《纽约时报》的报道
China’s Censors Misfire in Abuse-of-Power Case
By MICHAEL WINESPublished: November 17, 2010被过滤广告
BAODING, China — One night in late October, a college student named Chen Xiaofeng was in-line skating with a friend on the grounds of Hebei University in central China. They were gliding past the campus grocery when a Volkswagen sedan raced down a narrow lane and struck them head-on.
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Cara Anna/Associated PressThe father of Chen Xiaofeng with her photo after she was killed last month in Baoding by the drunken son of a police official.
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Chinatopix, via Associated PressAn art installation in Chongqing, China, features the words “My father is Li Gang!” a reference to an abuse-of-power case.
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The impact sent Ms. Chen flying and broke the other woman’s leg. The 22-year-old driver, who was intoxicated, tried to speed away. Security guards intercepted him, but he was undeterred. He warned them, “My father is Li Gang!”
“The two girls were motionless,” one passer-by that night, a student who identified himself only by his surname, Duan, said this week. “There was a small pool of blood.” The next day, Ms. Chen was dead.
Chen Xiaofeng was a poor farm girl. The man accused of killing her, Li Qiming, is the son of Li Gang, the deputy police chief in the Beishi district of Baoding. The tale of her death is precisely the sort of gripping socio-drama — a commoner grievously wronged; a privileged transgressor pulling strings to escape punishment — that sets off alarm bells in the offices of Communist Party censors. And in fact, party propaganda officials moved swiftly after the accident to ensure that the story never gained traction.
Curiously, however, the opposite has happened. A month after the accident, much of China knows the story, and “My father is Li Gang” has become a bitter inside joke, a catchphrase for shirking any responsibility — washing the dishes, being faithful to a girlfriend — with impunity. Even the government’s heavy-handed effort to control the story has become the object of scorn among younger, savvier Chinese.
“There was a little on the school news channel at first,” one Hebei University student who offered only his surname, Wang, said in an interview last week. “But then it went completely quiet. We’re really disappointed in the press for stopping coverage of this major news.”
In many ways, the Li Gang case, as it is known, exemplifies how China’s propaganda machine — able to slant or kill any news in the age of printing presses and television — is sometimes hamstrung in the age of the Internet, especially when it tries to manipulate a pithy narrative about the abuse of power.
“Frequently we’ll see directives on coverage, but those directives don’t necessarily mean there is no coverage,” said David Bandurski, an analyst at the University of Hong Kong’s China Media Project. “They’re not all that effective.”
“Censorship is increasingly unpopular in China,” he added. “We know how unpopular it is, because they have to keep the guidelines themselves under wraps.”
A gadfly blog, sarcastically titled Ministry of Truth, has begun to puncture the veil surrounding censorship, anonymously posting secret government directives leaked by free-speech sympathizers. According to the blog’s sources, the Central Propaganda Department issued a directive on Oct. 28, 10 days after the accident, “ensuring there is no more hype regarding the disturbance over traffic at Hebei University.”
On that same day, censors prohibited reporting on six other incidents. One involved another girl’s death in police custody. Others included an investigation of a Hunan Province security official, the sexual dalliance of a Maoming vice mayor, the abandonment of closed pavilions at Shanghai’s World Expo and the increasing censorship of Internet chat rooms.
But the Li Gang case was hard to suppress, partly because it personified an enduring grievance: the belief that the powerful can flout the rules to which ordinary folk are forced to submit. Increasingly, that grievance focuses on what Chinese mockingly call the “guan er dai” and “fu er dai” — the “second generation,” children of privileged government officials and the super-rich.
Realizing the delicacy of the matter, the government tried to shape public reaction in more ways than by simply restricting coverage. After Internet bulletin boards began buzzing with outrage, China’s national television network, CCTV, broadcast an Oct. 22 interview with Li Gang and his son, filled with effusive apologies for the accident. On Oct. 24, the news media reported that Li Qiming, who had been detained by the police the day after the accident, had been arrested.
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Li Bibo contributed research from Beijing.
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