The Meaning of China’s Crackdown on the Foreign Press

By Evan Osnos

The Chinese government is threatening to expel nearly two dozen foreign correspondents, working for the Times and Bloomberg News, in retaliation for investigations that exposed the private wealth of Chinese leaders. 

It is the Chinese government’s most dramatic attempt to insulate itself from scrutiny in the thirty-five years since China began opening to the world. 

We won’t know if it’s prepared to follow through on the threat for another week or two, when correspondents’ annual visas begin to expire. 

So far, it has declined to renew them. 

Unless the government changes course, reporters and their dependents will be required to leave the country before the end of the year.
But following through is only part of the point. 

The real purpose is intimidation: to compel foreign news organizations to adopt a more compliant posture in their daily decisions, small and large. 

In attempting to shield themselves from the gaze of the world, the new generation of Chinese leaders has unwittingly provided one of the clearest views yet into their thinking, and their self-perception, as they confront the challenges that will define China’s future.
Before the government threatened to expel the foreign staffs of the Times and Bloomberg, there were already signs that a strategic change was underway. 

As I wrote last month, news organizations are facing a time of reckoning in China. 

The American correspondent Paul Mooney was denied a visa in November, joining a list of other journalists, including Andrew Higgins and Melissa Chan, who have been prevented from entering the country, or forced out, in the past two years. 

Chan, who was working for Al Jazeera English, was the first foreign correspondent expelled in thirteen years. At the time, we did not know what to make of the news; we now know that Chan’s expulsion, in May, 2012, was a milestone, not an aberration.
The present threat to expel journalists unwinds a decision, made five years ago, to signal greater openness to foreign correspondents. 

In 2007, as a condition for hosting the Olympics in Beijing, the Chinese government removed restrictions barring Beijing-based journalists from leaving the capital without prior written permission. 

It was a largely symbolic restraint—reporters travelled anyway—but removing it was symbolic as well, and that was the intent: it was designed to show the world that the host of the Olympics was confident and strong enough to bear whatever journalists might uncover in their wanderings.
Two things seem to have compelled the government to reverse course. 

In 2011, the uprisings in the Arab world unnerved the Chinese government by raising the prospect that the combination of technology, information, and dissatisfaction could undermine even a government that appeared secure to itself and outsiders. 

“If we waver,” Wu Bangguo, a senior official, told a meeting in Beijing in March, 2011, “the state could sink into the abyss.” 

The Arab Spring created a climate of sensitivity, but it was the events of the following year that tipped the balance. 

In 2012, the Times used Chinese records to calculate that the family of Prime Minister Wen Jiabao had acquired a fortune of $2.7 billion during his time in office. 

Bloomberg produced a similar story on the incoming President, Xi Jinping. 

In retaliation, the government took steps to punish the bottom line of both companies: it blocked a Times Web site aimed at Chinese readers, and it ordered financial customers not to buy any new Bloomberg terminals. 

Those measures remain in place.
Before President Xi and the fifth generation of Communist Party leaders took office, last November, China-watchers wondered if he would address his people’s growing appetite for information by giving them a bit more space and bit more truth—to let them blow off steam, and satisfy their sense of slow and steady progress, as a way of preventing more radical change. 

The leaders are choosing the opposite tack: they are seeking to create more economic opportunity but less political and intellectual opportunity. 

Over the course of the past six months, they have narrowed the range of free expression on the Internet and tightened their hold over professors and activists who criticize the government. 

Attempting to chill the activities of the foreign press is the latest step. 

They are betting that their people will tolerate a narrower realm of ideas than they enjoyed a year or two ago. 

That is a risky bet; taking things away from people who have come to expect more does not generally relieve the source of pressure.
China is gradually losing interest in soft power. 

The Party spent much of the past decade seeking to project a more attractive and welcoming image to the world; it placed billboards in Times Square, expanded the reach of its news outlets to broadcast more of its views to Africa and Latin America, and built hospitals, roads, and soccer stadiums in developing countries. Those efforts will continue, but the leadership is signalling that it has concluded being liked is less important than simply surviving. 

I spent some time with a senior Chinese diplomat recently, and when I asked what motivated the threat of expulsion, the diplomat said that the Times and Bloomberg were seeking nothing short of removing the Communist Party from power, and that they must not be allowed to continue. 

That argument surprised me: I had expected a bland procedural defense—this was a blunt expression of fear.
The government is adapting a policy that it has used with other businesses, but it is one that misunderstands the incentives for news organizations. 

