Online News-Prompted Public Spheres in China 3031121554, 9783031121555

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Online News-Prompted Public Spheres in China Xuanzi Xu

Online News-Prompted Public Spheres in China

Xuanzi Xu

Online News-­ Prompted Public Spheres in China

Xuanzi Xu Sydney, NSW, Australia

ISBN 978-3-031-12155-5    ISBN 978-3-031-12156-2 (eBook) https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-12156-2 © The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive licence to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively licensed by the Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology now known or hereafter developed. The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use. The publisher, the authors, and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and information in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither the publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, expressed or implied, with respect to the material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have been made. The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and institutional affiliations. This Palgrave Macmillan imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature Switzerland AG. The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland

Foreword

In this splendid debut book, Xuanzi Xu does several things that few researchers have so far attempted or achieved. She provides the intriguing results of a detailed empirical study of the social media reception of news in China during the past decade and encourages us to rethink what we mean when we use the term public sphere. She also explores a paradox of global importance: in a country where information flows are tightly regulated and controlled by state officials, independent public spheres regularly happen, sometimes with striking political effects. Xu acknowledges, with plenty of evidence on her side, that in China strict state controls flourish in the ever-expanding field of digital communications media. China now accounts for more than one-quarter of the world’s four billion internet users. Internet penetration rates vary among regions, but over 70 per cent of China’s population spend on average more than twenty-eight hours per week online, more time than on any other medium. Yet at all levels of the political system, party-state officials understandably worry that the more citizens go online, the more their power monopoly is open to challenge. They fear what they call “social chaos” (shè huì dòng dàng). That is why there are constant government attempts to regulate, censor and manipulate information flows. Xu is familiar with the well-known methods, which extend from algorithmic filters that ban users, keywords and websites, “rumour control” and “sudden incident” units designed to “guide the people” and “maintain stability”, and meddling with the lives of dissenting citizens by way of warnings issued over cups of tea, trials and hefty fines, and years spent behind bars. v

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The central thesis of this book is that there’s no permanent calm inside China because public complaints, political jokes, euphemism, sarcasm and satire triggered by official news reports are chronic features of everyday life inside a country that is fast becoming a global power. Xu demonstrates that millions of China’s web people (wàngmìn) have learned the arts of harnessing a wide range of digital tools, including smartphones, tablets, computers, and sophisticated software, to spread their messages to wider publics, sometimes with dramatic effects. Media storms are the result. Xu explains that these publics are not to be understood in rationalist terms. Digital publics comprise online gatherings of citizens concerned with their own well-being and wider matters of public good, but they are most often not spaces of calm reason and seminar-style deliberation orientated towards mutual understanding and the discovery of truth (Jürgen Habermas). They are usually rowdy battlefields, zones of mockery and satire, frequently laced with great tensions among opponents and outrage and anger at perceived idiocies and injustices. Xu emphasizes that this carnivalesque online resistance isn’t to be seen as simply the refusal of censorship. Lives online are linked. Citizens never walk alone. Every critical comment about officials’ incompetence, every video or image about their abuse of power, every single murmur and whisper of discontent has the potential to go viral, to become a digital mutiny. The officials find these complaints by citizens difficult to control. Their social media content is copied, shared, commented on, mashed and mixed with other postings. Xu notes that as government censorship tactics grow more sophisticated, so do citizens’ strategies of cat-and-mouse resistance, which sometimes have swarm effects, quickly turning into rowdy media tempests that the rulers anxiously call “mass incidents” (qún tı ̆ xìng shì jiàn). These digital publics are often locally dispersed and usually short-lived, but sometimes they quickly spread through daily life in the form of media events that rattle officials and may even rock the foundations of the whole political order. Xu insightfully analyses an intriguing selection of controversies on such platforms as Weibo, Zhihu and WeChat, the most widely used online platform. Her “pluralist and constructivist” approach helps us make sense of other recent cases, among them the public strife and struggle aroused by the arrest and trial of Chongqing’s Communist Party boss Bo Xilai (March 2012); the huge public debate triggered in mid-2015 by Under the Dome, an online documentary about pollution from coal-fired power plants that was watched by at least 150 million Chinese viewers, then later blocked by Chinese government censors; the mid-2018 vaccine

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scandal centred on Changsheng Biotechnology Company, whose baibaipo vaccine was found to be sub-standard; and the public disgruntlement and altercation triggered by the 2022 lockdown and paralysis of the city of Shanghai. The great significance of this book is the way it asks questions about why these wild media storms happen, in other words why the ruling officials fail to prevent digital publics from disturbing the semblance of political normality. Xu’s unorthodox answer is compelling. Her theory of ‘news-prompted publics’ notes that the appearance of digital publics is often highly context-dependent; the distributed quality of digital communication networks combined with the courage, technical skill, playful sense of humour and sheer determination of WeChat users are important drivers as well. But something much deeper is at work, Xu powerfully shows. It has to do with the dialectics of news production and news sharing. She teaches us that news is not simply news. News in China upends the standard cliches about the worthlessness and stupefying effects of news. News is not to be understood as mere corporate entertainment, or government propaganda. When people embrace news, mistrust news, or find news to be abhorrent, they sometimes go and make their own. News then becomes information that others had neither anticipated nor wanted to communicate. News can quickly become bad news. When that happens, government censors may try to use a range of sophisticated techniques for sifting through, manipulating and blocking the personal data of millions of citizens, but the reality is that a single post can stop officials in their tracks, embarrass them and even force them to recalculate their power position. News can yield great surprises, Xu concludes. A media storm is often just a quick click away, along with confirmation of the time-tested rule that power is the ability not just to act, but to act in concert, together with like-minded others. John Keane Sydney, Australia Berlin, Germany May 2022

Acknowledgements

Generous research support provided by Professor John Keane and Associate Professor Benedetta Brevini is gratefully acknowledged.

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Contents

1 Introduction  1 Background and Issues   2 The Theory of News-Prompted Public Spheres   6 China’s Online News-Prompted Public Spheres   8 The Significance of Revisiting this Topic  10 References  13 2 The  Theory of News-Prompted Public Spheres and their Features 17 The Concept of Public Spheres  17 News  25 Features of Online News-Prompted Public Spheres  28 References  32 3 The  Application of Public Sphere Theory in China 37 References  47 4 Structural  Factors Fostering China’s Online News-­ Prompted Publics 51 News Abundance  52 China’s Digital Public Spaces  63 Engaging Netizens  67 References  70

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5 Everyday  News-Prompted Publics on WeChat 81 Speech Freedom  82 Public Spaces on WeChat  84 News Participation Affordances  86 News Provision on WeChat  89 News Participation on WeChat  92 How Active Are People?  93 In What Kind of Stories Did they Participate?  99 How Relevant Are the Conversations? 100 Communicative Reflexivity 101 Diversity and the Tolerance of Difference 104 References 108 6 Surprise111 The Guo Meimei Scandal 114 References 121 7 Ephemerality123 Why Ephemerality Is the Decisive Feature 125 Why Ephemerality Energizes China’s Online Publics 127 The Yu Huan Case 129 References 136 8 Networked Public Spheres139 The Wei Zexi Case 143 Structural Facilitating Factors 149 References 151 9 Unintended Consequences155 Guiding Public Opinion: Does it Work? 158 The Yang Qin Case 158 No Paean! 161 The Address Name Change Campaign 165 The Chained Woman 170 References 172

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10 Rethinking  Online News-Prompted Public Spheres177 Empirical Contributions 179 The Theoretical Innovations 183 Uncertainty 188 References 191 Appendix: Coding Protocols193 Index195

About the Author

Xuanzi  Xu is a research fellow at the Royal Melbourne Institute of Technology (RMIT). She received her PhD at the University of Sydney in 2020 and her study focuses on how ordinary Chinese internet users’ everyday news engagement contributes to the configuration of online public spheres in China. More broadly, she is interested in the interplay between the ICTs, civil society and the state and in exploring the political implications of the unfinished information and communication revolution.

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List of Figures

Fig. 4.1

Fig. 5.1 Fig. 5.2

Fig. 5.3 Fig. 6.1 Fig. 7.1 Fig. 9.1 Fig. 9.2

Fig. 9.3

Online news consuming popularity among internet users (%). (Source: CNNIC Survey Reports on China’s Internet Development (2004–2021), CNNIC, 2004a, 2004b, 2005a, 2005b, 2007a, 2007b, 2008a, 2008b, 2009a, 2009b, 2010a, 2010b, 2011a, 2011b, 2012a, 2012b, 2013a, 2013b, 2014a, 2014b, 2015a, 2015b, 2016a, 2016b, 2017c, 2018a, 2018b, 2020a, 2020b, 2021a, 2021b) Comments distribution in the five spaces Comments distribution in the five spaces (Box Plot). Note: Average and medium value of comment count of SMD, ZH, BN, PD and TP, marked respectively by the marker symbol “X” and line symbol “–” Distribution of comments by different commentators The network connecting Guo Meimei and the RCSC Comment count on Yu Huan case on five media samples’ WeChat accounts, 23 March to 30 April Comment-1 on Yang’s story on Weibo Comment-2 on the Yang Qin Story. Translation: (We) should thoroughly investigate those general secretaries of the Chinese Communist Youth League on the county and municipal levels; all of them are children of officials Comment-3 on the Yang Qin story. Translation: In my workplace—one of the Top Five of the top 500 state-owned companies, there are too many similar cases. All of those people come from either rich or politically influential families and they get promotion every two or three years. They become division leaders or equivalents in their thirties

67 95

96 97 118 131 160

160

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List of Figures

Fig. 9.4

Fig. 9.5

Fig. 9.6

Comment-4 on the Yang Qin story. Translation: The worst corruption happens in the recruiting process, which is really rampant and baffling, so much so that capable people who care about their dignity are forced to leave Critics against the campaign on Weibo. Translation: 1. Annoying; over-­correcting makes things become evil. 2. (This is) out of line: like the over-control of the film and television industry, this campaign produces only bad effects; 3. How bored are these local officials? 4. Where is the promised “reform and openness”? 5. Beijing should do it first. A small pool is often called “Hai” (the sea). This is exaggeration. 6. … The Cultural_/Revolution … (the government) do not pay any attention to improving the lives of the people but is good at launching all sorts of “battles”. 7. Nonsense. This is a waste of administrative resources and sidetracking. Source: comments on a Weibo post published by Guanchazhe Net (“Dajia Dui Zuijin” 2019) Weibo comment employing the law narrative. Translation: … All names are legally acceptable, how could local governments require the modifications?

161

167 168

List of Tables

Table 5.1 Table 5.2 Table 5.3 Table 5.4 Table 5.5 Table 5.6 Table 5.7

Users’ news participation in the five spaces in four weeks News commenting activities in the five spaces Comparison of users’ news participation in March and May 2017 Top 10% of most engaged stories in the five media spaces Relevance of people’s comments in the five spaces Reflexivity in the five media spaces on WeChat Diversity of comments on the top 10% of most engaged news in the five media

94 95 98 100 101 102 104

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CHAPTER 1

Introduction

Has the crackdown on dissidents, and accompanying reinforced censorship on online information, suffocated China’s nascent digital public spheres which attracted so much attention among China scholars in the first decade of the 2000s? Have China’s millions of internet users, dubbed netizens in the late 1990s and early 2000s because of their enthusiastic participation in online news events and because such participation led to essential law and policy changes, all suddenly become silent and lost their critical public spirit in the past few years? Contrary to trending pessimism over China’s bourgeoning publics, this book asserts that there are still constant formations of online public spheres prompted by never-ending news in present-day China despite tightened information control, rampant disinformation and aggressive propaganda. Such an argument challenges several long taken-for-granted assumptions: that the public sphere is singular and comprehensive (see Reed & Boyd, 2016); that public spheres exist in Western democracies only; and that publics rule and function like political institutions, in a predictable and somehow rational way. This is not how public spheres work, this book argues. Publics, I contend, are news-prompted. They are chronic, though individually they are usually transient, partially because news is short-lived. Public spheres can storm a whole country overnight, like the call for free speech on China’s social media platform Weibo at midnight of 6 February 2020, ignited by the death of the Chinese whistle-blower Dr. Li Wenliang.

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 X. Xu, Online News-Prompted Public Spheres in China, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-12156-2_1

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They have the quality of surprise. Their networked trait constitutes the main reason that they go viral in hours. The effects generated by these publics are also unpredictable. Unintended consequences can be engendered, beyond the expectations of any single participant or observer. These features help explain why public spheres survive in an oppressive context like in China where censorship and information manipulation are widely and strategically maneuvered for guiding and manufacturing “public opinion”. Of course, these features alone cannot fully explain the endless emergence of online public spheres in China. This book proposes that there are deeply entangled structural factors bolstering the configuration of China’s news-prompted online publics: continuous flow of news information; countless public spaces created and facilitated by China’s digital infrastructure; and the rise of rights-conscious internet users.

Background and Issues The past few years have seen a growing number of observers claiming that there are no public spheres in present-day China. They argue that the Chinese society is becoming silent and sliding into totalitarianism (Douthat, 2019; Mozur & Krolik, 2019; Teng, 2018; Teon, 2019; Campbell, 2016; Xiao, 2019). China media expert Xiao Qiang (2019, p. 63) asserts in his recent paper that “China is well on its way to building the world’s first ‘responsive tyranny’, perhaps even a ‘digital totalitarian state’”. Echoing Xiao’s argument, Diamond (2019) calls the phenomenon “postmodern totalitarianism”. Similarly, Clarke (2018) contends that “China is on the verge of totalitarianism 2.0”. Renowned scholar Pei Minxin (quoted in Frum, 2018) asserts that: Politically, the door (open to the world) is probably 90–95% closed. Substantive exchanges between China and the outside in the so-called sensitive areas—especially involving serious academic exchanges and civil society—are a fraction today compared with the pre-Xi era.

They have good reason to make such claims as the party-state has been increasingly tightening its grip over society since 2013 (see Chen et al., 2018). On the one hand, it has tried to muzzle critical voices by re-taming conventional news producers (Svensson, 2017; Tong, 2019) who enjoyed unprecedented journalistic autonomy from the early 1990s to 2012, thanks both to relatively relaxed political control and a booming

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commercial market. The massive crackdown on outspoken online public intellectuals, on the other hand, also cast a chill over the then extremely dynamic online spheres in early 2013 China (Buckley, 2013; Chin & Mozur, 2013). The party-state did so by launching the so-called anti-­ rumour campaign, discrediting, stigmatizing and even putting into prison public opinion leaders, such as Charles Xue. Hundreds of internet users were charged with malicious rumour-making (Buckley, 2013), on the basis of a new judicial interpretation issued by The Supreme People’s Court (SPC) of the People’s Republic of China (PRC), according to which the author will be charged with defamation if a rumour she or he posted online is read by 5000 or more internet users or reposted by 500 or more. Increasing concerns over digital surveillance in China and, more broadly, surveillance capitalism across the planet (see Dencik et al., 2016; Srnicek, 2017) might have also contributed to the pessimism. A so-called Social Credit System (SCS) built on the massive collection of social, economic and criminal data of individuals, governmental organizations and enterprises has been partially put into application in China, with the help of thousands and millions of digital cameras installed in various public spaces across the country, and commercial IT companies who share their collected data with local and central governments. Those who earn low credit are likely to be “punished”. They or their families might be disenfranchised from access to certain types of public or commercial services, such as entering a privileged school or taking a high-speed train. Lamentably, the pessimistic view that China has forced its citizens into total silence is misleading and one-sided because too much emphasis is placed on how the state hinders the public communication process whereas too little attention is paid to questions such as how policies are executed, or how publics, empowered by digital affordances, negotiate with and challenge the state, or how public communication can be extremely uncertain and generate unintended consequences. For instance, omnicompetent as the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) may seem, in February of 2022, it lost its battle in guiding public opinion or dominating the narrative in the chained woman crisis—a schizophrenic woman trafficked and sexually and physically abused by a peasant in Xuzhou in Jiangsu Province, yet whose misery was long ignored by local governments. Millions of Chinese netizens joined the outcry for the elimination of human trafficking in China and humiliated two local governments (Feng county and Xuzhou city) whose censorship and strategies to channel public opinion ended in vain. Zealous as the SCS may seem, so far, the punishment has

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targeted mainly those who have either committed a crime or failed to pay their debts or violated regulatory rules. Punishing citizens based on their news engagement, which is the core concern of public spheres researchers, is still quite limited at this moment. Although it is unclear whether or not this policy is going to apply more widely in the future, one should not simply assume that no contention would be raised. Some government initiatives of similar nature to the SCS have already been met with fierce backlash in 2020, such as the Civility Code Campaign pushed by Suzhou city (Xin, 2020). And in spite of harsh crackdowns, the COVID-19 pandemic triggered calls for free speech on China’s social media platforms which have never been as loud in the past two decades. Thousands of Weibo users joined the contention and millions witnessed it. Back in 2019, the #996ICU movement initiated by Chinese IT workers marks one of the widest labour movements in China in the past decade. The sweeping assertion that claims the death of China’s nascent public spheres also errs in viewing public spheres as something abstract and monolithic and in arguing that reinforced censorship can immediately crush them. It underestimates the plurality, uncertainty, complexity and resilience of public spheres which constellate whenever rights-conscious people get together and peacefully discuss issues that have implications for general wellbeing. Public spheres are not something abstract or singular and existing as a counter-power only in democracies. There are countless public spheres forming in innumerable spaces and in a variety of ways, which are not always predictable or detectable by the state. Moreover, in a media-saturated society, public spheres are now lived by people in their everyday lives, in their critical engagement in news, and in every comment they make. For some, public engagement has become an integral part of their daily routines. Parody, punk, satire, synonym, homonym, coded language, and VPNs are all appropriated by publics to air their voices. With such abundance and flexibility, rarely are alternative voices fully annihilated by repressive state power. The #MeToo movement, for example, first landed in China in 2018 and has seen no sign of fading to date. Instead, it is gaining momentum in the past two years with continuously emerging public debates ignited by chronically emerged personal stories. Its resilience is salient: when the hashtag #MeToo was censored, Chinese internet users invented a new one #米兔, a homonym of “me too” when pronounced in Chinese. Although the movement never manifests itself in the form of massive street protests, it is pushing for unmistakable change. The

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courts are responding to victims’ demand for justice (Kuo, 2019), as well as authorities such as the Ministry of Education of the PRC. The most telling evidence supporting the existence of publics in China is the party’s continuous tactical moves aimed at “unifying” the people with party ideology in recent years. Vowing to win the ideological battle, the party-state re-forged its propaganda organs, reinforced ideological education and control (“Xi Jinping Zongshuji” 2016) and tried to manipulate and fabricate online public opinion by hiring commentators to post positive comments praising the party-state (see also Creemers, 2017; Han, 2018; Repnikova & Fang, 2018). Had it not been challenged in political ideologies, governance or legitimacy, the party-state would have not called official media the “key public opinion battlefield” (Yulun Zhendi) and the new media (or the online spaces) the “new public opinion battlefield” (see “Xi Jinping Zongshuji” 2016). It is also worth indicating that just a few years ago, the prevailing idea among China observers was that China had seen the rise of online public spheres (see Lagerkvist, 2005; Lewis, 2013; Tong, 2015; Yang, 2003). The idea that a democratic body politic is not a precondition of the configuration of public spheres was then widely accepted by many China studies scholars, who believe that the internet has empowered Chinese internet users to air their grievances, disaffection, anger and criticisms towards authorities. The controversies identified above beg for rethinking the existing lines of argument around public sphere theories, such as those seeing publics as something single, comprehensive, abstract and always evolutionary. Such perspectives might explain why pessimistic researchers claim the demise of China’s public spheres.1 But none of the currently prevailing public sphere theories such as deliberative public sphere theory (Habermas, 1996, 2006), agonistic pluralism theory (Fraser, 1990), or affective public sphere theory (Papacharissi, 2016) can help fully explain why one should not lose 1  The world-widely cyber-dystopianism might have also contributed to feeding such believes. The rise of fake news, post-truth, trolling, polarization in the online world and populism across continents has prompted many reflections over the cyber-utopianism that used to be well-received by Western political leaders and China observers. Cyber-dystopianism is reaching its peak when the Covid-19 pestilence is ravaging across continents, but the future of democracy is far from entirely bleak (Keane, 2020), at least at this moment. In countless corners, online and offline protests are taking place. Movements like Black Life Matters, climate strikes, and #MeToo movements are continuously gaining momentum across the planet.

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hope for China’s publics or how one should assess the controversies and uncertainties embedded in them. That is why this book proposes a brand-­ new approach for addressing the long-lasting debates over the public sphere idea itself and the China case.

The Theory of News-Prompted Public Spheres Drawing on the works of Hannah Arendt, Niklas Luhmann, Michael Schudson and others, this book develops the original idea of news-­ prompted public spheres. It argues that publics are often prompted by news, which this book defines as chronically publicized narratives depicting disruptions that are immediately or potentially related to conceptions of the imagined common good (see Luhmann 1996/2000 and Schudson 1995/2003a, 2003b on the concept of news). This book contends that it is chronic news that prompts never-ending configurations of public spheres, which form whenever a group of equals—in the procedural sense—get together and discuss public affairs in a peaceful and reflexive way. News, this research argues, is intensified surprise and is public-­ oriented and chronically produced. News is unpredictable interruptions from the normal state and this trait is further enhanced when news is produced as a commodity aiming at dazzling people (Luhmann 1996/2000; Schudson, 2003a, 2003b). Because of the qualities of publicness and surprise, news invokes public discussions. Based on the above assertions and studies of networked publics (Benkler, 2006), this book proposes that online news-prompted public spheres are characterized by at least five qualities: chronicity, surprise, evanescence, the networked feature and the feature of unintended consequences. Now that public spheres are stirred up by news, the rhythm of the former resonates with that of the latter. Chronic news spawn endless popping up of public spheres. Shocking news is so compelling that it urges readers to express themselves immediately; the more shocking a news story is, the more motivated publics are, and the more swiftly publics crystallize. And as long as public interest–related changes never stop emerging and news as a manifestation of such changes continue to be produced, the formation of news-ignited public spheres sees no end when conditions permit. This means that public configurations cannot be resolved once and for all and their happenings are unpredictable. Besides, not only is the occurrence of news events unforeseeable, but also how publics might react to a piece of news story and interact with each other, and what sequential actions they might take is uncertain (see Arendt, 1958). News-prompted public

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gatherings are not planned actions and are not always controllable, but they will constantly check established powers. Such flexibility may be the main reason why news-prompted public spheres can survive and even flourish in oppressive environments. Public spheres have an ephemeral quality (Butler, 2015; Lippmann, 1993). This is because the public at large are not full-time political activists or politicians. They only participate in public debates occasionally, probably intrigued by a random news event in today’s media-saturated society. Their passion is transient (Lippmann, 1993) because they have a wealth of personal affairs to deal with, which requires the absolute majority of their energy. In such a case, public spheres are inevitably spasmodic (Lippmann, 1993), occasional (Schudson 1995/2003a, 2003b) and monitorial (1998/2002). It would be unimaginable to demand an ordinary citizen engage in and devote themselves to politics as politicians do; nobody is omnicompetent. In addition, the never-ending popping up of novel news events will also divert publics’ attention from previous events. Such an understanding of the casual nature of the political function of public spheres is important. It helps researchers avoid the illusionary expectation that such a watchful power is equivalent to the democratic system itself, or that it will surely be revolutionary. At most times, they are not. Publics are born in tensions and are characterized by transience. However, far from being a weak point, as many researchers have assumed, this quality could be an essential reason why such a sort of counter-power is tolerated in repressive contexts. Compared with focused, dedicated dissidents and institutionalized political opponents, such a feature makes publics seem much less threatening. Nevertheless, given the abundance of news (updated 24 hours a day and seven days a week) and its chronicity, multiple transient news-prompted public spheres configure and reconfigure constantly. Together they function as an unpredictable yet systematic monitory power. This constitutes a tricky problem for repressive rulers because each clampdown risks raising the disaffection of publics and their awareness of citizenship. As a result, the frequency of massive crackdowns has to be limited; otherwise, they have to be conducted in a covert way, which unintendedly creates spaces for the constellation of public spheres. The networked feature is the fourth quality of today’s online public spheres. Networked public spheres are constituted by multiple connected communication webs, via which certain voices are crowd-sourced into salience (Benkler, 2006). Voices generated by individuals, institutions, communities and media organizations can all be heard, discussed and

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disseminated to a wealth of networks, via multiple paths and in a variety of communication modes (one-to-one, one-to-many, many-to-many). Affluent and networked venues make such a kind of communication highly flexible and resilient: the blocking of one information flow path or one specific space will not work. A final procedural feature of public spheres is that they can occasion unintended consequences because of the internal uncertainty of communication actions (Arendt, 1958; Hirschman, 1988; Luhmann, 1992; see also Bakhtin, 1993). Communication is contingent, depending on the interlocutors’ interpretation of each other’s utterances (see Knodt 1984/1995; Luhmann 1984/1995). The reference base upon which one articulates one’s utterance and interpret others’ utterances is never the same, depending much on context; and an individual’s reference system itself is always changing. Consequently, no one can be sure that a conversation among equals will always achieve its expected goals. Perverse or unintended outcomes can be engendered, and agreements and consensus are always temporary. The implication is that in the case that news is not completely blocked, and news-prompted public spheres not thoroughly annihilated, alternative discourses will not be fully eliminable, however constrained or manipulated the environment is. This is why silencing the people as a strategy has never been abandoned by oppressive rulers even though multiple other covert and obscure tactics have been deployed: they are aware of the fact that communication is always risky and is sometimes better avoided.

China’s Online News-Prompted Public Spheres On the basis of a reconceptualization of public spheres theory, this book examines Chinese internet users’ engagement in news. It argues that these engagements form China’s online public spheres, which often constellate in unexpected ways but do not last long. As in the West, those public spheres are networked and appear chronically; and they also engender unintended consequences, including those that humiliate the established powers. This book does not aim to find perfect publics; however, it challenges simplified and sweeping arguments that China is barren of public spheres—arguments that have emerged and will emerge whenever the Chinese authorities tighten their grip on news and information flows. I hope to depict a more nuanced picture of those ongoing communicative actions in digital China and to investigate their features, dynamics,

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controversies and constraints. I argue that, prompted by constantly emerging news, online public spheres crystallize almost every minute in China when rights-conscious netizens engage in news in a non-violent, reflexive and largely equal way. The empirical analysis begins by studying ordinary Chinese internet users’ daily news participation on WeChat, currently the most popular online platform for Chinese people to access, comment on and share news (CNNIC, 2017). It compares their news participation against six public sphere constructs—speech freedom, procedural equality, publicness, relevance, reflexivity and diversity—based on which the analysis argues that there exist chronic online publics in China, in the form of daily news engagement. Such a routinization establishes a solid basis for creating connections (networks), educating citizens about public engagement and cultivating their public spirit. I then proceed to examine whether or not China’s publics exhibit the features of news-prompted public spheres through studying multiple news events that have happened in China in the past decade. This includes the 2011 Guo Meimei case, the 2016 Wei Zexi case, the 2017 Yu Huan case, the 2019 Yang Qin case, the 2019 Address Name Change Campaign (ANCC) by the CCP, the 2020 Australian bushfires story and the chained woman case. These case studies reveal how unpredictable the occurrence, development and outcomes of public spheres can be and how networked features further render them more resilient than they seem to be in an oppressive context. These features are the reasons why seemingly fragile publics maintain to some extent their dynamism in China. They emerge as if from nowhere, as at the moment when Guo Meimei’s social media followers and other seemingly unconnected netizens suddenly started questioning the source of Guo’s wealth and the related potential corruption of the charity institution Guo claimed to be associated with. Those public spheres may last for less than one week but can still attract nationwide attention and generate millions of online comments, pressuring authorities to respond and to take action and eventually generating essential legislative impacts, as in the Yu Huan case. And all these happenings are enabled by connected communication networks, through which marginal voices of commoners can gain unprecedented visibility and single individuals can complete complex investigative news stories within days, as the Wei Zexi case will show. The Yang Qin case, the ANCC case, the bushfire case and the chained woman case make it clear that planned communication that aims at persuading publics can backfire and even communication

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strategies that previously worked well may result in unintended consequences due to a changed context. These cases stand as a vivid refutation of claims overestimating the power of propaganda. Alternative voices and online public discussions of public events have not been fully suffocated. The deeply entrenched uncertainty throughout the communication process of public spheres makes them hard to grasp, or to thoroughly clamp down on once and for all. The selected cases were all once hot topics on China’s internet during a specific period of time. This selection is not a value-free process but rather a process of judgement. Max Weber (1994/2011) indicates the quest for “objectivity” in the social sciences unavoidably entails difficult choices about what is to be counted as important. Selection makes meaningful that which may be confusing, and it does so by making value judgements about a specific case that highlight “only a part of concrete reality (that) is interesting and significant” (p. 78) to the author. This then brings intelligibility to a reality that is vast, chaotic and of infinite scope.

The Significance of Revisiting this Topic I conclude by reflecting on the significance and implication of the research. I explain why and how it contributes to the scholarship by proposing an original theory of news-provoked public spheres.2 Adopting a pluralist and constructivist perspective and redirecting attention to the internal features of news and communication, it delves systematically into the formation, dissolution and evolution of online public spheres and assesses their effects. It is a historical and thoroughly constructivist approach as it views those chronically appearing publics as a continuously evolving process and explores their interplay with other social systems. Such an approach avoids short-sighted and simplified descriptions and evaluations of the China case. I also suggest some ways in which news-prompted publics theory might be applied in other contexts and in studying how contemporary unfinished transformations of the field of journalism and public communication might affect the dynamics of public spheres in the future. One of the major contributions of this research is that it proposes a new lens—news-prompted public spheres theory—for addressing an old topic. For the first time, a public spheres theory affirmatively states that publics 2  The term “news-provoked public spheres” is used interchangeably with the term “news-­ prompted public spheres” in this book.

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are often prompted by news in media-saturated societies and based on which systematically assesses the implications of such a connection, such as the features of chronicity, surprise and ephemerality. It proposes a new line of argument to that of the deliberative public sphere model and antitheses of this model (e.g., agnostic public spheres, carnivalesque public spheres). This original conceptualization no longer focuses only on the conversational or “rational speech” quality of individual public spheres. Instead, it expands its research scope and moves to explore the mechanism—news provoking public discussions—that fuels the continuous emergence of public spheres. This new framework is more generalizable than other public sphere theories. It delves into the life and death of the phenomenon called public spheres rather than only their linguistic features. It goes beyond questions such as how deliberative an individual public sphere is, or how publics might be constrained by political interventions. To be sure, those questions are relevant and important, but answering them alone cannot tell the whole story of public spheres; for example, one consequence is that the constraint imposed on publics by the state might be overestimated. Instead, a broadened approach enables a more comprehensive understanding of the interplay between publics and other systems, such as the state and the market. In addition, this new framework is not anchored to an idealized communication mode (which favours only civic, rational, truth-seeking and consensus-oriented expression and rejects any self-­ centred, personalized, emotional expressions) or a unique form of journalism, which oftentimes has territory and period limitations. Finally, taking a realistic approach, this new model highlights the wildness and uncertainty in the news-prompted public communication process. It indicates that these features might be the core reasons that public spheres persist in oppressive environments. This book contends that a theoretical preference for a formula that is ideally conceived, with a rigid shape and boundary, might have impeded researchers from studying an evolving phenomenon that is typically on the move. Working from this original framework, I conducted a brand-new and rich reading of China’s online public spheres. Challenging the increasingly popular yet arbitrary idea that questions the existence of China’s online contention, I make a bold argument that there are constant constellations of online publics in China, simultaneously enabled and constrained by China’s unique political economy, the advance of ICTs, and social and cultural traditions. By studying the relationship between news and public

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spheres and features of the latter that have never been thoroughly addressed before, I also explain why these online publics are able to emerge continuously, remain dynamic and survive harsh censorship. Sceptics of the idea of Chinese public spheres often build their arguments on literal interpretations of China’s news and information policies and selected events/facts while failing to grasp a more complicated reality. They tend to ignore how those policies are put into practice or how other broader structural factors (economic and technological) may sabotage the intent of information control and instead facilitate the formation of public spheres. They underestimate the complexity of entangled interplay between the state, the market, publics and cultural traditions. They fail to see that the force that drives the constellation of publics—never-ending changing societal relationships and the necessity for communicating such changes—should go beyond the scope of how the state regulates publics. The broadened, realistic and constructivist approach this research adopts avoids those problems. Throughout the empirical analysis, it does not hesitate to uncover the controversies and the uncertainties embedded within China’s online public spheres. They are much messier and chaotic than imagined. This book, for the first time, also highlights the unpredictability of public communications in China and thus provides a new perspective for assessing the disinformation and public opinion manufacturing strategies adopted by the party-state. This is significant as some studies of China are consciously or unconsciously inclined to assume that the party-state’s propaganda policy is always highly efficient or more efficient than that conducted by democratic authorities. This is certainly debatable. Few media and communication scholars today would believe in the magic-bullet theory any longer, that propaganda immediately and surely changes people’s minds. Now that the “limited media effects” paradigm has been widely accepted by the scholarship, why would propaganda by the CCP be an exception? The uncertainty principle underscored by this book should always be taken into consideration when analysing public communications, in China or in the rest of the world. It helps explain why so-called internet events—a synonym of national online public contention—still happen from time to time in present-day China. It is the key reason why Chinese publics maintain dynamism to some extent, even in an oppressive environment.

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References Arendt, H. (1958). The human condition. University of Chicago Press. Bakhtin, M. M. (1993). Toward a philosophy of the act. Texas University Press. Benkler, Y. (2006). The wealth of networks: How social production transforms markets and freedom. Yale University Press. Buckley, C. (2013, September 10). Crackdown on bloggers is mounted by China. The News York Times. https://www.nytimes.com/2013/09/11/world/ asia/china-­cracks-­down-­on-­online-­opinion-­makers.html. Butler, J. (2015). Notes toward a performative theory of assembly. Harvard University. Campbell, C. (2016, October 6). Five ways China has become more repressive under president xi Jinping. Time http://time.com/4519160/china-­xi­jinping-­cecc-­human-­rights-­rule-­of-­law Chen, Y., Mao, Z., & Qiu, J. L. (2018). Super-sticky WeChat and Chinese society. Emerald Group Publishing. Chin, J., & Mozur, P. (2013, September 19). China intensifies social-media crackdown. The Wall Street Journal. https://www.wsj.com/articles/china­intensifies-­socialmedia-­crackdown-­1379614063 Clarke, M. (2018, September 6). How China is on the verge of totalitarianism 2.0. New America. https://www.newamerica.org/weekly/edition-­216/how­china-­verge-­totalitarianism-­20 CNNIC. (2017). Zhongguo Hulianwang Xinwen Shichang Yanjiu Baogao (2016 research report on Chinese online news market). CNNIC. Retrieved March 22, 2022, from http://www.cnnic.net.cn/hlwfzyj/hlwxzbg/mtbg/201701/ P020170112309068736023.pdf Creemers, R. (2017). Cyber China: Upgrading propaganda, public opinion work and social management for the twenty-first century. Journal of Contemporary China, 26(103), 85–100. Dencik, L., Hintz, A., & Cable, J. (2016). Towards data justice? The ambiguity of anti-surveillance resistance in political activism. Big Data & Society, 3(2), 1–12. Diamond, L. (2019). The road to digital unfreedom: The threat of postmodern totalitarianism. Journal of Democracy, 30(1), 20–24. Douthat, R. (2019, April 13). The only answer is less internet. The New  York Times. https://www.nytimes.com/2019/04/13/opinion/china-­internet-­ privacy.html. Fraser, N. (1990). Rethinking the public sphere: A contribution to the critique of actually existing democracy. Social Text, 25(26), 56–80. Frum, D. (2018, March 5). China is not a garden-variety dictatorship: It is far more ruthless and determined to protect its power. The Atlantic. https://www. theatlantic.com/international/archive/2018/03/china-­xi-­jinping-­president/ 554795

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Habermas, J. (1996). Between facts and norms (W. Rehg, Trans.). Polity Press. Habermas, J. (2006). Political communication in media society: Does democracy still enjoy an epistemic dimension? The impact of normative theory on empirical research. Communication Theory, 16(2006), 411–426. Han, R. (2018). Contesting cyberspace in China: Online expression and authoritarian resilience. Columbia University Press. Hirschman, A. O. (1988, April 8). Two hundred years of reactionary rhetoric: The case of the perverse effect. The Tanner lectures on human values. University of Michigan. Keane, J. (2020). Hopes for Civil Society. Global Perspectives, 1(1). Knodt, E. M. (1995). The postmodern predicament. In N. Luhmann (Ed.), Social systems (J. Bcdnarz, & D. Baecker, Trans.). Stanford University Press. (Original work published 1984). Kuo, L. (2019, November 4). ‘It is not hopeless’: China’s #MeToo movement finally sees legal victories. The Guardian. https://www.theguardian.com/ world/2019/nov/04/it-­is-­not-­hopeless-­chinas-­metoo-­movement-­finally-­sees­legal-­victories Lagerkvist, J. (2005). The rise of online public opinion in the People’s republic of China. China: An International Journal, 3(1), 119–130. Lewis, O. A. (2013). Net inclusion: New media’s impact on deliberative politics in China. Journal of Contemporary Asia, 43(4), 678–708. Lippmann, W. (1993). The phantom public. Routledge. (Original work published 1927). Luhmann, N. (1992). What is communication? Communication Theory, 2(3), 251–259. Luhmann, N. (1995). Social systems (J.  Jr. Bednarz, & D.  Baecker, Trans.). Stanford University Press. (Original work published 1984). Luhmann, N. (2000). The reality of the mass media (2nd ed., C. Cross, Trans.). Stanford University Press. (Original work published 1996). Mozur, P., & Krolik, A. (2019, December 17). A surveillance net blankets China’s cities, giving police vast powers. The New  York Times. https://www.nytimes. com/2019/12/17/technology/china-­surveillance.html Papacharissi, Z. (2016). Affective publics and structures of storytelling: Sentiment, events and mediality. Information, Communication & Society, 19(3), 307–324. Reed, L., & Boyd, D. (2016). Who controls the public sphere in an era of algorithms? Questions and assumptions. Mediation, Automation, Power, 1–19. Repnikova, M., & Fang, K. (2018). Authoritarian participatory persuasion 2.0: Netizens as thought work collaborators in China. Journal of Contemporary China, 1–17. Schudson, M. (2002). The good citizen: A history of American civic life. Harvard University Press. (Original work published 1998).

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Schudson, M. (2003a). The power of news. The president and colleagues of Harvard University. (Original work published 1995). Schudson, M. (2003b). The sociology of news. W. W. Norton & Co. Srnicek, N. (2017). Platform capitalism. Polity Press. Svensson, M. (2017). The rise and fall of investigative journalism in China: Digital opportunities and political challenges. Media, Culture & Society, 39(3), 440–445. Teng, B. (2018, April 16). Has Xi Jinping changed China? Not really. China File. http://www.chinafile.com/reporting-­o pinion/viewpoint/has-­x i-­j inping­changed-­china-­not-­really Teon, A. (2019, February 20). The deterioration of China’s media freedom in the Xi Jinping era. The Greater China Journal. https://china-­journal.org/2019/ 02/20/the-­deterioration-­of-­chinas-­media-­freedom-­in-­the-­xi-­jinping-­era. Tong, J. (2015). The formation of an agonistic public sphere: Emotions, the internet and news media in China. China Information, 29(3), 333–351. Tong, J. (2019). The taming of critical journalism in China: A combination of political, economic and technological forces. Journalism Studies, 20(1), 79–96. Weber, M. (2011). Methodology of social sciences (E.  A. Shils, & H.  A. Finch, Trans.). Routledge. (Original work published 1949). Xi Jinping Zongshuji Zhuchi Zhaokai Dang de Xinwen Yulun Gongzuo Zuotanhui Bing Dao Renminribaoshe, Xinhuashe, Zhongyangdianshitai Diaoyan Ceji (Report over General secretary Xi Jinping’s host of the CCP’s news and public opinion work forum and his visit to People’s Daily, Xinhua News Agency and CCTV). (2016, February 21). Xinhua News Agency. http://www.gov.cn/ xinwen/2016-­02/21/content_5044092.htm Xiao, Q. (2019). The road to digital unfreedom: President Xi’s surveillance state. Journal of Democracy, 30(1), 53–67. Xin, T. (2020, Septembre 07). Suzhou’s civic code raises contention, officials claim that it is just a trial (苏州市推出“文明码”惹争议 官员忙称:测试阶段). VCT News. https://vct.news/news/c9480122-4a09-4463-8696-8575eab16ef8 Yang, G. (2003). The internet and the rise of a transnational Chinese cultural sphere. Media, Culture and Society, 25(4), 469–490.

