

    Do you think much about where the “line in the sand” is for you personally? Just how far can you take criticism of China in your Blog before you potentially attract unwanted attention? While I doubt you would be subject to arrest, being a Caucasian American citizen and thus capable of evoking American political and media attention if such were to happen, you could theoretically be “invited” to leave the country and not return. Do you already impose limits on your rhetoric and subject matter as you write?

    Well, first, let’s not over-estimate the amount of righteous fury that would be provoked by the incarceration of one loudmouthed PR flack. Nevertheless, despite recent post topics, I like to think that my criticism of China is leavened by wonder, appreciation and affection as well. No one is forcing me to stay here, and I wouldn’t be in China if I wasn’t enjoying it. But dewy sentimentality won’t jerk any tears from the apparatchiks down at the Ministry of Information. So, the short answer is, yes, I do impose limits on my rhetoric and on the subject matters that I broach, although perhaps less than I should.

    I don’t worry about being thrown in jail (when that happens it’ll be because the apocalypse has come and all spin-doctors are being put against the wall). I certainly worry about having my website blocked, which is probably the most likely result of transgression. The worst-case would probably be finding my residency and employment permits cancelled. I have not heard of anyone being expelled for blogging. If anyone is aware of confirmed cases, please comment.

    In the spirit of full disclosure, I am going to explain my self-censorship policy. There are three reasons why I self-censor:

    First, I don’t blog anonymously. Maybe this is a mistake. Many people do blog anonymously, including many of the China bloggers that I follow. And some of them aren’t even in China. (For those who want to know how to blog anonymously, the Electronic Frontier Foundation has a guide here.) But as long as I’ve had a website (twelve years now) my name has been on it. And I’ve always felt I ought to be willing to take responsibility for what I wrote. Perhaps I’ll regret that someday.

    Second, China is a good place for a little paranoia. It seems like arrogance to think anyone official would care what I write in this space. But, as I wrote recently, I’ve met journalists here who have been hassled by the authorities. Other bloggers have simply decided that its too dangerous to have an opinion here, and have thrown in the towel. One blogger believes (with some cause) that the Ministry of Information has been lurking about his site. The foreign journalists I know take it as a matter of course that they are under surveillance. And I am a foreigner who deals regularly with both the Chinese and foreign media in the course of my work. That is probably grounds for some caution. On the other hand,searching Technorati for “China” yields 411,780 posts, so what is the chance that I am attracting particular attention? If it is true that China has 30,000 Internet content weasels, I guess the chance is measurable. (The post cited for that widely disputed number is an excellent precis on China’s Internet policies.)

    Third, speaking of my work, it is an issue as well. Since I am not blogging anonymously, I have to consider what will happen if someone from my company stumbles across my blog. Sooner or later, it will happen (if it hasn’t already). This is fraught for a variety of reasons, especially considering my line of work. As one of the company experts on blogging and online media, I wouldn’t have much credibility if I wasn’t blogging myself. But I won’t write anything about my company’s clients unless it is in the most general terms. If I puff them, I destroy my own credibility. If I denigrate them, I betray my obligations as their consultant. It also, to an extent, limits what I can say about PR in China in general. This is a shame, because there are some things that beg to be written about. The only  post I have ever written to completion and then decided against publishing was not a China government or policy post. It was a China PR post.

    I’ve always self-censored to some degree, usually for purely pragmatic reasons. Back in my angry youth, in 1995/6,  I wrote some inflammatory things in the Report from Singapore, my proto-blog on the rise and fall of Games Online. In tiny Singapore, where everybody in a given business knows everyone else and you bump into the same people throughout your career, this could have really haunted me. You never know when someone you scorch will have the influence to ensure that your permanent residency or employment pass doesn’t get renewed. Or simply be interviewing you for your next job. When I republished Report from Singapore on my website, in 1999, I scrubbed the most incendiary material, removed a few real names and softened some ill-considered rhetoric written in the heat of emotional trauma.

