The Chinese Wall
It separates reality from wishful thinking in the West.
Nov 24, 2008, Vol. 14, No. 10 • By ELLEN BORK
China's Great Train
The China Price
Empire of Lies
Last March, the largest demonstrations against Chinese rule since the late 1980s took place in Lhasa and spread beyond the boundaries of the official "Tibet Autonomous Region" to neighboring Tibetan areas in neighboring provinces. The Chinese responded by arresting and prosecuting monks, vilifying the Dalai Lama, and launching a campaign of political indoctrination.
With the Olympics only months away, the suppression briefly focused attention on China's policies since its occupation in the 1950s. As a concession to international protests, Beijing agreed to a meeting with representatives of the Dalai Lama--though its policies toward Tibet remain unchanged. In addition to religious persecution, these include massive population transfers of Han Chinese and infrastructure projects.
One of the most grandiose of these projects is the Qinghai Tibet Railroad, linking Lhasa to Beijing, and the subject of China's Great Train. First conceived by Mao, the railroad is more political imperative than commercial proposition. China's leaders hope it will help them secure Tibet's international borders, subjugate the Tibetan Buddhist population, and extract abundant natural resources.
Here are the elements of a great story. An audacious construction project requires innovation in a harsh environment. The builders must find a way to secure tracks on top of unstable permafrost. The head engineer nearly drowns in quicksand. Altitude sickness kills at least one worker, after which China stops disclosing deaths. The locals hardly benefit. Few Tibetans find work on the railroad, towns are relocated, and the landscape and culture are degraded.
Unfortunately, the narrative proceeds in a disjointed way, culminating in an anticlimactic journey to Lhasa on the train. The awkward writing distracts from the compelling and urgent problems faced by Tibetans and those who wish to help them resist Beijing's destruction of their culture and society.
The China Price tackles a subject Americans take even more seriously than the oppression of Tibet: cheap Chinese imports. This is a tightly written, thoughtful account of the working conditions and economic incentives behind China's production of consumer goods for overseas markets. Alexandra Harney resists relying on caricatures--enslaved workers toiling around the clock, happy to earn a Yuan--but some stock villains do make an appearance, such as the unscrupulous factory manager who dupes Wal-Mart's obtuse (or worse) inspector with a "shadow factory" set up near the real one, complete with phony timecards and other faked evidence of compliance with labor standards. Wal-Mart and other manufacturers come in for more sympathetic treatment when Harney explains the complex problems companies face in monitoring their operations, and the contradictory outcomes well-intentioned efforts sometimes produce.
To report The China Price Harney bunked in a dormitory with young women who traveled from their rural hometowns, with little money and no skills, to find jobs in boomtowns. They are indefatigable in the face of long hours and spartan living conditions, probably because their prospects at home are so poor. With little to lose, Harney argues, this generation of migrant workers, the second since the beginning of China's economic reforms, is savvier about their options, and more assertive. One excellent chapter deals with a struggling human rights movement, which tries to use existing laws and regulations to secure compensation for horrendous
"The balance of power, long tilted in favor of factories," Harney concludes, "has begun to shift slightly, but inexorably, toward labor." Maybe--but she goes too easy on the central authorities, whom she criticizes mainly for lax oversight of local officials rather than for a one-party Communist system that (among other things) jails labor and anticorruption activists.
Guy Sorman does not neglect the Communist party in Empire of Lies, a bracing, polemical, and encyclopedic account of its pathologies, among which are corruption, forced abortion, and social unrest. During a recent year-long trip to encounter "representative[s] of the present debate between the authoritarian power structure and its opponents," Sorman meets with dissidents, religious believers, Tibetans, and others who belie the conflation of China with the Communist party that pervades much thinking about China in the West.
Western policy is premised on the notion that economic growth will lead inexorably to reform. On a visit to a party school in Shanghai, Sorman asks about human rights and government accountability: "The Party listens to the people and addresses all of their concerns," the school's head tells him. "Western style democracy would mean going backward for China." When Sorman's interpreter wonders (out of earshot) if the cadres really believe such nonsense, he tells her that "the Party's real thinking and the training that it imparts have less to do with content than with the incessant repetition of these circumlocutions."
Sorman places his hopes with the many dissidents he meets, such as Ding Zilin, who for nearly 20 years has been trying to make the government accountable for the 1989 massacre of democracy protesters, including her son; a leading lawyer in the human rights defense movement; and Liu Xia, an artist married to a dissident intellectual who calls herself a Jew to identify herself with victims of another totalitarian regime.
Ellen Bork works on human rights at Freedom House.