CHAPTER 2

The Theory of News-Prompted Public Spheres and their Features

Drawing on Jürgen Habermas, Hannah Arendt, Michael Schudson, Niklas Luhmann and others, this chapter focuses on developing the original theory of news-prompted public spheres. The basic idea is that news events, as manifestations of intensified disruptions from what is considered as normal, invoke negotiations among publics and force them to express consent or dissent (Luhmann, 1992), which thus prompts the configurations of public spheres. To advance this idea, this chapter starts by reviewing the concept of public spheres and identifies the six normative constructs, against which the book will examine China’s public spheres. I then proceed to discuss the idea of news, its internal attributes and its natural connections with public spheres. Taking such a connection as a starting point, I explore the features of today’s news-prompted public spheres and assert that they may constitute essential factors contributing to the resilience and democratic potential of online public spheres in oppressive contexts.

The Concept of Public Spheres Public spheres form when a group of people discuss issues pertaining to what they consider to be the common good. These “public issues” often manifest themselves as “news” in today’s media-saturated society and people’s news engagement has become a basic form of public spheres (Dahlgren, 2005; Keane, 1995; see also Habermas 1962/1989, 2006). © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 X. Xu, Online News-Prompted Public Spheres in China, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-12156-2_2

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These issues are often linked to concrete or ideological conflicts and antagonism (Mouffe, 1999; see also Bakhtin, 1993). Agitated publics can be fueled both by emotions and rational thinking, and their arguments can be a mix of critical deliberation, agonistic contestation, carnivalesque performance and affective expression. They are not necessarily spaces of calm reason but should be non-violent arenas that are tolerant of heterogenous opinions. Public opinion is produced within their formation processes, which holds established powers accountable—be they transnational or governmental institutions, private companies, civil organizations or powerful individuals. In this way, public spheres unite and empower the often dispersed, unorganized powerless citizens by keeping the powerful in check, even if only temporarily. Yet, publics do not rule as the creed of parliamentary democracy would suggest (Lippman 1927/1993). Public spheres are chronic and strike as surprises do, but a single public sphere usually does not last long. And they are often scattered, fragmented due to the irreducible complexity of contemporary society and the abundance of news. According to the space a public sphere covers, and the media through which it forms, public spheres can roughly be categorized into three types: micro public spheres, such as tavern gatherings of neighbours talking about a road-building plan crossing the community; meso public spheres mediated by mass media, such as debates about tax reforms in a specific area; and macro public spheres facilitated by global mass media and internet discussions, for example, about climate change (see Keane, 1995). There have been heated debates over the normative constructs of public spheres yet no widely reached consensus probably because of vast differences even in terms of how one should define the concept. I contend that public spheres should meet six basic norms: speech freedom (Cohen, 1989), procedural equality, public spirit (Conover et al., 2002; Schudson, 1997; Splichal, 2000), reciprocity/reflexivity (Cappella et  al., 2002; Dryzek, 2000; Graham & Witschge, 2003; Gutmann & Thompson, 1996; Habermas, 1984), relevance (Ruiz et al., 2011; Graham & Witschge, 2003) and tolerance of difference (Dryzek, 2000; Huckfeldt et al., 2004; Moy & Gastil, 2006). Before setting out to discuss these normative principles, it’s worth highlighting that what is proposed here is an ideal type in the sense indicated by Max Weber. In practice, most public communication actions might fall short of one or several of them. The speech freedom principle is that public discussion is not subjected to unjustified censorship. A strict version of this principle requires that

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discussions are bound to no force except that of better arguments (Cohen, 1989). Put differently, it requires the stripping away of all external forces except for well-articulated and reasoned argumentations. There is in principle no disagreement over speech freedom from unjustified external forces, such as censorship imposed by political or economic forces. Rather, the problem lies in the demand that discussions should also be free from “authority of prior norms or requirements” (Cohen, 1989, p. 22). This is almost impossible, as nobody can really claim that their opinions are never influenced by existing norms. Participants in public debates constantly refer to different values and norms, including identity, personal ideology, media frames, elite cues and ethnic nationalist values (Ryfe, 2005) as shortcuts to articulate their arguments. This research therefore asserts that the speech freedom norm should not go beyond the requirement of being free from unjustified external force or restrict itself to critical-rational, value-free argumentations. The second construct is procedural equality, or “formal equality” as pioneering deliberative public sphere theorist Cohen (1989, p. 23) puts it. According to Cohen, participants “are formally equal in that the rules regulating the procedure do not single out individuals. Everyone with the deliberative capacities has equal standing at each stage of the deliberative process”. This procedural equality is widely accepted by researchers. A relevant but controversial idea is the principle of substantive equality, which is considered as essential by some deliberative theorists such as Cohen and Habermas (1962/1989). Cohen (1989) insists that “participants are substantively equal in that the existing distribution of power and resources does not shape their chances to contribute to deliberation, nor does that distribution play an authoritative role in their deliberation” (p. 23). This is, nevertheless, both unrealistic and misleading. As Sanders (1997) cogently argues, such a requirement rudely brackets the entrenched inequality among participants caused by race, class or gender, whereas in reality participants never simply leave these differences behind. The deliberative language Cohen insists that every participant speaks and only according to which judgements are made, Sanders argues, is often spoken by well-educated white men while emotional, badly articulated language is often spoken by women, racial minorities and the poor (in the US). This will inevitably render disadvantaged people marginalized in the communication process. Even social, economic and political equality is assumed across participants, which of course contradicts social reality, in which inequality in terms of information access and mastering will pertain (Jacobs

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et al., 2009). It is also impossible that participants can be equal in terms of public speaking skills—that is, equal in epistemological authority (Sanders, 1997; Young, 1996). Even worse is that the discourse of marginalized groups can possibly be refused entry into public spheres, as it is not considered public (Fraser, 1990). In any case, simply assuming that all participants are substantively equal speakers “deprives theorists of a way to notice systematic patterns of exclusion” (1990 p. 353). For these reasons, this analysis sees only procedural equality as a necessary norm that needs to be fulfilled in the public spheres, which is also widely accepted as a basic rule for public deliberation (Dryzek, 2000). Public spirit constitutes the third norm (see Conover et  al., 2002; Schudson, 1997; Splichal, 2000). This research speaks of public spirit in two senses: first, it means that topics discussed should pertain to the imagined common good—that is, they should be political (Arendt, 1958); second, it means that the communication should be publicly visible and accessible. The first connotation helps to differentiate public sociability, which is normatively conceptualized as the public sphere (Kelly, 1999; Randall, 2006; Russell, 2004; Sullivan et al., 2002; see also Goodman, 1992), from private sociability. The latter, which is sometimes misunderstood as equal with the former, refers to recreational time “spent talking to friends and relatives, attending social gatherings, and engaging in recreational activities with other” (Sullivan et  al., 2002, p. 872). Private sociability limits itself to a certain group of people, seeking no extra public attention or impact and is not concerned with public affairs. The second connotation requires discussion to be publicly visible and accessible. What is often ignored is that this requirement often entails an internal transformation of individual participants, forcing them to rethink and re-­ appropriate their personal experiences so they fit understandable, recognizable and communicable public experience (Arendt, 1958). In this way publicity (public spirit) empowers and constrains publics simultaneously: it ensures the confidence and legitimacy of demands by participants and at the same time obliges them to abide by the rules to which they agreed (Splichal, 2000). Following Immanuel Kant, Splichal (2000, p. 20) contends that as such publicity creates “a legal maxim that people would obey” and is “the fundamental and universal principle of human public agency” (2000, p. 13). However, I would like to indicate that the public-private demarcation is largely theoretical. Empirically, it might be difficult to distinguish these two spheres as they might “shift according to individual perspectives”

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(Lange, 2007, p. 365). For example, some people consider domestic violence as private rather than public. The boundary is fluid and permeable (see also Hu, 2008). The same topic can be approached from a public angle or it can be appropriated for a personal sphere. The distinction is also context-dependent and might be manipulated as an ideological tool by communication participants (Gal, 2002). Fraser (1990) indicating that the question about what is public or private is itself a political issue as topics debated by marginal groups—for example, domestic violence, which became public only in the twentieth century—might be discredited as private and therefore denied publicity. In practice, participants may use a public space for personal purposes and personal social media pages might be used for public purposes. In other words, the distinction between public and private spheres is sometimes quite blurred. The fourth principle is reflexivity. It requires participants to critically reflect upon both others’ and their own positions in the communication process (Gutmann & Thompson, 1996) in spite of their differences. It constitutes the basis for achieving mutual understanding and working out acceptable agreement. Without reflection, the whole communication process that aims to resolve disputes or controversies is meaningless, since neither side will make compromises or change their stance. This norm has been widely known since Habermas’s (1984) work on communicative action theory and since then has become the core principle of deliberative public sphere (Cappella et al., 2002; Dryzek, 2000; Graham & Witschge, 2003; Gutmann & Thompson, 1996). Gutmann and Thompson (1996) and Steinhoff (2009) contend that it is the most important norm. Dryzek (2000, pp. 2–3) also argues that “the only condition for authentic deliberation is [then] the requirement that communication induce reflection upon preferences in non-coercive fashion”. The principle of tolerance of difference (or the principle of diversity) asserts that participants should respect opinions that diverge from their own. In other words, communication should tolerate conflicts and guarantee that marginal voices can be expressed and heard (see Moy & Gastil, 2006). Such a norm is consistent with the procedural equality principle and should also be considered as the basis for achieving mutual understanding. Public sphere theorists consider differences and interest conflicts as ineradicable among publics (Bakhtin, 1993; Mouffe, 1999) and as the reason for their very formation (Mouffe, 1999). Dryzek (2000) and Huckfeldt et al. (2004) also insist that public spheres should embrace difference; it is exactly because of difference that public debate matters.

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Mouffe (1999) also reckons that recognizing and encouraging the expression of differences constitutes the first step in going democratic. For Moy and Gastil (2006, p. 445), the “emphasis on respect and listening is a corrective to the strictly rationalist, argumentative account of deliberation, which can downplay the importance of plurality, cultural differences, and perspective taking”. The sixth construct is relevance which requires participants to stay focused on the topic under discussion (Ruiz et al., 2011; see also Graham & Witschge, 2003). Off-topicality is considered disturbing and anti-­ democratic, as too much of it can frustrate participants and therefore hinder their political engagement. Some media publicly repudiate such comments made by their readers in their comment zones (Ruiz et  al., 2011). This should be especially taken into consideration in the internet age, when machines can be used to distract the conversation by generating a large amount of irrelevant comments, which may discourage participants in the same way as censorship does and therefore zombify the public space. However, it is worth noting that off-topic utterances cannot always be avoided in people’s everyday discussions of public issues; a certain degree of off-topicality should be tolerated. Reality and theory are in constant tension, which is why this book emphasizes that a public sphere which fulfils all the above principles is only an ideal type. The principle of speech freedom and the principle of procedural equality aim at ensuring an equal chance for all publics to engage in political debates. Such an idea of “full access and rights of appearance on a designated platform” (Butler, 2015, p. 8) is, however, impossible to realize in real communications. And the boundary between private and public is fluid and porous, as discussed above; there is no guarantee that all participants will make relevant comments, and always be reflective or tolerate each other’s opposing opinions. In short, empirical public communication will inevitably fail to perfectly meet all six norms, in Western democracies or in undemocratic countries. However, as a yardstick, these six principles as the normative requirements of public spheres will be applied in this book to assess China’s online public spheres, but the discussion of the results of the assessment will take the intrinsic tension between theory and reality into consideration. There are two other norms—rationality and consensus pursuit—that are often advocated as imperative by some deliberative public sphere theorists (e.g., Cohen, 1989; Gastil & BLACK, 2007; Habermas, 1996). However, these two principles are also the most often harshly criticized.

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The term rationality is often contrasted with irrationality and emotionality. This is a misunderstanding of communicative rationality in the Habermasian sense, which sets the foundation for deliberative public sphere theory. In his seminal book about communicative action, Habermas (1984, p. 22) defines rationality as “a disposition of speaking and acting subjects that is expressed in modes of behaviour for which there are good reasons or grounds”. He identifies four types of rationality: instrumental-­ strategic rationality, normative rationality, dramaturgic rationality and communicative rationality. According to him: • Instrumental-strategic rationality is a formal, means/ends (success-­ oriented, purposive) rationality, employing monologically descriptive knowledge. • Normative rationality refers to legal and moral norms as evidence and reason. • Dramaturgic rationality appeals to inner subjective feelings, which should be grounded on sincerity and authenticity. • Communicative rationality takes into consideration all the other three types of rationality and aims at reaching understanding and intersubjective consensus. Habermas (1984) suggests that communicative rationality is built on multiple other types of rationality and that what matters is how rationality is used and whether it is further questioned, defended and reflected during the communication course, not what type of rationality is employed. That is how Habermas differentiates communicative rationality from instrumental-­strategic rationality, on the basis of which he built his communicative action theory (Deflem, 1994; Ryfe, 2005). Habermas argues that communicative rationality aims to reach understanding (consensus) through better argument while instrumental-strategic rationality aims at success by resorting to influence and arbitrary choice to coordinate action in communication (Johnson, 1991; Ryfe, 2005). The key issue is thus whether rationality is communicated in a reflective way, but not what kind of rationality is referred to. In this sense, reasoning unreflexively based on information shortcuts or ideological conformity (Dryzek, 2009) is not deliberative whereas resorting to emotional feelings in communications cannot simply be excluded as “irrational”. The significance of communicative rationality lies in its requirement for reflection, as Steinhoff (2009) insists. Neither emotional expression, nor rhetoric (Dryzek, 2000),

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storytelling (Sanders, 1997), testimony or greeting as a communication category (Young, 1996) should be excluded from appropriate public expressions. The core construct of the public sphere should be reflexivity. The Habermasian rationality is also truth-seeking, interest-bracketing and altruistic (Habermas, 1984), which this book regards as utopian. Participants in the public sphere are not fleshless but materially embodied (Bahktin, 1993; Butler, 2015), emotion-driven and value-burdened (Gardiner, 2004; Mouffe, 1999). Their communicative actions are marked by personal position and attitude, which is “not an indifferent attitude, but an interested-effective attitude” (Bakhtin, 1993, p.  32). More radically and broadly, some scholars argue that rationality is historically specific and context-dependent rather than something universal (Flyvbjerg 1991/1998). For Flyvbjerg, “power defines what counts as rationality and knowledge and thereby what counts as reality” (p. 227). Foucault’s (1990) book The History of Sexuality cogently supports such an assertion. Habermas’s insensitivity to the way power interferes with the public communication process renders his communicative rationality claim constrained and vague. Another controversial norm is the pursuit of consensus, which requires participants to agree with each other on “matters of both morality and truth” (see Dryzek, 2000, p. 48). However, even some deliberative theorists object to taking it as a normative requirement of the public sphere (e.g., Chambers, 2003; Dryzek, 2000; Gutmann & Thompson, 1996; Jacobs et al., 2009). One main argument is that a consensus-oriented public sphere is inclined to deny and suppress plurality (Sanders, 1997), whereas in today’s plural society unity can be hard to find. Sanders (1997 p. 360) thus accuses such a principle of being intrinsically exclusive and anti-democratic because it causes “special interests to be revised, modified, or shifted in the name of discovering something common”. Consequently, the perspective of minorities will be denied. The pursuit of consensus thus encourages false unanimity and stifles genuine disagreements (Jacobs et al., 2009). Some scholars propose justifiable or reasoned agreements as replacement (Dryzek, 2000; Gutmann & Thompson, 1996). Instead of consensus, Gutmann and Thompson (1996) only expect participants to mutually respect and understand each other, and to cooperatively work out justifiable agreements that are acceptable to all who participate in discussion and those who could potentially be affected by the discussion. Dryzek (2000) argues that the public could achieve agreements based on different

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reasons; they do not need to reach unanimous consensus in terms of morality or truth. In short, they claim that justifiable agreements are more realistic and achievable goals than consensus in a pluralistic world. However, I should indicate that even justifiable agreement cannot always be achieved or even pursued by publics. First of all, participants may not aim at reaching any agreement at all, especially when no urgent decision is needed. Another reason is that it may take too much time to meet such a goal. Moreover, the possibility that no agreement could be reached among a large number of publics cannot be ruled out. In any case, publics are not obliged to agree with each other, nor could they always do so due to inevitable plurality, though seeking agreement might be an important reason that drives people’s political engagement. Either way, this book does not see the pursuit of consensus or even agreement as a principle that must be met within public spheres. There is a vast difference between seeking agreements and seeking political arrangements that could deal with disagreements. The latter constitutes the core spirit of democratic politics while the former might veer off its “democratic” course. I will assess whether and to what extent Chinese citizens’ online news participation meets such norms so as to answer the question of whether there are online public spheres in present-day China. Again, I would like to highlight that there are always gaps between a theoretical model and what really happens in the real public discussion process. It is highly likely that the actual formation of public spheres is imperfect. For instance, we may find off-topic utterances or uncivil speeches in conversations. But so long as these speeches do not dominate the dialogue, I will not fully disqualify it as a public sphere.

News A news story is a publicized narrative about a change or a discontinuity from what has been assumed to be the current or normal state in the eyes of the news producers. It tells about disruptions with the existing order in a specific context, be it natural (a hurricane or an earthquake), social (a new law, a new economic policy) or logical (Luhmann 1996/2000; Schudson, 1997). In the West, the emergence of regularly published news is largely motivated by merchants’ needs of information about events that may unexpectedly ruin their business, whether these are bad weather that may cause traffic difficulties or disasters, new market policies issued by governments or price changes of goods (Habermas 1962/1989). In the

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two Song Dynasties in ancient China (C.E. 960–1279), the privately owned, professionalized and profit-oriented “Little Press(es)” (Xiaobao, 小报) or “News” (Xinwen, 新闻), which were regularly published and sold in bookstores and on the street (Fang, 2014) in urban areas, reported on political information such as “extracts from official documents” (Mittler, 2004, p. 179), war information, officials’ up-to-date proposals (Fang, 2014), social issues and political commentaries. Song urban residents enjoyed reading those “new and surprising” (喜新而好奇) stories (Fang, 2014, p. 17). In short, no matter whether it is in the West or in the East, news warns about current or future risks brought by changes that have already occurred or are foreseeable. Moreover, with the industrialization of news, if a piece of information is selected and presented as news, the “information itself can only appear as a surprise” (Luhmann 1996/2000, p.  27), which “is intensified by marked discontinuity” (1996/2000, p. 28). And this is why news is concerned with immediacy and freshness (see Deuze, 2005). News is manufactured public “events”, which are not “matters of fact” but “matters of concern”—public concern (Latour, 2005, p.  31). Its impact is not limited to individuals; it is public-oriented (Deuze, 2005; Latour, 2005; Schudson, 2003). Schudson (2003, p.  6) suggests that “news is what is publicly notable (with a framework of shared understanding that judges it to be both public and notable)”. The connotation of this claim is twofold. First, news is produced to be read by publics, and it is accessible to publics. Interestingly, “so long as information is publicly available, political actors have to behave as if someone in the public is paying attention … even if the public is absent, the assumption of the public presence makes all the difference” (p. 32). News production—especially of the professionalized variety—is guided by the expectation that there are publics out there. Second, news focuses on changes that may potentially affect the general public’s wellbeing. “It announces to audiences that a topic deserves public attention” (Schudson, 2003, p. 30).” However, the yardstick for gauging news stories’ public worthiness is context-dependent, affected by cultural and ideological values (Schudson, 1997). Adopting the above definition, what could be called news is quite broad. First, news is no longer limited to professionally produced news stories, editorials and so on. Announcements made by governmental institutions, private enterprises, social groups on their websites or their social media pages, photos or texts generated by ordinary internet users about local issues could all be termed news. Second, news is not confined to only

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commonly considered political issues; cultural, social, and economic issues/topics should also be included so long as they are public interest related. What should be excluded is entertainment, advertisements, private-­oriented information and so on. But news does more than telling about societal changes, abnormalities or norm violations. It also facilitates the re-emergence of forgotten or submerged norms—sets of social relations—which “simply ‘exist’ in the mass of existing norms” (Luhmann 1996/2000, p. 29). In other words, news discloses what has been imagined, taken for granted, forgotten or hidden and records their new developments. And such disruptions challenge the status quo and will break the balance, provoking, exposing and intensifying controversies and conflicts. In particular, these changes may negatively affect those who benefit from the status quo, causing unease and even outrage among them, which is often further enhanced when people engage in news because such a kind of “public amplification provides a certification of importance” (Schudson, 2003, p. 30). Consequently, decisions over whether to accept or reject the changes become urgent; and news events, as manifestations of sudden disruptions, thus invoke negotiations, forcing publics to express opinions over potential changes (Luhmann, 1992). This “would not have occurred without the communication” (p.  255). That is what Luhmann (1996/2000, p. 255) suggests: “Communication bifurcates reality. It creates two versions—a yes version and a no version—and thereby forces selection”. In this way, news spurs negotiations among the publics around the changed or changing norms, igniting their passion to express consent or dissent and forming then (with proper conditions) public spheres. What is often neglected by researchers is the chronicity of news. Receiving and discussing constantly updating news become such a commonplace everyday practice that people stop seeing it in a procedural perspective. Yet, the continuous and chronic changes in social relationships and social norms are rooted in the irreducible plurality of human beings, their conflicting intentions and the unpredictability of their actions (Arendt, 1958). According to Arendt, one human action intrigues another without knowing what further actions it may cause. Therefore, the human action “has no end” and negotiations over a change spark new changes, leading to endless news—manifestation of such changes. Connecting news with never-ending societal changes allows researchers to rethink the relationship between news and the public sphere from a new sociological perspective. In essence, news—key information that may

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impact a large number of people’s lives—is produced to coordinate human activities, as a communication tool and as a social product. In this sense, there is no difference between the East and the West or between democracies and non-democracies. So long as social relations are constantly mutating (the pace is accelerating due to intensified and multiplied social interactions), the need for communicating such information—societal changes—will persist and, where conditions permit, news as a manifestation of such changes will continuously emerge.

Features of Online News-Prompted Public Spheres Based on the above reflections on news and public spheres, this chapter now discusses in detail the features of the latter. It contends that unpredictable and chronic news prompts unforeseeable and endlessly emerging public spheres as long as public venues are accessible, and citizens are willing to engage in public affairs in a peaceful way. Individually those news-­ prompted publics are nevertheless transient and spasmodic; they are casual participants in politics. Such a controversial feature enables publics to remain a critical, resilient but also ostensibly fragile force vis-à-vis the state. Yet they are networked, which further enhances their flexibility and resilience. A final claim this book would like to push forward is that public spheres may generate unintended consequences. Together with the above two sections, the theoretical discussions here will build the conceptual framework of the book in which China’s digital public spheres will be explored. Now that public spheres are provoked by news, the rhythm of their evolvement as a whole also follows that of news. Surprising and chronic news therefore leads to endless popping up of public spheres. There is no need to repeat what has been said above, but it is worth highlighting that when claiming that surprise characterizes news-prompted public spheres, it also has a twofold meaning. First, the occurrence of a topic-centered public sphere is unpredictable; second, the development of negotiations (or the formation of multiple public spheres around the topic) is also unforeseeable. This is essential for better understanding the plurality and complexity of the phenomena called public spheres. As for the chronicity feature, its significance becomes prominent when assessing the evolvement of public spheres in oppressive contexts. One has to re-evaluate the effect of crackdowns on individual public spheres and the resilience of civil society. After all, censoring public contention is no

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longer a one-off thing or limited to a small group of people. The longer the crackdowns last, the larger the size of the population that is affected, the more disaffected they become, the more seriously the legitimacy of the authorities will be challenged. Public spheres also have an evanescent quality (Butler, 2015, p.  7; Lippman 1927/1993). Any public assemblies, offline or online, “are invariably transitory when they remain extra-parliamentary” (Butler, 2015, p. 7). It would be rare for the majority of publics to focus on a public event for very long (Lippman 1927/1993), like dedicated activists or full-time politicians. There are plenty of personal affairs demanding their immediate attention. In addition, public attention is scarce in a media-­ saturated society (Keane, 2013). There is simply too much news information pushed at publics each day, whereas their attention is limited. News was once provided once a day, but now the news is constantly on tap 24 hours a day, seven days a week. The number of media outlets offering news was also once easy to count, but now the internet has enabled almost every internet user to produce news. The fluidity—which means something that “could not keep its shape on course for long” (Bauman, 2005, p. 1)—of digital publics contributes further to evanescence. Fluidity is not only the dominant characteristic of people’s offline life and action, but also the core feature of people’s online life and action. People move constantly from one online space to another, freely and conveniently (Boczkowski et al., 2018; DeLuca et al., 2016; Svensson, 2015; Robertson et al., 2010; see also Rauchfleisch & Schäfer, 2015). They freely join or withdraw from different public discussions, and thus contribute to the constant configuration and reconfiguration of public spheres around different issues (DeLuca et al., 2016). The driving force of such kind of surfing actions is the multiple identities of one individual— an IT worker, a game player, a female, a mother, an LGBTIQ person, an Asian, an immigrant—and the limited attention they can direct to each of their identity-based “interests”. They navigate in different networks but mostly they are simply lurkers. In short, this analysis claims that online news-driven public spheres are characterized by their short duration. The fourth quality—the networked feature—of online public spheres is well-­ documented by media and communication scholars. This theory argues that there are different-sized, connected and overlapping online public spheres constellating networked public spheres, via which marginal voices can be peer-filtered and disseminated from one network to another, from small networks to big networks through multiple paths, finally to be

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crowd-sourced into salience (Benkler, 2006). For example, discussions about a chemical factory’s construction plan announced by the local government on its website might first burst through on a local online forum. It could then be picked up by environmental activists, who may launch an online protest on their websites, which may then get shared by a social media celebrity, evolving quickly into a national news event and sparking national debate. This is how networked public spheres form and function. Public spheres in the pre-digital age were also loosely networked, yet their overall structure was highly hierarchical (Habermas, 2006) and scattered publics were mainly fragmented whereas the digitally networked public spheres are much more decentralized and densely connected (Benkler, 2006; Keane, 2013). In the mass media age, often only a few media outlets dominate public communications in a local, national or international area. There was no way that voices at the periphery (such as voices expressed in a village meeting) could become nationally known without passing through those big nodes. In the digital age, in contrast, hundreds and thousands of horizontal networks crystallize around news media, news events, specific themes (e.g., environmental issues), professions, interests, hobbies, locations, sexual orientations, films, novels, musicals, video games, sports to form a much more complicated, densely connected, distributed and flattened web. Through the web, opinions expressed in even the smallest network have the chance to be heard by the public at large. Publics can now involve in deciding what voices should be heard through their individual participation, such as generating hashtags, liking or reposting or commenting on a news story. No longer are mass media the only filter and exemplifier of public opinion; a significant power shift in the networked public spheres has taken place. The final attribute is “unintended consequences”. This research draws on Arendt’s (1958) argument about the unpredictability of human actions, Albert O. Hirschman’s (1988) theory that any planned action may engender unexpected results and Luhmann’s (1992) idea that communication is ridden with risk. As discussed previously, Arendt (1958) insists that it is impossible to predict future developments of human actions—political communication around affairs of general interest—when people act freely as equals, due to the irreducible plurality and differences among them. Hirschman’s (1988) argument resonates with Arendt’s view. No matter how well-designed a plan may be, he claims, accidents can happen, and unexpected outcomes might be produced. Luhmann (1992) also believes

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that communication is risky: there is no guarantee that interlocutors will agree with each other. Instead of achieving agreement, communication might intensify latent conflicts and trigger clear expressions of opposition, leading to new disagreements. That is why rulers never give up ruthlessly silencing people. On the basis of the above arguments, this research claims that public spheres may generate unintended consequences. As long as the circulation of news is not entirely blocked, and the public spheres prompted by it not entirely crushed, no matter how curtailed, distorted or manipulated the context is, there is always the potential for dissent to be stirred up and expressed, either implicitly or explicitly. The above five features, except for the networked feature, have seldom been systematically approached by public sphere researchers. This is probably because of the influence of Habermas’s bourgeois public sphere theory: studies often concentrate on the deliberative qualities (e.g., equality, civility, rationality, reflexivity) or the anti-deliberative ones (e.g., incivility, emotionality, carnivalesque, polarization). Furthermore, just as the relationship between news and the resulting public spheres is often neglected, how the nature of news might over-determine public spheres is also rarely systematically addressed. This research fills the gap and focuses on a chronic process during which public spheres configure, disappear and reconfigure repeatedly. It is from such a constructivist perspective that the research identifies the five qualities. Instead of sticking to a static understanding of public spheres (e.g., about the conversation quality of one particular public sphere), this book seeks to approach this topic in a continuous way. It thus overcomes the generalization problems encountered by many previous studies: their conclusions might only be valid for a specific period or a specific topic or in a unique context. The research does not deny the importance of those discussions; rather, it emphasizes that researchers should not lose the bigger, historical picture. Moreover, these five features are the key reasons why digital public spheres are resilient, especially in suppressive contexts. The surprise, endlessness, evanescence and “unintended consequences” attributes mean not only that the formation of public spheres is unpredictable and uncontrollable, but that their development is also hard to grasp and the immediate and long-time consequences are unforeseeable. They constantly irritate established powers, who always try to have everything under control. Those who criticize spontaneity (which shares some similarities with the feature of surprise) as a weak point of China’s public spheres fail to see the great emancipatory potential of these “uncertainties” in an oppressed

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environment. One cannot overstate the importance of such a sudden and silence-breaking power where the overall political atmosphere is suffocating and where institutionalized and organized powers of contestation are under close surveillance and often suffer the harshest attack. Besides, the ephemerality feature in constrained contexts transforms public spheres into moving targets that are much harder for the authorities to hit, which at the same time wins precious space for them to survive crackdowns because they do not last long and thus seem to be less threatening. For instance, such short-lived “uneasiness” (in the eyes of the party-state) is tolerated in China more often than some researchers have imagined. When attacked, online publics might easily retreat to their private spheres, which can be done in a swift and convenient way, such as ceasing to make comments about a news story. Yet they could also soon return thanks to those networks that have connected them. The networked quality thus again enhances the resilience of digital public spheres in oppressive contexts.

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CHAPTER 3

The Application of Public Sphere Theory in China

This chapter challenges two major arguments that oppose the application of public spheres theories to China: that China lacks an independent, confrontational and revolutionary public sphere (see Latham, 2012; MacKinnon, 2011; Wakeman, 1993; Xin, 1993) and that some Chinese Confucian traditions are incompatible with the public spirit (Bolsover, 2014; Min, 2009; see also Rosenberg, 2006). Through this refutation and an analysis of the long-neglected but deep-rooted Chinese cultural and political traditions aligning with the Western idea of public spheres, it explains why public sphere theories can be used productively in studying China. At the same time, it deepens the reflection on the nature of public spheres. Proponents of the first argument expect a thoroughly autonomous, confrontational (against the state) and disruptive civil society, which could incubate a comprehensive and revolutionary public sphere (Wakeman, 1993; Xin, 1993). China, in their opinion, does not fit this expectation. Noticing that although Wakeman and Xin are talking about the late Qing dynasty and early Republic China, and 1970s and 1980s PRC China, their argument still has followers when referring to current China (e.g., Latham, 2012; MacKinnon, 2011). This argument is erroneous for three reasons. First, it mistakenly equates public sphere to civil society (Calhoun, 1993), assuming that there exists only a singular and comprehensive public sphere. While public

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sphere refers to a kind of public communication around topics of general interest and can take many forms from small-scale micro-public spheres to macro-public spheres, civil society “refers to the set of institutions, organizations and behaviors situated between the state, the business world, and the family” (Yu, 2007, p. 5), oriented also towards the public interest. Public spheres can be part of civil society, but they do not rely on an independent and fully-fledged civil society to constellate. Wakeman (1993) and Xin (1993) err in seeing the latter as the prerequisite of the former. They also had limited knowledge of media developments or news-­ prompted public spheres during the late Qing dynasty and early Republic China, and 1970s and 1980s PRC China. Thousands of independent presses and magazines emerged in late Qing and early Republic China, presenting themselves as the organs of public opinion, collecting, reporting and representing people’s voices and checking on the rule of the state (Fang, 2014; Mittler, 2004). In the 1979 Beijing Spring Democracy Movement, Big Characters (大字报,Dazibao), which appeared on street walls in all of China’s major cities, and underground publications stirred up heated debates over China’s democratization among cultural elites, workers and students. As in the 1980s, media reform marked by marketization and professionalization has led to revolutionary changes to media practices and media ideologies; the ideas of public opinion, media independence and supervision of the state power have once again prevailed among news workers (Liu & McCormick, 2011; see also Zhao, 2004) and university students. These ideas are so influential that in 1987 General Secretary Zhao Ziyang stressed in his report to the Thirteenth Party Congress that public opinion should play a “supervisory role” (Zhao, 1987). The 1989 Tian’anmen square protest then, manifested itself as one of the most revolutionary public spheres in contemporary China. While it is premature to claim there is a robust civil society in “China” in those periods, it is problematic to deny the emergence of bourgeoning public spheres at those times. A covert assumption of the idea of equating public spheres with civil society sees the former as a single entity. It thus misleads researchers to come to the sweeping conclusion that censorship and state control of media have suffocated China’s public spheres. Such an argument fails to see the plurality of public spheres and underestimates their complexity and resilience. Multiple so-called media incidents and internet incidents (e.g., the 2011 high-speed railway accident that caused 40 casualties, the 2018 Changsheng vaccine scandal leading to dozens of officials being sacked or

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prosecuted, and the widely criticized 2019 ANCC) have all generated huge pressure on authorities or have led to significant policy changes. These incidents directly contradict the “dying out” argument (see also DeLuca et al., 2016; Rauchfleisch & Schäfer, 2015). Adopting a comprehensive approach of the public spheres apparently will hinder researchers from capturing the dynamics and complexity of public spheres in China. Public spheres themselves are only selectively censored, depending on the themes around which publics constellate (Huang et al., 2016; King et al., 2013; Rauchfleisch & Schäfer, 2015). Safe topics such as environmental, cultural, economic and social affairs/topics are often tolerated while sensitive topics, particularly those advocating political revolution or toppling established powers, will be subject to ruthless crackdowns (King et al., 2013). But those safe topics can also lead to widespread criticism, public outrage and even offline actions. On the other hand, the implementation of censorship and information control is largely allocated to media companies (Bolsover, 2017), who nevertheless carry out orders differently (MacKinnon, 2009). They may sometimes be rather reluctant to follow those orders that might potentially harm their business. Sina Weibo, for example, pushed the implementation of the Real Name Registration (RNR) requirement very slowly in the early 2010s, vacillating between commercial benefits and political pressures (Lagerkvist, 2012). The authorities would like to better monitor internet users’ news engagement through the RNR policy, but Sina Weibo worries that such a requirement will frustrate its users, which will harm its commercial interests. In fact, these companies may even adopt different strategies to manage different platforms (mobile or web platform) of the same app (Rauchfleisch & Schäfer, 2015): they only selectively implement censorship orders. Third, it is naïve to think that users are always passive or obedient. They invent coded languages, or employ metaphors, or use satire to bypass and fight against censorship. More ironically, empirical studies find that censorship itself often becomes a specific topic on China’s internet (Rauchfleisch & Schäfer, 2015; Sukosd & Fu, 2013; Yang, 2003). For instance, in the earlier internet age in China, a significant theme in the famous political forum Qiangguo Luntan (QGLT) is speech freedom and the meaning of democracy (Yang, 2003). More recently, Sukosd and Fu (2013) found that 1.4% of green-oriented talks they analysed were devoted to online censorship. Rauchfleisch and Schäfer’s (2015) research also showed that censorship was a recurrent theme whenever censorship occurred. The once-­prominent

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Weibo user Zuoyeben’s complaining post about his previous post on Bo Xilai being censored got reposted more than 13,000 times within days. When Zuoyeben’s Weibo account was censored, it drew more than 37,000 posts discussing this event and “users even started a poll asking if it is legitimate that Zuoyeben’s account had been deleted” (p. 150). All these examples show vividly that online censorship in China is not as stifling as some researchers have claimed and that Chinese internet users’ news engagement can be rather dynamic. Second, and theoretically, Wakeman (1993) and Xin (1993) erroneously insist on the absolute independence of civil society from the state. The issue is that, as Chamberlain (1993, p. 208) cogently argues, “a well-­ functioning civil society cannot be totally autonomous of either society or state”. For him, “although civil society is a relatively autonomous entity, distinct from both state and society, it nevertheless partakes of both, and faces and constantly interacts with both” (p.  207). Thus, he contends, “tension is a defining feature of civil society and a major source of both its strength and weakness” (p. 208). Chamberlain’s assertion is supported by the historical research of what Habermas termed the bourgeois public spheres in seventeenth- and eighteenth-century Britain and France (see Gestrich, 2012). At that time, the state and the society were highly intertwined and critical public debates were often initiated and supported by the state rather than by the publics (Gestrich, 2012). Similarly, it could be too demanding to take an absolutely independent civil society as a premise for the emergence of public spheres in China. For Chamberlain, although weak (in terms of independence and influence), the prospects of a civil society in 1990s China “are not entirely bleak” (1993, p. 213). Besides, the requirement of an absolutely independent civil society may impede the productive probing of the reality of today’s China. Take the iconic symbol of civil society—NGOs—for example. It is estimated that there were around 810,000 legally and formally registered NGOs in 2018 in China, while the number of informal NGOs (often independent and not connected with governmental organs) could be between one and three million (ICNL, 2019). That said, it is highly possible that a few million NGOs are highly independent from the Chinese authorities. Third, it is problematic to expect public spheres to be sustained and organized and able to coalesce into a virtual opposition party. Echoing Wakeman (1993), MacKinnon (2011) laments that Chinese internet users’ discursive political engagement could not facilitate revolutions or “a viable opposition movement” and that Chinese publics did not seek “rapid

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political changes” (2011, p. 33). This is a misconception because newsprompted publics, the most common form of public spheres in a mediasaturated society, are oftentimes spasmodic, transient and spontaneous. Publics are temporary opponents rather than dedicated, dutiful and fulltime fighters or political dissidents (Lipmann 1927/1993; Schudson 1998/2002). They are nothing like opposition parties and only really occasionally pursue “a political revolution”. The majority of them have no interest in toppling the rulers, although they are willing to express their disaffection when their interests are threatened. The second argument questioning the applicability of public spheres theory contends that some Chinese cultural traditions are incompatible with the cultivation of public spheres (Bolsover, 2014; Min, 2009). Specifically, some researchers argue that the Confucian tradition of deference to authority contradicts the deliberation principle that publics should be subjected to no external force other than better argument (Bolsover, 2014; Rosenberg, 2006). Others suggest that the Confucian collectivism encourages people to avoid open confrontation or expressions of disagreement, which also obstructs public debate (Bolsover, 2014; Min, 2009; Rosenberg, 2006). These assertions only make sense in theories; in reality, such cultural assumptions fail to predict how Chinese and other east Asian people—who are also said to be deeply influenced by Confucianism— actually participate in public affairs. Bolsover’s (2014) own empirical study shows that Chinese social media users’ public conversations are actually more individualistic than that of Western users on Twitter. In fact, opinion confrontations among participants are found to be the main characteristic of public spheres in 92 east Asian NGOs (from mainland China to South Korea and Taiwan) (Salmenkari, 2014). In other words, solid empirical evidence is lacking for supporting those opponents’ theoretical assumptions. One problem with those opponents is that they see Chinese society in a highly rigid and simplified way and neglect the societal and ideological changes among the Chinese in the twentieth century. For starters, they fail to see the impact of Western democratic ideas on modern and contemporary Chinese societies. These ideas include both Marxist egalitarianism (often manifested in the form of Maoist egalitarian socialism) (Zhao, 1997) and democracy ideas such as public opinion and public sphere theories since the late Qing dynasty (Lei, 2011; Mittler, 2004). On the other side, they over-estimate the influence of some Chinese traditions while ignoring others, as will be detailed below.