    In China, the issue is less one of scorching individuals and more one of irritating the State. So where is my line in the sand? (Or dust, as it is in Beijing.)

    Well, like many blogs, most of mine is either my own opinion or my opinion combined with information freely available on websites not blocked in China (since I can see them). I don’t usually re-publish stuff blocked in China, although there have been occasional exceptions, such as Reporters Sans Frontieres’ statement on Ching Cheong.

    I don’t spend much time on arch-taboo subjects. I don’t generally talk about Tiananmen Square in the 1989 context both because that is a lightning-rod issue and because there are people much better able to comment on it than I am. I don’t talk about certain quasi-religious movements that China has banned (and, as you can see, I have not even mentioned them by name). Sometimes I wish I could, but that seems like a fast road to exile behind the Great Firewall.

    When I first got to China, I published the same assortment of expat-blogger, hayseed abroad “gawrsh!” stories written by every other foreigner who has come to China. (Written, I hope, in my own inimitable style.) That was fine in its time, but the longer I live here, the less of that there is likely to be. Instead I now find myself writing more of the kind of posts you would expect from someone who has been a media professional for nearly fifteen years. I didn’t plan it that way. My interests simply shifted, as did what was happening around me. That has put me pretty squarely on sensitive territory, and I try to respect that. But, as a media pro, how can you ignore the role of propaganda in the recent wave of anti-Japanese nationalism? How can you ignore the arrest of Ching Cheong? How can you ignore the way China represents itself to the world, or to its own people? How can you ignore any of it?

    Unless you are in a coma, to live in China is to wonder, why are things this way? What to the Chinese want? Where is it all going? What are the forces driving it? What the hell am I doing here? I don’t know about you, but I process what I see around me every day by talking about and, especially, by writing about it. If I stopped, I would have to wind iron bands around my head or my skull would explode.

    So will keep posting. And when I feel paranoid, I will remind myself that there are things being written in un-blocked mainstream media that are far more influential and powerful than anything I will lay before my tiny handful of readers. But I will also be mindful that I and my wife live in a society that doesn’t work the same as the USA does. There is no right to freedom of speech here. There is no right to freely access what much of the rest of the world takes for granted. There are taboos. Like a game of digital hopscotch, I must be mindful of how I step around the lines that have been drawn.

    I suspect many of us here do the same.

  • The money weasels catch my scent

    This morning I received my first call from an expat “money manager” since moving to Beijing.

    This is one of the great curses of being an American overseas. In fact, it afflicts all expatriates, but American’s get special treatment due to America’s distinction as the only developed country that taxes its citizens’ global income regardless of where they live.

    One of the great joys of living in Asia is that telemarketing and door-to-door marketing are generally much less of a daily curse than they are in the US. Of course, unstable governments and lethal diseases are more of a curse, but on-balance its a good trade-off.  When I lived in San Francisco barely a day when by when I wasn’t shooing some noble cause off of my doorstep. Widows, orphans, whales, trees, politicians and Jesus all got the door slammed in their face more than once. Jesus got it repeatedly, but only because the Jehova’s Witnesses seem to lack basic learning skills.

    Similarly, you couldn’t sit down for a meal or a Night Court rerun without the phone ringing and an automated voice that sounded like a sexed up version of the nasal computer from Star Trek explaining why my friends would abandon me and my pets would die if I didn’t get an MBNA Visa card.

    This kind of telemarketing didn’t happen in Singapore, where annoying people at home is prohibited by law (as is being nude inside your house while visible to people outside, a law that would have destroyed the very social fabric of my old SF neighborhood, the Castro, where I had a succession of nude-neighbors). In nine years I may have had two people to my front door and one phone call to my home.

