Beijing Blames Foreigners for Its Fears of Unrest

 

But that kind of theater seems more removed from events within China than at any time in recent years. In the past three months, some significant foreign groups have been subjected to intensifying pressure from the authorities, reflecting growing fears here about the influence of foreigners and Western liberal ideas.

Good will between the United States and China is scarce. At the meetings this week, the Americans are expected to talk bluntly about human rights, while the Chinese government has already increased its criticism of the West, with some officials telling foreign diplomats that they believe the United States is fomenting revolution.

At least 60 activities organized by the United States Embassy in Beijing — including cultural forums, school programs, ambassadorial visits — were canceled between February and April because of interference by the Chinese authorities, and some European missions have been similarly pressured. Several university conferences involving foreigners have been canceled, and the Ministry of Education is stepping up warnings to Chinese scholars heading abroad that they not take part in “anti-China” activities or engage with groups that promote democracy.

The scrutiny has applied to some nonprofit groups, too, with several — particularly those that receive financing from the United States government or the European Union — being visited more frequently by tax officials.

At the same time, China has waged its harshest crackdown on liberal speech in years: hundreds of Chinese have been detained, imprisoned, beaten, interrogated or put under house arrest.

The government had for years guarded against Western influences, including blocking sites like Twitter and Facebook, but those restrictions have intensified since revolts began sweeping the Middle East and North Africa.

The clampdown is concentrated on foreign groups or activities that have significant ties to foreign governments, run prominent outreach programs, encourage free speech or promote Internet freedom.

Senior Chinese officials appear to believe that the United States in particular helped set off and sustain the uprisings that toppled dictators in the Arab world. In mid-February, messages appeared on the Chinese Internet calling for people to hold similar protests across the nation. Some of the people spreading word of the so-called Jasmine Revolution are Chinese who live overseas.

One message called for Chinese to protest on Feb. 20 at a McDonald’s outlet on Wangfujing, a popular shopping street in Beijing, and the government became concerned when Jon M. Huntsman Jr., who was then the American ambassador to China, appeared that afternoon outside the restaurant.

Embassy officials said Mr. Huntsman, who left his job at the end of April, was not aware of the calls for a protest, but the Chinese government quickly began canceling outreach activities sponsored by the American Embassy. That included one-time appearances by Mr. Huntsman in Chinese cities and regularly scheduled education programs in which American officials meet with Chinese students, according to interviews with foreigners and Chinese.

“We have expressed our objections to these measures to senior Chinese officials on multiple occasions,” said Richard Buangan, an embassy spokesman.

Although some embassy programs have resumed, few people here expect the government’s attitude to thaw anytime soon.

“I think this is a new normal,” said Sara Davis, executive director of Asia Catalyst, a nonprofit group in New York that works with about a dozen grassroots Chinese organizations on issues concerning H.I.V. and AIDS. “I don’t think China has any reason to loosen restrictions. They geared up for a trial run and didn’t get any pushback.”

“They’re casting a broader net,” she added, “and targeting anyone willing to speak their minds.”

Ms. Davis said her group had not experienced difficulties because its Chinese partners worked quietly. But other foreign nonprofit groups and their employees say they are under a microscope, in an acceleration of a trend that took shape last year.

A Chinese worker for one group was recently interviewed by state security officers and told that officials were carefully assessing the effects of foreign nonprofit organizations in China, according to a foreigner who spoke on the condition of anonymity because of the delicacy of the situation.

The Beijing office of one American nonprofit group was visited three times in three weeks by officials from local tax and commerce bureaus, after having been paid just one such call in the previous eight months, a representative of the group said. The officials characterized the inquiries as routine, but the timing and lines of questioning left little doubt that the visits were linked to the calls for a Jasmine Revolution. Tax and commerce officers asked the representative for details about the group’s source of financing as well as its activities, partners and means of promoting itself.

Other American groups have faced a similar increase in scrutiny, the representative said, particularly those that receive money from the State Department. One group had been forced to account for virtually every project it financed, he said. Groups that received money from the E.U. also faced new bureaucratic hassles, he said.

Meanwhile, several conferences involving foreigners have been canceled in recent weeks. One theory is that the cancellations were related to new rules posted on a central government Web site on Feb. 14 that were ostensibly aimed at controlling government expenses. But the rules impose severe restrictions on foreign participation: such meetings cannot exceed 100 people, international conferences must be approved by both provincial and central officials, and no “important” foreign guests can be invited without permission.

“The cynic in me believes that, given the likely timing of this decision and of the onset of the Egyptian protests, this is not really about money or the value of international conferences, but about minimizing extended face-to-face dialogues with foreigners who might share ideas that were ‘bu shufu,’?” said one American involved in cultural events, using the Chinese phrase for “discomforting.”

