The Transparent Chinese

By MURONG XUECUN
Murong Xuecun, the pen name of Hao Qun, is the author of “Leave Me Alone: A Novel of Chengdu.” This article was adapted from a speech delivered in New York on Nov. 14 at a symposium on surveillance, co-sponsored by PEN America.

BEIJING — About once a month, Hao Jian is politely asked by the police “to have a cup of tea.” 

He knows it wouldn’t be prudent to say, “No thank you.”
A government critic and professor at the Beijing Film Academy, Mr. Hao signed Charter 08, a 2008 manifesto modeled on Charter 77, the 1977 document that helped usher in the end of one-party rule in Czechoslovakia. 

He has participated in forums about democracy and the 1989 Tiananmen Square massacre, where his cousin died from a bullet wound.
The police tap his phone, read his email and follow him. 

On special occasions, like for several months after Liu Xiaobo was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in 2010, the government forbids him to leave China. 

“To me, your life is totally transparent,” a police officer told Mr. Hao during one of his recent chats.
Among my acquaintances and friends like Hao Jian, dozens are compelled to lead transparent lives. 

And in addition to government critics, the authorities watch organizers of church services held in private homes, Falun Gong practitioners and simple petitioners. 

No one knows how many people are under surveillance. 

We can’t even be sure which agency oversees that daunting task.
The Edward J. Snowden affair finally raised a chilling question for the whole world: How much privacy do citizens have to give up for the sake of public security? 

For us Chinese, this question is slightly different: How much privacy do we have to give up for the sake of the government’s security?
China is blanketed with surveillance cameras. 

They have been installed on most streets, in supermarkets and in classrooms. 

The official purpose of this growing network — known as Skynet — is often described as “law-and-order management.” 

But high-profile crimes — like the murder of an infant in a stolen car in Jilin Province earlier this year — suggest that the cameras have little to do with fighting crime: The costly camera network was criticized by the public for failing to find a suspect in that case.
By contrast, the surveillance system worked perfectly when targeting Li Tiantian, a Shanghai-based human rights lawyer. 

According to Ms. Li, security officials tried to show her boyfriend video footage of her walking into a hotel with other men, suggesting she was unfaithful. (He refused to watch it.)
The main purpose of the surveillance, of course, is control and intimidation. 

For almost a decade, “weiwen,” or “maintaining social stability,” has been the government’s public mantra, but this pursuit is simply a way to justify the Communist Party’s hold on power. 

“Stability” has been deemed more important than education, health care and even national defense. 

In the 2012 government budget, expenses for domestic security exceeded $111 billion, compared with a defense budget of $106 billion.
Wang Lijun, the former police chief of Chongqing who is in prison for seeking refuge in a U.S. Consulate in 2012, among other crimes, gave a glimpse of how the surveillance power is abused. 

He boasted in 2010 that his city’s surveillance system had identified 4,000 “unwelcome” people who had entered Chongqing around the time of Chinese New Year. 

Most of them were found and forced to leave the city within hours.
Yet most Chinese citizens seem unconcerned about living transparent lives. 

Even on social media, the most open opinion platform in China, few people question the legality and necessity of the extensive surveillance network. 

A survey conducted in 2012 among students in Central China Normal University showed that only about 55 percent of them were opposed to the installation of cameras in dormitories.
As an outspoken writer, I have become paranoid. 

I often suspect that I am being followed and videotaped, but I have no way of proving it. 

I occasionally turn around to see if the police are nearby. 

When I sit down at a café with friends, I often cannot help checking under the table for a listening device.
My internal battle to fight off the constant fear of not knowing what could happen to me at the hands of the government affects my judgment. 

I don’t know if this has affected my writing. 

Intuition tells me it hasn’t, but I have trouble trusting my intuition. 

It is the breakdown of trust — trust of oneself, trust of others — that is the worst consequence of living a transparent life.
At a party a few months ago, I witnessed one friend accusing another of being an agent for the Communist Party. It was not an isolated incident. 