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These neglected but deep-rooted Chinese cultural and political traditions align with the Western idea of public spheres and are still alive in current China (Chen, 2006; Rowe, 1990; Xu, 2018). More concretely, there are five Chinese (not necessarily Confucian) traditions that accord with the theory of public spheres: (1) the public-interest-first spirit (Mengzi, n.d., aka Mencius); (2) the Confucian political legitimacy ideal (Xu, 2018); (3) the deliberation tradition among Chinese scholar-­ politicians (Lu, 1999; Rowe, 1990; Strand, 1990); (4) the idea of public opinion as a counter-power of the state or the King (Xu, 2018); and (5) the tradition of critical journalism and public scrutiny among China’s journalists and scholars since the late Qing dynasty (Mittler, 2004). Eclipsed or distorted by extreme nationalism, or new despotism (see Keane, 2020), or so-called “socialism with Chinese characteristics”, these democratic spirits, nevertheless, running like underwater, nurture the oftentimes scattered Chinese critic publics. The public-interest-first spirit is clearly expressed in one of the most important Confucian classics Mengzi (孟子), which states that, “The people are the most important, then the state and finally the King” (Min wei gui, sheji cizhi, jun wei qing. 民为贵，社稷次之，君为轻) (Mengzi,1 n.d.). In Chinese classics, the collective of “the people” is called Gong (公), which is equivalent to public, in contrast to Si (私), which is a synonym for private, personal and individual. The earliest explanation of the term Gong comes from Erya (尔雅), known as the first Chinese dictionary published in the third century B.C.E., which denotes gong as the opposite of private (Si) (Rowe, 1990). In another later Chinese dictionary, Shuowen (说文, published in the first century C.E.), Gong means collective or communal, or “shared in equally by all” (pingfen, 平分) (Rowe, 1990, p. 316). Another important classic of Confucianism Liji2 (礼记) interprets Gong as Tianxia Wei Gong (天下为公), which means those who live under the sky or the heaven—meaning the collective of the people equating with Gong

1   Its author, Mengzi (372–289 B.C.E.) is viewed as the second most important Confucianism philosopher in China, after Confucius. 2  Liji describes cultural, social and administrative lives and ceremonial rites of multiple Kingdoms in the Zhou Dynasty, co-authored by Confucius and his students.

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(see also Lu, 1999)3. Mencius’s assertion that “the people are the most important” could thus be interpreted as the public interest having primacy. The prioritization of the public interest over the interests of the state or the rulers accords well with public sphere theories. This public-­­ interest-first spirit has long been viewed as one of the most important Confucian political ideas and it has repeatedly inspired Chinese scholar-­ officials to fight against corrupted dynasties or states across China’s long history (Lu, 1999). The Confucian political legitimacy theory has more in common with public spheres theory than it does differences. Philosophically, the public sphere ideal “signifies nothing less than the ‘reign of virtue’” (Chamberlain, 1993, p. 199), which should be in line with the interests of the public. The Confucian political idea also claims that ruling should comply with the Mandate of Heaven (Tiandao, 天道) (Xu, 2018), which is interpreted by Mengzi (n.d.) as the mission/responsibility of caring for the wellbeing of the people and the prosperity of the society4—in other words, the interests of the people. The Confucian political legitimacy theory does not see legitimacy as coming from family or gods; it is rather people-oriented (Xu, 2018) and humanistic (Ip, 2009). Consequently, an empire could be overthrown if it failed to meet the Tiandao—that is, meeting the requirement of caring for the interests and welfare of the people (Xu, 2018; Mengzi, n.d.). In short, both the Confucian political legitimacy ideal and the public sphere ideal see the interests of publics as their highest “virtue”; there is in this aspect no fundamental difference between the two political philosophies. Scholars believe that this traditional Confucian legitimacy idea persists till today (Bolsover, 2014; Perry, 2008; Tong, 2011). The CCP always justifies its policies and actions by referring to the general interest (Keane, 2013) and both the Chinese party-state and the general public constantly speak of welfare rights (Bolsover, 2014). An important reason

3  Although in a later development, Gong often mixes with state (guan, 官) (Rowe, 1990), such as in the term gongwu (public affairs); the purpose of the usage is often to contradict itself with the private (Si). By the late Qing Dynasty, when Western liberal democracy ideas had been imported to China, Gong gradually becomes the English parallel public Rankin 1993; Rowe, 1990). 4  See Mengzi—Lianghuiwang Shang: “… 谷与鱼鳖不可胜食，材木不可胜用，是使民养 生丧死无憾也。养生丧死无憾，王道之始也。” (… If there are abundant supplies of grain, aquatic products and firewood, then the people will not concern about their living or death. This then constitutes the basis of the Mandate of Heaven.) (Mengzi, n.d.).

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why many Chinese support the party-state is that they believe it serves their interests (Nathan, 2003). The third Chinese cultural and political tradition that is in line with the public sphere idea is Chinese elites’ public deliberation tradition. It is also known as the public deliberation tradition of scholar-officials and can be traced back to the Spring and Autumn Period (771–448 B.C.E.) (Chen, 2006). Deliberation of public affairs was one of the most prominent cultural and political phenomena during the Spring and Autumn Period and the Warring States Period (481–221 B.C.E.). Historical books recorded the two most famous public deliberation institutions (open to all): the Xiangxiao School in the State of Zheng during the Spring and Autumn Period and the Jixia School in the State of Qi5 during the Warring States Period. Both were set up by the state to encourage open debates over public affairs, “such as the general plan of administration” (2006, p. 168); criticisms were welcomed. Opinions expressed in those debates were collected and those who provided convincing ideas could eventually be invited by the state to implement their policies. However, although such institutions are accessible to the general public, it is often cultural elites who are the main participants. Such a tradition of public deliberation was inherited by China’s scholar-officials across 2,000 years (Chen, 2006; Rowe, 1990; Strand, 1990; Xu, 2018). Consistent with the Confucian political legitimacy philosophy, the idea of supervision by public opinion (or public scrutiny) over the rulers is repeatedly documented in multiple Chinese classics (Chen, 2011). A short political prose, Guanzi: Huangong Wen (管子·桓公问) (Guan, n.d.), which was drafted during the Spring and Autumn Period by Guang Zhong, then prime minister of Duke Huan of Qi (or Qi Huangong), clearly expresses such a spirit. In this well-known prose, Guan Zhong answers Qi Huangong’s question on how to rule his kingdom more effectively. Guan said: “You should not harm justice because of your personal preferences; (you) should find out what disaffect the people and warn yourself of them … [You should learn from] Yao6 who set up a special place Qushi to ask people’s opinions [about public affairs] … (You should learn from) King Tang who built a house on the street to observe how people talk about political affairs” (勿以私好恶害公正，察民所恶，以自 为戒 … 尧有衢室之问，下听于人也 … 汤有总街之庭，以观人诽也). 5 6

 Qi was one of the most powerful kingdoms at that time.  Yao (尧) was one of the greatest legendary Chinese rulers.

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Other classics record similar stories about great kings listening to the voices of the people (Chen, 2011). For example, the encyclopedic Lüshi Chunqiu (Master Lü’s Spring and Autumn Annals, 吕氏春秋)7 told how “Yao erected a drum to allow the people to make suggestions and Shun prepared a piece of wood for the people to write down his wrongdoings” (Lü, n.d.). Zuozhuan (左传)—a historical book about the Spring and Autumn period—also recorded that each spring, the King of Xia would send officials to collect opinions from the masses across the whole state. West Zhou inherited this policy of Xia. The most famous classic advocating the idea that rulers should respect the opinion of the masses is Guoyu— Zhouyu Shang (国语·周语上), which asserts that “the consequence of cracking down people’s contestation is severer than that of flood caused by blocking a river” (Fangmin zhi kou, shen yu fangchuan, 防民之口，甚于防 川). To support this argument, it tells the story of King Zhouliwang, who was overthrown and exiled by the people because he harshly oppressed people’s critical voices. The problem is that such a tradition takes a top-down format and was later re-appropriated by the ruling class: the relatively open-to-all and easily accessible institution was transformed gradually into an administrative organ and was only accessible to scholars and officials (Chen, 2011; Xu, 2018). From the Qin dynasty until the Min dynasty, the supervision setting of Jianguan/Yanguan (谏官/言官)—officials who supervised the conduct of all officials, the emperor and the royal family—was adopted by most dynasties, except the Yuan dynasty (Chen, 2011). The power of Jianguan expands to such an extent that in the Sui dynasty (581–619 CE) and the Tang dynasty (618–907 CE), the supervision agency, Menxia Sheng (门下省), was given the power of approving proposals of all officials (including the chancellor) and the emperor. In other words, the duty and power of supervision by the masses was allocated to Confucian intellectual officials, who see themselves as the representative of the masses. Occasionally, Confucian intellectuals (who are not yet officials) engaged in political debates and challenged certain policies. These engagements were oftentimes prompted by particular events and did not last. Although the legitimacy of such discursive engagements was usually acknowledged and taken seriously by rulers; they were nevertheless largely constrained and 7  This book is believed to have been edited under the direction of Lü Buwei (291–235 BC), chancellor of the Qin Kingdom during the Warring States period. Like, Yao, Shun (舜) is believed to be another great, beloved ruler.

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often suppressed. However, this tradition might partly explain why the idea of public scrutiny was so quickly and widely accepted by Chinese intellectuals in modern and contemporary China (Liu & McCormick, 2011; see also Yang & Calhoun, 2007). What is also neglected by many China scholars is the critical journalism and public scrutiny tradition among China’s journalists and cultural elites since the late Qing (Mittler, 2004). Ideas of speech freedom, public opinion, public deliberation, democracy and citizenry were advocated and practiced by Chinese newspapers in the late Qing and early Republican China. One of the most influential newspapers at that time, Shenbao (申 报), founded in 1872, published a series of editorials advocating newspapers’ function as public scrutiny organs over authorities. Statements such as “The newspaper is the mouth of citizens” (报纸为民之口), “Newspapers are the expression of public opinion” (报纸者，舆论之公言也) and “Journalists advocate public opinion and supervise the government” (新 闻记者吹鼓舆论，监督政府) (2004, p. 15) were widespread. In its “Pure Deliberations” (清谈) column on 7 March 1912 (2004, p. 15), Shenbao claimed that, “Supervising the government is the heavenly duty of newspapers” (监督政府报纸之天赋). Such a public sphere ideology based on the free press, public discussion, public opinion and monitoring of governments was also shared by other coeval newspapers, reflected in their names, such as Public Opinion Daily (舆论日报), created in 1906. This ideology was also widely accepted by cultural and political elites at that time; leading reformist intellectual Qichao Liang was a keen advocator. Sinologist Mittler (2004, p.  13) comments on this historical ideology revolution: Not surprisingly, given the indebtedness of Chinese-language newspapers such as the Shenbao to foreign models, the core elements of this functional description of the press in nineteenth-century European encyclopaedias reappear in Chinese editorials on the uses and necessity of newspapers. Yet they also become major arguments in programmatic discussions by Chinese statesmen and intellectuals and would soon even be reprinted in official teaching materials. Obviously, these ideas were accepted by the general public and reflected representative concepts and notions in China of the functions and benefits of the press.

The reinvigoration of the idea of public scrutiny in contemporary China started in the 1980s when the political grip loosened following China’s opening up. Against the backdrop of wide demands among Chinese

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intellectuals for press freedom and an autonomous civil society, ideas and discourses of Western professional journalism such as “objective and balanced reporting” and “criticism and exposés” circulated among and were enacted by Chinese news professionals (Liu & McCormick, 2011; see also Zhao, 2004). According to Liu and McCormick (2011, p. 105): Many scholars, editors, and journalists attempted to abandon the orthodox concept of the media as the mouthpiece of the party. Some redefined the media’s central role as the representation of public opinion that functions to supervise policy and decision making in political and public affairs.

These voices were so loud that Zhao Ziyang adopted the narrative of public scrutiny in his working report to the Thirteenth National Party Congress in 1987 (Liu & McCormick, 2011). Although ended in vain, legislative efforts to pass a specific press law were included on the state agenda, seeking the independence of mass media, free from state and party intervention. Then, after a short interruption in the aftermath of the 1989 democracy movement, the theme of public scrutiny was soon resumed in the late 1990s and early 2000s (Lagerkvist, 2005; Qian & Bandurski, 2011; Shirk, 2011). In the Hu Jintao era, the media were increasingly seen by some leaders as “the voice of the public” (Qian & Bandurski, 2011) and as watchdogs of the public interest. The repeated calling for guiding and channeling public opinion by President Jiang, President Hu and President Xi (Negro, 2017; Qian & Bandurski, 2011) is telling in revealing that the CCP feels the pain from thorny public opinions, which were often generated by the press in the Hu era. The statement addressed by Xi to the Chinese—“(We need to) response sincerely to the people’s concern” (Qieshi Huiying Qunzhong Guanqie, 切实回应群众关切)—also clearly reflects that the highest leader was fully aware of the existence of scrutinizing publics in China (“(Xi Jinping) stresses” 2018).

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CHAPTER 4

Structural Factors Fostering China’s Online News-Prompted Publics

We have refuted some scholars’ opposition of applying public sphere theories to studying China and explained that there are solid spirit legacies that encourage public contention in the Far East. But is that enough? Not really. The theoretical clarification and the trace of cultural, social and political legacies make no guarantee that news-prompted public spheres would configure in China. In this chapter, we discuss the physical and structural conditions that enable the configurations. I have defined public spheres as mediated gatherings of citizens discussing topics of general interest and contended that they are often stirred up by news. This means that several basic conditions are required for the constellation of news-provoked public spheres: . There should be news topics for people to talk about. 1 2. There should be public venues catering for people’s need for public conversation. 3. There should be enthusiastic participants interested in engaging in those talks. The China context, this chapter argues, despite all the constraints, meets the above three requirements with abundant news provision, countless online public spaces and rights-conscious and engaging netizens. They are the structural factors that facilitate the crystallization of Chinese publics.

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 X. Xu, Online News-Prompted Public Spheres in China, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-12156-2_4

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News Abundance There is continuous and abundant online news provision in present-day China. By 2017, the value of the media industry (digital publication excluded) had reached US$258.8  billion and that of digital publication US$101.0  billion. In total, there were 231,564 journalists (All China Journalists Association (ACJA), 2018). There were also 125 big media and publication groups (47 press groups) and 1884 presses. A remarkable 36.3 billion copies of newspapers, 10,130 different magazines and 2.5 billion copies of magazines were published. China had 3135 television networks on average, with each of the 48 provincial and municipal satellite television stations reaching 0.77 billion people (“The General Development” 2017). Regarding the most vibrant sector—online news service, by 2021, there were around 1.01 billion internet users in China (71.6% of the population) and 75.2% of them used the internet for accessing news (CNNIC, 2021b). WeChat alone had more than 250 million public accounts providing information services by 2016 (CNNIC, 2017a; Liu, 2019). But these media organizations and news productions are the mouthpiece of the party-state, some sceptics would argue. Simplifying that all these media are created as propaganda tools or all news stories are propaganda is patently problematic. For starters, sanctioned news outlets produce both relatively neutral information and critical reports in China, although the latter are highly constrained and limited. I will explain how this is possible in China (and why) in the following pages. Second, ordinary users’ engagement in news production and news dissemination has become a commonplace everyday practice in China, seriously challenging the news control and monopoly of the party-state. Third, it is naïve to assume that users would passively accept whatever is fed to them; they will decode and reinterpret information in their own ways. Here I identified three factors that contribute to the profusion of news information in China: the proactive media policy advocating enhancing official discourse and “guiding” public opinion; media abundance and the rise and persistence of professionalism among journalists; and the governmental information disclosure policy propelled by the idea of good governance, marked by transparency, accountability and democracy. Interestingly and paradoxically, it is the Chinese party-state’s media and information strategy—the proactive media strategy and the information openness policy—that first facilitates news abundance in China. The proactive media strategy adopted by the party-state encourages governmental

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organs to engage actively in news production and dissemination, and to interact—even if only superficially—with the general public. Through this, the CCP hopes to dominate public discourse and manufacture public opinion rather than entirely blocking the flow of news. As a result, the CCP accords high priority to public communication—or the so-called propaganda and thought work. Xi Jinping claimed, in an opening speech delivered to ministerial and provincial officials in a study session at the Party School of the CCP in January 2019, that this work relates directly to China’s ideology security (“Xi Urges Major” 2019). In the speech, he “called for continuous efforts to strengthen the influence of the mainstream tone in public communication and guidance on public opinion.” This was not the first time Xi had stressed the need to reinforce the CCP’s capacity to “guide”—or, to be more precise, manufacture—public opinion. On 19 February 2016 (just a few days after China’s Spring Festival), he hosted a meeting about the News and Public Opinion Work (Xinwen Yulun Gongzuo) and spent the whole day visiting three central official media—the People’s Daily (PD), Xinhua News Agency (Xinhua) and Central China Television (CCTV) (“Xi Jinping Zongshuji” 2016). At the meeting, he emphasized that the party’s News and Public Opinion Work needs new ideas, new content, new repertoires, new formats, new (reporting) methods, new procedures, new mechanisms and enhancement of content relevance and propaganda efficiency. The work also needs to adjust to the trend of customization and the diversification of audiences, and to accelerate the reconstruction of the structure designed for guiding public opinion.1

The creation of The Voice of China (in 2018), with the mission of telling a good China story to the world, follows the same logic; so does the Two Microblogs + One (News) Portal Project (Liangweiyiduan Gongcheng) pushed by the Xi leadership in recent years, which aims at promoting official voices via new media (CNNIC, 2017a). That is why by June 2018, government organs had created 137,677 Weibo accounts (CNNIC, 2018b).

1  “党的新闻舆论工作必须创新理念、内容、体裁、形式、方法、手段、业态、体制、 机制，增强针对性和实效性。要适应分众化、差异化传播趋势，加快构建舆论引导新格 局” (Dangde Xinwen Yulun Gongzuo Bixu Chuangxin Linian, Neirong, Ticai, Xingshi, Fangfa, Shouduan, Yetai, Tizhi, Jizhi; Zengqiang Zhenduixing he Shixiaoxing. Yao Shiying Fenzonghua, Chayihua Chuanbo Qushi, Jiakuai Goujian Yulun Yindao Xin Geju).

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Such a media strategy is nothing new in China. In the early 2000s, the Hu Jintao government initiated an e-government project aiming at enabling central and local governments to propagate party-state policies, to solicit public opinion (Kluver & Qiu, 2003) and to talk directly with the masses (see Zhang, 2014). Earlier, from the 1980s, the party-state had begun importing public relations techniques, hiring public relations experts and spin doctors; conducting public opinion polls; and establishing public opinion analysis institutions (Brady, 2009; Keane, 2018). What has been changing is the degree of control over alternative voices (Negro, 2017). Negro summarizes three main transformations: from Jiang Zemin’s2 Guiding Public Opinion strategy (1993–2003), to Hu Jintao’s3 Channeling Public Opinion strategy (2003–13), to Xi Jingping’s4 Battle of Public Opinion (Yulun Douzheng)5 policy (2013–). Jiang’s policy sees the people as those who need to be educated and guided, while Hu’s policy advocates listening to the people, respecting different ideas and actively involvement in public debates in order to pacify public unrest. One event exemplified this position: Hu chatted with ordinary users via the forum QGLT—one of the most popular online forums in 2008, curated by PD— on 20 June 2008. Although censorship was not abandoned under Hu’s policy, unprecedentedly dynamic public discussions emerged on the Chinese internet during the Hu era. Xi’s policy, however, sees voices challenging party ideologies and lines as something that must be defeated; he contends that dealing with those voices constitutes a war of ideology (Gao et al., 2017; Li, 2015; Negro, 2017; “Hulianwang Yi Cheng” 2015). This policy results in tighter control and more crackdowns on public contention than before. This proactive media strategy is rooted in Marxist ideology theory, Leninist journalism and CCP’s party journalism on the one side, and some Confucian political and moral traditions on the other (Chan & Qiu, 2003). It cannot be simplified as propaganda or as brainwashing, although propagating does constitute one of its essential aspects. Both lines of  Fifth President of the PRC (March 1993 to March 2003).  Sixth President of the PRC (March 2003 to March 2013). 4  The current President of the PRC (from March 2013). 5  Negro (2017, p. 136) translates Yulun Douzheng into ‘Struggle with Public Opinion’. The author thinks, though, that it would be better translated as ‘Battle of Public Opinion’, as Xi’s policy sees public criticism towards the party-state as something that needs to be fought. Under this perspective, there is potentially a war between the official discourse and the grassroots discourse. 2 3

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thought view public communication as an instrument for promoting the dominant ideology and moral values, and for educating and mobilizing the people. The Marxist idea claims that the media function as a state ideological apparatus and help produce and maintain the dictatorial rule of the proletariat against the bourgeois class (Bennett, 1982). The media should therefore not only reflect but also help serve the communist political cause. It also serves to educate and guide party members and the people. Its importance is self-evident, as it is an integral part of the ruling machine. Such an idea of media is not only largely inherited and used by the CCP to justify its media monopoly policy but also practiced throughout its history (Lu & Pan, 2002; Zhao, 1998). For instance, the name of the first party publication—the Guide (Xiangdao)—reflects the CCP’s idea of journalism as something guiding the masses. Just as salient is the strategic importance attributed to media by the CCP since its early days. The Red China News Agency, the predecessor to Xinhua, was born on 7 November 1931, the day the CCP established its first government—the Chinese Soviet Republics in Ruijin, Jiangxi Province (Zhao, 1998). By late 1933, the CCP had created 34 newspapers and journals in Jiangxi, affiliated with different CCP organs or CCP-led organizations, such as the “central-level party, government, army, youth, and labor organizations” (p. 15). Over the next few years, specific journals on cultural, youth, women’s and peasants’ affairs were also established. Such a multi-layered and organization-­ affiliated mode of media system has persisted ever since. The media is bestowed with the mission of propagating the party line, policies and ideologies, as well as guiding the people, entertaining the people and representing the people’s voices, because the party claims to be the vanguard of the people and to represent their interests. Some Confucian morality ideals are also in line with the CCP’s all-­ encompassing media theory. For instance, according to Confucianism, the whole polity is bound by a comprehensive set of morals6 and all its members, from the emperor, to scholar-officials and to ordinary people, abide by this set of morals. The ruling elites, including the emperor and the scholar-officials, always need to be morally upright, in order to maintain their ruling legitimacy and be qualified in educating, guiding and leading the people (Tong, 2011). They are expected to be role models for the 6  It could be encapsulated in seven key virtues: Zhong (loyalty), Xiao (filial piety), Ren (benevolence), Yi (righteousness or integrity), Li (courtesy), Zhi (wisdom) and Xin (trustworthiness).

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people. As such, political elites need, and are expected, to inspire, educate and lead the people, a logic that is perfectly in accordance with the Leninist journalism ideal. The strong elitist philosophies above explains why the CCP adopts, and how it justifies, a proactive media strategy. Such a strategy requires the flow of news information (distorted or not), which unintentionally creates spaces for information to flow and opportunities for the constellation of public spheres, no matter how segmented they are. Yet the battle over public opinion, as the CCP calls it, is never easy to win. Propaganda sometimes backfires. The greatly augmented investment in this “fight” by the CCP in recent years reveals that the authorities have been encountering increased pressure, generated by public opinion. In the beginning of the book, we have discussed how the party-state has reinforced its grip over the media. This has inevitably affected the provision of news. But how about the three decades before 2013? How did journalism develop in China? How did journalists see themselves and what was the dominant journalistic idea? These questions matter because they are essential for understanding the tensions and controversies that we can observe in the past decade. It is naïve to assume that any change would always immediately happen without provoking negotiation or struggles. The short historical review below will help contextualize what we are going to discuss later in the book. If the marketization of China’s media system since 1978 contributes directly to media abundance (Chan & Qiu, 2003), then the collateral rise of professionalism between 1990s and early 2010s (Qian & Bandurski, 2011) further fostered the profusion of professional news information in China. Media marketization is a reform launched by the party-state in the late 1970s. It is characterized by political relaxation over the everyday operation of news media (including the work of the editorial board), the introduction of advertising and reduction of subsidies (Zhao, 2000), as well as the development of professionalism (Qian & Bandurski, 2011). It is part of a broader political-economic reform in China marked by political relinquishment and economic marketization (Chan & Qiu, 2003). In 1987, newspaper publishing and broadcasting were officially categorized as an information industry by the State Science and Technology Commission (Zhao, 2000) and were included in the tertiary sector in 1992. They were even “promoted as new point of economic growth” (2000, p.  6). By the mid-1990s, the party further acknowledged the industrial nature of the media sector, claiming that the mass media served

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two masters: the party and the market. The media are propaganda tools but are managed in a commercial way; although ultimately, the CCP claims, the media should fulfil their duty as a party organ. This top-down reform thus gained solid support from both the party-state and the market. This marketization reshaped China’s media landscape. From 1978 to 2013, both sensationalist tabloids and professionalism-oriented newspapers, magazines and television programs flourished across China (ACJA, 2016; Ding & Yang, 2016; Qian & Bandurski, 2011; Shirk, 2011; Zhao, 2000). From 1978 to 1996, the number of newspapers increases dramatically from 186 to 2202, and between 1992 and 1994, there was a new publication approximately every 5.5 days (Zhao, 2000). From 1995, the party-state adjusted its expansion strategy: instead of encouraging the augmentation of media numbers, it sought to enhance their competence vis-­­ à-vis international media via conglomeration (Zhao, 2000). Over the following decade, China then saw the emergence of dozens of media conglomerates and media capitalization, a decrease in media institutions and a vast increase in the circulation of a single newspaper (Zhao, 2000; ACJA, 2014). In the early 2000s, a dozen commercial presses reached more than a million readers (Shirk, 2011). By 2013, due to erosion of the internet, the number of press publications dropped to 1915, but the total annual circulation reached 48.2 billion; 2568 broadcasting media were created, airing 1336 TV programs and 2863 radio programs (foreign language programs excluded) (ACJA, 2014). Another increasingly neglected factor, especially with a heightened grip over Chinese news workers, is the watchdog legacy of liberal journalism introduced to the central kingdom in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century and its re-introduction to Chinese professionals from the late 1970s till the early 2010s. China then saw the reinvigoration of investigative journalism from the late 1990s till the early 2010s, which has inspired both several generations of journalists and critical citizens. The remnant of such a spirit has been continuing to inspire some Chinese news workers and publics, which explains the appearance of investigative reports about COVID-19 during the early outbreak of the pandemic in 2021 (from February to April) in China and the outcry for speech freedom on Weibo after the death of Dr. Li Wenliang, whistleblower of the COVID-19 pestilence. The rise of professionalism (one core tenet of the liberal journalism) in 1990s and 2000s in China is prominent (Lu & Pan, 2002). It features an emphasis on facts, proximity, usefulness in news reporting, advocacy of

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professional morality, editorial independence, public opinion supervision, calling for boycotting “fake, exaggerated and vague” (Jia, Da, Kong) reports and censuring corruption among journalists. It seeks to align itself with Western liberal journalism and to distance the profession from former party journalism, which viewed news workers as propaganda officials and adopted a formulaic and ideological style of prose. Such a trend is pushed by two forces: market competition and Western liberal journalism. The cut-off of subsidies forces the media to go to the market and to learn from successful Western models (Lu & Pan, 2002; Zhao, 2000). Li Yuanjiang, editor-in-chief of the Guangzhou Daily Group—one of China’s most successful news groups in the 1990s—claimed publicly at a Time Warner– sponsored Fortune Forum in 1999 that “the most efficient way to boost circulation is to form a press group according to the practice of the international media” (Guangzhou Daily 1999, cited by Zhao, 2000, p. 16). By the late 1990s and early 2000s, market competition had become so intense that “exposure of official corruption has become standard daily fare” (2000, p. 3), which would have been unimaginable in the Mao era. On the other hand, those marketized media’s economic success in turn strengthened their force in countering administrative influence from the party-state. Education of Western liberal journalism constitutes another factor promoting professionalism among Chinese journalists. Western professionalism was introduced to the education of journalism at Chinese universities in the early 1980s, which in turn deeply influenced news practice in China (Lu & Pan, 2002). The popping-up of investigative journalism in the 1990s is a strong indicator of such an impact. It was a time when those who received a Western journalistic education—such as Hu Suli, creator and editor-in-chief of the Caijing magazine and Caixin magazine, known for their investigative reports (Shirk, 2011) till today—became leaders in media organizations (Lu & Pan, 2002). Hu said, “Our teachers … encouraged us to pursue careers as professional journalists” (Shirk, 2011, p. 10). The publisher of CCTV’s Eastern Time and Space (Dongfang Shikong), a well-known investigative news program in China, also called himself the student of teachers who were influenced by ideas of Western journalism (Lu & Pan, 2002). With the rise of professionalism, a series of TV programs aimed at muckraking were created, such as CCTV’s Eastern Time and Space, Investigative Reports (Xinwen Diaocha), the Focus (Jiaodian Fangtan) and Shanghai Satellite’s Media Observation (Xinwen Guancha).

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Newspapers such as Southern Weekly (SW), The Economy Daily and BN, and magazines such as Caijing (now Caixin) and Freezing Point are all known for their investigative reports. The open confrontation between the outspoken Freezing Point and the authorities in 2006 is a case in point showing how professionalism has become a strong current among Chinese journalists. In January 2006, Freezing Point was shut down for boldly and continuously criticizing the authorities, an act that was however met with fierce backlash (Qian & Bandurski, 2011). It sparked wide criticism from both the journalism community and the intellectual community. Thirteen officials also wrote an open letter castigating the shutdown. Eventually, Freezing Point was allowed to relaunch in February 2006 on the condition that two of its editors were removed. Increasingly, journalists view themselves as professional news workers rather than propaganda cadres (Shirk, 2011). Today, rounds of crackdowns over muckraking investigative journalism and a tightened grip over the flow of news information since 2013 have led to a much more silent journalistic sphere. But this does not mean that the professional spirit has thoroughly died out. Journalists or former journalists, as we will see later in the case studies, would like to seize possible chances to break the silence. In addressing less-sensitive topics, critiques on policies, officials and regulations are not rare in news reports. For sure, the decline of investigative journalism is clear, but the old days have passed when muckraking journalism was the only source of public scrutiny over established powers. Empowered by the internet, networked citizens are becoming increasingly key players in the online public spheres, which will be discussed more extensively in the empirical studies sections. China has not returned to the hermetically closed society of the Mao era. The information openness policy, as shown in the legislation regarding the disclosure of government information of general interest (see State Council of the PRC, 2007), contributes directly to the formation of public spheres by providing raw materials for news media and the public at large, as in the Changsheng vaccine scandal in 2019. It is a key part of the idea of building a transparent government, a top-down policy that the CCP believes could help develop a democratic rule with Chinese characteristics. It legitimizes citizens’ legal actions, such as initiating lawsuits or demanding for disclosure of information. Such legal actions are increasingly adopted by active citizens in the past few years, as in the 2020 996ICU movement sweeping China.

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The most important relevant regulation is the Public Disclosure of Government Information Regulation of the PRC (PDGIR, Zhonghuarenmingongheguo Zhengfu Xinxi Gongkai Tiaoli), which was promulgated on 5 April 2007 (State Council of the PRC, 2007). It requires government organs to disclose information relating to the common good. More specifically, it identifies four types of information that should be disclosed: (1) information that pertains to the core interest of citizens, institutional representatives and institutions; (2) information that needs to inform or involve the general public; (3) information that relates to the structure and function of, and administrative procedures of, service provided by the governmental organs; and (4) other information required to be disclosed by laws or regulations. Information about supervision and inspection outcomes of issues relating to environmental protection, public health, production safety, food and drugs and the quality of products is among the eleven types of essential information that must be disclosed.7 This information disclosure regulation is not wholly superficial, although not fully executed. On the one hand, government portals, public hearings, consultative meetings, participatory budgeting (He & Warren, 2011) and soliciting of public comments (Johnson, 2014) have been created and put into action. Opinion polls, press conferences, Weibo and WeChat accounts have all been employed for publicizing policies, statistical reports, budgeting, expenses, work plans, official promotion and dismissal and encouraging public engagement. Way before the 2007 promulgation of the PDGIR, practices such as the e-government project, public hearings, participatory budgeting and consultative meetings were already well-developed (He & Warren, 2011). For example, “more than 1,000 public hearings over prices (of public goods) were held across China between 1998 and 2001” (2011, pp. 277–8). On the other hand, government organs are forced to abide by this regulation; when they fail to do so, they risk being sued (“Ten Major Cases” 2017) or castigated by publics.

7  The other 10 genres are: regulations and rules; economic and social development plans; regular reports on economic and social development; budget plan and budget execution report; administrative fees, standards and reasons; brochure of public procurement, standard and execution; that about governmental permissions; approval and construction of important projects; policies and executions about poverty alleviation, education, health, social security and employment boost; and plans, predictions and actions for dealing with emergent public events.

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One recent case involves participants of the 996ICU movement8 suing Chengdu Social Security and Human Resources Bureau for failing to disclose their annual work plan and statistics of legal cases relating to labour disputes (“996ICU Yong Bu” n.d.). Public contention over the failing of the party-state in disclosing information over the COVID-19 cases in Wuhan in the first three weeks of January 2020 constitutes another case in point. The failure of fulfilling promises publicly made (in the form of regulation) may drag the authorities into big crises. This regulation is not a strange or sudden invention; rather, it is part of other political reforms carried out in China in the 1990s and 2000s. It forms part of the good-governance idea adopted by the Jiang and Hu government, which features accountability, transparency, rule of law and public engagement (Johnson, 2014; see also Wang & Guo, 2015 and Yu, 2018).9 Moreover, this good-governance scheme is consistent with the overall political reform agenda that seeks a more scientific and “democratic” way of governance, including learning from Western democratic settings and introducing ideas such as public management and civil society (Pieke, 2012), good governance (Johnson, 2014) and public deliberation (He, 2006a, 2006b; He & Warren, 2011). Thus, one can see that before the PDGIR, several laws had already been passed to promote the disclosure of government information and public engagement. In 1996, China saw the first law that requires the holding of public hearings to finalize an administrative punishment passed; in 1997, the National People’s Congress (NPC) passed the Law on Price, demanding that public hearings should be held to discuss changes of prices of public goods; in 2000, the NPC passed the Legislation Law, making public hearings an obligatory process in passing any new legislation (He & Warren, 2011). Since 2003, several new laws and regulations have been passed, requiring governments 8  The 996ICU movement (meaning that if you work from 9 a.m. to 9 p.m. for six days a week you will end up going to the ICU) was initiated by Chinese programmers on GitHub. It rapidly stormed China’s online spaces in the spring of 2019. Two open letters were sent to the Ministry of Human Resources and Social Security and the All-China Federation of Trade Unions respectively, requiring these governmental/public organs to intervene and to protect lawful rights of programmers. Actions have been taken, such as building a blacklist of IT companies violating China’s current labour law and a whitelist of companies obeying the law. The online community also offered legal suggestions to support programmers’ legal issues and call for programmers to add an anti-996ICU badge to projects they were developing to fight against greedy 996 companies. 9  Yu Keping (Yu, 2018) proposes six elements of good governance: legitimacy, transparency, accountability, rule of law, responsiveness and effectiveness.

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to provide “channels for public participation and information disclosure as part of a public supervision mechanism (shehui jiandu jizhi)” (Johnson, 2014, p. 241). The current government inherited partly this political legacy of building a transparent and democratic government, with the goal of enhancing governmental efficiency. In 2015, the State Council published its Big Data Development Action Plan, claiming that opening government data is an integral part of the plan (State Council of the PRC, 2015). More recently, the party-state vows to “enable more information disclosure on the allocation of public resources”, aiming to “streamline administration, enhance compliance oversight and provide better services, with the aim of delivering greater benefits to the public with easier and faster access to administrative services” (Xu, 2017). What is worth noting is that the idea of governmental information disclosure is also in line with the proactive media strategy. It constitutes a way of grasping the strategic high point in the battle for winning the support of publics: it could be used for defeating “rumors” and releasing authoritative information, on the basis of which the party-state sets the public agenda and guides publics by setting the tone. Moreover, disclosing information is in accordance with the idea of being a responsible and caring government that will always attend to the people’s needs. In spite of limitations (e.g., not all local courts publicize all judgements that should be disclosed on China Judgements Online following the requirement of the SPC), the PDGIR constitutes a solid and valid structural force feeding the news sector and facilitating the constellation of news-prompted public spheres. It cannot be simplified as solely a means to enhance authoritarian rule. Of all the apparent power-sharing features, the PDGIR is only the tip of the iceberg of the China paradox in terms of the nature of its political system (Keane, 2018). One needs to strip off the orthodox authoritarian-democratic dichotomy and understand it in a concrete context. As far as this book is concerned, the legislation related to disclosing public information means that in a short time there could not be a thorough shutdown of information flow. And, as has been discussed previously, this constitutes the most important basis for the production and circulation of news, which then sparked constellations of publics. Together, proactive media policy, marketization of China’s legacy media sector in the past two decades and the PDGIR ensure the profusion of news information in China, laying down the foundation for the formation of news-prompted public spheres. Through these policies, the CCP

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seeks to “channel”, “guide” and “manufacture” public opinion in order to justify and legitimize its rule, which unintentionally creates spaces and opportunities for alternative voices to emerge and constellate.