Foreign journalists have also faced unusually direct harassment from security officials. Starting in late February, scores of journalists were warned about their coverage and visited at their homes.

In meetings in February and March with one American journalist, security officers tried to make the case that American officials, together with foreign journalists and others with ties overseas, were conspiring to stir up chaos in China. They talked about the appearance of Mr. Huntsman at the McDonald’s on Feb. 20, and they mentioned a meeting that he held with foreign journalists at the embassy on March 10, citing them as proof of the United States’ hand in fanning the flames of revolution.

 

Beijing Blames Foreigners for Its Fears of Unrest

But that kind of theater seems more removed from events within China than at any time in recent years. In the past three months, some significant foreign groups have been subjected to intensifying pressure from the authorities, reflecting growing fears here about the influence of foreigners and Western liberal ideas.

Good will between the United States and China is scarce. At the meetings this week, the Americans are expected to talk bluntly about human rights, while the Chinese government has already increased its criticism of the West, with some officials telling foreign diplomats that they believe the United States is fomenting revolution.

At least 60 activities organized by the United States Embassy in Beijing — including cultural forums, school programs, ambassadorial visits — were canceled between February and April because of interference by the Chinese authorities, and some European missions have been similarly pressured. Several university conferences involving foreigners have been canceled, and the Ministry of Education is stepping up warnings to Chinese scholars heading abroad that they not take part in “anti-China” activities or engage with groups that promote democracy.

The scrutiny has applied to some nonprofit groups, too, with several — particularly those that receive financing from the United States government or the European Union — being visited more frequently by tax officials.

At the same time, China has waged its harshest crackdown on liberal speech in years: hundreds of Chinese have been detained, imprisoned, beaten, interrogated or put under house arrest.

The government had for years guarded against Western influences, including blocking sites like Twitter and Facebook, but those restrictions have intensified since revolts began sweeping the Middle East and North Africa.

The clampdown is concentrated on foreign groups or activities that have significant ties to foreign governments, run prominent outreach programs, encourage free speech or promote Internet freedom.

Senior Chinese officials appear to believe that the United States in particular helped set off and sustain the uprisings that toppled dictators in the Arab world. In mid-February, messages appeared on the Chinese Internet calling for people to hold similar protests across the nation. Some of the people spreading word of the so-called Jasmine Revolution are Chinese who live overseas.

One message called for Chinese to protest on Feb. 20 at a McDonald’s outlet on Wangfujing, a popular shopping street in Beijing, and the government became concerned when Jon M. Huntsman Jr., who was then the American ambassador to China, appeared that afternoon outside the restaurant.

Embassy officials said Mr. Huntsman, who left his job at the end of April, was not aware of the calls for a protest, but the Chinese government quickly began canceling outreach activities sponsored by the American Embassy. That included one-time appearances by Mr. Huntsman in Chinese cities and regularly scheduled education programs in which American officials meet with Chinese students, according to interviews with foreigners and Chinese.

“We have expressed our objections to these measures to senior Chinese officials on multiple occasions,” said Richard Buangan, an embassy spokesman.

Although some embassy programs have resumed, few people here expect the government’s attitude to thaw anytime soon.

“I think this is a new normal,” said Sara Davis, executive director of Asia Catalyst, a nonprofit group in New York that works with about a dozen grassroots Chinese organizations on issues concerning H.I.V. and AIDS. “I don’t think China has any reason to loosen restrictions. They geared up for a trial run and didn’t get any pushback.”

“They’re casting a broader net,” she added, “and targeting anyone willing to speak their minds.”

Ms. Davis said her group had not experienced difficulties because its Chinese partners worked quietly. But other foreign nonprofit groups and their employees say they are under a microscope, in an acceleration of a trend that took shape last year.

A Chinese worker for one group was recently interviewed by state security officers and told that officials were carefully assessing the effects of foreign nonprofit organizations in China, according to a foreigner who spoke on the condition of anonymity because of the delicacy of the situation.

The Beijing office of one American nonprofit group was visited three times in three weeks by officials from local tax and commerce bureaus, after having been paid just one such call in the previous eight months, a representative of the group said. The officials characterized the inquiries as routine, but the timing and lines of questioning left little doubt that the visits were linked to the calls for a Jasmine Revolution. Tax and commerce officers asked the representative for details about the group’s source of financing as well as its activities, partners and means of promoting itself.

Other American groups have faced a similar increase in scrutiny, the representative said, particularly those that receive money from the State Department. One group had been forced to account for virtually every project it financed, he said. Groups that received money from the E.U. also faced new bureaucratic hassles, he said.