For years, China expected foreign companies not to publicly voice their complaints about hacking, or intellectual-property violations, in order to protect their broader interests in the country. 

But over the years, that strategy failed: foreign companies began to complain openly, and the United States government took up their cases. 

News organizations have little reason to keep quiet; unlike a company selling industrial equipment, a company selling news depends, for its survival, on the perception of objectivity and credibility. 

Staying silent was not an option.
In a visit to Beijing on Thursday, Vice-President Joe Biden took up the cause of the foreign correspondents, and in doing so he officially, and rightly, ended the practice of keeping these issues unspoken. 

We will soon know if the Party is prepared to deliver on its threat. 

The deeper meaning of these efforts, however, is already clear. 

The new generation leading China fears that the effort to itemize its financial gains is a story so deep and dangerous that it is worth sacrificing China’s broader goals, at home and abroad, in order to prevent it from being told.

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What Will It Cost to Cover China?

By Evan Osnos

The Chinese Communist Party generated hopeful headlines this month by acknowledging that it faces a time of reckoning: to prevent economic peril and rising unrest, the Party promised to overhaul the economy, to allow more parents to have two children instead of only one, and to end the arbitrary “reëducation through labor” system, among other changes. 

This is an attempt at political inoculation—the Party is betting that giving its people a heavier dose of autonomy will raise their immunity against the full infection of democracy. 

In case there was any confusion about the goal, the Party reiterated its determination to fortify its control of the country and to ward off the influx of values and information that it finds threatening.
Journalism on China is facing a time of reckoning as well. 

The foreign correspondent Paul Mooney, an American who has covered China for the past eighteen years, for Newsweek, the South China Morning Post, and others, has been denied a visa. 

To anyone familiar with his work, the reason is no mystery—it’s outrageous, but familiar. 

He has been one of the most diligent and capable investigators of abuses of power. 

Mooney joins a list of other foreign correspondents—including Andrew Higgins and Melissa Chan—who have been denied entry, or have been forced to leave, in the past two years, because the Chinese government objects to how they do their work.
But the most lasting story about press freedom this week may turn out to be one not yet published. 

Unnamed journalists at Bloomberg News have accused their employer of withholding investigative pieces for fear of offending Chinese authorities. 

For a year, reporters who previously produced award-winning reports from China had been probing ties between a businessman and top leaders in Beijing. 

Then Matthew Winkler, the Bloomberg editor-in-chief, reportedly told his staff that the Party would consider such a story off-limits; in interviews, Bloomberg journalists said that he compared the situation to Nazi-era Germany, where news organizations had censored themselves to maintain access to the country. 

At the same time, Bloomberg has suspended one of its China specialists, Michael Forsythe, the author of the unpublished investigation. (On Tuesday, Forsythe confirmed that he has left the company.) 

And Amanda Bennett, the former executive editor for projects and investigations, whose unit produced many major China pieces, left Bloomberg on Wednesday, saying that she was “most proud of the groundbreaking” work they had published on the family wealth of Chinese leaders.
For thirty years, China’s economy has been growing and transforming, and the foreign press corps has grown and transformed with it. 

In the late seventies, after the Cultural Revolution, when the first American correspondents were permitted to settle in the country, China was so exotic that practically everything was news. 

As recently as a decade ago, the government officially barred journalists from leaving the capital without permission (though they did it, anyway), so reporters often had to rely on furtive dashes to the countryside and scattered glimpses of élite political intrigue. 

They did not have to worry about censorship, per se; unlike Chinese journalists, who could lose their jobs or go to jail if they violated a taboo, foreign correspondents sent their stories over the transom to their publications abroad. 

Sometimes Chinese Embassies noticed a critical piece and pushed it back to the Foreign Ministry, which would summon a reporter and issue a warning against further “misunderstandings.” 

But real consequences were rare.
Today, the story is at once more accessible and more dangerous. 

To cover China is to chronicle the world’s second-largest economy, a rising superpower, and one-fifth of the world’s population. 

China is so central to our economic lives that journalists have had no choice but to engage China with greater technical analysis and precision.
Beginning in 2012, Bloomberg, the Times, and others elevated their reporting on Chinese politics by rooting through documents in order to unravel the hidden beneficiaries of China’s new wealth. 

The rewards were clear: they have ushered in a golden age of foreign correspondence in China, and they have received nearly every honor that the industry offers.
There have been clear costs, too: the Chinese government blocked the Times’ Web site to limit the spread of its stories and to threaten the advertising revenue generated by the Chinese-language service launched in June, 2012. 