I cannot avoid the thought that among my acquaintances someone is spying on me. 

I tell myself to be sincere with everyone, but my sincerity is frequently mixed with caution.
People under surveillance often cannot help look for ulterior motives behind ordinary social interactions. 

We are cautious when interacting with strangers. 

If a conversation with a stranger is inevitable, we tend to avoid speaking our minds. 

We fear whatever we say may be used against us. 

A friend recently told me that he has not made a single good friend in the past few years because it is difficult for him to trust people.
The Chinese government talks about building a “harmonious society.” 

But how can a society become truly harmonious if surveillance cameras are everywhere and everyone has to live with suspicion and fear? 

What kind of lives can we lead without trust?

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The Limits of China’s Surveillance State

By Gabe Collins

The recent attacks point to a future in which repression alone will no longer be enough to guarantee stability.
Violence in Xinjiang appears to be worsening significantly, despite Beijing’s large commitment of money and manpower to build a comprehensive surveillance apparatus intended to preempt social disorder. 

China now spends at least $111 billion per year nationwide on internal security – nearly as much as its reported 2013 military budget of approximately $114 billion.
Yet 2013 has been among the most violent years in the past decade in Xinjiang, with some data showing that at least 189 people – mostly Uyghurs – have been killed in violent confrontations with government forces since March, with many others left injured. 

More disturbingly, Xinjiang’s troubles seem to be metastasizing into other parts of China, a dynamic the authorities have worked hard to prevent.
On October 28, an SUV driven by a Uyghur man and containing two members of his family rammed into a crowd at Tiananmen Square, killing two tourists. 

The vehicle’s occupants then lit themselves on fire. 

The Tiananmen suicide attack and the rising tide of violence in Xinjiang itself suggest that in the face of determined adversaries, China’s well-manned and generously funded surveillance systems and repressive apparatus are not nearly as effective at preempting unrest as Beijing would like them to be.
Indeed, the fact that the Party stripped the senior military commander for Xinjiang, Gen. Peng Yong, of his position in the regional party’s Standing Committee less than a week after the Tiananmen attack suggests Beijing believes a senior official had to be sacrificed for significant security failures. 

Gen. Peng’s position was likely already weak due to the turmoil that has afflicted Xinjiang for much of this year.
Before delving into the strategic implications of surveillance limitations, let us take a quick look at what the parameters of the system look like today. 

China now may employ as many as two million Internet watchers to aid official censors. 

On the physical side, China has an ominously national program called “Skynet” (a name that will no doubt disconcert fans of the Terminator movies) that aims to increase the number and capabilities of surveillance cameras.
Beijing itself is leading the way. 

For those walking or driving in Beijing (and a growing number of other Chinese cities), the operative phrase increasingly is “smile, you’re on camera.” 

Beijing now reportedly has at least 800,000 CCTV cameras, according to Wu Hequan, Secretary General of the Chinese Academy of Engineering. 

As such, in each Tiananmen Square-sized block (roughly 270 meters by 380 meters), one can expect to find an average of 60 CCTV cameras.
In practice, strategic portions of the city – main streets, government sites, and landmarks like Tiananmen Square – will have much higher surveillance camera densities. 

So the Uyghurs who drove into the Square and self-immolated most likely passed hundreds of cameras, if not more, in the final kilometers of their journey. 

Yet despite running this gauntlet of cameras, web watchers, phone taps and police on the street, they were not discovered until they had entered one of the CPC’s most important sites, run down sightseers, and lit their SUV – a white Mercedes Benz – on fire.

If the car had been carrying explosives or struck a more crowded part of town, things could have been much worse.
Beijing clearly sees its growing surveillance systems as a tool for cracking down on separatist movements. 

In November 2012, The Telegraph reported that Chinese security forces intended to use a network of surveillance cameras to help end self-immolations by Tibetan protesters and that police could be on scene within two minutes after undesired activities were spotted by CCTV cameras. 