Meanwhile, several conferences involving foreigners have been canceled in recent weeks. One theory is that the cancellations were related to new rules posted on a central government Web site on Feb. 14 that were ostensibly aimed at controlling government expenses. But the rules impose severe restrictions on foreign participation: such meetings cannot exceed 100 people, international conferences must be approved by both provincial and central officials, and no “important” foreign guests can be invited without permission.

“The cynic in me believes that, given the likely timing of this decision and of the onset of the Egyptian protests, this is not really about money or the value of international conferences, but about minimizing extended face-to-face dialogues with foreigners who might share ideas that were ‘bu shufu,’?” said one American involved in cultural events, using the Chinese phrase for “discomforting.”

Foreign journalists have also faced unusually direct harassment from security officials. Starting in late February, scores of journalists were warned about their coverage and visited at their homes.

In meetings in February and March with one American journalist, security officers tried to make the case that American officials, together with foreign journalists and others with ties overseas, were conspiring to stir up chaos in China. They talked about the appearance of Mr. Huntsman at the McDonald’s on Feb. 20, and they mentioned a meeting that he held with foreign journalists at the embassy on March 10, citing them as proof of the United States’ hand in fanning the flames of revolution.

 

You Are Here: The Air-Raid-Shelter Apartments Under Beijing

 Sim Chi Yin for The New York TimesHe Bing, who lives within the warren of air-defense tunnels under Beijing. More Photos ?

In the far west of Beijing, in a neighborhood called Apple Orchard, there is a small concrete bunker with a green sign at its mouth that says, “Air-Defense Basement.” Down three flights of stairs into a tunnel lighted only by the occasional fluorescent bulb, the air gets cold and musty, and as you walk through here, it’s impossible not to think that hideous things could happen without anyone ever knowing. Eventually you come upon a doorway with a white air-lock portal, which opens onto another corridor that splits off in two directions. At the end of one branch, there is a metal door framed by red paper banners, one of which reads, “May good things you want to happen come to pass.”

This is where Wang Xiuli lives with her husband and 16-year-old son, in two rooms that together add up to about 215 square feet, one of the largest apartments available in this warren of tunnels. Thick pipes protrude from the ceiling, and a window in the front room opens onto nowhere, just another gray tunnel wall beyond it. A blue plastic table and bright pink, orange and green chairs, meant as a play set for children, serve as the family’s dining table. There is no heating, and the day I visited, Wang’s husband, who works as a deliveryman for a hip clothing company called Vancl, lay sick in bed. The ruddy-cheeked Wang herself stood bundled in a red down jacket, stuffing plastic bottles into a clear trash bag. A full bag, sold to a recycler, could fetch about 40 cents. Her son stood by watching.

They pay less than $80 a month to a landlord who has a long-term lease from the city on this set of tunnels. “It’s hard to save money,” Wang told me, “but we want to spend as little as we can so we can send our son to a vocational school.”

In the city above them, Louis Vuitton stores and Ferrari dealerships and soaring European-designed glass edifices mark China’s dizzying economic ascent. Wang and her family are among the legions of migrant workers who make up perhaps as much as a third of Beijing’s estimated 20 million people. In a city where the average rent for an apartment is now more than $450, there is no place for them to go, no space anywhere — except underground. The migrants began settling in the shelters in the late ’90s, when the government started leasing the tunnels to landlords. No one knows for sure how many people live in Beijing’s 5,500 shelters and other subterranean domiciles, but estimates go as high as a million. These are the janitors and waiters and salesclerks and laborers and delivery people who are the gears and pistons of the economic engine churning above. In Beijing they are known as “the mouse tribe,” which some find demeaning.

Down the hall from the Wangs’ apartment, a 44-year-old construction worker named Jiang Jinzhi squats in a room where two twin beds are pushed together. A co-worker lies smoking on one of the beds, as Jiang stirs a pot of potatoes on an electric plate. In the evenings, all manner of food smells waft down the corridors — stir-fried pork and tofu and greens. Despite the smells, the tunnels are tidy. The landlord pays cleaners who come daily, and there is a dingy shared washroom where residents can clean their belongings. For personal hygiene, Wang and her family go to a public bathhouse in the neighborhood.

Recently, city officials, citing a growing concern about the potential for deadly fires, have talked of clearing out the tunnels. Signs posted along the hallway walls tell people to be alert to possible gas poisoning and to be watchful of electric blankets and other fire hazards. “They come to inspect it all the time,” said the manager of this block of apartments, who gave only his surname, Wu. “If the government tells us to go, we have to go,” he added. “It’s not like he” — the landlord — “can afford to have an opinion.”

Wang is used to the vagaries of government decisions. Home for her was once a frigid patch of Inner Mongolia, just below Siberia, until the government demolished her building to make way for a road project. The family received $300 in compensation, closed a convenience store they ran and rode 30 hours on a train to Beijing. Wang now sells maternity clothes at a shop that is an hour’s bus ride from her neighborhood.