China’s Digital Public Spaces The availability of online public spaces constitutes the second structural factor facilitating the formation of China’s online public spheres. Since the early 2000s, along with the penetration of the internet into ordinary Chinese citizens’ everyday lives, online public spaces become the most important news engagement venues in China. There are currently four main types of venues: websites and news apps run by news media; commercial news portals; “public accounts” (Gongzhonghao 公众号) that provide news information on social media platforms (such as Weibo, WeChat and Zhihu); and web forums. By the end of 2018, there were 761 registered online news providers offering service to 0.675 billion online news users, an increase of 4.3% compared with the previous year (CNNIC, 2019a). Earlier, in 2016, legacy media had created up to 17,323 public accounts on Weibo and 231 news apps, and there were more than 250 million public accounts on WeChat offering information services (CNNIC, 2017a). In addition, there were millions of web forums and personal social media accounts providing news information to the general public, with the potential to become political discussion spaces when necessary. Regarding online news users’ participation habits, social media are their preferred venues. During the first half of 2016, up to 90.7% of Chinese internet news users accessed news via social media: 74.6% via WeChat and 35.6% via Weibo. And some 35.2% of internet users access news via news portals. Among those internet news users, 74.3% of them read news, 60.2% made news comments and 59.2% reposted news. The mega digital information infrastructure that sustains such digital public spaces also constitutes the basis of China’s digital economy which now is one of the most robust economic sectors in China (Woetzel et al., 2017). By the first half of 2018, its value reached US$2.32 trillion, equivalent to 38.2% of China’s GDP in the same period (“China’s digital economy” 2018). And this sector is highly likely to continue to grow as long as the party-state’s digital economy development strategy sees no big change in the near future—which is unlikely to happen. This is because such a policy is driven by the eagerness and belief in modernizing and rejuvenating China via the advance of sciences, technologies and economic

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development, which has long been the dominant creed within the CCP (Qiu, 2004). It is because of such a creed that, from the late 1980s and early 1990s, the CCP prioritized the strategy of developing ICTs immediately after the internet was introduced to China. Such an ICT development plan is also considered as an integral part of China’s economic development strategy (Dai, 2003; see also Qiu, 200410), as demonstrated by the multiple Five-Year-Plans (FYPs) in past decades, which are the most important long-term social and economic development plans made by the party-state every five years (Fourth Session of Seventh NPC of the PRC 1991; Fourth Session of Eighth NPC of the PRC 1996; Fifth Session of the Ninth NPC of the PRC 2001; Fifth Plenary Session of the Sixteenth Central Committee of the CCP 2005; NPC of the PRC n.d.; “Zhonghuarenmingongheguo Guomin Jingji” 2016). The recent “China-­ Made 2020” again confirms the party-state’s long-term ambition in promoting China’s ICT sector. The flourishing of digital public spaces may be the unexpected, yet inevitable consequence of the party-state’s rejuvenation plan. While temporary or partial disruption of the internet might be possible, it is virtually unimaginable that China could afford to have it all cut off for a longer time: “Their (digital networks) unplugging would have ruinous economic and political effects, so raising troubling questions about the Party’s governing competence” (Keane, 2018, p. 65). This links directly to the degree of China’s reliance on its digital economy, which is expected to continue to increase. China’s ambition in the global economy, of which the digital economy is one of the most important and dynamic sectors, provides another compelling reason why China’s digital information infrastructure will be maintained and promoted (Andal, 2018). There is little possibility that China would withdraw from the networked digital world given that a healthy and strong economy is essential for maintaining its legitimacy. The digital media industry, though tightly controlled, constitutes one of the most robust sectors in China’s digital economy. The shut-down of such a sector is therefore also economically risky. As I have mentioned, the value of digital publication had reached US$111.6 billion in 2017 (ACJA, 2018). Private capital is rushing into the digital media sector. In 2016, Tencent initiated the Project Mangzhong, investing US$31.6  million to 10  http://citeseerx.ist.psu.edu/viewdoc/download?doi=10.1.1.103.9267&rep=rep 1&type=pdf

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encourage users to create original content (“Chuanmei Lanpishu: Report” 2018). The project also helps its media content creators to disseminate their products to all of Tencent’s media platforms, including the Tiantian Daily, Tencent News Portal, WeChat News and Mobile QQ News. In 2017, Tencent extended this project and invested another US$189.5  million. Alibaba, Baidu and leading algorithm-based news outlet Today’s Headline (今日头条) also invested billions of Yuan to promote User-­GeneratedContent (UGC), news information and other cultural products. In addition to economic concerns, the aim for better administration and control of a vast, multi-layered and increasingly complex polity constitutes another important reason why the party-state will continue to make full use of digital networks, and sometimes online public opinion (Hung, 2005; Keane, 2018). The central government uses digital communication tools to manage and supervise governments at the municipal, county and community levels. They are an “efficient conveyance of government information” (MacKinnon, 2011, p. 37). Besides, the function of supervision is partially realized by using publics as watchdogs, who will report sporadically and indirectly the malfeasances of local officials and governments in the form of public contention (see Jiang, 2010). Public opinion is sometimes treated as “an early warning device, even as a virtual steam valve for venting grievances in their favour” (Keane, 2013, p. 205). The flourishing of public opinion analysis companies in present-day China, as shown in Keane’s (2018) book When Trees Fall, Monkeys Scatter, is strong evidence that the party-state is making use of “public opinion” rather than simply suppressing it. In summary, China has seen the creation of millions of online public spaces, and they are not likely to get shut down in the near future. There are strong and persistent supports for their sustainability, coming directly from the party-state’s pursuit of the advancement of technology, economic development, the ambition to rejuvenate the country and the aim of reinforcing its legitimacy through guiding public opinion. This, of course, does not mean that the party-state will loosen its grip over information flows on China’s internet. On the contrary, news information is increasingly more delicately controlled and censored, with political topics in general and those issues that might provoke social movements in particular more tightly filtered than other themes, such as environmental issues (Huang et al., 2016; King et al., 2013; Yang, 2010). However, this still leaves considerable online spaces for the news engagement of Chinese publics because, as argued before, there is no way to predict how a news

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event will be discussed or interpreted, or whether it will lead to astonishing developments due to its politicization. In short, although sanctioned and closely controlled by the authorities, there are online spaces that are capable of supporting discursive political participation in China (Abbott, 2012; DeLuca et al., 2016; Dukalskis, 2017; Jiang, 2010; Sullivan, 2012; Yang, 2009). Currently, concerns over negative impacts of the “platformization” of social media among scholars are rising, worried about the monopoly, and manipulation power, of platforms over their users—the public at large. There is no way of escaping platforms. They have become the infrastructure of our society, penetrating into every aspect of our digital life and shaping the way we interact with each other. Run those arguments. But are they true? To some extent, yes. WeChat has more than a billion users and provides all-encompassing services for its users: you can chat, shop, date, watch films, play video games, pay your bills, lend money, do business, donate money there. But WeChat users also use other platforms, such as Weibo, Douban, Zhihu, Douyin, Kuaishou, Jingdong (JD), Tmall, Meituan, Quna’er and so on. The domination of platforms is far from absolute, especially in terms of information flow. In the past few years, IT giants like Tencent and Alibaba, respectively owning WeChat and Tmall, encountered severe setbacks in their expansion in China. Multiple anti-­ trust fines were forced upon them by the Chinese authorities, vowing to restore market order and protect public interest. It is against this backdrop that WeChat was pressured to open its platform to rivals in 2021. For instance, it now allows its users to insert hyperlinks that lead to other platforms or websites in their news stories, which is impossible before the new policy. These digital spaces are of significant importance. For the first time in most Chinese people’s memory, ordinary people can easily frequent public venues to discuss politics at their convenience and have their voices heard by their equals. Sometimes, these online spaces can be the only available public venues (Hu, 2008). Of course, as China scholars Qiu (2004) and Yong Hu (2008) assert, the internet is not “a superimposed agent of change” (Qiu, 2004,11 p. 18). However, as Keane (2013, p. 45) argues, “in contrast, say, to the centralized state-run broadcasting systems of the past, the spider’s web linkages among many different nodes within a 11  http://citeseerx.ist.psu.edu/viewdoc/download?doi=10.1.1.103.9267&rep=rep 1&type=pdf

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­ istributed network make them intrinsically more resistant to centralized d control” and “media-saturated societies are thus prone to contestability and dissonance”. Regarding China, the number of citizens involved in online public gatherings and the frequency of the gatherings are unprecedented compared with offline ones in the pre-internet age. Rarely does China see nationwide autonomous offline public gatherings. Digital public spaces make frequent online public gatherings possible—although not without constraints and controversies.

Engaging Netizens The third condition making possible the configuration of public spheres lies in China’s engaging and consciousness-raising news participants empowered by Web 2.0 technologies. National surveys from 2004 to 2021 show continuous and high interest of Chinese internet users12 in news reading, news sharing and news commenting. Throughout this period, online news consumption has always been a predominant use of the internet (see Fig.  4.1), refuting the claim that infotainment is 100.0 80.0 60.0 40.0 20.0 Dec-03 Jun-04 Dec-04 Jun-05 Dec-05 Jun-06 Dec-06 Jun-07 Dec-07 Jun-08 Dec-08 Jun-09 Dec-09 Jun-10 Dec-10 Jun-11 Dec-11 Jun-12 Dec-12 Jun-13 Dec-13 Jun-14 Dec-14 Jun-15 Dec-15 Jun-16 Dec-16 Jun-17 Dec-17 Jun-18 Dec-18 Jun-19 Dec-19 Jun-20 Dec-20 Jun-21

0.0

Fig. 4.1  Online news consuming popularity among internet users (%). (Source: CNNIC Survey Reports on China’s Internet Development (2004–2021), CNNIC, 2004a, 2004b, 2005a, 2005b, 2007a, 2007b, 2008a, 2008b, 2009a, 2009b, 2010a, 2010b, 2011a, 2011b, 2012a, 2012b, 2013a, 2013b, 2014a, 2014b, 2015a, 2015b, 2016a, 2016b, 2017c, 2018a, 2018b, 2020a, 2020b, 2021a, 2021b)

 From 2003 to 2021, Chinese internet users increased from 68 million (CNNIC, 2003) to 1.01 billion, representing 71.6% of the population (CNNIC, 2021a, 2021b). 12

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Chinese internet users’ dominant purpose (Latham, 2012; see also Wallis, 2011). More concretely, in 2005, accessing news became the most frequently used internet service among Chinese netizens (67.9% of internet users reported using this service), and engaging in discussions in Usenet, Bulletin Board Systems (BBSs) and web forums was the fifth most common use (41.6% of Chinese netizens reported frequenting this service) (CNNIC, 2006a). Since 2007, around 80% of total netizens used the internet for news purposes and online news always ranks as one of the most popular internet functions in China. According to a national survey conducted in 2016, a very high percentage of internet users not only read news (74.3%), but also commented on them (60.2%) and reposted/disseminated them (59.2%) (CNNIC, 2017a). On the two popular social media platforms WeChat and Weibo, 62.8% of WeChat news users and 50.2% of Weibo news users made news comments. Up to 61.9% of Chinese netizens read online news every day and 45.4% of them actively searched for news information. In short, there are a huge number of active news participants in China’s online spaces. The Chinese have a “voracious appetite for news” due to a long period of starvation of “real information about domestic and international events” in the 1990s and early 2000s (Shirk, 2011, p. 2; see also Zhao, 2000) and such an appetite persists till today as Fig. 4.1 shows. These ordinary netizens do not only thirst for news but are also increasingly rights-conscious (Hu, 2013; Lei, 2017; Lei & Zhou, 2016; Sun et  al., 2018; Yang, 2003; Yu, 2006), which directly drives their news engagement. They repeatedly demand “rights of being informed” (Lei & Zhou, 2016; Yang, 2003), speech freedom (Yang, 2003) and other legal rights as specified by China’s Constitution (Sun et al., 2018; Yu, 2006). In the Sun Zhigang case of a young university student who was detained in a Guangzhou police station for failing to display his temporary resident card to the police and died there, public contention and petitions were sparked by the widespread belief that the law enabling Sun’s detention was an “infringement of citizens’ constitutional rights and freedom by the system” (Yu, 2006, p. 312). (The public fury eventually led to the abolition of the law.) In recent years, citizens’ open demands for information disclosure and suing governmental organs for failing to comply with it have demonstrated that a generation of rights-conscious Chinese citizens is now firmly in place. Compared with previous traditional media users and

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non-media users, national surveys suggest that Chinese internet users are more supportive of democratic norms, politically more opinionated, more critical of the regime and more willing to participate in collective actions (Lei, 2011). That is why some scholars (Lei, 2011; Yu, 2006) contend that the internet has helped to create a more critical and political citizenry in China. These rights-conscious internet users believe in the power of Weiguan (watching or spectating, 围观), which comes from the renowned phrase “Paying attention means power, spectating changes China” (Guanzhu Jiushi Liliang, Weiguan Gaibian Zhongguo) by well-known SW journalist Xiaoshu (笑蜀). It is the title of a commentary published by the press on 13 January 2010 and since then Weiguan has become a buzzword on the Chinese internet. It is used to express Chinese netizens’ interest and engagement in news events. Its connotation is simple: publics’ watching over and engaging in news events has had such a huge impact that it has changed the power relationship between civil society and the state (Xiaoshu, 2010). Xiaoshu claims that a public sphere has emerged in China, bringing together the voices of millions of people, enabling their expressions of judgements and preferences, and peacefully advancing goodwill against evil. Millions of people’s watching, as Xiaoshu put it, forms the brightest inspection light in the world, penetrating the tall walls built by the privileged, exposing social reality and guiding the people forward. The popularity of the buzzword suggests that Chinese netizens believe that their online expression of concern and contestation will empower them and register their interests against those of the privileged. Put differently, they believe in the power of public spheres. This chapter, together with the previous one, discusses historical, cultural, political-economic, technological and practical factors that co-­ construct a context that can incubate online public spheres in China. The three structural factors that provide the basic conditions for nurturing China’s online public spheres are unlikely to disappear soon. The reason is that the formation of each factor is the result of complex entanglement of China’s political-economy policies, cultural and social traditions and technological developments. Finally, I would like to stress that an average person’s routine and chronic engagement in news production has resulted in fundamental changes to the game of news-prompted public spheres. Those “everyday news producers” break the elites’ (political, economic and cultural)

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monopoly of defining what news is, how it should be interpreted, whether or not a piece of news information should be produced, and when and where it should be published. In other words, ordinary citizens can now engage in the decision-making process of what is public and how public issues should be resolved. They integrate such engagements seamlessly with their daily communications with their family, friends, colleagues and societal institutions, on the same platform or even in the same venues, such as the WeChat platform (see Chen et al., 2018; and Wei et al., 2018 for their discussion over WeChat). How could such venues be fully eliminated or blocked13? Hu (2008) compares the digital information network to oxygen in a digital world. Indeed, these communication venues sustain the requirements of basic living (e.g., maintaining connections with family members and friends) and manufacturing in the information age. The blocking action itself may well politicize those spaces. This happens when someone posts a news story or a commentary about a public event instead of a selfie on their personal social media pages. No external power could lawfully stop this, just as it could not stop people from breathing or drinking without being accused of illegally killing an innocent person. In this sense, billions of “everyday news producers” are living a public life each day, at their own convenience and in their own way. China is no exception.

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CHAPTER 5

Everyday News-Prompted Publics on WeChat

Some China observers and pundits may feel shocked that this book argues so boldly that there are vibrant online public spheres in present-day China, at a moment when a seemingly solid digital firewall has been erected between the democratic West and unfree China. They imagine that an iron curtain has blocked all the light that could penetrate those dark corners dominated by absolute power in China (Repnikova, 2020). For them, living in China is like living in an isolated, dark room gripped by total silence; there are no public spheres in China. Therefore, the call for speech freedom by millions of Chinese internet users when China’s whistleblower doctor Li Wenliang, who warned about the lethal coronavirus, passed away on 7 February 2020 (Li, 2020) must have shocked them. Yet this reaction was not a surprise for me. The tension between society and the party-state has never been eliminated. Online publics that monitor and demand protection of their rights have been cultivated and nurtured in the past two decades in their daily engagement in news. That is why the death of a doctor could provoke the outcry of millions within hours. The basis of such a concerted action is solid because it is built on what sometimes seems to be a tedious practice: discussing news on the internet as a concerned citizen. This chapter examines WeChat users’ everyday news participation on this number one social media platform in China against public sphere norms identified in Chap. 2 and asserts that those participations constitute

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 X. Xu, Online News-Prompted Public Spheres in China, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-12156-2_5

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chronic online news-prompted public spheres in China. It attempts to paint a more nuanced picture of those ongoing communicative actions in China and to investigate their features, dynamics, controversies and constraints. It does not expect to find perfect publics; however, it will challenge simplified arguments that assert that there are no publics in China—arguments that appear repeatedly whenever the Chinese authorities tighten their control on news and information flow. It argues that, prompted by constantly emerging news, public spheres constellate almost every day (thus chronically) in China when rights-conscious netizens engage in news in a non-violent, reflexive and largely equal way. To test this argument, mixed methods (quantitative and qualitative) are employed to study the conditions enabling WeChat users’ everyday news engagements and their features and quality. I choose WeChat as the research site as, by early 2016, it had become the most popular platform for Chinese netizens to participate in news, bypassing mobile/web browsers, Weibo and news apps (CNNIC, 2017; see also Wei et al., 2018). Up to 74.6% of Chinese internet users claimed that they used WeChat for accessing news; 62.8% of WeChat users had commented on news; 43.2% of WeChat users had shared news posted by their friends; and 29.2% of WeChat users had shared news they found through the public accounts they followed. In addition, WeChat as a forum for public spheres is under-researched, whereas a large body of literature has already approached other online venues such as China’s BBSs, web forums and Weibo (previously Sina Weibo), a Twitter-like social networking platform.

Speech Freedom We have argued that speech freedom is a natural requisite of public space. In China, it is nevertheless held in a fragile balance so far marked by censorship and anti-censorship. A lazy thought is that there is no speech freedom or press freedom in China, which is widely adopted by many international journalists and has grasped the heart of many media and political scholars who are supposed to be more critical of such sweeping ideas. It provides no help in understanding why some Chinese claim they have speech freedom or why the CCP attracts genuine support from China’s citizens (Nathan, 2003). The story is certainly not clear-cut (Keane, 2018). It is only through examining controversies, tensions and paradoxes associated with this idea that one might catch a glimpse of the

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ongoing struggle of the Chinese for speech freedom and the implications for China’s societal transformation. It would be more effective to examine both values—principles, beliefs, laws—and practical actions. As I have discussed in Chapter Four, the ideas of speech freedom, press freedom and public scrutiny took root in Chinese society in the late Qing dynasty and have not fully disappeared until the present day. Previous and current PRC Constitutions have proclaimed that “Citizens of the People’s Republic of China enjoy freedom of speech, of the press, of assembly, of association, of procession, and of demonstration” (Article 35, Chapter 2 of the 1982 Constitution). We have also repeatedly observed public calls to support civic actions in fighting for this right. On the night of 6 February 2020, when the whistleblower doctor Li Wenliang was in a critical condition, a hurricane of grief blew through China’s social media and the outcry for speech freedom swept the nation. The hashtag #Wewantfreedomofspeech was viewed by more than two million Weibo users and generated more than 5500 posts within five hours, from its creation at 2 a.m. to 7 a.m. (when people should usually be in deep sleep) on Friday, 7 February 2020 (Li, 2020). Millions of Chinese citizens stayed up all night to pray for Dr. Li and to air their pent-up fury and demand. Ten professors from Wuhan—the then epicenter—issued an open letter demanding that authorities stop blocking speech freedom and apologize to Dr. Li and seven other whistleblower doctors (Feng et al., 2020; see also Tenbarge, 2020). Did these actions happen all of a sudden? Yes. But is this an accident about which one has no clue? No, not really. The airing of outrage and demand is the living embodiment of the speech freedom ideal held by many Chinese citizens and a vivid manifestation of the entrenched tension between the state and an increasingly rights-­ conscious society. The routinization of political expression in the form of news participation in public spaces should be read dialectically, and sometimes as the reification of speech freedom in China. For participants who are fully aware that censorship presents and constrains their communicative action, their engagement—even not directly challenging the authorities—should be considered an enactment of free speech or even a fight for it. Self-­ censors might mitigate their speeches, but so long as they are not totally silent, they should be counted as supporters of the spirit. It would be too demanding to require a large number of average people to be dedicated dissidents, who would tirelessly and continuously urge open rebellion. Departing from such a point, the expectations of speech freedom should

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not be as bleak as some pessimists have advocated, so long as Chinese netizens still engage in news and censorship has not stifled all of them. The tension argument and the routinization argument apply to news participation on WeChat, where clashes between censorship and anti-censorship happen almost every day. Like conventional media and other internet service providers, WeChat is held responsible for content published on its platform. The party-state also requires it to establish a surveillance system monitoring “illegal”, “harmful” and “inappropriate” posts (CAC, 2019). WeChat should, according to relevant regulations, deal with these posts in a timely manner. It also receives direct instructions from the regulators. Findings suggest that WeChat constantly updates its censorship list (Ruan et al., 2020). But as we have noted before, the cat-mouse game (censorship versus anti-­ censorship) has never finished in China’s digital spaces including WeChat. One vivid story is how Chinese WeChat users rallied to preserve a censored story by Renwu Magazine on an outspoken Wuhan doctor Ai Fen during the COVID-19 pestilence. Realizing that the original story got censored by WeChat, tech-savvy users translated it into dozens of different “languages”, including ancient Chinese, foreign languages, Morse code, emojis and even Klingon et cetera (Broderick, 2020).

Public Spaces on WeChat A public space sustains the gathering of publics, which is the basis for their configurations. To argue that there are publics forming on WeChat, there should be public spaces there. We have indicated that WeChat has become the most frequently used platform by Chinese internet users for accessing and engaging in online news in China since 2016. Yet the image of WeChat as a public space is often obscured. This is probably due to its dependence on strong-tie-based personal networks and its identification as a multiple-­ function app that provides all-encompassing services, including instant messaging, social networking, mobile payment, finance managing, e-­commerce services, gaming and so on, rather than as one that aims to promote public participation (see Chen et al., 2018). It is usually not until large-­scale censorship over a specific event is imposed, or a regulation targeted at restricting news and information flow on WeChat is promulgated, or survey data tells people so, that the importance of WeChat as a platform for discursive political participation looms large.

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The first type of public space on WeChat is curated by public accounts supplying news. These news-oriented public accounts feed news stories regularly to their subscribers/users. Public accounts registered before March 20181 could activate a “comment zone” for users to engage in news. For each story, users could read, like, comment on and share the story. They could also read and like each other’s comments or replies made to user comments by the public account runner. However, till late 2020, users could not directly “reply” to each other’s comments, nor could they visit each other’s personal pages or start a dialogue privately without first being or becoming WeChat friends. Participants in those public spaces thus remain largely anonymous and there is little expectation of establishing personal relationships. It is a public-oriented space. In early 2018, when WeChat tried to customize a user’s comment zone by highlighting comments made by their WeChat friends—separating those comments from others and putting them on the top of the comment zone—it received cold feedback (Yang, 2018). Some users claimed that they felt uncomfortable about having their public engagement intertwined with their private relationships or actions. Another type of small-scale public space is WeChat groups. Depending on the purpose and nature of relationships between participants, these groups could be further categorized into social groups, professional/ commercial-­oriented groups and public-oriented groups, such as feminism groups or privacy protection groups. WeChat groups are only accessible to their members, who have often known each other in the offline world; the number of members is limited to a maximum of 500 due to rules imposed by WeChat. More importantly, unlike public accounts, WeChat groups cannot disseminate information directly to the public at large. WeChat groups are therefore highly separated spaces with relatively limited publicity capacities. They are loosely connected with the general public on WeChat via connections between individuals. A third type of potential public space is individuals’ personal WeChat pages, which are accessible only to an individual’s recognized WeChat friends. It is only when someone posts/shares news or news comments on their pages and their WeChat friends join the discussion over this post that this personal page turns into a temporary public space—a news discussion space for a

1  In early March 2018, WeChat disabled the comment function of all newly registered public accounts, claiming that it was required to do so by the authorities (Yang & An, 2018).

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group of WeChat friends. Like news discussions in WeChat groups, it is not accessible to the general public. All three types of public space enable people to engage in news, but public accounts’ comment zones are the most stable and accessible public space on WeChat. Once a WeChat user subscribes to a public account, an infrastructural connection is built between the user and the account. These users are then constantly prompted by news messages pushed by the accounts and once they click/access a news story, they are able to participate in news discussions with other subscribers. WeChat groups and personal pages have set up access limitations; different WeChat groups are not directly connected with each other. There are no networking affordances that could help establish immediate connections among groups; instead, all connections can only be temporarily activated by group members when they share the same news story with their multiple WeChat groups. Consequently, infrastructural connections between different networks on WeChat are not so dense as on Weibo. The whole network on WeChat is pretty scattered. I do not consider such a loosely connected network on WeChat to be inefficient, nor think such temporary, highly fluid and spontaneous networking actions are unimportant. However, I choose to focus on those spaces curated by public accounts since they are the most accessible and active public spaces on WeChat. This will not influence our research aim because, so long as public spheres form in those spaces, the argument is valid.

News Participation Affordances If a public space provides the most basic condition for the forming of public spheres, then participation affordances shape directly—both enable and limit—people’s news engagement. Here I detail participation affordances in WeChat public accounts’ comment zones and explore the procedural equality question. Before proceeding to examine these affordances, it is worth repeating that by “news participation/engagement”, I refer to people’s reading, interpreting, discussing, sharing and production of news. Affordances that allow a media user to access news, to like, comment or repost news or other users’ comment on news, and to produce original content related to a news topic (with or without hashtags) are all thus considered news participation affordances.

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WeChat users can (1) read, like, comment 2 and share a news story; (2) like each other’s comments and like replies made by media moderators to users’ comments; and (3) share a news story to WeChat friends by posting it on their personal pages. But how do these affordances shape users’ participation opportunities? What are the political implications? The count of reviewing a news story and the count of all three sorts of liking (of a news story, of a user comment or a media reply) are automatically recorded, updated and shown to all viewers of the story. In this aspect, every user has an equal right to participation. The view and like counts provide useful indexes for measuring the popularity of the story and they are the key symbols and reminders of the existence of a larger number of publics that are engaging in the space. However, users cannot dislike a story, blocking, to some extent, the general public from gaining a complete picture of how the story is assessed by viewers. The chance to make comments and substantially contribute to the conversation in the comment zone is more contingent. If a user makes a comment on a news story, this will not immediately and automatically appear in the comment zone. It only becomes visible to other users visiting the space after being approved by the public account runner. Put differently, the public account controls which piece of comment can appear in the space. WeChat, the platform, cannot intervene in this decision (Yang, 2018). If WeChat does want to censor the comment zone of a public account, probably due to pressure from the authorities, it can only do so by blocking or deleting, or forcing the account runners to delete, the whole story. Besides, WeChat allows at maximum only 100 comments appearing in each comment zone, which further adds to the scarcity of opportunities for a comment to get published and reinforces the power of public accounts. In this way, the public accounts on WeChat can significantly affect the public spheres configuring around their stories, compared with those on other platforms where moderation happens only after the publication of users’ comments. Consequently, great differences in the quality of conversations can be expected in varying public accounts’ comment zones. Whether or not every participant can get an equal chance to express their opinions is somehow dependent on the public account runner—the moderator of the space. This moderation policy of WeChat however helps tame rampant hate speech and harassment on today’s 2  Sometimes this function is restricted to subscribers only, which is normally free. The public account owners can decide whether or not to impose this restriction.

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internet. Public account runners are cautious in complying with the ethics rules (including the anti-hate speech rule) set by WeChat; being reported by users to the platform for breaching relevant rules means that they may be banned from publishing for a while or forever. The lack of affordances for a user to reply directly to another user and start a reciprocal conversation could also negatively impact intersubjectivity and reflexivity in the communication process, although the author has observed users trying to talk to each other by mentioning (via the @ symbol) screennames or concrete comment content. In addition, it is not rare to see users demanding a chance to get their comments published in the comment zones, especially when they hold an opinion that conflicts with that of the media or the majority of other commentators. News sharing on WeChat is unique when compared with open platforms like Weibo, Facebook or Twitter as the sharing action is invisible in the comment zones. There is no automatically recorded number showing to news viewers how many times a story has been shared. Instead, the shared/reposted news is only visible on individual users’ personal pages, to their WeChat friends. This somehow temporarily transforms one’s private space into a public space. In this way, public spaces and private spaces are connected, forming networked public spheres and sustaining nationwide discussions. After temporary participation, private spaces soon retreat to dispersed and fragmented private spheres. Yet one should not underestimate the vitality of such fluid and to-be-constructed networked public spheres. In 2014, in around a month, 350,000 users engaged in a “Saying No to Ivory Products” campaign (DeLuca et  al., 2016). DeLuca et  al. claim that “despite its more private, enclaved appearance, [WeChat] is an efficacious space where the power of networks can surge and erupt and direct the course of a public event” (p. 331). Due to data-collection difficulties (privacy restrictions), I will not systematically address this kind of news participation on WeChat. After all, I do not aim to exhaust all news participation activities on WeChat. So long as there is a sound argument that news participation in comment zones moderated by public accounts on WeChat fulfils the requirements of public spheres, the research aims are achieved. In principle, procedural equality is recognized as a rule in WeChat’s comment zones, but great uncertainty persists because of the lack of affordances ensuring a more equal process—for instance, a comment affordance that does not impose an approval procedure on users to get their opinion published. Furthermore, limitations on the amounts of comments

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that can enter the space may also negatively influence procedural equality. Those constraints are real, but they do not rule out the possibility that in some spaces users still get an equal chance to make comments, either because the public account runners attempt to ensure such equality among their users, or because they would like to encourage participation and therefore publish every piece of comment they receive when the total number does not exceed 100.

News Provision on WeChat News supply constitutes another basis for news-prompted public spheres. It triggers citizens’ curiosity and concern and motivates them to express their opinions. It provides a cause and a chance for them to exchange ideas over how things pertaining to them should be organized. On WeChat, there is continuous news provision, including stories that are produced by news professionals. More specifically, there are two types of dedicated news producers on WeChat: conventional news media and increasingly professionalized WeMedia news start-ups. By 2016, more than 90% of conventional media have created their WeChat public accounts (CNNIC, 2017), ensuring a regular and stable news feed to their WeChat subscribers. Except for some important official media such as PD and CCTV, both conventional media outlets and WeMedia start-ups need to make a living by selling news (or advertisements) to their users. The number of start-ups is huge, and a very high percentage of the 250  million WeChat public accounts (CNNIC, 2017) are individual content producers, with some being dedicated news producers. The emergence of the so-called WeMedia alliances by individual content producers (who, if successful, may develop into small media companies), such as the Rhinoceros Economic Alliance, the Panda iMedia Union, the WeMedia Alliance, shows how this market was blooming in the early 2010s. In 2013, Rhinoceros Alliance announced that it had gained more than US$2.86 billion in advertising revenue that would be allocated to its member producers (Liu, 2013). Private capital is also entering the market, another symbol of its robustness. In 2015, Panda iMedia Union announced that it had raised a fund of more than US$1.43 million and had recruited more than 1300 content producers, covering more than 500  million Weibo users and 100  million WeChat Users (“Xiongmao Zimeiti Lianmeng” 2015). In the same year, WeMedia Alliance claimed that it had raised US$3 million through a Series A round

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(“Guonei Dingji Zimeiti” 2015). In addition, IT giants such as Baidu, NetEase and Sina have invested heavily in this emergent market. All these trends reflect the dynamism of the news market on WeChat. Ironically, perhaps the most persuasive evidence supporting this argument of news affluence comes from the specific regulation targeting WeChat news producers. On 7 August 2014, the Cyberspace Administration of China (CAC) promulgated an “Interim Provision on the Development of Public Information Service of Instant Messaging Tools” (Jishi Tongxin Gongju Gongzhong Xinxi Fuwu Fazhan Guanli Zanxing Guiding,《即时 通信工具公众信息服务发展管理暂行规定》) (CAC, 2014). It states that, on WeChat, only public accounts run by “licensed news media” can publish and reprint “social-political news”. Only public accounts run by sanctioned organizations (such as governmental public accounts) can reprint social-political news. All other public accounts are forbidden from offering social-political news services (including publishing and reprinting) without the approval of authorities—the CAC and its local bureaus. In China, licensed news media generally consist of conventional mass media (affiliated to different levels of party and governmental organs) and their branches. “Social-political news” includes “reportages and commentaries over public affairs in political, economic, military, diplomatic fields and breaking news”, according to the Regulations on Administration of Internet News Information Service (CAC, 2017). This regulation impedes any individuals or private enterprises from providing public interest– related news on WeChat. This, dialectally, reflects the dynamic and scale of private-owned news start-ups on WeChat at the time this strict regulation was enforced. Crackdowns against them have become routine since then, and thousands of them were shut down in 2018 (Li & Shelton, 2019), especially outspoken ones, such as the satiric caricature account “Wode Mingzi Jiao Jingzhang” (My name is Detective, 我的名字叫警长). The crackdowns have annoyed many individual content producers, but it is hard to claim that the ban crushes all alternative media outlets. As a matter of fact, many survive. They ignore the 2014 regulation because punishment usually only falls upon dissent or highly critical accounts; and they understand that they are safe until forced to close down their accounts. Moreover, when a crisis happens, an account that has long focused on the arts may also turn to publishing crisis-related commentaries, transforming itself into a news-producing account. The boundary is much thinner than some theorists imagine.

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Although alternative media are active news producers on WeChat, legacy media are currently still the dominant players in WeChat’s news market. That is why I choose three conventional media outlets—PD, Beijing News (BN), Southern Metropolis Daily (SMD), one outlet with a conventional media background—The Paper (TP) and one citizen start-up— Zhanhao (ZH)—as the research objects. BN and SMD are market-oriented newspapers; BN has been widely recognized for its outspokenness and professionalism; and SMD has been increasingly tabloidized in recent years, although it used to be greatly respected for its investigative reports. Administratively, BN and SMD are overseen respectively by the Beijing government and the Guangdong municipal government. PD is one of the most important official newspapers in China, known as the throat and tongue of the CCP. TP was created by the Shanghai Press Group (SPG) and at the beginning, the majority of its workers came from the Oriental Morning Post, an affiliate of SPG. It has enjoyed considerable success in recent years as an online-only media outlet and is market-oriented too. ZH is one of the most successful citizens’ start-up media on WeChat, with millions of subscribers (“Weixin Zui Shouhuanyingde” 2016). It is run by a group of freelancers and is known as a nationalist and pro-government WeMedia. Among the five media outlets, PD and ZH are the two openly pro-government media, followed by TP, which is administratively supervised by the Shanghai government. Selecting the five diverse media outlets’ public accounts on WeChat makes the research more generalizable since previous studies have shown vast differences between different public spaces in terms of conversation features (see Sun et al., 2018). WeChat public accounts function much like mass media, feeding several news stories (generally no more than 20) to their subscribers every day. For WeChat users, after logging in they can immediately see a specific section called “subscriptions” on the first page, where all their followed public accounts can be found. (This “subscriptions” section parallels WeChat groups, interpersonal one-to-one chat and “me” for customizing personal settings.) In this “subscriptions” section, news stories provided by different public accounts are listed chronologically. One could choose to access the news piece itself or visit the public account by clicking its profile photo to check all its publications. Like many news websites, a comment zone for each news piece is open to either all WeChat users or just the subscribers, placed below the news story. This zone is the space for people to engage in news.

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The above analysis of speech freedom, public spaces, news participation affordances and news provision on WeChat does not paint a beautiful picture of an ideal environment fostering the formation of public spheres; rather, this is a context marked by tensions and controversies. Participants sometimes have to fight for an equal chance to get their voices heard, which on the one hand is decided largely by public account runners and on the other constrained by WeChat settings and state information-­control policies. Censorship threatens speech freedom in WeChat’s comment zones, but most often it is moderators of these zones who make the decision about what kind of speech can be published. Where a public account moderator is sympathetic towards, and determined to promote, alternative voices, subscribers can enjoy a rather high degree of speech freedom, as I have observed in the past nine years of usage of WeChat public accounts. Moreover, dialectically, users’ engagement itself should be seen as a struggle for and an enactment of speech freedom—constrained or not. Anyway, it would be premature to consider users so passive that they would always act within boundaries or never try to break limitations. Now let us proceed to study in detail how exactly users participate in news in these WeChat comment zones.

News Participation on WeChat What does users’ everyday news participation look like in the comment zones of WeChat public accounts? Does it meet the normative requirements—public spirit, relevance, reflexivity and diversity, and to what extent? This sub-section will answer these questions by studying the data collected from the comment zones of the five aforementioned media, covering two periods: from 1–14 March 2017 and from 15–29 May 2017. With the help of commercial digital software called Rewenbushou, I collected two types of data: (1) information about stories published by media, such as news story titles, hyperlinks of news stories, author information, and publishing date; and (2) records of WeChat users’ news participation and the interaction between the media and their users in the comment zones. More specifically, the second type includes view count and like count of news stories, user comments, media replies to user comments, like count of user comments and of media replies, user screennames and hyperlinks that lead to user profile photos, which are unique for each user

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and are used to differentiate users. In total, 906 news stories 3 and 23,736 comments were collected. The dataset covers a specific period (the first two weeks of March 2017), which was China’s Lianghui (Two Sessions) period and an ordinary period in May 2017. Lianghui—the National Committee of the Chinese People’s Political Consultative Conference (NCCPPCC) and the National People’s Congress (NPC) Conference—comprises the two most important political events in China every year when public policies, issues of law and elections of senior officials and party leaders are discussed and decided. It is thus one of the most sensitive periods in China; others include 4 May and 4 June, memorial dates of renowned democratic movements. These are the periods when the party-state often tightens information and news control due to concerns of “instability” (Shirk, 2011). Comparing a sensitive period with an ordinary one provides a great opportunity to probe whether and how people’s news engagement is influenced by the party-state’s censorship policy. Through this longitudinal empirical examination, the analysis aims to advance the argument that chronic digital publics crystallize in China when people participate in news on WeChat.

How Active Are People? To understand whether WeChat users engage in news and how active they are, this section examines in detail their news viewing, liking and commenting activities (Table 5.1). Because WeChat does not provide the exact number of view count to the general public when a story has more than 100,000 viewers, we could only estimate the average view count per news story. Table 5.1 shows that there was active news participation in the comment zones of all five media, despite vast differences among them. Each day in each media, hundreds of thousands of people accessed news, hundreds of them made comments on news and thousands liked the news, or their peers’ comments or media’s replies. PD and nationalist ZH each had a much higher view count and like count (no matter whether towards 3  Advertisement, arts, literature, lifestyle stories and non-timing health tips are not considered as news. Censored news stories are also excluded; fortunately, there is only one story (during the four weeks of the research period) about the resignation of a journalism professor at Wuhan University, published by BN, that had been censored by the time data collection was completed.