While public accounts of how video surveillance technologies are used with respect to Xinjiang are elusive, we can note that within the past month, Chinese authorities have detained at least 139 people in Xinjiang, accusing them of using the Internet to spread jihadist ideas.
At present, China may have as many as 30 million security cameras installed around the country. 

Its cities seem to be bent on adding more as quickly as possible, while enhancing their capabilities. 

For instance, Chinese cities such as Dongguan are now working to create “Smart Skynets” to improve surveillance capacity.

Strategic Implications
The Tiananmen attack will likely prompt the Chinese security agencies to take a “tactical” approach and push for installing more cameras and upgrading their technology and capabilities. 

These measures would likely include adding facial recognition software to more camera systems as well as integrating systems with one another.
However, there is a real risk that focusing heavily on technical security measures will fail to yield the security enhancements Beijing desires. 

Consider the fact that even in high-security prisons worldwide, where virtually every movement and activity is watched by guards and security cameras, drugs still get smuggled in, weapons still get made, and inmates still regularly get attacked and even killed. 

In short, where there is a will there is a way, and the limits of surveillance as a pre-emptive tool are rapidly exposed.
It increasingly appears Beijing’s longstanding “strike hard” policies in Xinjiang have not broken the will of the Uyghurs to resist, and in fact may have actually increased the ranks of those willing to openly challenge Han dominance in the region. 

The rising crescendo of violence in Xinjiang suggests that among certain segments of the Uyghur population, the wall of fear that Beijing has worked so assiduously to construct over the past 20 years may be cracking. If true, this is a serious problem because it may portend a cycle whereby violence triggers repression and tighter repression begets additional violence.
Uyghur insurgents will not be able to obtain guns domestically, but Xinjiang lies next door to several Central Asian states where borders are porous and weapons plentiful. 

However, another weapon in the insurgents' arsenal is likely plentiful in Xinjiang’s many farming areas: ammonium nitrate fertilizers that can be used to make simple, but deadly improvised explosive devices (IEDs), a technique pioneered by the Taliban in Afghanistan. 

State capacity in the region is also generally low, especially with regard to Afghanistan and Pakistan, who cannot even effectively manage their internal affairs, much less ensure border security in remote regions. 

The likely result: Beijing will be forced to invest further in securing the border from the Chinese side.
Xinjiang’s rich natural resource bounty is also at risk of insurgent attacks. 

Insurgents in other countries such as Colombia, Iraq and Yemen have made a habit of targeting energy infrastructure. 

Xinjiang’s rail network, growing number of oil & gas pipelines, and planned long-distance power lines intended to supply electricity to Central and Eastern China are all potentially at risk. 

Should insurgents decide to leverage the province’s remoteness and the difficulty of constantly watching hundreds of kilometers of vital infrastructure and begin attacking it, Beijing could have a real problem on its hands. 

Such attacks would be increasingly disruptive to the national economy as Xinjiang’s energy suppliers become more deeply entwined with consumers further east.
Beijing will not lose control of Xinjiang in the scenarios described above, but there is a rising risk that it will have to devote far more manpower and funds to maintaining security and control – a long term “surge” that turns into yet another tax on the country’s economy. 

As the country’s economy levels off onto a lower growth trajectory, China is likely to increasingly face not just “guns versus butter” tradeoffs but also “guns versus guns” as internal security concerns compete with the externally focused military services for budgetary resources.
The increased instability in Xinjiang has truly national security implications. 

China has other restive border areas such as Tibet, less violent than Xinjiang but which still command significant attention and resources from the security services. 

This situation is likely to worsen when the Dalai Lama passes from the scene with no heir apparent. 

Most importantly, the trouble Beijing is having containing the actions of what amounts to probably a few thousand true Uyghur separatists who are actually willing to take up arms suggests that serious economic disruptions in coming months and years could trigger social disorder that even the current muscular repression apparatus could not contain. 