In the case of Bloomberg News, it blocked the Web site and ordered Chinese financial institutions not to buy Bloomberg’s terminals. 

And, crucially, it has stopped issuing visas to new journalists applying from those institutions.
Taken together, this is the Chinese government’s broadest effort in decades to roll back unwelcome foreign coverage—and that raises the stakes for news organizations that are struggling to figure out how to handle China. 

Make no mistake, this is not a simple choice. 

At a time when news organizations find their business models under assault, the prospect of taking an expensive stand against a foreign state is unappealing, especially when it might mean giving up their dreams for future growth in China.
But this is a new incarnation of an old and weighty responsibility. 

As foreign correspondents, we have always borne the task of recording the events that journalists in their native countries are not permitted, by circumstance or by force, to record themselves.

In the past, that has often meant documenting war and dissent. 

But in China today it also means documenting the world’s most rapid accumulation of assets, the unwritten rules, the sorting of winners and losers. 

It is a story about power, and it will have global consequences for years to come.
If China denies access to correspondents because of the quality of their work, their colleagues have a responsibility to report that fact as diligently as we have reported on China’s progress over the years. 

Some are calling for countermeasures, such as declaring China’s barriers to journalism trade violations. Others would revive calls to restrict the number of Chinese journalists allowed into the United States.
Bloomberg’s hard-won reputation for groundbreaking work in China took years to establish. 

In the days ahead, reporters and subscribers will be watching to see how the company handles this reckoning: Will it run the stories that it says are active? 

Will it discuss its practice of coding sensitive articles to prevent them from appearing on Bloomberg terminals in China? 

Are there other countries where it exercises that kind of limited distribution?
The story is about more than Bloomberg; it’s about documenting the emerging contest over the values that China will project as a great power. 

The leaders who met in Beijing this month were deciding not simply what reforms to undertake but what of kind of country they want to leave for future generations. 

It is a story that nobody can afford to ignore.

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China’s Intensifying Suppression of Foreign Journalism

By refusing to grant visas to foreign correspondents and by pressuring publications to spike critical stories, Beijing has made it increasingly difficult for reporters to operate in the country.

By Matt Schiavenza

Conditions for foreign journalists in China are arguably worse now than they've been in decades.

In his 18 years as a journalist in Beijing, during which he worked for publications like Newsweek and the South China Morning Post, Paul Mooney went through the same ritual each time he changed employers and needed a new visa. 

He would prepare five clips of his work, carefully selected to avoid sensitive issues, and send them to the Chinese consulate. 

And, each time, the consulate approved his application.
In February, Reuters offered Mooney a job as a features reporter based in Beijing, and, as usual, the journalist prepared his five clips for the consulate. 

But this time, Mooney endured a difficult interview. 

The consulate had prepared specific questions about his work, even mentioning a 2010 interview he gave with Jeremy Goldkorn of the popular blog Danwei. 

Mooney was also asked for his opinion on Chen Guangcheng, Tibet, and other controversial issues. 

“Clearly, they had done their homework,” he said.
A few weeks after submitting his application, Reuters checked with the consulate about Mooney's visa and was told that it was still under review. 

Subsequent checks—done every few weeks—received the same answer. 

Finally, Mooney’s visa was ultimately rejected, and his career in China appears to be over. 

“I am very disappointed,” he told me.
Mooney is only the latest example of a disturbing trend: China’s crackdown on foreign journalists. 

Last year, Melissa Chan, a Beijing-based reporter for al Jazeera, suddenly had her visa canceled, forcing her to leave the country. 

And after Bloomberg News and The New York Times published investigative reports into the wealth of two of China’s top leaders (current president Xi Jinping and former prime minister Wen Jiabao, respectively), the two websites were immediately blocked — and neither company has been able to secure visas for new journalists ever since.
Mooney's visa rejection wasn't even the most depressing China censorship story from the weekend. 

The New York Times reported on Friday that Bloomberg News spiked a long-running investigative report into Wang Jianlin, the founder of the Wanda real estate empire and China’s wealthiest citizen, out of concern that publishing the story would jeopardize Bloomberg’s ability to maintain operations in the country. According to the Times article, Bloomberg News editor in chief Matthew Winkler compared the situation to Nazi Germany, where reporters engaged in self-censorship in order to protect their access. 

Bloomberg’s decision to cave marks a disturbing milestone in Western coverage of China.
The reason for the crackdown is this: In China, the subject of official wealth—and of the murky connections between big business and politics—is a potential source of instability in a country where so many people struggle to get ahead. 