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Table 5.1  Users’ news participation in the five spaces in four weeks Media Story count

Average view count

Average news like count

Average comment count

Average comment like count

Average reply like count

PD ZH SMD TP BN

100 K+

7766.1 8726.9 135.5 101.5 76.1

12.8 38.0 57.6 11.3 21.6

1085.5 286.7 31.5 36.7 20.8

378.3 349.8 18.0 28.5 12.2

245 125 180 214 142

a

32594.5b 22944.4c 14243.3d

113 out of 125 news stories each has more than 100,000 viewers; Except for 13 news stories that each has more than 100,000 viewers; c Except for 8 articles that each has more than 100,000 viewers; d Except for one censored news story and one with more than 100,000 viewers a

b

news or comment or media reply) than the other three market-oriented media. However, SMD had the highest comment count (on average, 57.6 comments per article), much higher than PD. Given that SMD published on average 7.5 news stories each day, 432 user comments were generated in its space each day. Even for the least dynamic TP space, around 112 comments were produced daily. These comment count numbers may seem to be small, but the total number of comments generated by around 250 million public accounts could be enormous, even though not all those accounts are dedicated news producers and not all accounts have as many as 112 comments on news each day. News commenting—the most demanding news participation form—is continuous and stable in the five spaces. SMD had the highest comment count (on average, 57.6 comments per story), followed by ZH (38.0), BN (21.6), PD (12.8) and TP (11.3). Among 906 collected stories, up to 857 stories (94.6%) generated comments; only 49 received no comments (see Table 5.2). In terms of news stories generating no comments, there is no significant difference between the Lianghui period and non-Lianghui period in SMD, BN, PD and TP. Of ZH’s 20 news stories without comments, 19 were published in May rather than in March—the Lianghui period. This suggests that WeChat users’ news engagement had not been significantly impeded during the sensitive time; rather, access was continuous. Figures 5.1 and 5.2 show the distribution of comments (per news story) in the five media spaces, revealing a great variety in terms of

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Table 5.2  News commenting activities in the five spaces Media

Story count

Stories attract no comment (during Lianghui)

Average comment count

SMD ZH BN PD TP

180 125 142 245 214

9 (5) 20 (1) 5 (3) 0 (0) 15 (8)

57.6 38.0 21.6 12.8 11.3

120

Comment count

100 80 60 40 20

1 11 21 31 41 51 61 71 81 91 101 111 121 131 141 151 161 171 181 191 201 211 221 231 241

0

News story index BN

PD

SMD

TP

ZH

Fig. 5.1  Comments distribution in the five spaces

comment count among different news stories published by SMD, BN, TP and ZH. The difference among news stories produced by PD is nevertheless very small (see the smooth grey line of PD in Fig. 5.1 and the brown box of PD in Fig.  5.2). Each of its stories generated comments; the highest comment count is 29 and the lowest 4 (on average, 12.8). Careful observation shows that seldom did a comment in PD’s comment zone criticize the authorities, particularly the central government. Instead, comments praising the policies of the party-state dominate the space. This suggests that it is a heavily manipulated space, which is very tightly

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Fig. 5.2  Comments distribution in the five spaces (Box Plot). Note: Average and medium value of comment count of SMD, ZH, BN, PD and TP, marked respectively by the marker symbol “X” and line symbol “–”

controlled by PD and probably colonized by the Wumao Army—paid commentators by the authorities to produce pro-government and pro-­ party content. Overall, news commenting has become a common practice for WeChat users. In addition to the above data analysis, further solid evidence is the repeated appearances of expressions as “I am here for reading comments” (Wo Shi Lai Kan Pinglun De) in SMD, TP, BN and ZH. That is to say, for some people, the main purpose for accessing the space is to learn about how their equals are discussing specific news events. Statistical analysis also reveals that those participation spaces were inclusive enough to attract a large number of publics. The dataset shows that there were 16,210 commentators engaged in news in the four weeks in those five spaces, among whom 13,229 (81.6%) only commented once and 2981 (18.4%) commented twice or more. Those 13,229 commentators contributed 55.7% of all comments (23,736 comments), while the active commentators contributed 44.3% of total comments. In brief, active users generated nearly half of all comments, but they did not dominate those spaces (see Fig. 5.3). The most active commentators produced 102 comments and only 52 commentators generated 14 or more comments

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Comment count

100

97 100%

Culmulative

90% 80%

80

70%

60

50%

60% 40%

40

30% 20%

20

10%

User_1 User_428 User_855 User_1282 User_1709 User_2136 User_2563 User_2990 User_3417 User_3844 User_4271 User_4698 User_5125 User_5552 User_5979 User_6406 User_6833 User_7260 User_7687 User_8114 User_8541 User_8968 User_9395 User_9822 User_10249 User_10676 User_11103 User_11530 User_11957 User_12384 User_12811 User_13238 User_13665 User_14092 User_14519 User_14946 User_15373 User_15800

0

0%

Individual commentators

Fig. 5.3  Distribution of comments by different commentators

during the research periods. The news participation on WeChat was highly inclusive. The unique pre-moderation setting of these comment zones might have contributed to such a situation: it is extremely hard for a minority of active participants to dominate those spaces. Comparison of news engagement between March and May does not strongly support the idea that strengthened information control during the Lianghui period may greatly reduce the dynamic of people’s news participation on WeChat at that time (Table 5.3). Only SMD users seem to be more active in all five types of news participation in May than in March. All other four media showed mixed results when comparing different news participation forms in the two research periods. One plausible explanation might be that some WeChat users did not see much difference between the Lianghui period and other periods and thus their participation activities did not change significantly. Or, for accounts like the PD, now that the space was already heavily controlled, there was no need for any changes. For nationalist and populist ZH, since its news stories and comment were generally highly in line with party policies, 4 there seemed to be no need to restrain users’ participation. In fact, 4  In ZH’s comment zone, comments like “Impressive, My Country!” (“厉害了，我的 国!”), “I love China! Long live my mother land!” (“爱我中华! 祖国万岁!”) and “Thumbs up for my mother land” (“我为祖国点赞”) are commonplace.

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Table 5.3  Comparison of users’ news participation in March and May 2017 Media Month Story count

Average view count

Average news like count

Average comment count

Average Average comment like reply like count count

PD

100 K+ 100 K+

8484.6 6884.4 8461.0 9034.1 100.8 180.8 143.5 86.2 76.3 76.0

12.9 12.6 45.5 29.4 53.0 63.6 12.3 11.0 22.3 21.1

1210.7 927.7 266.9 322.1 26.3 37.1 33.6 37.9 27.9 15.2

ZH SMD TP BN

March May March May March May March May March May

135 110 67 58 102 78 57 157 61 81

a a

28452.3b 38776.9b 22119.3b 23237.5b 14029.8b 14401.5b

368.8 402 0 349.8 13.7 21.0 32.3 23.5 34.5 8.8

a

More than 90% have more than 100,000 viewers

b

Stories which attracted more than 100,000 viewers or were censored are excluded, as in Table 5.1

its commenting count increased in March; however, ZH made no replies to comment during this period, perhaps out of political caution. Tables 5.2 and 5.3 show a much more complex scenario than expected regarding tightened information control by the state in the Lianghui period. On the one hand, it seemed not to have greatly affected news participation in PD, BN, TP or ZH. No salient negative impacts could be observed in those spaces, especially in PD and ZH—probably because they are both politically safe spaces for the authorities. The impact on BN and TP was unclear: users might be more active in one kind of participation mode while less active in another type of mode. On the other side, news participation in SMD in May did seem to be more dynamic than that in March. Even in March, though, the space was still active, with the highest comment count in comparison with the other four spaces during the same period. Clearly possible information control during the Lianghui time in 2017 did not stifle public spaces on WeChat. In brief, news participation in WeChat public accounts’ comment zones was active, inclusive, continuous and relatively stable during the two research periods, despite salient differences among the five researched media. Each day, prompted by news, thousands and millions of WeChat users engaged in news. Such a kind of practice has cultivated a “comment” culture among China’s WeChat users. For some, the “watching” and

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“engaging” in news have become the main purpose of their usage of WeChat. However, the picture painted here is far from ideal, as I have repeatedly stressed. A typical example is PD, which had been trying to constrain and manipulate its comment zone and to manufacture a sphere promoting the party line and state policies. Nonetheless, it is safe to claim that censorship does not kill all news participation on WeChat. A balance between information control and news engagement has been maintained.

In What Kind of Stories Did they Participate? We have asserted that the topic under discussion should relate to general interest in order to meet the public spirit norm. Here I address the question of what kinds of stories attract WeChat users’ engagement—news stories of a public nature or non-news stories (e.g., entertainment, literature, advertorials, health tips) since both types of information were published by the five media during the research periods. I therefore selected the top 10% of the most engaged stories in each media space by measuring each story’s comment count, comment like count, reply like count, news like count and news view count, weighted in descending order. Commenting is the most demanding engagement form, as it requires commentators to write down opinions, with more time and energy needed than clicking (accessing) a news story or liking it. It is the strongest indicator of willingness to participate, and accessing news is the least demanding and therefore least important factor. News like count appears in the peripheral area of the comment zone (attached immediately to the end of the news story and is relatively separated from the comment zone). It is also a less engaged form, which does not involve interaction with other users. Its importance is thus ranked behind comment liking and reply liking. The preliminary study shows that comment liking is a kind of engagement directed immediately at users’ opinions while reply liking is often directed at the media themselves rather than the content of the replies. Comment liking is thus seen as concentrated more on opinion rather than on the person since users remain anonymous in those comment zones. In this way, it makes a bigger contribution to public debates than reply liking and is therefore of higher importance. Findings suggest that users of all five media examples are more inclined to engage in news stories than in non-news stories (see Table  5.4). However, the difference between PD and the other four media examples is vast. For market-oriented professional media—BN, SMD and TP, more

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Table 5.4  Top 10% of most engaged stories in the five media spaces Media

News

Non-News

Percentage of News

BN PD SMD TP ZH

16 28 24 25 17

0 16 1 3 3

100.0 63.6 96.0 89.3 85.0

than 89% of their top 10% most engaged stories are news. For nationalist ZH, this rate is 85%. As for PD, although the majority (63.6%) of its 10% most engaged stories were news, an essential part (36.4%) were not. Its users’ preferences might not be the only reason as PD having the lowest rate of news provision among the five media: only 56.2% of PD’s published stories were news while the rates of BN, TP, SMD and ZH were respectively 86.6%, 75.4%, 72.0% and 62.2%. PD seemed to be trying to depoliticize its space, whereas its users still preferred to engage in discussing news stories rather than non-news stories. Overall, it is safe to claim that in some WeChat public spaces—market-oriented professional news media spaces in particular—users more often participated in news rather than in other types of stories. Their participation was publicly rather than privately oriented.

How Relevant Are the Conversations? Relevance (or coherence) constitutes another normative requirement of public spheres. It requires participants to stay on topic rather than making only sociable utterances (e.g., greetings) or talking about irrelevant topics (Brants & Voltmer, 2011; Schudson, 1997; Stromer-Galley, 2007). Although distractions cannot always be avoided in non-institutional public spheres, a high level of relevance constitutes the basis for the formation of public spheres. To test the relevance of WeChat users’ news discussions in the five spaces, I selected a sample of 200 comments generated by the five media outlets (in total 23,736). The sampling rate is 0.843%. For each space, a proportional sample is randomly selected; the sample number of each media is shown in Table 5.5. It should be noted that one comment may contain multiple thoughts, meaning “an utterance that expresses an idea on a specific topic” (Stromer-Galley, 2007, p. 9). Each thought is called a

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Table 5.5  Relevance of people’s comments in the five spaces Media

SMD

BN

TP

ZH

PD

Number of comments sampled Relevance percentage

87 93.1

26 100.0

21 100.0

40 85.0

26 92.3

talk and each comment may include several talks. A relevant comment must contain at least one relevant talk. Talks are considered relevant if they discuss: (1) the news stories themselves or stories of a similar theme or nature; (2) the professional production process or the professional work of producers of the news story; (3) people’s participation in the news story or people’s opinions about the story; (4) censorship of the story; or (5) censorship and information control as a general theme, since they are a persistent threat to any news engagement. A pilot study was conducted to test inter-coder reliability. The coding protocol (see Appendix for the final version) was modified several times and the pilot coding was repeated several times until an acceptable inter-coder reliability of two bilingual coders (Chinese and English) was yielded. Cohen’s Kappa was used for calculating the reliability rate, and the final rate is 0.928. Table 5.5 shows that the levels of relevance of news comments in the five spaces were rather high. Discussions in those spaces were, in general, pertinent. The level in ZH was the lowest and further examination showed that those irrelevant comments were: (1) greetings to and expressions of gratitude for, or admiration of ZH or concerns over the wellbeing of ZH; (2) self-presentations showing that they were among the earliest commentators or how many times they had liked ZH’s stories; or (3) expressions of patriotic thoughts that were irrelevant to the topic; or (4) personal problems about which they would like to seek advice from ZH, or even their personal wishes. This shows that ZH’s space was to some extent re-­ appropriated for privately oriented social purposes.

Communicative Reflexivity Communicative reflexivity is often considered a basic requirement of public spheres because participants are expected to listen to and exchange opinions with each other and reflect on their own and others’ positions (Cappella et  al., 2002; Dryzek, 2000; Graham & Witschge, 2003; Gutmann & Thompson, 1996). Utterances expressed should not be

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monologues. Expressions of willingness to exchange ideas, however, should be seen as a precursor of reflection. Therefore, acknowledging, addressing, responding to or seeking other people’s opinions on the topic being debated are all promising representations of communicative reflexivity. Such communicative actions mean that one is aware that one’s opinion is personal and that there are multiple varying opinions, which is the first step to becoming reflective. In this vein, expressions that are used to address a specific commentator, a unique type of opinion, a trending opinion, uncivil or irrational utterances, or to emphasize that it is a personal idea (implying there may be different opinions), or to address the general public could all be indicators of communicative reflexivity. A preliminary study of data helped identify two groups of indicator words of communicative reflexivity, which I will use to assess this feature of user comments. The first group has strong indicators, including “comment” (Pinglun/Yanlun, 评论/言论), “the commentator above” (Loushangde/Qianpaide/Qianmiande, 楼上/前排的/前面的), “the commentator below” (Xiamiande, 下面的(的评论者)), “the commentator” (Yilou/Moulou, 一楼/某楼), “subjective utterance” (Shuofa, 说法), “personal idea” (Geren Guandian/Xiangfa/Yijian/Kanfa, 个人观点/想法/意 见/看法), “I personally think” (Geren Juede/Renwei, Wo Juede/Renwei, 个人觉得/个人认为/我认为/我觉得), “the collective” (Dajia, 大家) and “slander” (bb/Pen, bb/喷). The second group has relatively weaker indictors than the first one, as they could also appear in utterances that are not related to reflexivity. They were “my” (Zijide, 自己的), “think” (Renwei/ Juede, 认为/觉得) and “opinion” (Kanfa/Xiangfa/Guandian, 看 法/想法/观点). Trials showed that the first group of indicators was much more reliable than the second. Using the second group of words as a filter mechanism generated too much useless data, although some comments were indeed reflective. To simplify the analysis, I used only the first group of indicators to approach this question of reflexivity. This means that the real level could be higher than as is shown here (see Table 5.6). To be sure that even data generated by the weaker indicators are included, reflective comments Table 5.6  Reflexivity in the five media spaces on WeChat Media

SMD

BN

TP

ZH

PD

Reflexivity

4.4%

6.7%

5.5%

6.0%

1.4%

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could still not be exhausted because the lack of the indicators identified above does not equate with a lack of reflexivity. This is because reflexivity involves an internal process and cannot always be easily or fully revealed by utterances. Table 5.6 shows the result of the tentative approach. The reflexivity levels measured through those indicator words in all five spaces were low. In addition to the reasons stated above, the low rates could also be caused by the affordance restriction on WeChat: that there is no “reply” affordance enabling direct interaction between two commentators, which sometimes forces participants to think about other participants’ arguments. However, in spite of the low levels, reflective dialogues in all five spaces were not lacking, even in PD. Below are some examples. It is worth noting that even though some “conversations” did not happen between two specific interlocutors, one could see clearly that there were reflective communications present—exchange and response of different opinions. Not all spaces were echo chambers where participants could hear nothing but their own voices, even in tightly controlled spaces such as PD’s comment zone. Example 1: Comments on other participants’ opinions in BN. Comment A: 有些评论者本身问题很大，如我不对，你可如此 骂我和伤害我吗? Translation: The position of some commentators is highly problematic. Even if I did something inappropriate, can you attack and hurt me in such a way? Comment B: 看了楼上的一些评论 只想说 不要随便用自己的价值观 去评判别人/微笑 Translation: I saw some comments above, and I just want to say, do not judge others against your own special value.Example 2: Comments on China’s development of commercial aircraft in ZH. Comment A: 第二位仁兄的话比较有道理，缺点是错别字略多了一点。 Translation: The second dude’s comment makes better sense but is flawed by too many incorrect spellings. Comment B: 上面的那2位童鞋，你们以为不带俄罗斯美国就会让中国 大飞机通过认证?太天真了吧!明显就是给发展中国家准备的 Translation: The two friends above, do you really think if China does not cooperate with Russia, the US will let China pass certification? Too naïve! Certification is obviously meant to block developing countries (from entering the market).Example 3:

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Comments on why some commentators support the cancelling of the English test in China’s university entrance exam in PD. Comment: 投赞成的可能都是英语不好的吧/微笑 Translation: Those who vote for this idea might all be bad at English.

Diversity and the Tolerance of Difference Diversity contributes to the formation of vibrant public spheres (Brants & Voltmer, 2011; Dryzek, 2000; Graham & Witschge, 2003; Medaglia & Yang, 2017). It is a strong symbol of tolerance of different opinions. According to the diversity principle, participants should be able to express different opinions on topics under discussion. Conflicting ideas among participants, or between participants and the media, are manifestations of the diversity of a public sphere. To test whether conversations in those five media spaces tolerate different or even conflicting ideas, I selected the top 10% of most engaged news stories of each of the five media and examined the comments generated by them. A total of 18 SMD stories, 14 BN stories, 21 TP stories, 13 ZH stories and 25 PD stories were studied. As in the study of relevance, a coding protocol (see Appendix) was developed to identify diverse opinions that either approached an issue from different perspectives, or contradicted each other, or conflicted with the position debated in the news story. Pilot coding was conducted to reach satisfactory inter-coder reliability. The final inter-coder reliability is 0.791. Statistical analysis shows that the majority of top 10% of most engaged news stories in SMD, BN, TP and ZH had generated diverse comments whereas the rate for PD was much lower than for the other four media (Table 5.7). More concretely, diverse opinions are presented in each discussion of all selected stories produced by SMD and BN. For TP, the proportion decreased to 85.7%, which might have been caused by the so-­ called positive energy stories in its top 21 news stories (e.g., stories about a caring nurse). All comments about those stories were expressions of Table 5.7  Diversity of comments on the top 10% of most engaged news in the five media Media

SMD

BN

Diversity percentage

100%

100%

TP 85.7%

ZH 84.6%

PD 44.0%

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appreciation, admiration or praise. The majority of PD’s popular news generated homogeneous comments (56%), again confirming that this is a heavily manipulated space. The above assessment nevertheless does not address the question of how diverse, or to what degree, a specific conversation might have been. A conversation might be counted as diverse when there is only one comment criticizing the dominant argument while all other 99 comments support it. In such a case, though, this conversation is highly polarized and its degree of diversity is extremely low. In contrast, if one-third of participants support a specific position in a conversation, one-third oppose it and the other third possess a neutral position, then the degree of diversity of the conversation is higher than the polarized one. Deep observation showed that degrees of diversity in market-oriented media BN, SMD and TP were much higher than that in the nationalist ZH and propaganda machine PD. Take the Yu Huan story for example—a young man stabbed a debt collector to death after the victim deliberately insulted and sexually harassed Yu’s mother. Regarding one story published by TP, some users criticized the Supreme People’s Procuratorate (SPP) for failing to take into consideration the mental conditions of Yu Huan and his mother, and some questioned whether the judges at the first trial were guilty of dereliction of duty. Some also accused the police involved in the case of being unprofessional. But criticism was not the only line of discourse. Some users praised the TP for advancing the reinvestigation of the case and the SPP for doing a good job when it decided to reinvestigate. Some commentators also hoped that legal institutions could right their wrongdoings through self-inspection rather than by external pressure. Typical comments are shown below: Comment A 有一点高检忽略了:于欢母子被长时间限制人身自由和侮辱，精神已经 存在问题，应当被认定为短暂性的心理障碍，不能主动控制自己行为的 程度了。所以不存在过当。 Translation: One point the SPP has failed to note: due to the long-time restriction of personal freedom and insult, the mother and son (Yu Huan) must have already been suffering from mental problems. It should be recognized that they were experiencing temporary psychological disorder, to a degree that they could not control themselves properly. Therefore, there is no excessive defense in this case. Comment B

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一审认定有遗漏?我认为追查到底，这个遗漏是有意还是无意很重要。 如果是无意，说明一审办案人员没有能力，应该撤职。如果是有意，就 是犯罪了。应该法办。 Translation: Was something missed in the first trial? I think we need a thorough investigation over this negligence. And it is important to find out whether the legal workers involved neglected the issue on purpose. If they did not intend to do it, then this means that they are not capable of doing their job and should be sacked; if they did, then it is a crime and they should be prosecuted. Comment C 于欢事件反映出的一个基本事实就是:民警的现场处理太不专业了!无论 怎么解释；于欢的伤害行为是发生在民警到场之后!说明了什么问题呢?那 你去现场有什么用?也许你不去还发生不了这个事件呢。民警现场处理有 没有程序?因此说；这个民警至少是不合格的!成事不足 败事有余! Translation: A basic fact revealed by the Yu Huan case is that the policemen were highly unprofessional in dealing with the event! Otherwise, how do you explain that the stabbing happened after the intervention of police? What does this mean? How helpful is the intervention by the police? Maybe this would not have taken place if the police had never been there. Did the police deal with the case and follow a proper procedure? The policemen failed to conduct their duty! They were not capable of doing their job and only made it worse! Comment D 客观公正，还原真实情况，合理合法合情，给高检点赞[强][强] Translation: This verdict is objective and just and has brought truth to the public. It is rational, legal and appropriate. Thumbs up for the SPP! Comment E 有时候会想，社会上如果没有几个有良知的媒体，会变成怎样?谢 谢澎湃持续关注。 Translation: Sometimes I wonder how our society would look like if we had not had a few responsible media outlets. Thanks to TP for paying continuous attention to this event. Comment F 感谢媒体的持续关注 但是我们希望今后司法的自纠源自内生而不是外 部的介入 以人民的名义 Translation: Thanks for the continuous attention paid to this event. However, we hope, in the name of the people, that our legal institutions right their wrongdoings because of their self-inspection mechanism rather than because of external pressure.

Both ZH and PD were highly homogeneous and polarized. Conflicting ideas were not lacking in the comment zones of the majority of ZH’s top

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13 stories, 5 but usually, nationalist discourse dominated those spaces, with voices that criticized such a discourse marginalized and harshly attacked by participants. In PD, the majority of comments were either pro-­government or nationalist expressions. There was no direct questioning or criticism of the central government or the CCP. It is only when stories were not sensitive, such as those about English teaching, WeChat’s service and local restaurant service, that discussions revealed a certain degree of diversity. Overall, the majority of news discussions in SMD, BN and TP showed a high level of diversity. Regarding PD and ZH, while diverse voices were not wholly absent in their comment zones, homogeneous discourses that were either nationalist or pro party-state dominated their spaces. Such homogeneity could be caused either by heavy manipulation or by nationalist participants. In spite of such imperfectness of PD and ZH, this analysis of diversity confirms that there is dynamic news engagement in WeChat’s relatively less controlled public spaces—in the comment zones of SMD, BN and TP. The above assessment of the quality of public communications that took place in the five media comment zones confirms that, at least in BN, SMD and TP, conversations fulfilled in general the normative requirements of public spheres, though not always. In these three spaces, news discussions were relevant and diverse, and displayed a certain degree of reflexivity. In contrast, conversations in PD and ZH, although relevant, were marked by homogeneity and polarization. In particular, PD’s comment zone was so heavily controlled and manipulated that it is much less likely that users there could hear diverse, critical opinions than in the other four spaces. But this is consistent with the proactive media strategy pushed by the party-state. The PD case provides a concrete understanding of what the consequence of the strategy could be. The differences between nationalist media spaces (PD and ZH) and marketized (to some extent) media spaces underline the diversity and complexity of online publics in China. The “control” factor, as is revealed in PD’s space, constitutes only one reason for those differences. The publics themselves, as audiences of those different media, also greatly differ from each other (see Stockmann, 2013) and may have contributed to the vast differences we observed in those mediated spaces. 5  For instance, there is a comment criticising ZH’s opinion: “Boycotting South Korea is something that the state should take charge of. Why do you—ZH—think it is the Chinese people’s responsibility? Will our government be just a spectator?” (抵制韩国应该国家出面, 占豪老师怎么把责任押给人民? 我们的政府旁观吗?)

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Through the longitudinal study of how Chinese WeChat users engage in news in five mediated spaces, we showed that although constrained, many of these news-prompted chronic gatherings were publicly oriented and pertinent, and often reflexive and diverse, as expected by the public sphere ideal. We thus confirmed that online public spheres configure on a daily basis in a highly controlled digital context like China. These political communications did not happen in an ideal environment where free speech and procedural equality were 100% guaranteed; instead, these two norms were held in constant tension and were negotiated and practiced in the communicative actions of every participant. Yet these configurations do not take place only occasionally; they are chronic, stirred up by endless news. And censorship has not fully suffocated these public spheres. We thus depicted a much more complex and vivid picture of Chinese news-­ prompted digital public spheres. But these complexities do not weaken the overall argument that asserts the existence of publics in China; they instead help readers grasp a more comprehensive and nuanced reality.

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CHAPTER 6

Surprise

We define news as publicized narratives over public interest–related disruptions from the current state in the view of news producers. News has to be something fresh, novel and even shocking to draw people’s attention. That is why “journalists … tend to focus on news as novel, unprecedented, and unanticipated events” (Schudson, 2003, p. 4). This gene of surprise is not only embedded in its own nature as “marked discontinuity” (Luhmann, 1996/2000, p. 28), but is also intensified deliberately by news producers in order to attract readers. That is why sensational news often become headlines, or that headlines are presented in a sensational narrative. After all, curiosity is intrinsic to human beings, with good reason: surprising events can bring transparency to opacity, which is essential for mankind. Thus, people tend to pay immediate attention to things that are bizarre, shocking and unpredictable than to something more routine and less rocky. And communication about news enables and prepares human beings to face unknown changes and risks. That is why an accident is more appealing for news media and publics than a long-planned ceremony (Schudson, 2003). That is why reports about the outbreak of what is known as the COVID-19 coronavirus in Wuhan, China on New Year’s Eve 2019 attracted much more attention than Xi’s 2020 new year speech. Nothing is more intriguing than what goes astray. Surprising news unstoppably breaks silence. It reports conflicts and controversies and displays them in a dramatic, astonishing and sometimes

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ridiculing way. News is the outburst of accumulated tensions that have developed to such a point that they challenge the imagined social order/ norms/values in a seemingly unacceptable yet inevitable way. Eventually, they burst into spectacular public visibility, forcing publics, who are usually the supporters of the status quo (or at least a status quo that they imagine), to scrutinize the emerging or existing changes, which are often concealed or marginalized until the news breaks. It invites publics to revisit those long taken-for-granted norms in a radical way because they find those norms have changed so much that they can barely understand, and have never noticed, the transformation. For those who are the minority but are fully aware of the changes, it is a silence-breaking moment, as they can now share this news with the public at large. The moment the changes amaze society and become public, the silence is broken. This surprise feature marks news-prompted public spheres. Shocking news prompts readers to express themselves because the broader implications of news concern or excite them. The urgency comes from the intensified conflicts or sudden disruption from the “banal” routine, which are so strong that silence is no longer tolerable. It is especially so when those problems are amplified by the media—institutions that are supposed to be public attention production organs (Schudson, 2003). News is events of certified importance. The more shocking a news story is, the more motivated publics are, the more heated discussions one could expect and the more likely that silence will be broken in a suppressing environment. The death of Dr. Li Wenliang is a case in point. Nobody would have expected that he would die in hospital at such a young age (33 years old) from a virus that is said to be only deadly for the elderly and those who have underlying conditions. Millions of Chinese mourned his death online and thousands and millions publicly demanded speech freedom for the first time in China since 1989. In addition, digital communication technologies further facilitated the connective expression process (Bennett & Segerberg, 2012). Empowered by digital networks that are built on what Castells (2007) called mass self-communication, which is self-centered but capable of broadcasting to the public, the constellations of innumerable online publics are prompt. Driven by shock, excitement, concern or outrage, motivated publics gather swiftly to pour out their feelings and deliberations in an extremely short time after the news event took place. They come as if out of nowhere, appropriating any of the communication connections/channels and collective spaces they can access.

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Philosophically, the surprise quality of news and news-prompted public spheres, like another feature—chronicity—could be attributed to the unpredictable nature of human action (its typical modern and contemporary form is what we call news). For Arendt (1958), uncertainty is its decisive character. She contends that such a kind of unpredictability arises simultaneously out of the “darkness of the human heart” (p. 244), that is, the basic unreliability of men and women who never can guarantee today who they will be tomorrow, and out of the impossibility of foretelling the consequences of an act within a community of equals where everybody has the same capacity to act. In other words, it lies in the irreducible plurality (or difference) of human beings and the fact that individual human beings change their minds all the time. As a result, nobody can be sure about the consequences of communication actions as one action will lead to millions of unforeseeable other actions. Thus, one can see endless emergence of news and news-prompted public spheres, manifesting mutating social relationships and social norms. In this case, the feature of endlessness should be seen as another aspect of the unpredictability nature of human action. The surprise and chronicity imprinted news and news-prompted public spheres constitute unpredictable yet continuous forces that constantly keep tabs on established powers—existing norms and relations. They are not planned actions and cannot always be prevented or be eliminated once and for all. That is where their resilience lies and the source of their power: hard to contain yet endless. It is also why dissent has never been fully annihilated: there is no guarantee that everyone would agree with all unforeseeable changes. Where the current societal structural is not inclusive or flexible enough to tolerate change and to enable its publics to negotiate and to achieve comprise or agreement over changes—no matter how temporary—major clashes are inevitable. In the following pages, I will analyse the Guo Meimei case to show how a frivolous young girl’s flaunting of her private life can precipitate a major crisis for the Red Cross Society of China (RCSC)—China’s biggest and most influential semi-official charity institution, and even generate wide questioning over China’s political system. The tarnished reputation of the RCSC has never fully recovered. And when a crisis strikes again, the pain is doubled.

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The Guo Meimei Scandal No one could foretell that a poorly educated, 19-year-old girl Guo Meiling (known in China’s internet as Guo Meimei), who likes showing off her extravagant life on her personal Weibo page, would claim to be the manager of the RCSC, just as nobody could predict that such a ridiculous story would eventually plunge the RCSC into a major crisis. It all started with Guo Meimei changing her Weibo profession profile from actress to Commercial General Manager of Hongshizi Shanghui (HS, 红十字商会) on Sina Weibo on 20 June 2011 (“Guo Meimei Xianqi” 2011). Before that change, Guo Meimei had already posted many photos about her lavish private life—featuring luxury cars, jewelry and designer handbags. Young, poorly educated, wealthy and employed by the RCSC, Guo Meimei soon ignited people’s anger and suspicion towards the possibility of corruption in the RCSC and the misuse of donations. It is almost impossible for a 19-year-old girl who has just graduated from high school (if she ever went to one) to be hired by the RCSC without corruption. Given the RCSC’s philanthropic nature, it is also highly suspicious that a worker such as Guo could be so wealthy. The day Guo changed her “verified” identity/profession on Sina Weibo, a follower of Guo, a young university student who was initially attracted by Guo’s cuteness, reposted Guo’s showing-off post (of her new job) on an automobile web forum. On the same day, Guo’s story was picked up by Tianya, one of the most popular web forums in China in 2011. On 21 June 2011, netizens found that a Weibo account named “郭 长江RC-” (Guo Changjiang Red Cross) and Guo Meimei followed each other. Some Weibo users suspected that Guo Meimei was the daughter of Guo Changjiang, who was then the vice president of the RCSC (Jiang & Yu, 2011) because they shared the same family name. One user comment called for investigating their relationship. Late that night, Guo Meimei clarified that the company (HS) for which she worked was a commercial partner of the RCSC and claimed that it was the abbreviation she had used that had led to the misunderstanding. On the same day, it was also uncovered by internet users that in less than two years, Guo Meimei had changed from a girl who needed to rent average apartments and to use cheap phones to one who lived in a lavish house and drove luxury cars (Yuan & Li, 2011). These findings raised further doubts about her wealth and her connections with the RCSC. On 22 June, Guo Changjiang denied publicly that he had either a daughter or a Weibo account (“Guo Meimei

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Xianqi” 2011). On the same day, the RCSC also issued an announcement denying that it had a subsidiary called HS or an employee called Guo Meimei and condemning the use of its brand for visibility. It also claimed that it preserved the right to sue for any unauthorized use of its name and brand and urged Chinese netizens not to be deceived or manipulated by clickbait. However, such denials later turned out to be only word games. HS is the abbreviation and informal name of the Red Cross Society of China Commercial Department (RCSCCD 中国商业系统红十字会), an affiliated commercial company of the RCSC, and Guo Meimei is the online nickname of Guo Meiling. Neither Guo Memei’s nor the RCSC’s clarification pacified the public. By 22 June 2011, internet-savvy netizens had found that Guo was a car-­ show model hired by Beijing Tianlue Shengshi Auction Co. Ltd. (BTSAC), which has a close relationship with the RCSCCD (or what Guo Meimei claimed as HS) (Yuan & Li, 2011). The RCSC’s announcement on 21 June was an attempt to cover up the relationship. The connection between BTSAC and the RCSCCD was unearthed by Wen Diluo, who was regarded as one of the most important muckrakers of the Guo Meimei scandal (“Guo Meimei Xianqi” 2011). Born in the 1980s and working in a local government institution, Wen had been involved in muckraking since 2010. In an interview with Guangzhou Daily, Wen told the media that she was interested in social, economic and political news: “Since the beginning of my microblogging, I have mainly used Weibo to follow news and news comments, and I have followed many public intellectuals and media workers”. More concretely, she found two pieces of information that were decisive for the late development of the Guo Meimei saga, driven by anger over the information censorship imposed on this event by Tianya. First, she found that the RCSCCD, Wangding Marketing and Consultancy Co. Ltd. (WMC), Beijing Zhongmou Zhiguo Advertisement Company (BZZAC) and BTSAC shared the same email account. Second, she found that Wang Yanda, the daughter of the vice president of the RCSCCD, Wang Shumin, was also the enterprise representative of WMC and BZZAC. Wen’s personal Weibo account became at the same time a broadcast medium and a public venue, attracting thousands of internet users to follow and discuss her updates about the Guo Meimei event. On 23 June 2011, a magazine Chinese Entrepreneurs (中国企业家) published a Weibo post confirming the connections between the RCSCCD, BTSAC and Guo Meimei (He & Wang, 2011).

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The online muckraking of the relationship between the RCSC, the RCSCCD, BTSAC and Guo Meimei forced the RCSC to again respond to public inquiries. On the evening of 24 June 2011, the RCSC, the RCSCCD and BTSAC (which was believed to have helped the RCSCCD promote philanthropy), published a joint announcement on the RCSC’s website, again denying that any of them had any connection with Guo Meimei (“Guo Meimei Cheng” 2011). In the announcement, the RCSC also claimed that it had contacted the police and taken legal action against Guo. On 26 June, Guo published three posts on Sina Weibo apologizing for the “trouble” she had caused the general public and the RCSC. These announcements and apologies still did not satisfy either the public at large or the media (Yan, 2011). Expressions like “I do not have a mood for going to work before figuring out the Guo Meimei event” (Guo Meimei De Shi Mei Nongqingchu, Mei Xinqing Shangban) or “Chinese Super League players cannot focus on playing football any longer until hidden stories behind Guo Meimei are uncovered” (Guo Meimei De Shiqing Mei Nongqingchu, Zhongchao Qiuyuan Mei Xinsi Tiqiu) went viral, demanding a thorough investigation of the Guo event. On 25 June, CCTV joined other media calling for the RCSC to show evidence to support its claims. A lethal hit came from the National Audit Office of PRC (NAO), when it released its audition report on the RCSC’s 2010 revenues and expenditures and announced that it had found five problems with the RCSC on 27 June 2011 (“Guo Meimei Shijian” 2011). One day later, the RCSC invited six national official media, including CCTV, Xinhua and PD, to a press conference and again denied all criticism, including corruption accusations and its connections with Guo Meimei. Regarding the problems identified by the NAO, the RCSC said the money involved was governmental subsidies rather than public donations, and that what the RCSC had violated was procedural rules and regulations, which was not corruption. The vice general secretary of the RCSC, Wang Rupeng, tried to distance the RCSC from the RCSCCD. He argued that the real supervisor of the RCSCCD was the China General Chamber of Commerce (CGCC, 中国商业联合会), an institution led by the state-owned Assets Supervision and Administration Commission of the State Council (SASACSC), while the RCSC only offered advice to it (“Guo Meimei Shijian” 2011). “We do not nominate its cadres, nor do we provide subsidies to it”, Wang Rupeng said.