A number of foreseeable events – a severe debt or real estate crisis, say – could rapidly trigger a time of economic reckoning in China. 

Moreover, a complex multi-trillion dollar economy such as China’s holds meaningful potential to produce various types of economic “black swan” events that could prove at least as disruptive as the foreseeable ones.
If tens of thousands of security cameras, two million internet monitors, and large internal paramilitary forces cannot resolve and contain the problems in Xinjiang, how would they cope with potentially millions of angry citizens roiled by economic problems? 

A gaping socioeconomic divide helps fuel violence in Xinjiang and such gaps exist elsewhere in China as well, raising the specter of additional attacks throughout the country as unhappy groups without a real political voice turn to violence as an outlet for their grievances. 

Indeed, on November 6, multiple bombs in the coal-mining center of Taiyuan killed one person and injured at least eight. 

China may be in for a new trend of metastasizing violence that originates in the ethnic minority borderlands, but comes to affect Han interests around the country. 

If Beijing is forced to more tightly control people movements, vehicle movements, and access to basic dual-use goods such as nitrate fertilizers, the resultant “terrorism tax” would have profound effects on trade and economic activity.
China’s leadership has proven smart and capable, but the current problems emanating from Xinjiang increasingly point to a future in which repression alone will not be enough. 

Beijing’s likely near-term solution will be to do everything it can to prop up growth, but the financial and policy measures required to do this simply raise the stakes down the road. 

Zhongnanhai faces an unenviable and complicated set of decisions as it grapples with rising domestic unrest.

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Tiananmen crash: Terrorism or cry of desperation?

• Chinese government has created a police state within Xinjiang
• Crude instruments used in attack suggest not work of well-organized group
• No evidence Uyghurs involved substantively in a global Muslim militant movement.
• Claims of a Uyghur terrorist threat maybe becoming a self-fulfilling prophecy.

By Sean R. Roberts

Oppressive occupiers: Chinese anti-terrorism force holds exercises in Hami, in northwest China's Xinjiang region in July.

The events on Beijing's Tiananmen Square that resulted in the death of five people and the injury of dozens more were tragic, but are they representative of a serious terrorist threat to the Chinese state as is now being suggested by official sources?
According to Chinese security organs, this act of driving a jeep into a crowd of people and setting it on fire was a "carefully planned, organized, and premeditated" terrorist attack carried out by a group of Uyghur Islamic extremists from Xinjiang Province.
Unfortunately, given the lack of transparency historically in the Chinese state's conviction of Uyghurs on charges of political violence, we may never know whether this characterization of Monday's events is accurate.
What we do know is that Chinese security organs claim that the attackers in the truck, all of whom died, were a Uyghur man, his wife, and his mother. 

Additionally, Chinese state sources claim to have arrested an additional five suspects in connection with the alleged plot.
Were these alleged attackers members of a cell belonging to a large transnational Jihadist network like Al-Qaeda? 

Are they representatives of a well-organized militant movement like Al-Shabaab, which recently led an armed hostage-taking operation at a mall in Kenya?
Looking at the crude instruments allegedly used by these people -- gasoline, knives, iron rods, and an SUV, it is difficult to argue that this was the work of any highly organized and well-armed militant group or terrorist network.
There were no sophisticated explosives used in the attacks, and the alleged attackers did not even possess guns. 