And while only a small percentage of the population can read English-language newspapers, Melissa Chan told me that the Times and Bloomberg exposés still resonated inside China, where many people learned about the stories from relatives in the Chinese diaspora.
Even still, for a Chinese government concerned about soft power, and whose state-owned media companies have recently opened large bureaus abroad, this crackdown is puzzling. 

The fact that China makes life difficult for foreign journalists is more damaging to the country’s international public relations than reports on the cozy relationship between money and politics, an issue in just about every other country in the world. 

So why does China bother?
The simple answer is this: because it can. 

Over the past decade, many Western media companies have increased their coverage of China through expanded bureaus and dedicated sections; in the last two months, for example, both The New York Times and BBC launched blogs devoted to the country. 

This investment reflects China’s growing significance as a player in international affairs—China is clearly a subject that demands attention. 

But as a result, this has given China more leverage over the foreign media than it once had.
Paul Mooney told me that he doesn’t believe China will ever manage to squelch all foreign coverage of the country, and in many ways this is truly a golden era for China reporting; from major newspapers to personal blogs, people are providing more valuable insight into the People’s Republic than ever before. 

But only major, well-funded publications have the ability to underwrite the sort of ambitious investigative reports that shed new light into the inner workings of the Chinese government. 

To see Bloomberg News, one of these organizations, reportedly cave to pressure (to protect its access to the country and its lucrative news terminal business) is depressing, especially since, as Emily Parker, a senior fellow at the New America Foundation, told NPR, the Bloomberg incident is likely not isolated.
The implications of this trend go far beyond just the media. 

For years, foreigners have employed a comforting fantasy about China’s trajectory, which is that as the country grows wealthier and more powerful, its norms regarding press freedom will coalesce with “ours.” 

And, in a roundabout way, technology has brought about this process: Platforms like Sina Weibo and WeChat, as well as the explosion of cheap smartphones among China’s middle class, have eroded Beijing’s ability to monitor all forms of speech and expression in the country. 

But, according to Mooney, who has written about the country since the early 1980s, the Chinese government has become more reactionary and conservative with each successive change in leadership. 

Far from leading to liberalization, China’s continued growth has only convinced the Communist Party that their approach to media control has been correct all along.
For journalists operating in China, this is chilling news. 

Unlike their Chinese counterparts, foreign writers have traditionally been able to report whatever they’d like, and, for the most part, this privilege still exists. 

But the recent crackdown has changed the equation. 

Journalists who report on human rights issues, like Paul Mooney, now face the prospect of expulsion from the country, or worse; the family of Mike Forsythe, the Bloomberg journalist who reported on Xi Jinping’s wealth, reportedly received death threats following publication. 

Given these possibilities, it wouldn’t be surprising if a new generation of China-based reporters practiced self-censorship, however subtly, in order to preserve their livelihood.
As for Mooney, his career will continue—Reuters is apparently deciding on a new assignment for him. 

But China’s refusal to grant him a visa—ironically, on the country’s “Journalist’s Day”— marks an abrupt end to a career spent illuminating the country, and its most contentious, sensitive issues, to foreigners.

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Western Media In China: Adjusting To The 'Anaconda'

China has growing leverage over those who rely on the country for revenue or their livelihoods. All American organizations — including universities, publishers and Hollywood movie studios — are under pressure not to offend the Chinese Communist Party and will curtail their behavior to avoid conflict.

by FRANK LANGFITT

Bloomberg staffers say editors spiked a story that exposed financial ties between a tycoon and family members of top Chinese officials.

Last weekend was a bad one for foreign reporting in China.
Staffers at Bloomberg News accused their own editors of spiking an investigative story to avoid the wrath of the Communist Party, and the wire service Reuters confirmed Chinese officials had denied a visa application for a hard-hitting reporter after an eight-month wait.
Bloomberg staffers told The New York Times that editors had spiked a story that exposed financial ties between a tycoon and family members of top Chinese officials. 

Sources said Bloomberg Editor-in-Chief Matthew Winkler defended the decision, comparing it to foreign correspondents who self-censored to avoid getting kicked out of Nazi-era Germany.
Winkler denied the accusations, saying the story — and another about the children of senior Chinese officials employed by foreign banks — are still active.
Contacted by NPR, a Bloomberg spokesman would only say: "We have high editorial standards and these stories were not ready for publication. Any suggestion they didn't run for any other reason is absurd."

The Financial Times, however, published contents of an email it obtained suggesting Bloomberg editors were keen on the investigation as of late September.
"The story is terrific," wrote Bloomberg Managing Editor Jonathan Kaufman, according to the FT. 