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Once again, Chinese internet users and the media did not buy this story told by the RCSC on 28 June 2011. In a news story published on 29 June, China Business Net (中国经营网) indicated that the RCSC had a hierarchical relationship with the RCSCCD, which was only mistakenly called HS by Guo (“Guo Meimei Shijian” 2011). It also found that this RCSCCD was still not registered properly, 10 years after its creation, but was processing multiple projects with the help of the commercial company WMC. According to the reportage, WMC was involved in all RCSCCD projects, and its first corporate representative and major stockholder was Wang Shumin, who was also vice president of the RCSCCD (Wang, 2011). (Five years after its creation in 2001, Wang Yanda, the daughter of Wang Shumin, replaced her father and became WMC’s corporate representative.) Vice general secretary of the RCSCCD, Li Qingyi, was also the vice general manager of WMC. The news report also confirmed that the RCSCCD shared its contact number with the three commercial companies WMC, BZZAC and BTSAC.  On the same day, SMD published a story on the China Red Fraternity Asset Management Co. Ltd. (CRFAMC, 中红博爱资产管理公司) (Wang, 2011). It found that the CRFAMC was the company connecting Guo Meimei, WMC, the RCSCCD and the RCSC. A few days later, the CEO of the CRFAMC, Weng Tao, confirmed to the media that Guo’s boyfriend Wang Jun was an ex-stockholder of the CRFAMC (Wang & Di, 2011). Wang Jun was also a stockholder of Shenzhen Wuhua Co. Ltd. (Wuhua), while Wuhua was the biggest stockholder (60 per cent of shares) of the CRFAMC. What Guo Meimei posted on Weibo about the business her company was doing corresponded with the account of the CRFAMC. It was a project called “Fraternity Service Station” (FSS, 博爱服务站), which planned to build 20,000 stations in the form of convenient vehicles offering free emergency medical service to urban residents in China (Di, 2012). The vehicles also served as a channel for advertising, such as insurance and medical applicant advertisements, thus providing a source of revenue for the CRFAMC.  This project was initiated in 2006 by the RCSCCD and had been approved by the RCSC (Zhou, 2011); its implementation was accorded to WMC, which held 30 per cent of the shares of the CRFAMC. The Guo and RCSC relationship had been pinned down (see Fig. 6.1 for the Guo Meimei and RCSC network). Yet in terms of restoring the RCSC’s tarnished reputation, the crisis had just begun. To appease doubts and critics from civil society, the RCSC issued a statement late on 1 July 2011, announcing three actions it would take to

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Fig. 6.1  The network connecting Guo Meimei and the RCSC

respond to public concern about its use of philanthropical money and its management of the RCSCCD (He & Wang, 2011). These three actions were: (1) suspension of all operations of the RCSCCD; (2) inviting auditing institutions to investigate all revenue and expenditure of the RCSCCD; and (3) publicizing the investigation results (Di, 2012). Thereafter, a joint investigation team was formed—composed of the Ministry of Supervision (MS), the Institution of Sociology at the China Academy of Social Sciences, Beijing Liu Anyuan Law Firm, China General Chamber of Commerce (CGCC) and the RCSC—to investigate the relationship between Guo and the RCSCCD, and the latter’s internal management and structure. However, these actions did not immediately help the RCSC to win back the trust of the general public: it is estimated that between June and August 2011, donations received by charity organizations in China decreased by 86 per cent. Three years later, Guo was caught illegally organizing gambling, and was sentenced to five years’ imprisonment. When Guo confessed her guilt to the whole nation on CCTV in 2014 and apologized to the RCSC for the damage she had done to the organization’s reputation, it was meant to whitewash the RCSC; ironically, the RCSC

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responded by asking Chinese netizens to “please forget Guo Meimei” (Boehler & Zhang, 2014). And Guo was sarcastically called “the anti-­ corruption fighter” and “the Inspector of the RCSC” by Chinese netizens because whenever she does anything, it reminds publics of this Guo Meimei scandal and leads to public scrutiny of the RCSC. The Guo Meimei event illustrates what we termed surprising news and surprising public spheres. In a dramatic way, a young girl’s selfies of her everyday life ravaged the reputation of China’s biggest official charity system. Public curiosity and fury were immediately sparked (within days) by this strange story of a young girl showing off not only her extravagant private life but also her enviable job—a senior management position in a central semi-governmental institution (although it was a fake story). Given her poor education and family background, and the mediocre salary level paid by the RCSC, suspicion of corruption was inevitable. Although the disaffection towards the charity organ had been accumulating for quite a while, the outbreak of public contention against it was triggered by the Guo event, at a good moment. There had already been several RCSC-­ related scandals in the previous few years, and the distrust and disaffection of the Chinese people towards the RCSC and the overall bureaucratic system was growing because of rampant corruption among officials in the early 2010s. The Guo scandal was a wonderful chance for publics to scrutinize the running of the RCSC and to demand transparency of its management and the restoration of probity. The case also made the general public’s demands seem concrete and urgent, and the problems of the RCSC more salient. Without the Guo Meimei event, no public attention or public discussions would have been so focused on the RCSC, who had many other things to worry about—private or public. This is also why the RCSC begged the people to forget Guo Meimei. By surprising, I mean that not only is the happening of events uncontrollable but also the way publics react to them is unpredictable. A male college student who was initially interested in following Guo Meimei’s personal Weibo for her cuteness suddenly became suspicious about potential corruption problems linking Guo and a semi-governmental organization. He then shared it as a weird story with other Chinese netizens via a web forum. An unemployed man interested in muckraking and interaction with other internet users followed that story and turned his microblog into a media and a public space by continuously posting Guo-related stories. Annoyed by censorship, a young official, Wen Diluo, who was keen to protect public interest, started devoting herself to digging up the dirt

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behind the Guo story. A large number of enthusiastic netizens were also engaged in the inquiry, demanding transparency and accountability of the public organization. And many news media joined the cause. In addition, unintentionally, both the release of the RCSC’s 2010 audit report by the NAO and Guo’s confession on CCTV, which aims at whitewashing the RCSC, worsened the crisis. None of these actions were predictable. One thing is certain, though: the unfolding of those stories is driven by part-time and active news-engaging publics. They are everywhere and nowhere. They could be students, an unemployed middle-aged man, a young and low-ranking official, or anyone with an internet connection. They switch from private individuals to informed publics whenever and wherever they are willing to do so, in an extremely swift and convenient way—for instance, when the male university student reposted Guo’s selfies and questioned whether she was connected with the corruption problem of the RCSC. They provided essential news information to the media and other observers and participants (in this sense, they are news producers), and they acted in concert to demand accountability from public organs. They are the reason why publics configure in astonishing ways. This case showed how unexpected news-prompted public contentions stormed China’s internet. Censorship did not work in the Guo case; on the contrary, it motivated publics, such as Wen Diluo and the unemployed man, to fight back by devoting themselves even more to uncovering “secrets”. All news participants—the public at large and individual internet users, the mass media, public institutions, governmental organs, commercial companies—consciously or not, willingly or not, became involved in those public spheres that formed around the Guo stories. At times, they pushed forward the development of the event in ways no one would have expected. They could never fully foretell the consequences of their actions. Yet their interplay enabled the production and dissemination of surprising news and the formation of public spheres. Without such an unexpected scandal, hidden business in the name of charity and the misuse of public money by the RCSC would not have been exposed in such a thorough and uncontrollable way. Endlessly bubbling news events and news-sparked public spheres together function as a constant and continuous monitory system watching the established powers. Now that harsh censorship is mainly issue-based in

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present-day China,1 surprising and chronic news-prompted public spheres enable alternative voices to speak out because they are simply not something that can be easily prevented. That is why I insist on the vitality and resilience of news-prompted public spheres in China. Eventually, the Guo scandal faded away, replaced by other news events attracting people’s attention. But this does not mean that it would be forgotten forever, and its influence could be much more profound. New accidents in the future may well evoke memories of this scandal. In the 2020 spring when COVID-19 ravaged Wuhan, the RCSC’s Wuhan branch underwent close scrutiny by the public at large again and was slapped for its incompetence in the crisis. It would be naïve and short-sighted to assume that public disaffection will disappear as if nothing has changed.

References Arendt, H. (1958). The human condition. University of Chicago Press. Bennett, W. L., & Segerberg, A. (2012). The logic of connective action: Digital media and the personalization of contentious politics. Information, Communication & Society, 15(5), 739–768. Boehler, P., & Zhang, C. (2014, August 4). ‘I like to show off’: Chinese celebrity Guo Meimei confesses to prostitution, gambling charges on state TV. South China Morning Post. https://www.scmp.com/news/china-­insider/article/ 1566142/i-­show-­chinese-­celebrity-­guo-­meimei-­confesses-­prostitution Castells, M. (2007). Communication, power and counter-power in the network society. International Journal of Communication, 1, 238–266. Di, D. (2012, January 1). Diaocha Cheng Guo Meimei Wuguan Honghui, Shangyehonghui Guanli Hunluan Bei Chexiao (investigation report rejects connection between Guo Meimei and RCSC, RCCD cancelled due to malmanagement). Beijing News. https://gongyi.ifeng.com/news/detail_2012_ 01/01/11711990_0.shtml Guo Meimei Cheng Shenfen Duzhuan, Hongshizihui Yi Bao’an (Guo Meimei claims that she fabricated her identity, RCSC said it had reported the case to the police). (2011, June 28). 21 Century Economic Reportage. http://gongyi. hexun.com/2011-­06-­28/130950700.html Guo Meimei Shijian Zhenxiang Jianjin, Shangyhongshizihui Guanlian Qiye Baoguang (The truth on the Guo Meimei event is being revealed, with RCSCCD  The Real-Name-Registration regulation and the security assessment requirement imposed on China’s internet operators, as discussed in previous sections, could be seen as methods for preventing and discouraging publics from surprising the state (Shirky, 2011), but these strategies do not always work as efficiently as the authorities expect them to. 1

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related commercial companies being exposed). (2011, June 29). Zhongguo Jingying Net. http://news.hexun.com/2011-­06-­29/131012257.html Guo Meimei Xianqi Wangmin Sousuo Kuanghuan, Gongwuyuan Daxuesheng Fenfen Jiaru (Guo Meimei stirs up a searching carnival among internet users, including civil servants, university graduates). (2011, July 14). Guangzhou Daily. http://news.ifeng.com/society/special/guomeimei/ content-­3/detail_2011_07/14/7680310_1.shtml He, D., & Wang, R. (2011, July 06). Guo Meimei Yu Shanghonghui Miju (The myth of Guo Meimei and red cross Commerce Department). Xinmin Weekly. http://news.hexun.com/2011-­07-­06/131203469_1.html Jiang, Z., & Yu, L. (2011, June 22). Hongshizihui Fuhuizhang Guo Changjiang Huiying ‘Weibo Xuanfu’: Wo Meiyou Nüer (vice president of red cross Society of China Guo Changjiang responses to Weibo ostentation: I do not have a daughter). East Day. http://news.eastday.com/c/20110622/u1a5956289.html Luhmann, N. (2000). The reality of the mass media, 2nd ed. (C. Cross, Trans.). Stanford University Press. (Original work published 1996). Schudson, M. (2003). The power of news. The president and colleagues of Harvard University. (Original work published 1995). Shirky, C. (2011). The political power of social media: Technology, the public sphere, and political change. Foreign Affairs, 90(1), 28–41. Wang, X. (2011, June 29). Guo Meimei Shijian Jianqing: 3 Jia Guanlian Gongsi Yu Shanghonghui Guanxi Miqie (The Guo Meimei event becomes clearer: Three commercial companies are closely related to RCSCCD). Southern Metropolis Daily. http://news.ifeng.com/society/special/guomeimei/content-­3/detail_2011_06/29/7319627_0.shtml?_from_ralated&_from_ralated Wang, K., & Di, D. (2011, July 4). Guo Meimei Nanyou Shenfen Baoguang Xuanfu Shijian Hou Zhudong Cizhi (Guo Meimei’s boyfriend got exposed: He resigned after the flaunting event). Beijing News. http://news.ifeng.com/society/special/guomeimei/content-­3/detail_2011_07/04/7410212_0.shtml Yan, N. (2011, June 27). Yannong: ‘Guo Meimei’ Shijian, Hongshizihui Ying Zizheng Qingbai (Yan Nong: the Guo Meimei event, RCSC should prove that it is clean). Liaoshen Evening News. http://news.ifeng.com/opinion/special/ guomeimei/detail_2011_06/27/7280816_0.shtml Yuan, W., & Li, R. (2011, June 27). Meiti Shuli Guo Meimei Xuanfu Shijian Guiji: 7 tian Bianzhi Duoge Huangyan (media tracks Guo Meimei’s flaunting of her richness: Multiple lies in seven days). Legal Evening. http://news.ifeng.com/ society/special/guomeimei/content-­3/detail_2011_06/27/7275062_0. shtml?_from_ralated Zhou, D. (2011, June 30). Jiemi Shangyehongshizihui Yunxing Moshi He Guanli (disclose the operation and management mode of red cross Society of China Commerce Department). Fenghuang Net. http://news.ifeng.com/opinion/ special/redcross/dujia/detail_2011_06/30/7338404_0.shtml

CHAPTER 7

Ephemerality

We must abandon the notion that the people govern. Instead we must adopt the theory that, by their occasional mobilizations as a majority, people support or oppose the individuals who actually govern. We must say that the popular will does not direct continuously but that it intervenes occasionally. (Lippmann, 1927/1993, pp. 51–2)

In his famous book Du Contrat Social, ou Principes du Droit Politique, Rousseau (1780–1789/2012) nostalgically imagined a group of full-time, omnicompetent citizens periodically getting together as equals and making laws, through which an ideal democracy could be established. The general will rules in this way, asserted Rousseau. Lippmann (1927/1993) and Schudson (1998/2002) would, however, suggest that this was simply impossible. The population size of most countries, the complexity of social and political affairs and the division of labour in modern and contemporary societies render the Rousseauian ideal of majority rule infeasible. The public at large could not all become full-time, professional politicians to engage in politics, nor do they need to. Instead, public spheres could remain a robust political power even when they are spasmodic—or, in Schudson’s (1995/2003) words, occasional and monitorial (1998/2002). They only engage in public affairs from time to time, driven by personal urges and intrigued by random events. Their attention and passion do not last long, nor should they. It would be utopian to require a group of omnicompetent citizens to do the full-time job that politicians and state © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 X. Xu, Online News-Prompted Public Spheres in China, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-12156-2_7

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officials do. Yet, with the astonishing proliferation of monitory institutions in today’s world (see Keane, 2009, 2013), and news information abundance, public spheres configure every minute (whatever sizes they might be) and public monitoring becomes constant. Ephemeral but frequently configured online public spheres nest thick and highly resilient monitory networks hold rulers in check. Here I argue that ephemerality constitutes another decisive feature of online public spheres, and that it characterizes and vitalizes Chinese people’s online discursive political engagement in a highly oppressed political environment. By ephemeral, I suggest that those public spheres are not enduring and publics are not dedicated nor full-time; instead, they are part-time, fluid, watchful, vigilant and spasmodic (Schudson, 1998/2002). It needs to be clarified that, by ephemeral, I do not mean these spheres will always die out within a few hours or a few days; some could last for weeks if later developments are newsworthy and are picked up by news producers. Ephemerality is relative here, and it describes a general feature of digitalized public spheres in people’s everyday lives in a digital age, compared with institutionalized public spheres, such as parliamentary public spheres. Intrigued by news, publics could soon gather together like storm clouds that generate sometimes frightening light and thunder, but they could also disappear as quickly as they have gathered. Those publics stay in their homes, in their offices, in cafés and in public parks, but at the same time, they might be frequenting news forums discussing an ongoing trial or commenting on a medical scandal they have found on their social media. They then log off from those public spaces and start reading a book or having a chat with their families. They move fast from one space to another, and they switch from being caring parents or close friends to anonymous citizens/publics and then switch back a minute later. They are fluid and ephemeral publics and thus become a hard to hit target. Yet, because news is constant, never-ending and in such abundance today in both the West (Keane, 2013) and China, news-prompted publics can simultaneously be everywhere and nowhere. They can make their presence felt with high frequency—so frequent that it seems that they are around at all times. Consequently, crackdowns on such a scale, and with such frequency, ironically risk informing and politicizing those who are either cynical or unaware of the debated controversies, leading to assemblies of bigger sizes—as we can sometimes observe on China’s internet. As

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such, frequent yet ephemeral online public spheres survive in a harsh context where censorship is always present and is increasingly being asserted. In the pages that follow, I will further elucidate why ephemerality features public spheres and why it is vital to the dynamic of China’s online publics. I will then discuss the Yu Huan case—that of a young man who stabbed a debt-collector to death after being threatened, insulted, beaten and having watched his mother being sexually harassed by the victim— which happened in 2017 in Shandong province, to test the argument and explore the implications of such a quality.

Why Ephemerality Is the Decisive Feature The ephemeral quality of news-prompted publics lies first in the nature of news—the unending pursuit of novelty—and the never-ending changes in human affairs that nurture news. As discussed previously, “only elements of novelty or surprise merit coverage” (Schudson, 1998/2002, p. 281). Consequently, the lifespan of one news story is destined to be short, in the mass media age just as in the digital media age. It should be highlighted that such a news logic is also a decisive power that shapes China’s news environment and the news-prompted public spheres. As I have discussed, paralleling party journalism which prioritizes propagating party policies and ideologies, novelty and the surprise logic of news have also taken root among Chinese news workers in contemporary China (Shirk, 2011; Zhao, 1998). In addition to the endless pursuit of novelty in the news, the extreme abundance of news information and the limited attention people have for each piece of news story are also important factors leading to the quality of ephemerality. In the mass media age, news was updated daily or weekly or monthly. Now news readers are bombarded by continuously updating news stories whenever they access the internet. Apart from conventional media organizations, every internet user has become a potential news producer and every personal web page is now a news channel. The world has become so media-saturated that the internet is pushing news abundance to an unprecedented extent. Yet, people’s attention span for each piece of news is always limited; the majority of them have to devote most of their time to work to earn a living. Consequently, the lifespan of one news story is becoming shorter and shorter. We have already discussed how affluent news provision in China is and how news engagement has become a daily routine for ordinary Chinese.

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There is no difference here in terms of the pace of digital news production and consumption between China and Western democracies. That is to say, ephemerality also marks news production and news engagement in China. Moreover, the presence of censorship means that some public spheres could be even more ephemeral in China than in Western democracies, though not all news stories that might lead to criticism of the party-state will be censored. What is also worth noting is that digitalization leads to reduced thresholds for news users to record/preserve, reprint and disseminate news and enables them to publicly participate in this process whenever they want to, which thus enhances the flexibility and resilience of their news engagement. Another fundamental reason why news-prompted online public spheres are so transient is that publics are highly fluid (Dahlgren, 2005; Hermida, 2011; Papacharissi, 2002). Fluid publics move in and out of various spheres easily and quickly, with little or no cost, again shortening the lifespan of news-prompted public spheres. Howard Rheingold (2003) calls these publics “flash mobs”; they are ephemeral and massive in numbers. This change in moving speed is astonishing if one compares the time, money and energy it costs for one to travel from a café near home to a public gathering in another city, or an academic conference in a foreign country, with moving from one’s Facebook page to a foreign newspaper’s comment zone, or to an international NGO’s petition webpage. Unprecedently fast information flow (which is still accelerating) creates contracted spaces and facilitates drastic augmentation of horizontal networking activities. Consequently, it constructs a context where ephemeral gatherings become the norm. Such moving and networking behaviours are driven by the multiplication of individuals’ identities, which “are fluid and mobile online” (Papacharissi, 2002, p. 18). They visit varying online spaces that may cater for their different needs—public or private. Consequently, the majority of internet surfers will not be particularly loyal or dedicated participants. Among all the swift changes of identities, the private-public switch is of special importance, since public spirit is the core yardstick for measuring whether or not a gathering constitutes a public sphere. Imagine an individual sitting alone at their desk, typing comments on a news story published on The New York Times’ website or composing a # MeToo tweet on Twitter. They stop being a public the moment they leave the website or Twitter and start watching a drama on Netflix or a video of a music festival on YouTube, or when they turn off the computer and start reading a

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novel. Such kind of mobility from public to private makes online public gatherings inevitably ephemeral, with motivations, ways of accessing and duration of participation all highly personalized. The connections among individuals are so loose and ephemeral that theorists have started calling the online public gathering “connective action” rather than “collective action” (Bennett & Segerberg, 2012). In connective action, there is no guarantee of persistence or continuance. These gatherings are marked by transience. Ephemerality is the decisive characteristic of today’s online public spheres.

Why Ephemerality Energizes China’s Online Publics We have contended that the never-ending hunger for news of novelty, news abundance and attention limitation, and the fluidity of publics, have all contributed to the ephemerality of news-prompted public spheres. Publics constellate during the communication process and disappear when such a process becomes inactive. An ephemeral online public sphere does not require dedicated and full-time publics, which greatly reduces the threshold for engagement and expands the inclusiveness of publics. In the digital age, online discussions can easily be resumed, as records of previous discussions can be accurately and more easily preserved compared with that in the mass communication age. Therefore, participants are able to engage in news at their own convenience. There is no requirement about when or for how long one should participate in a specific discussion. There is no social/political or moral pressure of long-time devotion. In short, such a form of asynchronous communication makes public engagement extremely flexible and inclusive. As a result, plurality and diversity can largely be enhanced, and profound discussions and reflections can be generated in a short space of time. With publics crossing a wide range of social ranks, expanded inclusiveness can also enhance the influence and legitimacy of opinion generated in the communication process. Further, the larger the size of the public sphere becomes, the higher the pressure it puts on authorities. Moreover, enlarged inclusiveness mitigates potential negative effects of ephemerality because public spheres do require time for opinion exchange, although not so long as it takes to achieve rational consensus, as Habermas (1996) suggests. After all, there is no guarantee that such a consensus can always be achieved, no matter how long it takes. It is thus too simplistic to bemoan the shortness of a single discussion thread (e.g., Sun et al., 2018).

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In the China context, trading off duration for inclusiveness and diversity is more beneficial for publics because an unfolding story or an ongoing discussion can be censored at any time. When a huge number of fluid publics enter and retreat from different spheres frequently, thousands of different-sized public spheres are under constant configuration and reconfiguration at any given time. These part-time, fluid publics become moving targets for the censors. To limit the damage involved in crushing a vast number of participants, information censorship rather than punishment of participants has become a more feasible option for the party-state. Even so, censorship of news information is still highly selective so as to avoid informing or infuriating those who are unsympathetic about the controversy revealed. On the other hand, for the authorities, ephemeral online public contention is much less threatening than institutionalized offline public gatherings, which might persist for a long time because they often involve stable strong-tie-based networks, which tend to work continuously to achieve specific goals. Ephemeral online public spheres do not last long, and anger/dissatisfaction will fade away with the disappearance of the spheres, at least superficially. To some extent, their ephemeral feature thus reduces the anxiety of the party-state over news-triggered online publics. For this reason, the CCP has been making every effort to impede the establishment of political organizations independent of the party-state (Esarey & Qiang, 2011) yet has not completely shut down online comment zones. Consequently, China has seen rather active online public spheres with the offline public spheres being starkly bleak. In this sense, the internet expands the public space in China, which enables the voices of ordinary Chinese to be heard. Some scholars suggest that the spontaneous, ephemeral features of online public spheres show the weakness of China’s civil society (Huang & Sun, 2014; Yu, 2007). Yet such an argument apparently fails to fully understand that spontaneity and ephemerality have become decisive features of today’s digital public spheres, including in the Chinese context. Moreover, in a place where offline public spheres are often ruthlessly crushed and have little space to survive, the political significance of online public spheres should not be underestimated. In short, with all the ephemerality-generated effects taken into account, it is safe to claim that ephemerality contributes to vitalizing China’s online news-prompted public spheres rather than disadvantaging them. I now move to examine the Yu Huan case to show how a seemingly trivial, short-­ lived news story became a turning point for the law of self-defence in China.

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The Yu Huan Case Yu Huan is a young man from Liaocheng city in Shandong province in north-east China who was sentenced to life in prison in the first trial in December 2016 for killing loan-shark Du Zhihao and injuring three others. The incident happened on 14 April 2016 around 10 p.m. (Shi, 2017). Yu and his mother Su Yinxia had been held captive since the afternoon by 11 debt-collectors in the reception room of Su’s factory, where they were also insulted and beaten, and Su was sexually taunted by Du Zhihao. Yu’s aunt called the police. Three policemen came to the reception room but left soon after warning the debt-collectors that “they should not physically hurt anyone although they could ask the mother and son to pay the debt”. Yu tried to leave the room together with the policemen but was stopped by the debt-collectors. After threatening those loan-sharks with a knife but still failing to escape, Yu stabbed four of them. Du was seriously injured and died after driving himself to a hospital. The story was unknown to the public until 23 March 2017 when SW published a story titled “Stabbing to Death the Assaulter of a Mother” (Cisi Rumu Zhe, 刺死辱母者). One day later, the story was republished by Sina News and NetEase News—two of the most influential news portals in China. It soon became the headline of the two news portals. On 25 March, SW reposted this story on its WeChat account. It almost immediately stormed the social media platform, which is only possible when millions of WeChat users repost it on their personal pages. On the same day, influential legacy media PD, BN and China Youth (CY) published commentaries on the Yu case, with PD suggesting that the law should take into consideration moral values and BN and CY openly questioning the first verdict’s refusal to recognize Yu’s attack as self-defense (“Renminribao Ping ‘Rumu An” 2017; Liu, 2017; Ouyang, 2017). Late on the night of 25 March, TP published an editorial claiming that justice needed to be achieved and the local police needed to be investigated as they seemed to have failed to deal with a crime (the debt-sharks’ violation of Yu and his mother’s personal freedom) or stop the tragedy (“[Shelun] Rumu’an: Qidai” 2017). On 26 March, Xinhua also published a commentary urging legal institutions to reflect on whether they had successfully defended justice (“Daoci Rumu Zhe” 2017). Legal institutions were forced to openly respond to furious publics and the barking mass media. On the morning of 26 March—that is, two days after the publication of the SW story, the High Court of Shandong

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Province claimed via its Sina Weibo that it had accepted Yu’s appeal on 24 March (“Rumu Sharen’an’ Yuqing” 2017). Around half an hour later, the SPP announced that it had dispatched investigators to Shandong to look into the case, investigating two main problems that had ignited public fury: whether the policemen involved properly carried out their duties and whether Yu’s attack was self-defence. In the following few hours, the SPC, the Department of Public Security of Shandong and the People’s Procuratorate of Shandong all posted microblogs via their Sina Weibo accounts to update investigations of the case (“Huanyuan Yi Chang” 2017). Along with news reportage and responses from legal and governmental organizations, public discussion over the case reached its most heated point by 26 March. It was estimated that by that day, the total number of online comments had reached more than 100 million (“Daoci Rumu Zhe” 2017). The single news story republished by NetEase on 24 March had attracted up to 2.39 million views by 30 March (“Huanyuan Yi Chang” 2017). Between 1.19 p.m. on 25 March and noon on 27 March, more than 0.18  million Weibo users engaged in a poll asking whether they thought the first verdict over the Yu case was reasonable and more than 90 per cent of them voted no (“Rumu Sharen’an’ Yuqing” 2017). Yet these vibrant, large-scale public gatherings did not last long. By 30 April, discussions about the topic had already cooled down on China’s internet, less than a week after the news emerged (“Huanyuan Yi Chang” 2017). People’s attention was attracted by fresher news events. The short lifespan of the story is also telling if one pays close attention to WeChat users’ engagement in Yu-related news. Using the same software, Rewenbushou, I collected 25 related news stories published by PD, SMD, TP, BN and ZH from March to June 2017 (the second trial took place on 27 May 2017 and the verdict was pronounced on 23 June 2017). These stories were published on six separate days—25, 26, 27 and 29 March, 2 April and 23 June. On 29 March, only TP published one related news story. Discussions took place mainly in the first three days: 535 out of 685 comments were generated during this period (Fig. 7.1). Most stories (11 out of 25) and comments (347 out of 685) were published on 26 March. The publics were completely quiet in May when no related news stories were published. On 23 June when the verdict of the second trial was announced, WeChat saw a new round of discussion; yet without follow-­up news stories, the public spheres configured around the story lasted just one day.

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400 350 300 250 200 150 100 50 0

Fig. 7.1  Comment count on Yu Huan case on five media samples’ WeChat accounts, 23 March to 30 April

The participants of this event were quite inclusive, though only a small proportion of them were active enough to make comments. Each of the 25 news stories attracted on average more than 60,000 views, with an average of only 27.4 comments. The majority of participants were spectators rather than commentators. More concretely, 661 different participants generated 685 comments. Only 21 users generated more than one comment, among whom three users each posted three comments and 18 other users each posted two comments. The above data suggests that only a very limited number of participants could be classified as relatively attentive publics; the majority were monitory watchers. I do not underestimate the significance of being a spectator; it is their presence that empowers and legitimizes public spheres. Also prominent was the diversity of commentators (661 commentators created 685 comments). This might have something to do with the two special mechanisms featured in WeChat’s comment zones, as discussed previously: first, all comments need to be approved by the media editor(s) before being published; second, only a maximum of 100 comments can be published in the comment zone allocated to each news story. Consequently, the media who want to encourage more users to participate in discussion (in order to attract more users) are therefore inclined to select comments made by different users. It is therefore not highly likely that one or several participants dominate a specific comment zone. The diversity of participants in the Yu news is also salient if one compares discourse and engagement style on NetEase with that on Zhihu (知

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乎)—a Quora-like Chinese Q&A platform. While comments on NetEase were usually short, emotional, uncivil and full of story-telling expressions, comments on Zhihu were relatively longer (sometimes up to a few thousand words long), more civil, more critical-rational and more often backed up by solid evidence. The majority of comments on NetEase ranged from a dozen words to 400 words, with a very high proportion of uncivil expressions, many of which were highly emotional (e.g., comments over “Rumu Sharen’an’ Xijie” 2017). One comment, which was liked by many other participants, stated, “In case you have nowhere to go, you have one last road to head for, that is violating the law and killing corrupted officials so as to achieve justice. Remember, that is not shameful. Should I understand the story like this?” (Dang Ni Zoutouwulu De Shihou, Ni Haiyou Zuihou Yitiao Lu Zou, Na Jiushi Fanzui, Shasi Tanguanwuli Zhengqing Ziji, Yongyuan Jizhu, Zhe Bing Bu Keci. Wo Gai Zheme Lijie Me?) The grassroots aura in NetEase’s news comment zones was partly due to its users coming from varying stratified classes, with quite a proportion of them using screen names such as “lower class mass” (Xiaceng Laobaixing, 下层老百姓). In contrast, according to the self-introductions revealed on Zhihu,1 its commentators on the Yu case were middle-class Chinese, who were well-educated and professionally knowledgeable. These commentators included lawyers (a high proportion in the Yu case), journalists, prosecutors, IT workers, university students, entrepreneurs, doctors, photographers, PR workers and psychiatrists. Many lawyers tried to analyse the case by adopting a legal perspective; some even compared self-­ defence laws in the United States of America and in China with credible references (see “Ruguo Yu Huan” 2017). Some other commentators focused on discussing problems with public security, the police system and the legal system on the community level (see “Ruhe Kandai Shandong” 2017). Some also shared their reflections over financial difficulties encountered by small businessmen (Sun, 2017). The diversity of publics within Zhihu and between NetEase and Zhihu is to a large extent enabled by the part-time and asynchronous engagement mode of online public communications, which inevitably leads to what I refer to as ephemerality. Lawyers, entrepreneurs, doctors, students and psychiatrists could only occasionally contribute to online discussions in their spare time, when it is convenient for them and in an asynchronous 1  See the page focused on the Yu Huan Topic on Zhihu, which lists many comments and the profile information of the commentators: https://www.zhihu.com/topic/20076823/hot

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way. There is no way that they can become full-time lawmakers. On the other hand, diversity also contributes to the formation of spasmodic and ephemeral public spheres because highly diverse publics can coalesce only occasionally, intrigued by news events that spark their communal concern for a moment. Dewey (1927/1954, p.  142) once contended that “the public will remain shadowy and formless, seeking spasmodically for itself, but seizing and holding its shadow rather than its substance” because of a lack of shared symbols or “numerous, tough and subtle” bonds. The reality is that, even though provided with such affordances, symbolically or materialized, it is still unimaginable that publics would become a substantial institution. Digital publics, marked by their stark differences, can spasmodically and connectively work together (Bennett & Segerberg, 2012) but will not act collectively in concert for an extended period. Ephemeral public spheres can, however, be resilient. Public spheres stirred up by two Sina Weibo posts commenting on the publics’ criticisms over policemen involved in the Yu case very well support such an argument. The two posts were generated by Jinan Police (Jinan is the capital city of Shandong Province), on the evening of 25 March and on the morning of 26 March respectively. The first post read, “Emotion to emotion, law to law, this is the right way of thinking!” (Qinggan Gui Qinggan, Falv Gui Falü, Zheshi Zhengdao!). The second one read, “Let me tell you a hilarious story: a donkey fights with a bus. The donkey says: let us fight if you do not bow your knee! The bus says: No matter how many times we fight, you will always be the one gets hurt!” (Shishi Duo Qipa, Maolv Dui Daba. Maolv: Bufu Lai Zhan! Daba: Rong Ni Zhan Wo Qianbai Hui, Shoushang De Zongshi Ni A!) (“Rumu Sharen’an’ Yuqing”, 2017; see also “Huanyuan Yi Chang” 2017). The second post even had an attached picture of a donkey trying to push a bus with its head. The sarcasm and taunts of the two posts immediately sparked public outrage. Sina Weibo users flooded the comment zones of the two posts and Jinan Police was forced to delete them on the early afternoon of 26 March. The two small-scale public gatherings that formed around the two posts in the posts’ comment spaces disappeared; however, on 26 March, a hashtag #济南公安回应怼网友 (#Jinan Police fights back with netizens) was created and this story again became a hot topic on Sina Weibo. Thousands of Weibo users participated in (including reading or searching) the topic in less than two days (“Rumu Sharen’an’ Yuqing” 2017) and the number amounted to more than four million in the following days (see

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search result on Sina Weibo2). A similar hashtag, “#A donkey fights with a bus” (# 毛驴怼大巴), was also created and gained more than 2.57 million participants on Sina Weibo (see search result on Sina Weibo3). New and bigger public spheres formed. At the same time, these fluid and networked publics screenshot the two posts and reposted them on their own Weibo pages, Zhihu pages and WeChat public spaces, where new public spheres emerged. Efforts trying to block the constellation of publics ended in vain. None of those above configurations stay dynamic for long yet they still generate significant consequences. Discussions about Jinan Police lasted for only a few days, yet they were dynamic and inclusive enough to engage wide publics in China and powerful enough to force Jinan Police to respond openly to the “donkeys”, or the Chinese netizens. In an interview, Jinan Police claimed that they did not share the opinion of the two posts, which they insisted were not generated by a sanctioned police officer (see “Jinan Gong’an ‘Dui Wangyou” 2017). As shown in this Jinan Police story, such mobile (moving from two Weibo comment spaces to the entire Weibo space, to Zhihu, to WeChat) and massive citizens’ (millions of participants) coalescing and dissolving in a very short time were hard to control or to clamp down. In this case, even though the CCP could resort to censorship, it nevertheless adopted a laissez-­ faire policy, probably due to the knowledge that these publics would not persist or the reckoning that the scandal is not serious enough to warrant intervention. However, regardless of the ephemeral nature, it is clear that public contention was far from meaningless—the local authority was pressured to delete the two controversial posts and to scapegoat one of its “casual workers”, which is tantamount to admitting wrongdoing. That is why we argue that ephemeral public spheres are resilient and are worthy of more careful academic attention so as to gain a more nuanced understanding of China’s online publics. Millions of Chinese internet users engaged in online public spheres triggered by the Yu Huan case. An offline public gathering of such a scale would be impossible in China, yet online gatherings of similar scale are commonplace in contemporary China. These online public spheres have 2  https://s.weibo.com/weibo?q=%23济南公安回应怼网友%20&wvr=6&b=1&Refer= SWeibo_box (accessed 15 July 2019). 3  https://s.weibo.com/weibo/%2523%25E6%25AF%259B%25E9%25A9%25B4%25E 6%2580%25BC%25E5%25A4%25A7%25E5%25B7%25B4?topnav=1&wvr=6&b=1 (accessed 16 July 2019).

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mobilized millions of people across a wide range of classes, from elites to the middle class to the grassroots. Exactly because they are ephemeral, part-time and spasmodic, they are extremely hard to grasp, to tame, to be integrated into the established power structure/system and to crackdown on. The quality of ephemerality should be seen as one of the main reasons for Chinese publics’ survival in China and the political implications should not be seen as trivial or even as negative. Ephemeral online public spheres earn space for and vitalize China’s civil society. Imagine if a week-long or month-long offline public gathering with thousands or millions of participants happened in China. It did occur in 1989 but did not end well. Public spheres, as the analysis has claimed before, are not revolution-­ focused, nor do they rule like professional politicians. They intervene in politics only occasionally and spasmodically, and such interventions over a specific issue do not last long. Yet the frequency of such participation in politics has improved in an unprecedented way since the arrival of the internet, making publics a constant monitory power over established powers. Finally, such ephemeral public spheres could push for essential changes in China. Yu Huan was eventually sentenced to five years’ imprisonment, with his attack on the debt collectors being recognized as excessive self-­ defence in the second trial (“Shandong Yu Huan”, 2017). Ten policemen involved in the case were punished or sacked. The Yu Huan case was later selected as one of the top 10 most influential legal cases in China in 2017 by the Journal of People’s Court (JPC), which is a propaganda organ of the SPC (Ding, 2018). It changed the empirical application of the self-defence law in China. Before this case, self-defence leading to death was often charged as intentional assault instead of excessive self-defence and resulted in severe punishment, such as life imprisonment as in the first trial of the Yu case. Self-defence was thus not encouraged by the Chinese judicial system. The Yu case challenged this practice. In September 2018, the SPC pronounced its five-year work plan (2018–23), specifying that it encouraged self-defence actions and would issue criteria over excessive self-­ defence (Kan, 2018). Throughout 2018, four suspects involved in criminal charges had their actions recognized as self-defence, whereas it is highly possible that their actions would have been classified as intentional injury had the Yu Huan case not happened.

