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Donald Worster urges historians to stop separating culture from nature
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Actually, editors tend to be punished more severely than authors, some of whom are public figures. But nowadays, even editors don’t get disciplined as often as they used to. If the Propaganda Department decides to ban a book, it simply orders the publisher to stop shipping it and to destroy its printing plates. This robs the publisher of the capital already invested in the book, and the economic loss alone is enough to deter most publishers from bringing out an “offensive” book again.
Self-censorship is a necessity for most Chinese writers. There’s the saying, “If you eat others’ food, you cannot talk back to them,” which describes the writers’ existential condition. Many of them belong to the Writers’ Union, the official literary association that has a branch in every province and every major city. Some draw a salary directly from the union, while the majority hold jobs in state-owned cultural, educational, and legal institutions. That means most of them depend on the state for their livelihood. About the intellectuals, Mao Zedong often remarked, “If they don’t listen to us, we won’t give them food.” This kind of dependence on the state for one’s physical existence has handicapped Chinese writers and artists and intensified their self-censorship. Worse, China’s literary apparatus automatically excludes and isolates writers who are determined to exist outside it. Every now and then, some young writers raise a war cry against the Writers’ Union, but the truth is that most writers, old and young, are eager to join it.
Besides the state-owned publishing houses, some small, privately operated businesses have emerged in recent years. These are called the “second channel.” Some also pirate books by domestic and foreign authors. To bring out a book legally, a second channel publisher must get an ISBN, but GAPP makes that very difficult. So, sometimes, private publishers buy leftover ISBNs from state-owned publishers. At the moment, the second channel seems to be withering, and it has always been at a disadvantage. Its publishers are also intimidated by the authorities, and few dare to bring out politically sensitive books.
In the summer of 2004, Yuan Hongbing, a Chinese writer, defected to Australia, taking with him four fiction manuscripts. After Yuan’s novels were published abroad, some top Chinese leaders were flustered. Luo Gan, director of the Politics and Law Committee of the Chinese Communist Party at the time, went so far as to give orders to punish with a death sentence whoever dared to pirate the books. Li Changchun, a member of the Standing Committee of the Political Bureau, who is in charge of ideology, issued the following directive: “The General Administration of Press and Publications, the Border Police, and Customs must work closely to prevent Yuan Hongbing’s novels from being smuggled into the mainland. We must ponder about this phenomenon: For many years our party has spent a great amount of manpower, money, and material resources in bringing up many writers, but our writers have not created any work that can trump Yuan Hongbing’s fiction artistically.” Regardless of whether Li was capable of literary judgment, he did raise a serious question for the party. The answer is clear and simple: The system of harsh censorship has crippled and “sterilized” the writers and artists who exist within its field of force.
Facing such crippling power, few writers can remain unaffected. I had halfheartedly signed my five book contracts with the Shanghai publisher, knowing the agreement might fall through at any time. This lack of faith, however, enabled me to see the predicament of writers and artists in China. Some have become cynical, and few are willing to run any risk and take up significant work that requires long and wholehearted devotion. Many have worked on ancient subjects, seeking a safe living in “the musty tomes of history.” That is why there are so many TV plays, movies, and books based on ancient legends and about emperors and historical figures.
During his visit to the United States in 2006, President Hu Jintao said at the White House in response to a reporter’s question: “We always believe that without democracy there will be no modernization.” This admission dovetails with the dissident Wei Jingsheng’s call, in 1978, for the Fifth Modernization—democracy—as an addition to Deng Xiaoping’s Four Modernizations. For that, Wei was imprisoned for 15 years. If the Communist Party is sincere about advocating democracy as President Hu averred, it should take steps to reduce the power of its Propaganda Department and eventually disband it. This would be an effective way to guarantee the Chinese people freedom of speech, which is a key component of basic human rights and without which any talk about democracy is mere rhetoric.
Rigid censorship not only chokes artistic talent but also weakens the Chinese populace, who are forced to be less imaginative and less inventive. The crisis in education has been a hot topic in China for years. Why are so many Chinese students good at taking tests but poor at analytical thinking? Why are many Chinese college graduates less creative and innovative than college graduates in the West? Besides the commercialization of education, the absence of a free, tolerant environment has stunted the intellectual growth of students and teachers. People often ask how many great original thinkers and artists modern China has contributed to the world, and how many original products China has created on its own. Very few, considering that the country has 1.3 billion people. True, China is richer than before, but its wealth relies on duplicating and emulating foreign products. Such wealth is temporary and will dwindle away. Without its own original cultural and material products, a country can never stay rich and strong. In other words, the real wealth a country has is the talent of its people. In the case of China, the way to nurture that talent is to lift the yoke of censorship.
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