Furthermore, although Uyghurs are Muslims, there is no evidence that they have ever been involved substantively in a global Muslim militant movement.
So, how do we understand this act of violence if it was indeed carried out by a family of Uyghurs?
The obvious answer is to look at what is happening in the Xinjiang itself where such violent acts have been occurring with increasing frequency ever since the ethnic violence between Uyghurs and Han Chinese that spread throughout the regional capitol of Urumqi during the summer of 2009.
Life for Uyghurs inside Xinjiang is not like that of most people in the People's Republic of China (PRC).
For the last decade, the Chinese government has created a virtual police state within Xinjiang, employing enhanced surveillance of Uyghur citizens, actively repressing Uyghurs' political voices, and greatly curtailing Uyghur religious practices.
It has also vastly reduced Uyghurs' access to education in their own language and has limited Uyghur language publications of original reading materials.
Officially, the Chinese state explains most of these measures as part of its anti-terrorism measures to protect national security.
These measures also regularly include arresting large numbers of Uyghurs on charges of engaging in "illegal religious activity" or of having ties to terrorist organizations.
In fact, during this month alone, security organs in Xinjiang were involved in the fatal shooting of suspected Uyghur militants on several separate occasions and arrested at least one hundred more they suspected of trying to flee the country.
Although the government characterizes its ongoing and expansive confrontation with Uyghurs in Xinjiang as anti-terrorism, it is equally related to the PRC's larger plans for Xinjiang.
The region is of critical strategic importance to the state as it is China's primary gateway to the west, both in accessing western markets for Chinese goods and in securing natural resources, such as oil, gas, and uranium from Central Asia and locations further west and south.
In this context, the PRC is presently funding enormous development projects in Xinjiang that are also bringing a large influx of Han Chinese migrants and are uprooting Uyghur communities and displacing them from traditional lands.
The state may not care to rid Xinjiang of Uyghurs, but it would like the Uyghurs living there to willingly yield their homeland to a Han-dominant state culture.

As a result, the future of the Xinjiang Uyghur Autonomous Region appears destined to be neither Uyghur nor autonomous.
With these events unfolding in the region that Uyghurs view as their historical homeland, one feels compelled to question whether Monday's alleged attack was a well-prepared terrorist act or a hastily assembled cry of desperation from a people on the extreme margins of the Chinese state's monstrous development machine.
However, given that this is allegedly the first instance that Uyghurs have carried out such desperate acts outside Xinjiang, and in this case in the very symbolic seat of central power, we may also be witnessing a sharp escalation in the Chinese state's confrontation with the Uyghurs.
In the midst of this escalation, it is also possible that the PRC's long-maintained, but largely unsubstantiated, claims of a Uyghur terrorist threat are perhaps becoming a self-fulfilling prophecy.

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Beatings, detention, threats after Tibetans reject China’s ‘Mass Line’ policy in Diru

TCHRD

China’s domestic security forces including the armed police and the army have engaged in beatings, and detention of 40 Tibetans even as local government and party authorities used threats and intimidation tactics to enforce the so-called “mass-line” policy in Diru.

Touted by the Chinese government as a means to bring the party leadership closer to the needs and concerns of the masses, the reality is the policy is aimed at bringing every Tibetan under the direct surveillance of the party’s human and technological surveillance machinery.

On 28 September 2013, a serious confrontation lasting about three hours broke out between armed Chinese security forces and local Tibetans in Mowa Village in Diru County. 

It was caused due to the mandatory nature of China’s “Nine Must Haves” campaign which requires, among others, every Tibetan family to put the five-starred Chinese flags on their rooftops. 

Local Tibetans in Mowa had refused to fly Chinese flags on their rooftops, a space traditionally reserved for sacred prayer flags; instead they threw the flags into a nearby river to express their disapproval. 

Armed police and the military arrived later to rein in the Tibetans. 

This led to open confrontation between the two sides as Tibetans used sticks and stones to respond to the firing from Chinese security forces. 

TCHRD cannot immediately verify the claims that police had indeed shot into unarmed Tibetans.
The same day, as news of the crackdown in Mowa spread, about 40 Tibetans from neighbouring villages of Taklha, Baro, Neshod and Taring appealed to local authorities to refrain from using force on Tibetans. 

But they were beaten up and detained by the Public Security Bureau officers.
Local authorities in Diru County have announced punishment for Tibetans who refuse to comply with official diktats. 

Authorities have issued threats against Tibetan protesters that their children would be expelled from schools; their sick relatives will not receive medical care in hospitals; and they will not be allowed to harvest the coveted Yartsa Gunbu (caterpillar fungus) medicinal plant. 