    What did happen, however, was endless phone calls to my work number from people representing impressively named “financial consultancies” pitching tax-sheltered, offshore investments based in the Isle of Man, Vanuatu, Lesotho, or some such other godforsaken tax haven. They followed a predictable pattern:

    “Hello, I’m Rick Ramrod from First Global Financial Counselors AG. Is this a good time to talk?”
    “Er, well, I’m just…”
    “Mr. Moss. William. Can I call you William? Are you aware that, as an American, Uncle Sam will hunt you down ruthlessly anywhere on this planet and bleed you bone-dry despite your pathetic attempts cling to some meager fraction of your dismal earnings. Is that how you want to live? Is it?”
    “Look, Mr. Ramrod, I…”
    “Bill –can I call you Bill?”
    “I prefer Wi…”
    “Smashing. Bill, would you have a half-hour to meet with me to discuss tax-sheltered investments? I’m flying into Singapore from Bangkok next Tuesday. I only do this once every eighteen months, when the moon is full and the weaselbane blooms by night. It’s meet me or suffer a lifetime of privation ground beneath the heel of the tax police.”
    “I really don’t…”
    “Splendid! How is 4:30?”

    And so on. After a while you get good at deflecting them. It’s not that tax-sheltered investments are a bad idea for expatriate Americans. In fact, they’re a pretty good idea. I’m sure if I had some money, I’d use them. But there are less-seedy ways to come by them than at the behest of a salesman from a Bangkok boiler-room.

    Since moving to Beijing I had been blessedly free of the overtures of the investment weasels. But it seems I have been discovered. Somehow my name-card has floated into the right pair of oily hands, or I’ve ended up on The List of Beijing expats. So my little pocket of bliss is ended. Because more calls are certainly coming. If there is one thing you can be sure about telemarketers, it’s that they are like roaches. For the one you see, there thousands more hidden in the cupboard, eating your Nilla Wafers and shitting in the Nescafe.

  • The abstraction of diplomacy and the reality of rocks through windows

    From my blog reading, some of the widespread conclusions about the ongoing stream of anti-Japanese protests in China are:

    1. The nominal grievances, Japan’s textbooks that gloss over culpability for wartime atrocities and generally insufficient post-war contrition, are, in reality, minor.
    2. The protests were sanctioned by the state, which is tacitly condoning broad, anti-Japanese sentiment.
    3. There is a whiff of hypocrisy about the whole affair.

    So, rather than a spontaneous outpouring of grassroots sentiment in response to a profound, historical grievance, the facile textbook row is just theatrically blunt diplomacy rooted in grubby, contemporary issues, such as competition over East China Sea gas deposits and Japan’s bid for permanent representation on the UN Security Council.

    Stripping the lingering romance of the heroic Anti Fascist War reduces the protests to messaging, and the protestors to manipulated patsies. The government has decided to send an implicit threat: We have not forgotten and we are still angry. (It’s only implicit at the state level. In published vox populi quotes it’s explicit.) The dismal subtext of the message is that the legacy of the War, six decades later and counting, may still be future retribution.

    Pardon my Outraged Masses
    To engineer its message, the government is indulging in a timeworn bit of political sleight-of-hand. Stoking nationalist fury at Them (in this case, the Japanese) amplifies the diplomatic message, fills an ideological void and deflects activism that might otherwise be focused inconveniently inward. This old chestnut seems to fare particularly well in places where the state has a functional monopoly on public discourse. The refrain is familiar from other times and places: All your miseries are caused by the Catholics, Protestants, Jews, Tutsis, Blacks, Irish, Latin Americans, etc.