Before I left, her son, Cao Peng, led me into his room, filled with the kinds of things found in teenage bedrooms the world over: a pair of Rollerblades on the floor, a small laptop with an Ethernet cable, which allowed him to play World of Warcraft online. Bundles of clothes were strewn all over the floor. He said the family was planning to move out of the tunnels and into a new apartment that would cost them more than $100 a month.

“It’s smaller than here,” Cao Peng said, “but at least you can breathe some good air, and there’s a bit of sunshine.”

 

You Are Here: The Air-Raid-Shelter Apartments Under Beijing

 Sim Chi Yin for The New York TimesHe Bing, who lives within the warren of air-defense tunnels under Beijing. More Photos ?

In the far west of Beijing, in a neighborhood called Apple Orchard, there is a small concrete bunker with a green sign at its mouth that says, “Air-Defense Basement.” Down three flights of stairs into a tunnel lighted only by the occasional fluorescent bulb, the air gets cold and musty, and as you walk through here, it’s impossible not to think that hideous things could happen without anyone ever knowing. Eventually you come upon a doorway with a white air-lock portal, which opens onto another corridor that splits off in two directions. At the end of one branch, there is a metal door framed by red paper banners, one of which reads, “May good things you want to happen come to pass.”

This is where Wang Xiuli lives with her husband and 16-year-old son, in two rooms that together add up to about 215 square feet, one of the largest apartments available in this warren of tunnels. Thick pipes protrude from the ceiling, and a window in the front room opens onto nowhere, just another gray tunnel wall beyond it. A blue plastic table and bright pink, orange and green chairs, meant as a play set for children, serve as the family’s dining table. There is no heating, and the day I visited, Wang’s husband, who works as a deliveryman for a hip clothing company called Vancl, lay sick in bed. The ruddy-cheeked Wang herself stood bundled in a red down jacket, stuffing plastic bottles into a clear trash bag. A full bag, sold to a recycler, could fetch about 40 cents. Her son stood by watching.

They pay less than $80 a month to a landlord who has a long-term lease from the city on this set of tunnels. “It’s hard to save money,” Wang told me, “but we want to spend as little as we can so we can send our son to a vocational school.”

In the city above them, Louis Vuitton stores and Ferrari dealerships and soaring European-designed glass edifices mark China’s dizzying economic ascent. Wang and her family are among the legions of migrant workers who make up perhaps as much as a third of Beijing’s estimated 20 million people. In a city where the average rent for an apartment is now more than $450, there is no place for them to go, no space anywhere — except underground. The migrants began settling in the shelters in the late ’90s, when the government started leasing the tunnels to landlords. No one knows for sure how many people live in Beijing’s 5,500 shelters and other subterranean domiciles, but estimates go as high as a million. These are the janitors and waiters and salesclerks and laborers and delivery people who are the gears and pistons of the economic engine churning above. In Beijing they are known as “the mouse tribe,” which some find demeaning.

Down the hall from the Wangs’ apartment, a 44-year-old construction worker named Jiang Jinzhi squats in a room where two twin beds are pushed together. A co-worker lies smoking on one of the beds, as Jiang stirs a pot of potatoes on an electric plate. In the evenings, all manner of food smells waft down the corridors — stir-fried pork and tofu and greens. Despite the smells, the tunnels are tidy. The landlord pays cleaners who come daily, and there is a dingy shared washroom where residents can clean their belongings. For personal hygiene, Wang and her family go to a public bathhouse in the neighborhood.

Recently, city officials, citing a growing concern about the potential for deadly fires, have talked of clearing out the tunnels. Signs posted along the hallway walls tell people to be alert to possible gas poisoning and to be watchful of electric blankets and other fire hazards. “They come to inspect it all the time,” said the manager of this block of apartments, who gave only his surname, Wu. “If the government tells us to go, we have to go,” he added. “It’s not like he” — the landlord — “can afford to have an opinion.”

Wang is used to the vagaries of government decisions. Home for her was once a frigid patch of Inner Mongolia, just below Siberia, until the government demolished her building to make way for a road project. The family received $300 in compensation, closed a convenience store they ran and rode 30 hours on a train to Beijing. Wang now sells maternity clothes at a shop that is an hour’s bus ride from her neighborhood.

Before I left, her son, Cao Peng, led me into his room, filled with the kinds of things found in teenage bedrooms the world over: a pair of Rollerblades on the floor, a small laptop with an Ethernet cable, which allowed him to play World of Warcraft online. Bundles of clothes were strewn all over the floor. He said the family was planning to move out of the tunnels and into a new apartment that would cost them more than $100 a month.

“It’s smaller than here,” Cao Peng said, “but at least you can breathe some good air, and there’s a bit of sunshine.”