Tibet remains one of the most impoverished regions with one the highest infant and maternal mortality rates. Educational and healthcare facilities are scarce with the handful of schools and hospitals owned and controlled by the Chinese government. 

In a nomadic area like Diru, where the number of former nomads is growing thanks to China’s nomad resettlement policy, an overwhelming majority of former nomads now rely on caterpillar fungus as a major source of income. 

Last year, authorities in Malho used the same intimidation tactic by threatening to cancel state aid to those villages where self-immolation protests occurred, a typical example of China’s collective punishment.
Since 10 September 2013, authorities have sent in more than 18,000 Chinese cadres to Diru to intensify the party’s ‘mass line’ policy. 

These cadres have been conducting ‘patriotic education’ campaigns among local Tibetans, demanding them to pledge their ‘love and gratitude’ for the party and the nation, and to put up the 5-star Chinese flags on their rooftops. 

The mass campaign to extract political compliance has added fuel to the fire, making the situation more volatile in Diru. 

The dumping of Chinese flags in Mowa was the logical culmination of the “Nine Must Haves” campaign.
On 28 September 2013, soon after the Mowa crackdown and detention of 40 Tibetans, more than 1000 Tibetans staged a 24-hour hunger strike in front of the County government office. 

The strikers called on the authorities to release the 40 Tibetans and to put a halt to the flag campaign.
That same evening, acting on direct orders from TAR deputy party secretary Wu Yingjie, and Party Committee member and Nagchu Prefecture Party Secretary Dothog, the 40 Tibetans were released. Sources said many of them have sustained serious injuries as they were beaten up with iron batons.
On the evening of 29 September 2013, protest erupted among 4,000 students of County Primary and Middle schools after news reached that the authorities had threatened to expel students whose parents had participated in protest against the government. 

The County Middle School has been closed indefinitely. 

In the County Primary School, only 60 students, all children of Chinese government employees, have stayed behind. 

The rest have left the school although some students have not returned to their homes.
On 2 October 2013, Tibetans in Diru County again defied the security forces by putting up human blockades along the major highways which have been occupied by the security forces since protest broke out in Mowa. Sources said local Tibetans view the recent campaign as ploy to destroy Tibetan identity. 

Many in Diru fear a return to the dark years of Cultural Revolution.
All villages in Diru have been brought under the control of the security forces. 

Restrictions on Mowa, Monchen and Taring villages are exceptionally severe. 

Six security checkpoints have been set up in Diru. 

Security forces run regular patrols in villages watching over each family. 

Since 28 September 2013, more security forces from Lhasa and Shigatse have been sent to Diru. 

Sources believe that many more unidentified Tibetans might have been detained although no information is available due to total blockade on all communication lines in Diru. 

On 4 October 2013, sources said mobile phones of many Tibetans were seized and photos of the recent unrest deleted. 

Some Tibetans complain that their phones have not been returned.
Last year the authorities failed to make Tibetans fly Chinese flags on their rooftops in Diru. 

This year, they have asked everyone to comply or face punishment. 

Diru County has continued to defy official orders. 

Moreover, four known Tibetans from Diru County have died of self-immolation protests since October 2012, making this part of eastern Tibet a thorn in the eyes of ‘stability maintenance’ officers.
Last month the Chinese authorities had sent in 60,000 cadres to be permanently stationed in 5459 villages and 1877 monastic institutions. 

These cadres will either work as village level party secretary or as ‘work team’ cadres running political education campaigns and espionage activities under another controversial campaign known as “The Six Ones”. 

The deputy director of TAR People’s Congress, Ma Bizi, said the campaign was “the largest and most extensive coverage” of TAR by grassroots cadres “since the peaceful liberation of Tibet in 1951.”
The “Nine Must Haves” campaign is now being implemented in villages and monastic institutions .

