On the bus ride to Tiananmen Square, our guide James told us how his brother and a cousin went out the night the demonstrations turned deadly. They were teens; James was 11 and stayed home.
His cousin did not come home.
Once we get off the bus, James said, I will lead you through the square and describe its history. Please do not ask me any questions while we are there, because I will not be able to answer them. There may be people in the crowd who look like tourists, listening, but they are agents. Once we are back on the bus, you can ask me any question you want. And do not take pictures of the soldiers. They may take your camera.
So, of course, I contrived to get a picture of the soldiers. A tiny expression of freedom in the place where freedom once meant stepping in front of a tank.
On the surface, it was impossible to tell if the square held any resonance of democracy for the non-western visitors there. Mao's portrait is still the focal point. Soldiers patrol in a non-threatening, honor guard sort of way. A man and kite merge. Tour guides do not take questions.
Tomorrow is the 20th anniversary of the massacre of hundreds of Chinese citizens by
their own army. Things have been changing fast in China, and doubtless have changed since our visit more than three years ago.
But The Economist does not expect much in the way of acknowledgment: "For many in China the
nationwide pro-democracy protests of 1989 and their bloody end have
become a muddled and half-forgotten tale."
The China Beat offers a different perspective on the silence — that it is neither the result of suppression or fading memories.
Generally, the urban educated today have what they wanted at the time
of the Tiananmen protests. They feel they can make such recommendations
and that their expertise is respected. They and their children also now
have their personal space, in the shape of access to websites, chat
rooms, and a wide variety of publications and films. They can say what
they want so long as they stay within increasingly generous boundaries
and do not challenge the Party’s political monopoly.
Above all,
in their material livelihoods the urban educated are doing very well,
whereas at the time of the Tiananmen protests in 1989, they had good
reason to be angry. Their salaries were low, and sour jokes circulated
about private barbers earning more with their razors than hospital
surgeons with their scalpels. But in the years since, there has been a
deliberate government policy to favor the well-educated. Year after
year the professionals on government payrolls have been offered
repeatedly higher salaries. During one year in the late 1990s, the pay
of all of the academics at China’s most prestigious public universities
was literally doubled in one go. Opportunities to earn high salaries
opened up just as much in the private sector. Many of the university
students at Tiananmen Square in 1989 now drive cars and live in fancy
high-rise apartments. They have gained a lifestyle that they had never
imagined possible, and they do not want to upset the apple cart. If the
government’s plan was to co-opt the salaried middle class, it has
worked.
Reflecting on the Tiananmen protests,
one of the most famous of the student leaders, Wuer Kaixi, flippantly
articulated their desires, “So what do we want? Nike shoes. Lots of
free time to take our girlfriends to a bar. The freedom to discuss an
issue with someone. And to get a little respect from society.” They now
have all that, in spades.
As a result, the members of the
educated middle class, including many of the former university students
who crowded Tiananmen Square two decades ago, have become a bulwark of
the current regime. Summarizing a large survey of political attitudes
in Beijing, a recent book concludes that, among all urban groups,
“those who perceive themselves to belong to the middle class and who
are government bureaucrats are more likely to support the incumbent
authorities.” If there is another outbreak like Tiananmen, in fact,
many of them might prefer to be on the government side of the
barricades.
In this land where our former revolutionaries become stock brokers, college professors and community theater matrons, why should we be surprised?
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