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References [Shelun] Rumu’an: Qidai ‘Zhengyi De Liju’ ([Editorial] The case of insulting a mother: (We) expect evidences that support justice). (2017, March 25). The Paper. https://www.thepaper.cn/newsDetail_forward_1647938 ‘Daoci Rumu Zhe An’ Pinglun Shang Yitiao, Qing Zhenxi Minyi (Hundred million of comments over the case of ‘Stabbing the one who insults a mother’: Please honour the public opinion). (2017, March 26). Xinhua News Agency. http://www.thecover.cn/news/292288 ‘Rumu Sharen’an’ Xijie Huanyuan: Yu Huan Bei Yizi ‘Chu’ Hou Fanji (Details on the case of ‘killing the man who insults a mother’: Yu Huan fought back after being hit by a chair). (2017, March 27). Chongqing Chenbao  – Shangyou Xinwen. http://news.163.com/17/0327/13/CGHMN1JR00018AOR. html#f=post1603_tab_news ‘Rumu Sharen’an’ Yuqing Jidang 50 Xiaoshi (In the fifty hours of public crisis provoked by the case of ‘Killing the man who insults a mother’). (2017, March 27). Fenghuang Commentary. http://wemedia.ifeng.com/11226660/wemedia.shtml Bennett, W. L., & Segerberg, A. (2012). The logic of connective action: Digital media and the personalization of contentious politics. Information, Communication & Society, 15(5), 739–768. Dahlgren, P. (2005). The internet, public spheres, and political communication: Dispersion and deliberation. Political Communication, 22(2), 147–162. Dewey, J. (1954[1927]). The public and its problems. Swallow Press. Ding, J. (2018, January 6). 2017 Niandu Renminfayuan Shida Xingshi’anjian: Yu Huan An, xu Yuyu An Shangbang (the top 10 most influential cases in China in 2017 selected by JPC: The Yu Huan case and the xu Yuyu case are on the list). Journal of People’s Court. https://www.thepaper.cn/newsDetail_ forward_1938136 Esarey, A., & Qiang, X. (2011). Digital communication and political change in China. International Journal of Communication, 5, 298–319. Habermas, J. (1996). Between facts and norms: Contributions to a discourse theory of law and democracy (W. Rehg, Trans.). MIT Press. Hermida, A. (2011). Fluid spaces, fluid journalism. In J. B. Singer et al. (Eds.), Participatory journalism: Guarding open gates at online newspapers (pp. 177–191). Wiley. Huang, R., & Sun, X. (2014). Weibo network, information diffusion and implications for collective action in China. Information, Communication & Society, 17(1), 86–104. Huanyuan Yi Chang Yulun Fengbao De Shimo: ‘Cisi Rumu Zhe’ Ruhe Baoping? (Trace how a public crisis happened: how ‘Stabbing to death the assaulter of a mother’ becomes the headline). (2017, April 1). NetEase. http://news.163. com/17/0401/19/CGV83GQT0001899O.html

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Jinan Gong’an ‘Dui Wangyou’? Huiying: Weibo Fabuzhe Bingfei Minjing (Jinan Police ‘fought’ with netizens? Response: the author of the two posts is not a policeman). (2017, March 26). Jinnan Times. http://sd.sdnews.com.cn/ yw/201703/t20170326_2219034.htm Kan, F. (2018, September 18). Zuigaofa: Yao Shishi Chutai Fangweiguodang De rending Biaozhun (the SPC: We need to issue criteria over excessive self-­ defence). China News Net. http://sifa.sina.cn/2018-­09-­18/detail-­ifxeuwwr5 499317.d.html?from=wap Keane, J. (2009). The life and death of democracy. Simon and Schuster. Keane, J. (2013). Democracy and media decadence. Cambridge University Press. Lippmann, W. (1993). The phantom public. Routledge. (Original work published 1927). Liu, C. (2017, March 25). ‘Cisi Rumu Zhe’ An: Fayuan Wei rending ‘Zhengdangfangwei’ Zhide Shangque (the case of ‘stabbing to death the assaulter of a mother’: The court’s rejection of considering Yu Huan’s action as self-defence is debatable). Beijing News. http://www.bjnews.com.cn/opinion/2017/03/25/437797.html Ouyang, C. (2017, March 25). Cisi Rumu Zhe Bei Pan Wuqi: Qing Gei Gongmin Zhansheng Xie’e De Falü Zhengyi (lifelong sentence for Yu killing someone insulted his mother: Please ensure legal justice for citizens to defeat the evil). China youth Online. http://news.cyol.com/co/2017-­03/25/content_15818457.htm?&yidian_docid=0Fwggpfd&yidian_s=mb Papacharissi, Z. (2002). The virtual sphere: The internet as a public sphere. New Media & Society, 4(1), 9–27. Renminribao Ping ‘Rumu An’: Falü Ruhe Huiying Lunli Kunju (People’s Daily’s commentary over the ‘mother insulting case’: How should the law responds to moral conundrums?). (2017, March 25). People’s Daily. http://opinion.people.com.cn/n1/2017/0326/c1003-­29169272.html Rheingold, H. (2003). Smart mobs. Basic Books. Rousseau, J.  J. (2012 [1780–1789]). Du contrat social, ou principes du droit politique. In Collection complète des oeuvres, Genève, 1(4). http://www.rousseauonline.ch Ruguo Yu Huan An Fasheng Zai Meiguo, Panjue Hui Zenyang? (What if the Yu Huan case happened in the USA: What would be the verdict?). (2017, March 31). Zhihu. Retrieved March 22, 2022, from https://www.zhihu.com/question/57623048/answer/153637915 Ruhe Kandai Shandong Gaolidai Heishehuirenyuan Dang Erzi Mian Lingru Qi Mu, Qizhong 1 Ren Bei Erzi Cisi (What is your opinion on the event that the Mafia and usurious loan lenders harass a mother in front of her son and the son killed one of them?). (2017, March 24). Zhihu. Retrieved March 22, 2022, from https://www.zhihu.com/question/57557739/answer/153443764

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CHAPTER 8

Networked Public Spheres

We have discussed three features of today’s news-prompted digital public spheres and explained how each contributes to the resilience of China’s often suppressed digital publics. Some readers might still hesitate to give full credit to the democratic potential of those unpredictable, ephemeral yet chronic public spheres because of their short-lived nature. They argue that such a quality makes publics fragile and weak and that the influences of such public spheres are also short-lived. The Yu Huan case might be hard to replicate, some would claim. Such sceptics prefer tangible, sustained and institutionalized organizations and actions, such as parliaments, courts and elections. Yet requiring all individual citizens to engage continuously and dedicatedly in public affairs, as discussed in the previous chapter, is unimaginable and utopian. In current China, massive and enduring offline public spheres risk being harshly crushed. The “fragility” argument is short-sighted for two reasons: (1) it fails to take into account their chronicity; (2) it neglects their networked nature. We have mentioned that today’s digital public spheres are constituted by multiple different-sized communication networks, via which voices— mainstream or marginal—can be crowd-sourced into prominence (Benkler, 2006). Ideas generated by individuals, small communities, institutions and big media outlets can all be discussed, edited, reinterpreted and disseminated to a wealth of networks via innumerable paths. The seamless switch between varying communication modes and networks allows high

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flexibility for the smooth flow of information, enhancing the resilience of public communication when one mode or network is blocked. In a complex and grassroots-friendly way, previously fragmented and scattered publics and small networks are connected, enabling many more channels for an average person to speak directly to others than channels that were once provided by the mass media. The entire communication network is therefore more distributed and decentralized. The blocking of a single actor/node within the network will not be able to stop information from spreading because this information can at the same time be stored in millions of computers and be disseminated via millions or billions of paths. Each connection between two nodes within a network becomes a potential channel for the flow of information. Consequently, information censoring becomes harder, more costly and less efficient (Benkler, 2006; Castells, 2007; Keane, 2013) and publics are more inclined to contest it (Keane, 2013). Moreover, the connectiveness sustained by those digital networks ensures that napping and seemingly scattered or disappeared publics could be “awakened” immediately after a news event happens. Such a communication structure is built on what Castells (2007) calls mass self-communication that is self-centred but capable of broadcasting to the mass when needed. In his words, “it is self-generated in content, self-directed in emission, and self-selected in reception by many that communicate with many” (2007, p.  248). The forms of mass self-­ communication include “SMS, blogs, vlogs, podcasts, wikis” (2007, p. 248), microblogs, live streaming and even personal profiles in gaming forums. Armed with interactive and networking affordances and prompted by affluent, easily editable content, ordinary individuals can produce, interpret, edit and circulate content/ideas to the masses at little cost and with great flexibility. Mass self-communication is facilitated by four factors: a lowered threshold in engaging in online communication, availability of interactive affordances, popularization of horizontal networking activities and availability of both synchronous and asynchronous communication. No vast economic investment or professional training is required for the average person to engage in online public communication, which used to be monopolized by cultural, economic and political elites. Not only is the cost of accessing the internet low (Benkler, 2006; Bohman, 2004; Kang et al., 2013; Witschge, 2008) but also the content is easy to manipulate (to produce, to record, to modify and to spread), and with unprecedented efficiency in terms of crossing space and time (Bohman, 2004; Light &

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Rogers, 1999). Interactive affordances enable publics to converse with each other rather than only being informed, to network with each other and to disseminate information. Put differently, it is because of these interactive affordances that online communication becomes networked (Rafaeli & Sudweeks, 1997). Such networking activities have penetrated the life of every internet user. People crystallize around news media, news events, specific topics (e.g., climate change, sexual equality, etc.), professions, personal interests (novels, musicals, video games, sports, et cetera), sexual orientations, et cetera, and can turn their networks into public spheres when a conversation turns to a public event. Such horizontal networking activities happen on both the local level and the global level (Castells, 2007; Dahlgren, 2005), constituting a multi-layered and overlapping communication network on which it is harder to block information than to disseminate it (Benkler, 2006; Castells, 2007; Keane, 2013). The final element fostering the networked public spheres is the availability of synchronous and asynchronous communication. Such flexibility, as discussed previously, greatly promotes the inclusiveness of engaging publics by allowing them to make full use of their segmented time. One essential aspect of networked public spheres is that ordinary citizens are playing an increasingly important role in deciding what voices should be pushed into salience through their news participations, such as hashtagging, liking or reposting or commenting on a news story. The higher number of clicks, likes, comments or reposts a post gets, the higher possibility there is that it will go viral. The central role of mass media in filtering and selecting the representative voice is seriously eroded. Eventually, publics start to have a voice in defining what the mainstream discourse should be. The change of communication power—“the structural capacity of a social actor to impose its will over other social actor(s)” (Castells, 2007)—between the deprivileged publics and elite publics (e.g., journalists, politicians) marks the most recent transformation of public spheres. Big nodes within networks—such as legacy media—might still play essential roles in influencing the popularity of a specific piece of information, but they are no longer the absolute dominant actor. Voices from non-elite, peripheral participants can also prevail, as empirical studies have shown (Li, 2011; Meraz & Papacharissi, 2013). The importance of the status of the messenger or the channel delivering the message is declining, but the nature of the message/content itself is ascending to be a strong predictor of whether or not it will go viral (Huang & Sun, 2014; Li, 2011; Meraz & Papacharissi, 2013).

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The existence and the political implication of networked public spheres in China have been documented. Li’s (2011) study of more than 40 news events taking place between 2008 and 2010 found that communication around those events was highly efficient though dispersed, flat, networked and unstable. Scholars like DeLuca et al. (2016, p. 334) also found that Chinese citizens’ networked public engagement “spreads like wildfire, ducks censors, mobilizes affect, and hijacks capitalist networks to thwart the surveillance society”. Unlike Benkler (2006), who was still cautious about how networked public spheres might deploy in China due to concerns over censorship, DeLuca et  al. (2016, p.  329) observed that “in practice, censors in China simply cannot keep pace with the ‘dense cluster of Chinese netizens’ able to quickly and widely spread controversial information that flits past censors”. Such a context could be temporary, since information-control policies in China change frequently, but it still reveals how robust and resilient China’s networked publics can be when censorship is not stifling. More focused research found solid evidence that Chinese netizens’ micro-blogging can “foster public online issue-networks beyond geographical boundaries” and promote cross-province public engagement (Huang & Sun, 2014, p. 86). The gap in those existing studies is that they do not explain the specific structural factors that determine the occurrence of those networked publics in China or how entangled actors within those networks interact with each. Their main concern is with technological empowerment. However, digital technology alone certainly cannot explain the vitality of networked public spheres (Keane, 2013). In the case of China, the establishment of digital infrastructure, government-initiated information openness, media abundance, professionalism in the media industry, and engaged and rights-conscious citizens all contribute to facilitating networked public communications. As discussed previously, these are the structural factors that enable the emergence of China’s public spheres in an environment that is hostile to mass movement and citizens’ political engagement. It is meaningful to take these contextual dimensions into account because it will help to provide a more comprehensive, and at the same time a more nuanced, understanding of what is going on in China regarding its incipient publics. It will also help refute arguments against the existence of online public spheres in China, which often criticize those who possess a positive answer as worshipping technological determinism. The following pages will show how networked public spheres form in China

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and what the facilitating structural factors might be through a thick description of the Wei Zexi case—a young man who died of cancer in early 2016, but nevertheless engendered a major crisis for Baidu and the authorities. It will also heed in particular the interplay between different players within those processes, providing a nuanced picture of such a phenomenon.

The Wei Zexi Case Wei Zexi was a second-year university student when he died from synovial sarcoma, a kind of deadly cancer (Han et al., 2016). Desperate after seeking medical help from renowned hospitals in Beijing, Shanghai, Tianjing and Guangzhou, Wei and his family found a medical advertisement by the Biological Treatment Center (BTC) of the Second Hospital of Beijing Armed Police Forces (SHBAPF, 武警北京总队第二医院) through searching Baidu, China’s biggest search engine. This advertisement claimed that the hospital could cure synovial sarcoma through an experimental immunotherapy treatment—the Dendritic Cells and Cytokine-Induced Killer Cells treatment (DC-CIK). After spending all the family’s 200,000 yuan (around US$30,000), part of which was borrowed from Wei’s relatives, at the BTC by the end of 2015, Wei died on 12 April 2016. Wei’s story became known to some Chinese internet users via Zhihu on 26 February 2016, when Wei wrote down on the platform his story of how he was deceived by the SHBAPF and Baidu (Wei, 2016). This story was a response to a question proposed by other Zhihu users: “What do you think is the evilest part of human nature?” (Ni Renwei Renxing Zuidade E Shi Shenme). Over the next two months, Wei’s story drew nevertheless only limited attention to Zhihu (see Wanjia, 2016). The turning point came on 27 April, when a former investigative journalist at BN, Kong Pu (孔璞), came across Wei’s story (Zhang, 2016). Kong then checked the search results for synovial sarcoma via Baidu and found that the first piece of information she got was still the SHBAPF advertisement. Working at that time in an IT company and born in a family with relatives working in hospitals affiliated with Armed Police Forces (APF), Kong understood all the tricks playing out there. In addition, Kong herself was once deceived by advertisements found pushed by Baidu. Motivated by concerns over China’s medical service section and a desire to protect public interest, Kong posted Wei’s story on her Weibo account. The post was picked up by a doctor and soon gained wide attention among

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the medical community on Weibo. From this point, Wei’s story started attracting greater publicity. Thousands of relevant Weibo posts were generated and links to related discussions on Zhihu were shared. Although some Weibo users complained that their previous posts about Wei’s story were censored (Xinwenge, 2016), a huge number of new posts continued to emerge. A barrage of criticism forced Baidu to respond to the outraged publics. On 28 April, Baidu issued a statement on its Weibo account, “Baidu Tuiguang” (百度推广), claiming that the SHBAPF was a Sanjia public hospital—the top-level hospital in China (Wu, 2016), and therefore it did nothing wrong in promoting the advertisement by a qualified hospital. Infuriated by Baidu’s shameless denial of liability—in China, there is no need for Sanjia public hospitals to advertise as they are always crowded with patients, multiple larger and networked public spheres configured around the Wei case, flooding beyond Weibo. One article titled “Baidu Claims That the SHBAPE is a Sanjia Hospital, But Its Advertisement is Still Illegal and Faulty” (Baidu Cheng Wuzongeryuan Shi Sanjia Yiyuan, Dan Tade Guanggao Yiran Shi Weifa Qie Xujia De) (Wohaishixianggaimingdanshi, 2016) is a good example. It was originally published on Weibo by an average person, accusing Baidu’s medical advertising practices of being illegal for three reasons. First, it found that if one used other related terms (e.g., synonyms) rather than the term “synovial sarcoma” (in Chinese 滑膜肉瘤), the BTC advertisement was still the first piece of information pushed by Baidu, although Baidu had strategically changed the search result for “synovial sarcoma” after the scandalous story of Wei. Second, the article indicated that such advertising violated China’s law about medical service-related advertisement by carefully examining the relevant law articles. Third, it found that one key expert, Li Huimin (李慧敏), whom BTC claimed they employed, had fudged her professional experiences by analysing her publications in Chinese and English. This was an internet-savvy user who navigated the internet, harvested all published information which was easily accessible to the general public and composed a highly valuable original news story in a rather short time. This story by Wohaishixianggaimingdanshi was widely shared on Weibo, Zhihu and various news portals. For example, reprinted on NetEase, it generated more than 42,000 comments. On Weibo, it also attracted thousands of reposts, comments and likes. Multiple-layered and networked digital public spheres formed, prompted by one single news story.

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The Wei story spread to WeChat by 30 April. Xinwenge (新闻哥)—one of the most influential WeChat public accounts on the platform—published an article titled “Could His Life Recall Your Moral Consciousness” which soon attracted more than a hundred thousand readers. It slapped Baidu for feeding on people’s blood. This story was later deleted but was preserved by other WeChat users and spread to other platforms (Xinwenge, 2016), thanks to the digitalization of content and networked publics. Wei’s story started drawing more heated nationwide debate on 1 May, sparked mainly by a news report titled “A Young Man Died in the Hands of Baidu and a Hospital Affiliated with Armed Police Forces” (Yige Si Zai Baidu He Buduiyiyuan Zhishou De Nianqingren). The story uncovered the relationship between SHBAPF and BTC (the latter rented a division of the former and deceived patients into believing that BTC was a public hospital while it was actually a private one) and the advertisement deal between Baidu and BTC. It explained how these problems had potentially led to Wei’s tragedy—swindled by BTC and losing his life. It was widely circulated on WeChat (Shipinjun, 2016; Wang, 2016; Zhang, 2016) and Weibo via users’ reposts and spurred a huge number of comments.” It was written by another former journalist Zhan Juan (詹涓), and was originally published on Zhan’s WeChat public account Youchao (Dr Venting, 有槽). Zhan’s report was not produced by accident. She had worked in multiple legacy media for a long time before becoming a freelancer and had been long paying close attention to medical issues, in particular those related to Baidu’s medical ad rank system and private hospitals owned by merchants from Putian in Fujian Province. In the Wei case, the BTC that offered therapies for Wei was owned by a Putian medical corporation— Kangxin Hospital Investment and Management Co. Ltd. (KXHIM)— instead of the public hospital SHBAPF (Zhan, 2016). KXHIM rented a department (which was later renamed BTC) from SHBAPF and pretended that the BTC was still part of the SHBAPF so as to attract patients. Those private hospitals funded by Putian capital are usually called Putian Hospitals and are notorious for swindling their patients. Four families from Putian have established a medical and health care kingdom (worth a few hundred billion Yuan) in China, owning more than 80 per cent of China’s private hospitals (Yan, 2016). In terms of the Baidu-Putian relationship, the cooperation between them is vital for both parties (Liu et  al., 2016). According to media reports, at that time Putian hospitals had invested more than US$2.86  billion in Baidu, constituting one-fifth of Baidu’s

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total commercial revenue. All the advertising expenditure, however, would eventually be paid by patients who were deceived by those hospitals and were coerced into accepting excessive medical care. In addition to creating their own private hospitals, another key venue through which Putian capital entered the industry was by renting divisions of public hospitals affiliated with the APF, as in the Wei case. It was because of Zhan’s professional experiences and knowledge of Putian capital that she could very soon dig out the complex relationships woven between SHBAPF, KXHIM and other Putian medical corporations, and produce an investigative report in less than two days. These connections are key to understanding how conspiring greedy capitalism and corrupted political power—hospitals affiliated with APF are unique public hospitals that are supervised and led by the Chinese military rather than the Ministry of Health of the PRC (MH)—would harm the public interest. What is also interesting is the main method Zhan used for digging up the complex relationships involved in the case. Unconventionally, she checked the Internet Content Provider (ICP) certificate and the IP registration information of the so-called official website of SHBAPF, which later turned out to be also “sold” to or “rented” by KXHIM. This is a skill Zhan learned from doing an investigative report on the problem of public hospitals affiliated with APF renting out their departments to private companies before the Wei case (Zhang, 2016). The ICP certificate and IP registration information are publicly accessible from Chinese local telecommunication management bureaus, but it takes time and effort for an individual citizen to do so. A free and more convenient ICP and IP checking service is available online, provided by multiple IT companies. For example, after entering an IP, Zhanzhang Zhijia’s (站长之家, www.chinaz. com) ICP and IP checking tool (whois.chinaz.com) will display all related information about it, including its registrar, the email of the registrar, the registrant, the organization with which the registrant is affiliated and so on. The email address and mobile number of the registrant could be used to further check all other registered IPs using the same email or mobile number. Put differently, a whole commercial network could be uncovered by checking the IP of a commercial company’s website, easily and for free. After succeeding in identifying which company runs the SHBAPE website—that is, KXHIM, Zhan used LinkedIn to find its Chinese name—康 新医院投资管理有限公司 (Kangxin Yiyuan Touzi Guanli Youxian Gongsi)—through checking the online résumés of those who used to work or were working for the company. Zhan also checked other Chinese job

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search websites, and “news” released by KXHIM and other related companies. In this way, Zhan was able to map the medical kingdom that KXHIM had built. In addition to collecting information through digital tools and internet networks, thanks to her professional network and training, Zhan also succeeded in interviewing the School of Medicine at Stanford University (SMSU), who was doing relevant research into DC-CIK at the time when Wei’s story broke and was listed as a partner by the BTC. (The SMSU denied any connection with the latter in the interview.) All these findings and information added great value and credibility to her story. Zhan’s investigation would not have been as easy and fast as it was (less than two days by one single journalist) without information openness enabled by the government—the ICP and IP information, or the free and convenient ICP and IP checking service provided by multiple commercial IT companies, or information available in those job search websites, or the PR actions conducted by commercial companies such as KXHIM and other Putian medical corporations. For commercial companies like KXHIM, seeking public visibility through advertising or other PR actions has become a double-edged sword. The marketization of China’s economy contributes to the formation of public spheres in China, in this case. Zhan’s professional experience and her related social network also helped her to quickly access one key player related to the event—the SMSU, and collect, dig up and analyse information in a highly efficient and reliable way. None of these would have been possible without those communication networks, whether offline (personal/social) or online, governmental or commercial, for commercial or for administrative purposes. Following Zhan’s story, multiple influential conventional media started reporting on the Wei Zexi case, such as Caixin, TP, PD, China National Radio Net (CNR Net) etc. (Bai, 2016; Jia, 2016; Li et al., 2016; Wang, 2016). PD and CNR Net (both are official media) publicly called for reinforcement of regulation of the medical market, fighting against medical fraud and protecting the general public. Some stories attracted thousands of comments (Wang, 2016; Wu & Chen, 2016). For instance, PD’s commentary on 1 May (Wang, 2016) was read by more than 167 million people and attracted thousands of comments and reposts on Weibo alone. Mass media thus led to even bigger constellations of publics. One widely shared user comment explained why Chinese internet users so enthusiastically engaged in this event: “You cannot avoid getting sick, and you could not stop using Baidu. You suffer deeply yet there is no way of escaping

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from them. So, you engage in disseminating news and criticizing the evil” (“Answer to” 2016). Mounting public unrest pushed the authorities to deal with the case. On 2 May, a joint investigation team composed of the CAC, the National Health and Family Planning Commission (NHFPC), the State Administration for Industry and Commerce of the PRC (SAIC) and related Beijing governmental organs started investigating Baidu’s liability in the case (Li, 2016). The following day, another joint investigation team composed of the General Logistics Department of the Central Military Commission (GLDCMC), the General Logistics Department of Beijing Armed Police Forces (GLDBAPF) and the NHFPC entered SHBAPF and began looking into its misconduct and illegal problems. Ten people in the SHBAPF involved in the Wei case were punished and two doctors were handed over to prosecutors (“Wei Zexi Shijian” 2016). Baidu was required to take down illegal advertisements, adjust its search system, mark information that consists of advertisements and warn users of the potential risks, limit the proportion of advertising on one page to 30 per cent and set up a procedure to deal with reports over false advertising and compensate victims misled by advertisements (Li, 2016). The sanction immediately led to Baidu taking down 0.126  billion pieces of medical advertisements provided by 2518 medical service institutions. Baidu also promised to set up a fund worth US$142.8  million to prepay internet users’ losses caused by problematic advertisements (Yu & Zhang, 2016). The above discussion has demonstrated that networked public spheres can form in the China context. It shows how conversations about an individual’s grievance can snowball into enormous public contention against the IT giant Baidu and the Putian medical conglomerate –a dominant player in China’s private medical hospital market, and a powerful military organ—the APF. News stories about Wei flowed from Zhihu, to Weibo, to WeChat, to a variety of news portals and news websites, and to millions of users’ personal social media profiles. They were known first to Wei’s friends with cancer that he had made over the past few years and to those who engaged in relevant discussions on Zhihu, then to publics on Weibo, then to those who read related stories on NetEase and Xinwenge’s WeChat account and then to nationwide publics.

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Structural Facilitating Factors At the beginning of this chapter, we asserted that there were structural forces fostering the formation of China’s online public spheres: networked communication infrastructure, governmental information disclosure, media abundance, professionalism within the media section and rights-­ conscious engaging netizens. The Wei Zexi event is a case in point. The most important actors within those networked public spheres sparked by Wei’s stories are the rights-conscious individual netizens. Should Wei not have written down and publicized his story on Zhihu, the national constellation would not have been possible. Had journalists Zhan Juan, Kong Pu and technology-savvy Wohaishixianggaimingdanshi, driven by their determination to protect public interest and empowered by their professional and technological knowledge and capacity to make use of digital communication networks, not produced and disseminated their original stories about the event, it may have taken much longer time for the public at large to become informed and engaged in the event. Or maybe they would never have had the chance to know Wei. Without millions of Weibo, WeChat, Zhihu and news portal users’ likes, reposts or comments over the event, Wei’s story would not have been pushed into the headlines and attracted the attention of the nation. Those individuals were all motivated by the same cause: they wanted to stand up and to speak for themselves and for the interest of the general public. It was those individuals’ news participation that formed multiple different-sized and networked public spheres, exclaiming their disaffection and anger towards those greedy dominant powers—whether capital or military—and demanding that they assume accountability. Of course, these networked public spheres, in turn, enabled the rights-conscious netizens to unite and to take concerted action to fight for their rights, and against injustice and corruption. The role of a networked communication infrastructure in the Wei case is also evident: the spreading of information from Zhihu to the entire internet would not be possible without it. Social networking platforms such as Zhihu, Weibo and WeChat, news portals NetEase News and new news media, and the WeChat public account Xinwenge all provided news to publics, providing venues for them to engage in news and affordances for them to spread it to other spaces. It was the liking, reposting and commenting actions of social media users that pushed the Wei stories into greater public visibility. Other networked information economy players

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also contributed to the dynamic of public spheres sparked by Wei’s stories in unexpected ways. PR information published by websites of the notorious Putian medical conglomerate (e.g., KXHIM) became important raw sources for Zhan Juan. The ease in retrieving previously published digital materials makes this possible. Baidu’s search engine itself was used to collect evidence—that it still kept those misleading advertisements—against it by Wohaishixianggaimingdanshi. Commercial digital companies like Zhanzhang Zhijia and the networking platform LinkedIn, which built its business on networked information, also become effective tools used by Zhan Juan for uncovering complex relationships among public hospitals, Baidu and private Putian capital. The digital economy that relies on these digital companies, and that is prioritized by the party-state in its economic and political plan (Dai, 2003), is bolstering China’s online public spheres in an intricate yet robust way, as shown here. Sanctioned news media also played an important role in this case, although they only joined the discussion at a later stage. Legacy media Caixin, online news media TP and even the official PD all actively advocated investigating the Wei case and righting the wrongdoing of Baidu. The impact of their engagement was twofold. On the one hand, it spread the Wei stories further to the public at large. To repeat, PD’s commentary calling for reform and governmental action to fight against medical fraud was read by more than 167  million people and attracted thousands of comments and reposts on Weibo alone. On the other hand, Chinese legacy media still have higher authority than other media and generate higher pressure over established powers. Both official and market-oriented professional media like Caixin proclaim that they are the representatives of the voice of the general public. Their supervision role was acknowledged and emphasized by the party-state during Hu Jintao’s presidency, and was widely accepted by the Chinese, as discussed previously. As a result, the joining of conventional media often symbolizes a recognition of the publicity of the topic, since the voices of the masses are sometimes dismissed as worthless or even harmful. Such a watchdog function accredited to the mass media makes their engagement highly influential. I would like to re-stress that scholars need to abandon the simplified idea that Chinese mass media are nothing but the CCP’s propaganda machine so as to understand their specific role in promoting configurations of online public spheres in China. The values of public scrutiny, public opinion and professionalism, to repeat, have been well-rooted among many Chinese journalists since the 1980s. Researchers should take

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this factor into consideration when studying China’s public spheres and should not rule out the possibility that Chinese media could be driven by those values to engage with the general public. The two essential news producers involved in the Wei case—Kong Pu and Zhan Juan, who were both once professional journalists—made it clear that they were motivated by a belief in protecting the public interest through public spheres. One seemingly inconspicuous factor that contributed to inciting the formation of public spheres is governmental information disclosure policy. Without the openness of commercial companies’ registration records (the CIP and IP records) by the state, there is no way that Zhan alone could have uncovered the complicated relationship among Baidu, SHBAPF, KXHIM and Putian capital in two days. The disclosure of public interest– related information directly feeds news producers and the public spheres; it thus constitutes one of the most essential elements in fostering the latter. There have been myriad such examples over the past decade that have publicized governmental information as the source of news, prompting public spheres, such as the Changsheng vaccine scandal, the Yang Qin story and the ANCC that will be discussed in the following chapter.

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CHAPTER 9

Unintended Consequences

If the reader … human society should appear to him as a fantastic creation, full of surprises and mysteries. (Proudhon, 1863, p. 21)

So far, we have spent much energy discussing the resilience of online news-­prompted public spheres in China; we have yet to address head-on the proactive communication strategy adopted by the party-state, which some scholars see as the biggest threat in terms of distorting China’s embryotic public spheres (Bolsover, 2017; Creemers, 2017; MacKinnon, 2011). They have good reason. Official media like the PD, CCTV and the Voice of China have made their presence felt in almost every corner of the world, on Facebook, on Twitter and on YouTube. They also have millions of followers on China’s own social media platforms. But does this mean they are highly persuasive? Not really. Here I challenge the idea that propaganda and the effort to guide public opinion will always work: these efforts might well end in vain or even backfire. We have asserted that this proactive media strategy may well lead to unexpected consequences (for example, unintendedly contributing to the construction of a context fostering the formation of public spheres because it allows the flow of public communication). Yet this is only one of the unintended consequences and the most basic one, though somehow it remains inconspicuous. Here I will focus on the more concrete, salient and immediate unintended consequences generated by specific propaganda actions. © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 X. Xu, Online News-Prompted Public Spheres in China, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-12156-2_9

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It is weird that more often China observers believe or assume that the party-state’s proactive strategy—propagating party policy, educating the people and guiding public opinion—is always successful. The possibility that it may not only be ineffective but also yield perverse effects—two types of open-endedness of human actions (Hirschman, 1988)—is underresearched. Some international media are inclined to adopt the brainwash discourse. This is no surprise given that media always want to produce eye-catching stories. The scholarship, for its part, often focuses on what new propaganda strategy the party-state has come up with instead of asking a further question—is it effective? This is probably because observers consciously or unconsciously connect the CCP’s propaganda strategy with its success in dealing with multiple crises. To be sure, the reason that the regime stays resilient is much more complicated than that (see Keane, 2018; Nathan, 2003). The assertion of brainwashing is an obsolete theory, which contends that “propaganda was thought to work like a ‘magic bullet’ to change people’s attitudes, beliefs, and even behavior” (Coleman et al., 2009, p. 148). It has long been rejected by communication researchers. Now that the “limited media effects” paradigm has been widely accepted by the scholarship, why would propaganda carried out by the CCP be an exception? The assumption that the CCP’s propaganda is always persuasive and that it is because of the propaganda that the “brainwashed” Chinese align with the party is unconvincing and even misleading. The wild Chinese online publics may well produce alternative discourse challenging directly official discourse. Communication is much messier than many researchers have thought. Here I call for rethinking Hirschman’s (1988) idea that planned action might produce unintended consequences, Arendt’s (1958) thought that communication is unpredictable, Bakhtin’s (1993) theory that communication is highly contextual and Luhmann’s (1992) assertion that communication is bifurcating and risky. It is unfortunate that none of these thoughts has received enough attention in media and communication research. The shared idea among these theorists is that there is no guarantee that a communicative action—such as propaganda or banal and routine information disclosure intending to enhance ruling legitimacy—will achieve its intended goals. Hirschman (1988) insists that all sorts of actions (not only communicative actions) can be useless or produce unintended and even perverse outcomes. The results can be good, bad or unclear. A conversation might reach its set goals or provoke disagreement or even

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hostility, or it might engender new questions that are seemingly not closely related to the debated issue in the eyes of the propagandists. In short, effects of human affairs are uncertain and open-ended. Such communication uncertainty is caused by the quality of contingency of communication. More concretely, communication is contingent on interlocutors on both sides (see Knodt, 1984/1995; Luhmann, 1984/1995), while there is no reference system that is stable and unchangeable, even for the same individual. No interlocutors can ensure that they always fully agree with or sometimes even fully understand each other, although before communication they might have assumed that others would agree with them. Besides, under social or political pressure, participants in a public communication might express agreement while taking the opposite decision when real action is needed. Such contingency is the intrinsic nature of communication, which—like unpredictability— also lies in the uncertainty of individuals, the ineradicable plurality of human beings and the characteristic of the endless evolvement of human actions (see Arendt, 1958). In practice, the evolvement could be both internal—the participant—and external—the context. Bakhtin (1993) emphasizes how communication is deeply shaped by contexts. He asserts that participants, bearing different personal positions and attitudes, adjust their communicative action according to concrete, constantly changing contexts. In his (p. 30) words, “[Mankind] understands the ought of his performed act, that is, not the abstract law of his act, but the actual, concrete ought conditioned by his unique place in the given context of the ongoing event”. These actions are ingrained with an emotional-volitional tone and communicated meaning is always under construction, as something being experienced and experiencing, something given and something to-be-decided. References (values, laws, norms etc.) are constantly negotiated, interpreted and reinterpreted, with personal position and emotion entangled. Consequently, any agreement or consensus is temporary. Dialoguers previously in agreement might find themselves disagreeing with each other when a similar problem is raised again. Moreover, communication may provoke open contestations and dissent because it can intensify latent conflicts and lead to clear expressions of opposition (Luhmann, 1992). Luhmann thus proposed that communication bifurcates reality. Anyway, none of those results is expected by communicators. Worse, “the modern emphasis on constant self-improvement and development of ever-more specialized and narrow forms of expertise creates pockets of knowledge

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that become disembedded from other spheres of activity” (Gilpin, 2011, p.  235). The pace of knowledge and idea update is accelerating, and knowledge gaps caused by expertise are deepening. The possibility for misunderstanding is increasing in an unprecedented way. This adds further to the unpredictability of communication, which is why I contend that public communication, well-conceived or not, will inevitably generate unintended effects.

Guiding Public Opinion: Does it Work? Following the theory of unintended consequences, I argue that so long as public communication takes place in China, alternative voices are theoretically inevitable, openly exclaimed or secretly circulated. It is thus highly possible that public spheres sparked by routine disclosure of government information or well-organized governmental campaigns could engender critical voices that challenge the manufactured mainstream voices. Again, communication is bifurcating and unpredictable. It is based on such accounts that I would like to underscore the significance of constrained public spheres in China. Herein the section picks up four cases to support the “unintended consequences” argument.

The Yang Qin Case In mid-May 2019, Yang Qin, a 29-year-old director of a local bank—the Hukou Branch of Jiujiang Bank—was found to be among the candidates to be promoted as one of 14 deputy executives of Hukou county in Jiujiang city of Jiangxi province. This is an obligatory procedure for the appointment and promotion of party members and government officials. Any cadres who are to be appointed to a position need to make their résumé public and receive public scrutiny for between 7 and 15  days. Yang’s résumé shows that she graduated from a vocational school and started working at Jiujiang Bank in 2009 when she was only 19 years old. She was later promoted to be the director of the Hukou Branch in February 2019 and was selected as one of the 14 part-time deputy executives of Hukou county in April 2019, all of whom were bank directors. Such a policy—employing part-time deputy executives from financial institutions to help government leaders—had been promoted by Jiujiang city since 2017, according to media reports (Zhong, 2019).

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Yang’s story was picked up by TP on 19 May 2019 (Zhong, 2019) and soon became a heated topic on China’s internet. One single hashtag “#29岁女行长挂职副县长” (# 29-year-old female bank director became part-­time deputy county executive) on Weibo attracted 0.44 billion readers and 36,000 comments (search result via Sina Weibo on 19 August 2019). Nationwide attention was sparked by the unusual instance that someone without a bachelor’s degree could get a full-time job in a stateowned bank and be promoted to such a high position as branch director in just 10 years. In China, there is usually little chance for a graduate from a vocational school—which means that she failed the entrance examination for high school—to be employed by a financial institution. Suspicions of corruption were stirred up. One day after the publication of TP’s story, the bank and Hukou county responded to the media that Yang’s promotion complied with governmental rules and regulations (Niu, 2019). Yet no one believed that Yang would have been hired if there had been no abuse of power. Succeeding media reports found that Yang’s father was once an official in the Finance Bureau of Jiujiang city (FB)—one of the two biggest shareholders of Jiujiang Bank, the bank that hired Yang Qin— and at the time was the CEO of Jiujiang Financial Holding Group, affiliated with the FB (J. Wang, 2019). The local government was anxious about online contention: the local discipline inspection commission responded to media by declaring that it was paying close attention to the case (Song & Zhong, 2019). Two months later, Yang was removed from the position of deputy executive of Hukou county, according to the law and regulations, as claimed by the local government (Ren, 2019). The Yang Qin case reveals how the policy of information openness initiated by the party-state (however constrained or superficial it is), aimed at enhancing the legitimacy of the authorities (Nathan, 2003; Johnson, 2014), could fail to meet its goal. The reason is that discussions sparked by the Yang case inevitably overflowed from this specific case to problems about a lack of rule of law and rampant corruption across the whole nation, which undoubtfully tarnished the CCP’s alleged legitimacy. For example, one comment read: “Boring. The promotion complies with the law and the sacking also complies with the law. The law might be less useful than a chamber pot in the eyes of the leaders!” (Wuliao, Tiba Shi Yifa, Mianzhi Ye Shi Yifa. Fa Zai Lingdao Yanli Guji Lian Yehu Dou Buru! (see Fig. 9.1). Many other comments also condemned rampant corruption across China (see Figs. 9.2, 9.3 and 9.4). Here, the commentator was criticizing a commonplace phenomenon—the violation of law by party and governmental leaders—rather than attacking only the local government of Hukou county.

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Fig. 9.1  Comment-1 on Yang’s story on Weibo

Fig. 9.2  Comment-2 on the Yang Qin Story. Translation: (We) should thoroughly investigate those general secretaries of the Chinese Communist Youth League on the county and municipal levels; all of them are children of officials

Fig. 9.3  Comment-3 on the Yang Qin story. Translation: In my workplace— one of the Top Five of the top 500 state-owned companies, there are too many similar cases. All of those people come from either rich or politically influential families and they get promotion every two or three years. They become division leaders or equivalents in their thirties

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Fig. 9.4  Comment-4 on the Yang Qin story. Translation: The worst corruption happens in the recruiting process, which is really rampant and baffling, so much so that capable people who care about their dignity are forced to leave

In short, the Yang Qin case shows how unintended consequences might result from publicizing a piece of promotion information of a county-level cadre. The exhibition of transparency did not achieve its goal; instead, it led to nationwide public fury. Worse, constellations provoked by the event led to more complaints about, and exposure of, similar problems in other areas and sections in China, resulting in broader criticisms over the corruption problems of the whole political system. Publics do not limit themselves to problems of the specific event or the specific local government. Such a finding is consistent with previous studies: local scandals would provoke disaffection against the regime, within which themes regarding press freedom, democracy and rule of law are repeatedly debated (see Lei & Zhou, 2015; Yang, 2003). Consequences of public communication are unpredictable. Themes, subjects, focal questions and attitudes towards specific subjects are not fixed. There are apparently no set boundaries for communication. It is fluid. There is a high possibility that the goals of information producers or communication initiators will fail to be met.

No Paean! Another case in point is a national debate over journalism triggered by a populist story about the 2019–20 Australian bushfires. On 12 January 2020, a WeChat story titled “Without the big Australian bushfires, I would have never known that China was so great 33 years ago!” (Meiyou Aozhou Zhe Chang Dahuo, Wo Dou Bu Zhidao Zhongguo 33 Nian Qian Zheme Lihai!) suddenly went viral on WeChat. It was produced by a WeChat public account called YouthAssemble (Qingnian Dayuan) and gained more than 100,000 views and more than 100,000 likes over a weekend (Jia, 2020). PD’s public account reprinted this story and also attracted more than 100,000 views and more than 100,000 likes. The story painted the disaster as “hell inside the human world” or the “last day of the world”, claiming that every inch of Australia was burning, and Australian people

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were escaping from their homes under a bloody sky. “Fires and smokes pervade the air and the field is littered with corpses” (Xiaoyan Miman, Shiheng Bianye), the story said. It continued: Ordinary Australians become homeless refugees overnight. For the sake of “freedom” … Australian government and firefighters took their Christmas vacation as usual. The best time for extinguishing the fire was missed. Such a ridiculous thing would have never been allowed to happen in China.

It then praised the way China had fought against the 1987 bushfires in Daxing’anling: The government immediately sent a few 10,000 People’s Liberation Army (PLA) soldiers, policemen and ordinary people to the frontline … Wearing their military suits, along with a wet towel and a wet mop, firefighters rushed into the fire … They did not master advanced skills or have world-class equipment. But China succeeded in extinguishing the fire because of those 58,000 people’s sleepless fight in 28 days. 200 young firefighters died … But they protected 70,000 households.

The story concluded by praising Chinese fighters’ “sense of responsibility, mission and love” and accusing the Australian government of hypocrisy and a lack of responsibility: “They are advocating something beautiful like ‘freedom and democracy’ and ‘animal protection’, yet they ignored refugees and left cruelly 0.5 billion innocent living creatures dying behind (in the fire)”. Almost simultaneously, huge waves of criticism over YouthAssemble’s article swept China’s internet (Jia, 2020). One comment said: Thirty-three years after the tragedy, YouthAssemble ignored problems and lessons we learned. They did nothing but exaggerate its sensational aspect, twisting a bad thing as if it is a good thing, trumpeting a disaster as it is something worth a song of praise. Brain rot!

Some articles carefully explained why the 2020 Australian bushfires lasted more than four months, refuting YouthAssemble’s blaming of the Australian government or firefighters. Other rebuttals listed the cost of the Daxing’anling bushfires:

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17,000 square kilometers of forest and 630,000 square meters of houses were burned to the ground; 6.5 million kilos of grain were destroyed; and more than 50,000 people lost their home. It is a catastrophe, not in any case legendary. Five fires were caused by forest workers’ misconducts, violating their working rules and procedures.

A comment on Fang’s (2020) critic over YouthAssemble stated: Why at our age, there is still someone believing that sacrificing lives for public prosperities is something worth praising rather than something sad? We do not need cheesy affection; we need to think about how to avoid such tragedies (like the bushfire in Daxing’anling).