This is in addition to other mass monitoring and surveillance campaign being implemented under the guise of “stability maintenance” policy.
In May 2013, the TAR authorities announced the implementation of another campaign called the “Advanced Joint Household” under which all Tibetan families or households are divided into small units, each unit consisting of five to 10 households, making it easier for the authorities to monitor and control every member of the household. 

For instance, in Shetongmon (Ch: Xietongmon) County in Lhasa Prefecture, each unit comprises of 10 households: one household with party members, three rich households, three moderately rich households and three poor households. 

The presence of a household with party members is obviously aimed at ensuring stability inside the unit. 

This campaign is the basic level of the Grid Management system, with ‘joint household’ unit leaders or inspectors acting as the foot soldiers of the grid system. 

On 25 July 2013, the official Tibet Daily quoted Choedak, member of TAR Party Standing Committee and head of TAR United Front Work Department as saying that the ‘advanced joint household’ campaign is aimed at “fighting against the 14 Dalai Lama and other overseas Tibetans, and hostile foreign forces” in Tibetan areas. 

He said the campaign would stabilize the opinion and thoughts of the masses thus ensuring long term stability. “The Advanced Joint Household campaign should turn into a basic level of the Grid Management system.”
The campaign is being implemented under the joint leadership of five levels of administration: autonomous region, prefecture, county, township and village. 

Lhasa and Shigatse Prefectures are projected as models for successful implementation of the ‘joint household’ campaign. 

In Lhasa Prefecture, the authorities have set up 14304 ‘joint household’ units, covering 144263 families and 430185 people. In Shigatse Prefecture, there are 18929 units. 

The total number of units in TAR stands at 77000, covering 70000 households and about three million people. 

In 2010, the population of TAR, according to official census, was little over three million.
The campaign is ostensibly designed as a state-organised contest among citizens for periodic ‘advanced joint household member’ awards which carry cash prizes. 

For instance, in Sakya County in Shigatse Prefecture, cash prizes for each ‘advanced member’ ranges from 1000 to 3000 yuan. 

But refusal to join the campaign in the face of pressure from thousands of cadres is near impossible for many Tibetans. 

Chinese state media reported that the reward system would over a time inculcate a sense of voluntary initiative among Tibetans to dispense their ‘stability maintenance’ responsibilities under the campaign. Irrespective of the state media reports, the ‘mass line’ policy has all the makings of a police state. 

In Rinpo County in Shigatse, all unit inspectors have been given red armbands, helmets, whistles, flashlights, boots, ID cards.
Recently, Chinese state media reported that in each ‘joint household’ unit, unit inspectors are required to monitor and ‘educate’ a special group of people, such as youngsters, former political prisoners and others with political history. 

Each household should watch over activities of other households to fight challenges and create social stability, exhorted the state media reports.

In particular, each unit should prevent protests and petitioning by a large group of families against the state development projects especially during relocation programs.
Reporting on the successful implementation of the ‘joint household’ campaign in Lhasa, state media quoted local authorities as saying that the campaign played a major role in preventing any protests against the forced relocation program when renovation work began this year in the traditional Tibetan neighborhood in Lhasa city.

Many Tibetan shopkeepers and others who have lived there for generations were relocated to government-built houses in the outskirts of Lhasa city. 

The official Tibet Daily reported that unit inspectors in Lubuk neighborhood in Lhasa city pay extra attention on crowded places such as tea houses to collect information. 

The unit inspectors in Lhasa’s Kundeling Street maintain constant contact with guards manning “convenience police stations”. 

Whenever unit inspectors hear about suspicious information, they lose no time in relaying this information to “convenience police stations”. 

By July 2012, 676 permanent “convenience police-posts” had been set up in TAR. 

These are manned by police officers who are on duty around-the-clock.
Far from benefiting the Tibetans, the mass monitoring and surveillance campaigns seek to control all aspects of Tibetan life with raw, unrestrained state power. 

No distinction is drawn between individual freedom and so-called national security measures. 

It will be only a matter of time before China’s ‘mass line’ policy turns Tibet into a police state.

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