    The Chinese government has been careful to stress that its complaint is with the Japanese government, not the Japanese people, but news coverage and official statements are loaded with charged language. (Unfortunately, my language limitations mean that I have to use Xinhua and the China Daily, which are for foreign consumption, as proxies for broader press coverage. I would be interested in hearing if the Chinese language press is the same, better or worse.) Some of the language that has caught my eye in the China Daily in just the past three days:

    “Japan Told to Face Up to Past” (April 13)

    “…whitewashing of its wartime atrocities…”
    “…bad practice and attitude…”
    “…history of aggression…”

    “Japan’s textbook revisions cause for concern” (April 14)

    “… all its killings of civilians, exploiting, especially sexually, of women, brutalities…”
    “… orgy of atrocity…”
    “…the three bloodiest massacres…”

    “Schroeder to Japan: Be self critical of history” (April 14)

    “…heinous crimes…”
    “…wanton slaughtering…”
    “…germ wars…”

    I’ve deliberately pulled these phrases out of context because that is how they work. It doesn’t matter how measured or balanced the language around them is. These are “villain words” that, repeated often enough (the essence of propaganda) will leave a deep impression regardless of efforts to balance coverage or to mitigate the impact by distinguishing between Japanese “rightists” or the government and the population-at-large. Charged words stick. When passions are sufficiently inflamed, the ultimate result becomes the following: Japanese historical crimes + you are Japanese = your crimes.

    Also worth a look are the China Daily editorial cartoons of the past six weeks, several of which invoke Japan. I pulled them together on one web page here [link now dead, see original pages below -WM]. Samurai outfits and Tojo moustaches are caricatures of Japanese militarism (the cartoon featuring Koizumi being notable for its artistic restraint). The depicted attempt to “buy” a Security Council seat reminds me of anti-Semitic propaganda. The thread began on March 9th, well before the demonstrations got going. (The original pages are here: March 9, March 16, March 28, March 30, April 7, April 12.)

    Speaking of anti-Semitism, one sadly recurring outcome of this kind of propaganda is a pogrom. Charged language and imagery can be read as state-sanctioned contempt and, thus, as a license to violence. The Chinese should be sensitive to this situation, as their diaspora has been on the receiving end of this very tactic, most recently in the Indonesian riots of 1999. There is a reason why ethnic Chinese across much of Southeast Asia, who are often the backbone of merchant class, take local names and try very hard to assimilate and keep low profiles.

    This may all sound a bit hysterical, and I don’t think that an actual anti-Japanese pogrom is going to erupt in China, but threats to people and property are escalating on both sides. Furthermore, the attitudes and prejudices that this kind of propaganda teaches do not go away. They just go out of view, to be expressed later as racism, violence and, if we’re particularly unlucky, future policy as another indoctrinated generation assumes power.

    My xenophobes can lick your xenophobes
    Of course the long-term consequences of this will be to drive Japan towards the US and further empower the Japanese right, the very element of Japanese society most likely aggravate Chinese fears. Thus the great circle of self-fulfillment might roll on.

    None of this exonerates the Japanese government, which regularly seems to find ways to irritate neighbors who still remember the war. The Koreans, fellow victims of the Co-Prosperity Sphere and no slouches at nationalism themselves, are also fond of good anti-Japanese demonstration. In the years I lived in Singapore, I encountered many bad memories of the Japanese occupation and much lingering ill will. But no one is guilty of their father’s crime, even if they don’t apologize sufficiently for it, and a regional cycle of nationalism and escalating tension won’t do anyone any good.

    I like to think of myself as an optimist, and I don’t expect a full-scale crisis. But it’s sad that the Japanese foreign ministry has to advise Japanese citizens against travel to China, and it’s worse that the abstraction of diplomacy has already become the reality of rocks through windows. My neighbors are Japanese. They have a three-year-old daughter who is infatuated with my cats and giggles so loudly that I can hear her through the walls. I wonder how they are feeling right now.

    One final China Daily quote, from an editorial published on March 28:

    “It is the young, after all, who urgently need to learn about the falseness of promises offered by nationalism and its romanticization of national glory.

    The truth is, the past never disappears. In fact, it often returns to haunt one.

    It is an unforgivable sin to turn one’s face away from past atrocities while many of the victims are still suffering from the abuse they endured.”

    I couldn’t agree more.

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