"I am in awe of the way you tracked down and deciphered the financial holdings and the players. It's a real revelation. Looking forward to pushing it up the line."
Allegations that Bloomberg was spiking an expose appear to have first surfaced publicly in an unlikely place, a satiric, online Chinese-language video.
Next Media Animation, a Taiwanese company known for videos that mock the Communist Party, put out a scathing one on this episode.

A Broader Issue
But Emily Parker, a senior fellow at the New America Foundation, a Washington, D.C., think tank, says accusations of self-censorship go far beyond this one case.
"I think there is going to a tendency to really pounce on Bloomberg and to say: 'Shame on them and how could they do this?' " says Parker, who has written about self-censorship in China and has just finished writing a book on the Internet and social media in China, Russia and Cuba. 

"I don't really think that's the most positive way to discuss this story, because I think what's clear is that this is a much larger phenomenon."
Parker says all kinds of organizations — including universities, publishers and Hollywood movie studios — are under pressure not to offend the Communist Party and will curtail their behavior to avoid conflict.
Parker says Perry Link, a well-regarded China scholar at the University of California, Riverside, described it best in a 2002 essay for the New York Review of Books.
"The Chinese government's censorial authority in recent times has resembled not so much a man-eating tiger or fire-snorting dragon as a giant anaconda coiled in an overhead chandelier," Link wrote.
Link said the anaconda didn't have to set limits, or even move — its mere presence was enough to make people limit their own behavior.
"Everyone in its shadow makes his or her large and small adjustments — all quite 'naturally,' " Link wrote.

Repercussions For Sensitive Stories
Sometimes, the anaconda strikes.
Both Bloomberg and The Times did prize-winning investigations last year documenting more than $3 billion worth of hidden wealth controlled by the family members of top officials.
China's government was furious. 

It responded by blocking the companies' websites — costing The Times millions of dollars in advertising revenue on a new Chinese-language platform — and denying some visas.
Bloomberg also lost money on its core business, selling financial information through the firm's computer terminals.
"I think as China gets more powerful and as more and more people have vested interests there, it's going to be harder and harder to kind of speak out independently," says Orville Schell, a journalist and author who runs the Center on U.S.-China Relations at the Asia Society in New York. 

Schell says China has growing leverage over those who rely on the country for revenue or their livelihoods.
"Every media outlet must cover China to be in the big top," Schell says. 

"If they get precluded, and this is true of individual journalists as well, whole careers can be completely destroyed if you can't get access."

A Visa Denied
The most recent correspondent to be precluded is Paul Mooney, who had worked in Beijing for 18 years, reporting on staff for various publications, including Newsweek and Hong Kong's South China Morning Post.
Earlier this year, Reuters hired Mooney, who's written extensively on sensitive issues, such as human rights, child labor and conditions in Tibet.
Mooney says Chinese officials spent an hour and a half interviewing him as part of his visa application at the consulate in San Francisco. 

They asked about his views on Tibet. 

They even quoted from interviews he'd given.
At the end, Mooney recalls, they said, "'We hope that — if we give you the visa — that you'll report more objectively in the future.' And to me, this is outrageous that a government would suggest something like this to a foreign reporter, that we have to report the way they want us to report. Otherwise, we won't be welcome."
Chinese officials told Reuters last Friday — which happened to be National Journalists Day in China — that Mooney would not get a visa. 

They gave no reason.
Mooney has company. 

Last year, China expelled Melissa Chan, a reporter for Al-Jazeera English, who had embarrassed the government with reports about secret detention centers, known as black jails, and forced abortions.
Mooney thinks his visa rejection will affect other reporters.
"They are all going to be thinking about this when they go out and do their next stories that if I write about sensitive political issues, am I going to get my visa renewed?" Mooney says. 

"I think it's going to send a chill down some people's backs."
Mooney says one solution to the pressure foreigner reporters face in China lies with foreign governments. 

In 2011, more than 800 Chinese nationals came to the United States on international journalist visas, known as I visas, according to U.S. Customs and Border Protection.
"If the U.S. government reciprocated by sitting on a handful of visas for Xinhua News Agency, or CCTV or the People's Daily," says Mooney, "I'm sure that within a week all the problems we're having with visas would be solved."
In 2011, California Republican Dana Rohrabacher introduced a bill to that effect, but it hasn't gone anywhere on Capitol Hill. 

Mooney says when he raises the idea of visa reciprocity, U.S. diplomats are reluctant to retaliate against Chinese reporters. 

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