One comment on WeChat stated: “The Australian bushfires are a calamity, people from whichever county shall show sympathy. (YouthAssemble) boasted about China and acted like a cold audience (of the Australian bushfires). It lacks the most basic humanity”. Moreover, some commentators expressed that they had changed their minds after reading criticism of YouthAssemble’s story. Two lines of criticism emerged during this process. One was from former journalists and media researchers, whose focal point was related to journalistic ethics. They censured the mawkish, vague, formalist and fake news reporting rhetoric, condemning in particular the paean style gaslighting the “truth”. One of the most widely circulated articles on the internet was published by media researcher Kecheng Fang; it gained more than 100,000 views and more than 13,900 likes within hours. Fang condemned YouthAssemble for repainting a painful tragedy as legendary. “YouthAssemble paid no respect to history … and was awkwardly ignorant”, Fang (2020) argued. He then recalled how and why previous CYD report over the 1987 Daxing’anling bushfire became a classic for Chinese journalists in the late 1980s: they broke the typical reporting style at that time—transforming a sad story into a paean of praise for the party-state. Determined to unearth the “truth”, journalists from CYD went to the frontline and exposed how corrupted, irresponsible officials and rigid bureaucracy had led to the disaster. CYD report won the highest prize for news reporting in China in 1987, “becoming a milestone of disaster reporting in China because it opened a brand-new page: since then such a

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kind of reporting will seek to focus on facts and comply with professional journalism”. Quoting the editor in charge of the 1987 CYD reports, Fang warned that, “Twisting a calamity and trumpeting it as a victory, is an even severer calamity”. “Selling cheesy affection for clicking volume and impeding reflection, are the most irresponsible appropriation of the tragedy that happened 33 years ago”. Well-known former journalist Wang Meng also lambasted writers of YouthAssemble as “malignant” (Jia, 2020): The disaster was caused by inappropriate human actions. Yet YouthAssemble asked no questions about the “truth”, nor did it bemoan those innocent victims. They did nothing but compose some fake, vague and extravagant lyrics, praising (the nation and firefighters) with glitzy words.

Ye Yan, one of the journalists composing the CYJ reports, called for the general public to acquire a more comprehensive understanding of the event: “We have (in previous reports) provided complete and authentic information about the process (how the bushfires happened and developed) to the public; they need it urgently”. Another line of rebuttal criticized the commercialization of patriotism (see Jia, 2020 and comments over Fang, 2020). Profit-oriented new media start-ups had been hijacking hot news topics (for example, the 2019–20 Australian bushfires) and using patriotism as the selling point (Jia, 2020). A Zhihu user mocked that they could fabricate similar stories like “Without the American pandemic, I would have never known that China was so great in fighting against SARS”, or “Without the Japanese earthquake, I would have never known that China was so great during the Wenchuan earthquake”, or even “Without South Korean female celebrities’ suicides due to depression, I would have never known how great Chinese female celebrities are” (Jia, 2020). Liushenleilei, who was also a former journalist, said: “Those writers (of nationalist start-ups) might be stupid in the very beginning. But when they find acting as such is profitable, they will see it through”. A Weibo comment stated: “They are astute, knowing better than their forerunners how to flirt with populism and to appeal to the taste of the authorities. To do so, they would not hesitate to ignore facts, or history, or common sense, or common knowledge”. No existing public sphere theories could explain such a turn in this YouthAssemble case. In a strange way, bushfires happening thousands of kilometers away from China triggered debates about journalism ethics and patriotism on China’s internet. A commercial tabloid-like populist new

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media, YouthAssemble,1 operating with the intention of selling patriotism to its readers, ended up embarrassing PD in particular and as well as other official media, who are increasingly following the paean style these days. (Because PD had republished YouthAssemble’s story, the attack of the latter equates with deprecating the former.) It initially seems rather far-­ fetched to connect bushfires happening in a foreign country with a journalism debate in China, and neither YouthAssemble nor PD would have expected that a seemingly popular story would get them trapped in a storm. The official media aimed to propagate patriotism. It might have attracted thousands of followers, but it also yielded humiliation and criticism, which was certainly unintended. Disapprovals of its reporting style were clearly and loudly expressed, which might not have happened until YouthAssemble’s story was published. Communication is risky. New questions can be prompted—for example, in this case, regarding professionalism, commercialization of patriotism, humanity and so on—and the themes debated are fluid.

The Address Name Change Campaign It is not only incidents like the Yang Qin case that can result in unintended effects; organized and well-coordinated national campaigns launched by the CCP and the central government, such as the so-called ANCC, can also backfire. This campaign was launched at the end of 2018 by the partystate, according to a document titled “Guanyu Jinyibu Qingli Zhengzhi Bu Guifan Diming De Tongzhi” (Notification Over Further Cleansing and Regulating Inappropriate Address Names), and co-issued on 10 December 2018 by the Ministry of Civic Affairs (MCA), the Ministry of Public Security (MPS), the Ministry of Natural Resources (MNR), the Ministry of Housing and Urban-Rural Development (MHURD), the Ministry of Transport (MT) and the State Administration for Market Regulation (SAMR) (MCA, MPS, MNR, MHURD, MT & SAMR, 2018). This suggests that all those ministries were involved in this campaign, so it should have been well-conceived. The notification required that address names that were considered “exaggerated, exotic, strange, repeated” (Da, Yang, 1  YouthAssemble was previously known as ‘90s Tonight’ (meaning tonight for those born since 1990). A public account was forced to shut down by WeChat because of producing fake news. It does not have a reporting licence and therefore could not be officially recognized as a media outlet, but its service actually covers that of media outlets.

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Guai, Chong) should be modified. It stated that this was because “address names are basic public information, essential bearers of state and national cultural … [Inappropriate names] have cut off local address-naming traditions and harmed national cultural and people’s production and everyday life” (2018, p. 2). It emphasized: [We need] to gain nutrition from our excellent cultural traditions and make use of the [guiding] function of culture. [We need] to create names that can reflect core socialist values and people’s best wishes and hopes. They should be culturally rich. They should help guide (mainstream) values and manifest the spirit of the age. (Chongfen Jiqu Zhonghua Youxiu Chuantong Wenhua Yangfen, Fahui Wenhua Yinling Zuoyong. Duo Qi Nenggou Fanying Shehuizhuyi Hexinjiazhiguan, Fanying Renminqunzhong Meihao Xiangwang Yu Qipan, Juyou Fengfu Wenhua Neihan De Xin Diming, Hao Diming, Shuli Xianming Jiazhi Daoxiang, Zhangxian Shidai Jingshen).

Unexpectedly, with almost half a year’s preparation, the campaign was still met with nationwide opposition and criticism after several local governments—including Hainan, Xi’an, Zhangzhou and Wenzhou—published the lists of names that they considered inappropriate and that they planned to modify (Luo, 2019; “Jiao Weiyena?” 2019; see also online users’ comments below). Publics’ critiques could be categorized into six types: (1) the campaign breaches law in its process; (2) the campaign causes unnecessary cost for both the government and citizens who need to update multiple documents related to residency and business addresses; (3) the campaign negatively affects many people’s lives; (4) the campaign relates directly to public interest but local authorities fail to consult people’s opinion; (5) local governments are performing poorly in dealing with this issue (Ma, 2019; Si, 2019; J. Wang, 2019; Y. Wang, 2019); and (6) the campaign is a setback of the openness reforms since 1978 and a precursor of a new Cultural Revolution—a 10-year campaign launched by Mao to purge the so-called remnants of capitalist and Confucian elements from Chinese society. The cultural and ideological campaign pushed forward by the party-state was thus questioned from a variety of perspectives—economic, legal, administrative and political. Critics employed “mainstream discourses” and values previously advocated by the party-state, such as the rule of law and public scrutiny, to express their disaffection while refusing to adopt the ideological framework promoted by this specific movement. If the authorities had intended to re-forge Chinese citizens’ cultural and spiritual values through this campaign, they apparently failed (see Fig. 9.5).

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Fig. 9.5  Critics against the campaign on Weibo. Translation: 1. Annoying; over-­ correcting makes things become evil. 2. (This is) out of line: like the over-control of the film and television industry, this campaign produces only bad effects; 3. How bored are these local officials? 4. Where is the promised “reform and openness”? 5. Beijing should do it first. A small pool is often called “Hai” (the sea). This is exaggeration. 6. … The Cultural_/Revolution … (the government) do not pay any attention to improving the lives of the people but is good at launching all sorts of “battles”. 7. Nonsense. This is a waste of administrative resources and sidetracking. Source: comments on a Weibo post published by Guanchazhe Net (“Dajia Dui Zuijin” 2019)

One prominent example is the Vienna Hotel name change event which happened in Hainan. On 12 June 2019, the Hainan Department of Civic Affairs (HDCA) publicized a list of address names that it planned to change (HDCA, 2019) and the name—维也纳酒店 (Vienna Hotel), which is a chain hotel with 15 branches in Hainan, was on the list. One week later, the hotel published an announcement on its official website publicly defying the proposal by the provincial government. It insisted that all its actions complied with the law: it had successfully registered its brand name—维也纳酒店—and got its approval from the Trademark

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Fig. 9.6  Weibo comment employing the law narrative. Translation: … All names are legally acceptable, how could local governments require the modifications?

Office of the State Administration for Industry and Commerce of the PRC (SAIC, which has now been integrated into the SAMR) in 2012 (Zhong & Song, 2019). It also claimed that it had officially lodged a complaint against the HDCA’s decision and was waiting for the response. Attracting wide public attention, the HDCA held a press conference on the afternoon of 18 June, claiming that the name list was not final and that it would further consult the opinions of experts (“Hainan Minzhengting Huiying” 2019). Vienna Hotel gained support from the mass media and the general public (Ma, 2019; Liang, 2019; Y. Wang, 2019). On 20 June, Jiemian News published a commentary claiming that the ANCC should not breach the law (Liang, 2019). It argued that administrative regulations should not contradict the trademark law which had stated that legally registered brand names (even using foreign address names) were effective. The idea of “rule of law” had been propagandized by the party-state; in this case, it backfired (see also Fig. 9.6). Similarly, the democratic idea of listening to public opinion was also employed to blame the actions taken by some local authorities. Citing a law professor, the commentary by Jiemian argued (Liang, 2019): Address names relate to public interest; therefore, administrative institutions need to organize public hearings and listen to the opinions of the local people if these institutions intend to name a place or change the name of a place, except for those illegal name changes.

Some local officials also seemed to have shown high acceptance of such public criticism. In an interview, the Hebei Department of Civic Affairs claimed that “they would respect people’s opinions … If you want to change an address name, you need to ask if the people agree or not. Right?” (Yan, 2019) This provincial bureau indicated that it would publicize its proposals before making the decision and that it would not change a name if the people strongly opposed it. The bureau argued that public opinion showed that some local governments had gone too far. We have

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asserted how the idea of the public sphere and public scrutiny has been taking root in Chinese society and how the party-state has tried to appropriate (and to some extent incorporate) it in its rule by introducing the idea of good governance and by conducting public consultation, public hearings and so on. Here, Jiemian’s report, Hainan province’s press conference and Hebei province’s reaction all clearly show how these ideas have been accepted in China. Eventually, we saw that the central government was forced to limit the scale of its campaign. On 21 June, the MCA issued a new notification, requiring local governments to cautiously conduct the address name change task and blaming local governments for having inaccurately executed the requirement of the central government (Luo, 2019). According to this notification, local governments should not expand the scale of the campaign, instead, they need to adjust the procedure, consult experts, listen to opinions of varying stakeholders and cautiously propose lists of names that need modification. The 2019 ANCC ended awkwardly. The CCP planned to cleanse “polluted cultural elements”—exotic and exaggerated elements—and to educate and guide its people with core socialist values and promote national pride. Similar campaigns were launched during the CR period and received good responses in the first few years; they started in Beijing and soon spread across China (Chen, 2016). Unfortunately, the 2019 campaign provoked wide criticism rather than agreement or praise. Not only were the implementation and executives of the policy attacked, but also the motive for the movement was questioned. The purpose of purging exotic (mostly Western) culture and promoting socialist and traditional Chinese culture was seen as a rejection of the openness reforms that had occurred since 1978 and a recurrence of the CR. The campaign did not achieve its goal of re-forging the ideological values of the Chinese; rather, it exposed itself to ridicule and controversies and led to broader doubts about its political purpose. Moreover, officially recognized and advocated legal and political discourses (for example, “rule of law”, public engagement and public opinion) and economic justifications were all appropriated by publics to challenge the campaign. This might have been unexpected for the authorities. He and Warren (2011, p. 275) assert that the government’s appropriation of democratic ideas and approaches was “problem-focused, issue and domain segmented”. It attempted to “channel political participation into the domains of administrative decision-making, the economy, the

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judiciary, and—to a very limited extent—a nascent civil society” (2011, p.  275). Unfortunately, this was only the aim of the party-state, which could not ensure how publics might make use of those discourses and devices, nor predict the consequences. Publics do not only employ those discourses in segmented sections or in discussing specific issues but also in questioning the entire ruling ideology. Some scholars emphasize the superficiality or limitation of those democratic-like elements in China’s body politic (for example, MacKinnon, 2011), and they are probably right under some circumstances. Yet researchers should not underestimate how these elements could be used in pro-democracy actions, as in this anti-­ ANCC public contention. The idea that authorities have everything under control is naïve.

The Chained Woman The story of the chained woman (later “identified” officially as Xiaohuamei) that stormed China’s internet from late January till March 2022 is another case in point. It started with a video shot by a Douyin (the mainland version of TikTok by Bytedance) vlogger who seeks to film people living in poverty and through which raises online donations for them. In this video, Xiaohuamei, a mother of eight children, was found shackled (by her neck) to the wall of a dark hut located in Feng county of Xuzhou (a relatively poor city of Jiangsu Province), shivering in the zero degrees Celsius winter while her “husband” and children shared meals in the adjoining room. The video immediately triggered fury among Chinese netizens and many of them called the police, believing that this mother was a victim of human trafficking and was sexually and physically abused. This is nevertheless beyond the expectations of the vlogger, who publicly opposed calling the police (worrying that nobody would take care of the children) and said his intention was to pressure the “husband” to treat “his wife” kindly. Yet the vlogger, a middle-aged man who claimed that his videos aimed to promote positive energy—a mainstream narrative propagated by the CCP in the past decade—lost control of the narrative the moment the video was published. Apparently, he did not see the severity of Xiaohuamei’s sufferings or the potential crimes behind the plight of the chained woman. China’s urban middle class and elites thought otherwise; they were shocked by the misery of Xiaohuamei and brutality against women. The exploded video garnered nearly two billion views across various social platforms (Cao & Feng, 2022) and three related hashtags on Weibo racked up

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more than 10 billion views (Li, 2022), surpassing any other topics including the Winter Olympics. “We are not bystanders, but survivors. We are not rescuing the chained woman. Instead, she is rescuing us”, ran an online comment. The New York Times claims that the story sparked one of the biggest credibility crises met by the CCP in the past few years, comparing it with the Dr. Li Wenliang crisis. The observation is that it has once again united China’s nationalists, liberals, apolitical moderators, rivalling and challenging the main melody of a prosperous China that was earnestly promoted during this Beijing Winter Olympics period. Leading law professors (e.g., Luo Xiang), lawyers, former journalists, film-makers, artists, writers, graduates from elite universities, activists and ordinary netizens all joined the outpouring. Bookstore owners set up specific sections on gender issues; hundreds of university students signed petitions calling for an investigation by the central government; former journalists Ma Sa and Tie Mu visited and interviewed residents of a village which was claimed to be Xiaohuamei’s hometown; citizens drove to visit the poor chained woman, launched online spreadsheets documenting suspected trafficked women and unearthed the human trafficking history in China by archiving official documents, court verdicts, news reports and so on (Cao & Feng, 2022). Censorship (decimating the press, silencing journalists, deleting posts et cetera) and opinion manipulation (by promoting main melody themes) and guidance (governmental statements) are not absent in this event. Yet these strategies do not quell the outraged Chinese publics but further infuriate them. All those attempts with the aim of dominating public narrative of the event were received with suspicion, criticism, mockery and pushback. The local and provincial governments issued five statements to pacify the rocked publics, from the first one denying that there is any human trafficking issue involved in the case and claiming that Xiaohuamei was diagnosed with schizophrenia to the last one sacking 17 local officials. Yet each time these responses raise new suspicions and questions, including the identity of Xiaohuamei and whether she was physically abused (she lost the majority of her teeth), how the “marriage” got approved by the local government if she had mental disorders, why authorities did nothing to stop a mentally incapable woman from sexually being abused and so on. Those pushbacks by netizens pressured authorities to respond once and again, yet, each time have their credibility further tarnished. It was not until 10 February in the fourth statement that Xuzhou city claimed that police had arrested Xiaohuamei’s “husband” Dong on suspicion of unlawful imprisonment and two others of human trafficking. This statement

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attracted more than 300 million views and around 152, 000 Weibo users commented on it (Cao & Feng, 2022). “We really should not stand by and watch. If we do not speak up for those who are suffering, when misfortune happens to us or our relatives, who will speak up on our behalf?” said a Weibo user. Frustrated and angered by those conflicting government statements and infuriated by local governments’ dereliction of duty, distrust of the CCP reached new height in February. To respond and to repair damaged credibility, on 2 March 2022, the MPS announced a 10-month national campaign against human trafficking which became one major topic during the following 2022 Two Sessions. The above case studies showed how routine information disclosure by governments, a random news event, well-conceived political actions pushed by the central government of the PRC and charitable actions by ordinary vloggers saw dramatic turns after being publicized online (He & Warren, 2011). Those news events were communicated and interpreted under unforeseeable and highly diverse perspectives, way beyond the expectations of the action initiators. The seemingly privileged “propagandists” were challenged. Each type of event is commonplace in contemporary China, and they will happen again. Such a feature of “unintended consequences” vitalizes digital public spheres in China. No matter how curtailed, distorted and manipulated they may be, “unharmonious” voices can always potentially emerge.

References Arendt, H. (1958). The human condition. University of Chicago Press. Bakhtin, M. M. (1993). Toward a philosophy of the act. Texas University Press. Bolsover, G. (2017, April). Computational propaganda in China: An alternative model of a widespread practice. Computational Propaganda Research Project working paper no. 2017.04. Oxford Internet Institute. http://comprop.oii. ox.ac.uk/wp-­content/uploads/sites/89/2017/06/Comprop-­China.pdf Cao, A., & Feng, E. (2022, February 17). The mystery of the chained woman in China. NPR. https://www.npr.org/sections/goatsandsoda/2022/02/ 17/1080115082/the-­mystery-­of-­the-­chained-­woman-­in-­china. Chen, T. (2016, June 3). Xinzhongguo Chengli Hou De Sici Diming Genggai chao (four waves of address name change movements after the established of the PRC). Anhui Daily. http://epaper.anhuinews.com/html/ahrbncb/ 20160603/article_3439868.shtml Coleman, R., McCombs, M., Shaw, D., & Weaver, D. (2009). Agenda setting. In K.  Wahl-Jorgensen & T.  Hanitzsh (Eds.), Handbook of journalism studies (pp. 147–160). Routledge.

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Creemers, R. (2017). Cyber China: Upgrading propaganda, public opinion work and social management for the twenty-first century. Journal of Contemporary China, 26(103), 85–100. Dajia Dui Zuijin Jielian Gongbu De Gedi ‘Da, Yang, Guai, Chong’ Diming Zhenggai Anli Shi Zenme Kan (What your opinion over cases disclosed in the Address-Name-Change-Campaign against ‘exaggerated, exotic, strange, repeated’ by multiple local governments?). (2019, June 20). Guanchazhe net. https://www.weibo.com/1887344341/HzPaMmynX?type=comment Fang, K. (2020, January 13). Duibuqi, 33 Nian Qian Fasheng De Nachang Dahuo Jue Bushi Yiqu Kaige (sorry, the big bushfire that happened 33 years ago is by no means a paean). Journalism Laboratory. http://www.slxlzx.com/ 2020/480455-­482264-­89107.html Gilpin, D. R. (2011). Working the Twittersphere: Microblogging as professional identity construction. In Z. Papacharissi (Ed.), A networked self: Identity, community, and culture on social network sites (pp. 232–250). Routledge. Hainan Department of Civic Affairs (HDCA). (2019, June 12). Hainansheng Minzhengting Bangongshi Guanyu xu Qingli Zhengzhi Bu Guifan Diming Qingdan De Gongshi (publicisation of list of inappropriate address names that need to be cleaned and regulated by office of HDCA). HDCA.  Retrieved March 22, 2022, from http://mz.hainan.gov.cn/smzt/0400/201906/ f49160bcfd7d499782ba8de23a034d2d.shtml Hainan Minzhengting Huiying Weiyena Jiudian ‘Kangyi’: Shangbiao Buneng Yanshen Wei Diming (HDCA responds to ‘protest’ of Vienna Hotel: A brand name could not be further used as an address name). (2019, June 19). Beijing News. https://news.sina.com.cn/c/2019-­06-­19/doc-­ihytcitk6370827.shtml He, B., & Warren, M. E. (2011). Authoritarian deliberation: The deliberative turn in Chinese political development. Perspectives on Politics, 9(2), 269–289. Hirschman, A. O. (1988, April 8). Two hundred years of reactionary rhetoric: The case of the perverse effect. The Tanner Lectures on Human Values, University of Michigan. Jia, Z. (2020, January 13). Daxing’anling de Xingxingzhihuo (A single spark of Daxing’anling). Shuapinjingxuan. https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/rYCoAp_mv lZaLQ85pk9ecA Jiao Weiyena? Buxing! Gai Diming He Yi Ruci Renxing (Naming (a hotel) Vienna? No! Why is the Address-Name-Change so capricious?). (2019, July 02). Data Center of Public Opinion of People’s Net. https://www.weibo.com/ ttarticle/p/show?id=2309404389597403563332 Johnson, T. (2014). Good governance for environmental protection in China: Instrumentation, strategic interactions and unintended consequences. Journal of Contemporary Asia, 44(2), 241–258. Keane, J. (2018). When trees fall, monkeys scatter: Rethinking democracy in China. World Scientific.

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Knodt, E. M. (1995). The postmodern predicament. In N. Luhmann (Ed.), Social systems (J. Bcdnarz, & D. Baecker, Trans.). Stanford University Press. (Original work published 1984). Lei, Y.-W., & Zhou, D.  X. (2015). Embedding law into politics in China networked public sphere. In J. deLisle, A. Goldstein, & G. Yang (Eds.), The internet, social media, and a changing China (pp.  106–128). University of Pennsylvania Press. Li, Y. (2022, March 01). Seeking truth and justice, Chinese see themselves in a chained woman. New York Times. https://www.nytimes.com/2022/03/01/ business/china-­chained-­woman-­social-­media.html Liang, Z. (2019, June 20). Qingli Zhengzhi Bu Guifan Diming, Ruhe Zuodao Yifa Zhili (while cleansing and correcting inappropriate address names, how should (we) comply with the rule of law)? Jiemian Xinwen. https://baijiahao. baidu.com/s?id=1636864238820897020&wfr=spider&for=pc Luhmann, N. (1992). What is communication? Communication Theory, 2(3), 251–259. Luhmann, N. (1995). Social systems (J.  Jr. Bednarz, & D.  Baecker, Trans.). Stanford University Press. (Original work published 1984). Luo, Z. (2019, June 21). Minzhengbu: Gedi Yao Wentuo Tuijin Qingli Zhengzhi Bu Guifan Diming Gongzuo (the MCA: Local governments should cautiously push forward the task of cleaning and regulating inappropriate address names). Xinhua News Agency. http://www.xinhuanet.com/2019-­06/21/c_1124 652813.htm Ma, J. (2019, June 21). Diming Zhengzhi yin Reyi, Minzhengbu: Fangzhi Suiyi Kuoda Qingli Zhengzhi Fanwei (the address name change campaign provokes heat debates, the Ministry of Civic Affairs: Should avoid expanding the scope of action). Beijing News. https://news.sina.cn/gn/2019-­06-­21/detail-­ihytce rk8396298.d.html?pos=3&vt=4 MacKinnon, R. (2011). Liberation technology: China’s ‘networked authoritarianism’. Journal of Democracy, 22(2), 32–46. Ministry of Civic Affairs (MCA), Ministry of Public Security (MPS), Ministry of Natural Resources (MNR), Ministry of Housing and Urban-Rural Development (MHURD), Ministry of Transport (MT) and State Administration for Market Regulation (SAMR) (MCA, MPS, MNR, MHURD, MT & SAMR). (2018, December 10). Guanyu Jinyibu Qingli Zhengzhi Bu Guifan Diming De Tongzhi (notification over further cleansing and regulating impropriate address names). Hebeisheng Minzhengting. Retrieved March 22, 2022, from https://news. sina.cn/gn/2019-­06-­20/detail-­ihytcitk6473582.d.html?pos=3&vt=4 Nathan, A. J. (2003). Authoritarian resilience. Journal of Democracy, 14(1), 6–17. Niu, T. (2019, May 20). 19 Sui Nüsheng Jin Yinhang, 29 sui Cheng Hangzhang Guazhi Fuxianzhang, Guanfang: Fuhe guiding (entering a bank at 19 and becomes part-time deputy county executive in her 29, the official: No violation of rules). Shangyou News. https://www.thepaper.cn/newsDetail_forward_3490555

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Proudhon, P-J. (1863). The federative principle and the need to reconstitute the party of revolution. The Anarchist Library. Retrieved March 22, 2022, from https://theanarchistlibrary.org/library/pierre-­joseph-­proudhon-­the-­principle­of-­federation Ren, G. (2019, July 25). Jiujiang Yinhang ‘90 Hou’ Guazhi Nü Fuxianzhang Bei Mianzhi (born after 1990s, female deputy county executive from Jiujiang Bank got sacked). Yangzi Evening News. https://news.sina.com.cn/o/2019-­07-­25/ doc-­ihytcerm6075922.shtml Si, H. (2019, December 10). Tushuguan shao Shu Shi Nai Siwenshaodi (a library burning books is barbaric). Yangcheng Evening. http://views.ce.cn/view/ ent/201912/10/t20191210_33813515.shtml Song, J., & Zhong, Y. (2019, May 21). Jiujiangshi Jiweijianwei Huiying ‘90 Hou Zhihangzhang Guaren Fuxianzhang’: Zai Guanzhu Yuqing (Jiujiang Commission for Discipline Inspection responds to the case of post-1990s Bank director becoming deputy county executive: We are watching over public opinion). The Paper. https://www.thepaper.cn/newsDetail_forward_3496166 Wang, J. (2019, May 21). Jiangxi 29 Sui Zhihangzhang Guazhi Fuxianzhang yin Zhengyi, Jiujiangshi Jiwei Jianwei Huiying: Zhengzai Guanzhu (Jiangxi’s 29 years old sub-branch manager of Jiujiang Yinhang who will work as deputy executive of a county provokes disputes: Jiujiang’s Discipline Inspection Commission and Supervisory Commission claim that they are paying attention to this issue). Chengdu Shangbao. https://kknews.cc/zh-sg/other/oeobrbm.html Wang, Y. (2019, June 20). ‘Zhongrui Manhadun’ Gaiwei ‘Zhongrui Manhatun’? Zhenggai Diming ye Ying Gaigai Jiaowangguozheng De Maobing (‘Zhongrui Manhattan’ was changed into ‘Zhongrui Manhatun’? Changing address names should avoid overcorrecting). Beijing News. https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/ qM3-XoOIEF3gh1FZ24JITQ Yan, Y. (2019, June 20). Hebeisheng Minzhengting Dimingguihuachu: Gaiming Yao Xianwen Laobaixing Da Bu Daying (division of Address Name plan of Department of Civic Affairs of Hebei: Address name change should consult the people’s opinion). Hongxing News. Retrieved March 16, 2022, from https:// www.sohu.com/a/321946248_115376?_f=index_chan08news_5 Yang, G. (2003). The internet and the rise of a transnational Chinese cultural sphere. Media, Culture and Society, 25(4), 469–490. Zhong, Y. (2019, May 19). 29 Sui Jiujiang Yinhang hukou Zhihang Hangzhang Yang qin Guazhi hukou Xian fu Xianzhang (29 years old director of hukou branch of Jiujiang Bank Yang qin will work as part-time deputy executive of hukou county). The Paper. https://www.thepaper.cn/newsDetail_forward_ 3486270 Zhong, Y., & Song, J. (2019, June 19). Hainan: Yao Qingli De Bushi Weiyena Jiudian Shangbiao, Ershi Yongzuo Diming Shi De Bu Guifan (Hainan: It is not the trademark of Vienna hotel that will be changed, but the usage of it as address names). The Paper. https://finance.sina.com.cn/china/2019-­06-­19/ doc-­ihytcerk7994651.shtml

CHAPTER 10

Rethinking Online News-Prompted Public Spheres

When renowned China observer Xiao Qiang claimed that China was heading to become a “digital totalitarian state” (Xiao, 2019), the China Digital Times (CDT) he edited was continuously documenting dissident voices or alternative voices of ordinary Chinese in China’s internet and offline world. To be sure, the story that the CDT has been telling is simple: that George Orwell’s prison, or the “panoptic surveillance” (Campbell & Carlson, 2002) or “state-corporate surveillance” (Dencik et  al., 2016) that Xiao (2019) described about current China has cracks. If one has been frequenting the pages of the CDT, then they will see that hits on the ruling powers from Chinese publics are chronic, usually short-lived, surging from varying corners and classes of the society, and often surprising. Sometimes the size of the publics who joined the concerted action to lift the hammer was massive, like that in the 2020 Li Wenliang case and the 2022 chained woman case—up to millions. And this is not a rare case. Every news article advocating alternative voices and going viral on China’s online networked spaces tells a similar story to that of Li Wenliang. Together, a simple assertion can be pinned down: that online public spheres are not lacking in present-day China; instead, they are chronic and dynamic. Some researchers might insist that those critical citizens shown on the CDT website are in the minority. However, the recurrence of online mass incidents suggests that this is not the case. The 2019–2020 coronavirus crisis and the 2022 chained woman case suggest that there are even © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 X. Xu, Online News-Prompted Public Spheres in China, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-12156-2_10

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moments when critical publics attract the attention of a large proportion of the population. Some also argue that the dominant majority of Chinese are silent on most occasions. This is true if it is only dissenting or rebellious voices that are “not being silent”. But in this case, they are imagining a revolution, not a public sphere. Those who worry about the weakening or even the death of China’s public spheres often refer to reinforced information control as the evidence. Certainly, they have very good reason for concern about the worsening environment which has been forcing Chinese civil society to shrink, or at least stopping it from expanding in the past decade. We therefore saw the transformation of Weibo from a space dominated by public debates to one inundated with entertainment information and mainstream discourse (Jia & Han, 2020), more and more frequent crackdowns on online minority groups (e.g., those advocating feminism on Douban, LGBT public accounts on WeChat etc.), the prevailing of euphemism or even silence among public intellectuals, and the sprawling of populist nationalism (Yu, 2020) and othering across varying Chinese social media platforms. But is it true that public spheres in China have lost their vitality or have died out? Is the argument solid that only a small group of publics are desperately struggling to get their voices heard and the ruthless and almighty party-state could quash all alternative voices? We have witnessed plenty of big “online accidents” in China’s digital spaces, and different subaltern publics—such as LGBT activism (Wei & Yan, 2021) and religious public theology (Chow, 2021)—survive. Or, just consider how much energy the authorities have devoted to maintaining a “harmonious” society, especially on the internet, and how persistent these policies targeted at suppressing alternative voices are. Then it becomes clear that the party-state might be much less omnicompetent than it seems to be, and the harmony might just be temporary, and always contingent. The authorities must have encountered serious challenges when pushing forward their agendas. Otherwise, why would they bother attending to the people’s voices at all? I advocate in this book that there are constant configurations of public spheres in China, generating continuous pressures over the established powers. But how could they survive persistent attacks from the partystate? Is there a special mechanism that fuels and nurtures their constellations? Are there any features that enable them to rebound after being cracked down on or to reconfigure after dying out naturally? Existing conceptual public spheres models and studies of related questions in China provide no satisfactory answers to these questions. My answer is that it is

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the chronic news that nurtures the unending formations of online public spheres and their surprise, never-ending, evanescent, networked features and the possibility that they might court unexpected effects make them flexible, resilient and sometimes highly influential. That is why constant tensions can be observed between the state and society.

Empirical Contributions I link the chronic constellation of publics to Chinese internet users’ everyday news participations through the study of WeChat. These publics form in the process of people engaging in news on a day-to-day basis. That is why this analysis has claimed that engaged citizens are not the minority of the Chinese population and these participations are often rather robust. Public engagement is not something experienced only rarely by the Chinese. Such massive and frequent engagement of Chinese citizens in news explains why the party-state maintains a 24/7 surveillance over its netizens. Those everyday news producers and public communication participants ensure that Chinese citizens’ future action in concert may continue to take place. These routine and chronic practices educate and train the general public and prepare them with communication venues, networks and knowledge (e.g., using coded language or preserving records and reposting them as a way of countering censorship). So long as conditions permit, events such as the seemingly wild stories told in this book will continue to unfold in China in the coming months and years. This suggests that public spheres in China have become a systematic counter-­ power against the authorities, something that is dialectically stable and well-recognized by society rather than something that can be tackled as a straightforward one-off issue. The solid evidence we provided in this book powerfully contradicts sceptics questioning the applicability and existence of public spheres in China. They rely on rigid or obsolete models and concepts, and often build their arguments on policies and selected events/facts while failing to grasp a more complicated reality. That is why we insist that researchers should investigate publics across a relatively long period of time in order to avoid biased observations based on individual cases that happen at a specific period. In addition to the fickleness of publics, this point is especially important for the study of China, as ongoing and constant media and communication policy changes have been occurring over the past few decades. Therefore, scholars will need to distance themselves to some

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extent from the changing policies. They should go beyond the simplistic idea that the state constrains or facilitates the public spheres and enlarge the scope of their probes, to move from individual public spheres and to ponder the implications of continuously and chronically emerging public spheres. This does not mean that I suggest decontextualizing the research; on the contrary, we should carefully examine how public spheres are entangled with contextual factors such as ICTs, media policies, market ecology and so on. I do not view the state as the only factor that determines the fate of public spheres; nor do I indulge in singing the same refrain over how the state represses or manipulates public spheres, given the cracks in this rhetoric with citizens having invented multiple anti-censorship strategies. Linking public spheres with news and thus with never-ending societal changes means that one should not subordinate publics to the state. We thus focused more on unearthing those fundamental, structural factors that mediate between the state and publics, including political-economic, cultural, technological and social factors, but were less concerned with the temporary policies of relaxing or tightening information control. For instance, the party-state has long relied on its economic achievements to sustain and enhance its ruling legitimacy. And given that such a goal is increasingly dependent on the development of the digital economy, the party-state is now being forced to promote the construction, maintenance and updating of the digital infrastructure and innovations in the ICT sector. Although the technological goal of such a mission is to facilitate the free flow of non-political information, there is however no guarantee that public spheres will not spring up from initially non-political discussions since the boundary between political and non-political is highly permeable and fluid. Proactive media policy constitutes another case in point. As a policy that has been adopted since the establishment of the CCP, it prefers to “aggressively” instil the “right” ideology into the people, to listen to their voices, to channel their anger and to persuade them. This requires the provision of news, no matter how manipulated it may be. As a result, the constellation of news-prompted public spheres becomes inevitable if public venues are provided and people are willing to participate in news. Such a policy unintentionally creates opportunities for the formation of public spheres. The idea of information openness and responsible government provides another example that illustrates such a complexity and controversy. The purpose of this policy is to improve its capacity of governance

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and to reinforce its ruling legitimacy, which nevertheless also subjects authorities to the monitoring of publics. Certainly, I do not claim that the formation of online public spheres in China was natural or that the formation required no conditions for support. I have elucidated what those fostering structural conditions are in Chapter Four. It should be noted that I did not intend to exhaust those conditions. But it is worth indicating that all these structural conditions are tangled up with China’s marketization of its economy and the relaxing of its ideological control over society from 1978 until late 2012 (except for a short period after the 1989 democratic movement). During this period, the scope, the intensity and the method of control imposed by the state over society have respectively shrunk, weakened, standardized and become less arbitrary or extreme. And the marketization of the economy further reduced the reliance of individuals on the state and enhanced the relative independence of civil society. Consequently, the augmentation of pluralism was manifest, and China transformed from a hermetically sealed communist country to an increasingly more decentralized, diverse and cosmopolitan one (Pieke, 2012). All these changes led to a societal atmosphere that favors openness and tolerance of plurality. Such an aura, though encountering major setbacks in the past decade, has not lost all its vitality. Thus, one could repeatedly observe firm opposition against the Cultural Revolution—the bitter fruit of extreme ideologization—on China’s internet, both by the media and by average Chinese citizens. Entanglement means the constrained, yet not fully closed, Chinese context may last for quite a long time and those three facilitating factors may not suddenly disappear in the near future. The exploration of the five features of China’s online public spheres further explains how and why publics manage to maintain dynamism in the unique Chinese environment. (It should be noted that with the exception of the networked feature, none of them have ever been systematically analyzed.) The chronicity thesis suggests that everyday publics have become a normalized power that may challenge the party-state. Yet they oftentimes appear surprisingly and randomly and dissolve as quickly as they configure. Features such as surprise and ephemerality seem to reduce the threat to authorities because they make those public spheres seem fragmented, disjointed and less likely to continuously generate pressure on the same issue. As a result, ephemeral online public spheres are more often tolerated than offline, institutionalized public spheres in China. Yet these seeming weak points turn out to be a key factor in the survival of online

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publics; they are less likely to be ruthlessly clamped down by the CCP. Moreover, the surprise and ephemerality qualities on their own help China’s online publics to better cope with pervasive censorship. Intimidating punishment against critical citizens can be thwarted by shock-driven anger and sadness. Silence is then broken, and publics quickly crystallize. The short-lived nature of publics may trigger concerns over the inclusiveness of publics, but their networked quality can compensate for this side-effect. Through explorations of these features, their interplay with external contextualizing factors and controversies among themselves, we painted a clearer and more complex picture of the never-ending and forever evolving public spheres in China. Such an empirical study of China helps to enrich and deepen the news-prompted public spheres theory. This book makes a bold argument that there are constant constellations of online publics in China, simultaneously enabled and constrained by China’s unique political economy, the advance of ICTs, and social and cultural traditions. The study is realistic and constructivist as it sees publics under constant configuration and reconfiguration. It is not afraid of uncovering controversies—between concepts and reality, between policies and practices—that mark China’s online public spheres. It argues that it is only through studies of these tensions and conflicts that a more nuanced and comprehensive picture of China’s online publics can surface. As well as showing what they look like, it also reveals how and why they appear and disappear as they do. The arguments advocated here call for imagination. They require observers to grasp a reality that is chaotic and messy, and to free themselves (say) from the theoretical cliché that public spheres can only exist in Western democracies. They encourage researchers to pay more attention to tensions and controversies and to accept the idea that Chinese publics will have to fight for the chance of engagement in politics in a foreseeable future. The empirical research aimed mainly at unravelling the complexity of public spheres in China and how they interplay with established powers in the digital age. It suggests that, in the contemporary Chinese context, publics might prove to be a permanently unsettling power that could challenge the mainstream discourse and ideology, with full awareness that it could at the same time be manipulated or temporarily suffocated. Although I did not set out to stress the democratic power of public spheres in China’s body politic, the cases we discussed did touch upon the question of political efficacy of online public spheres, which, for some theorists (e.g., Nancy Fraser), is an essential dimension of the theory. Adopting

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Stephen Craig’s (1979) political efficacy model, none of the three dimensions—input efficacy (perceived availability of participatory venues), output efficacy (perceived capability of influencing political decisions) or political trust (belief in the government acting in the best interests of the ruled)—is extremely bleak in present-day China. Constrained, the internet still offers more venues for Chinese publics to engage in political debates than that in the pre-internet age; an unexpected thrust by networked publics sometimes engenders essential legislative or administrative changes (e.g., the Yu Huan case); and a high proportion of Chinese are in general supportive of the party-state’s rule. To some extent, the efficacy of online public spheres in turn explains the participation enthusiasm of China’s netizens, confirming again the substantiality of the seemingly amorphous, transient yet chronic digital publics in China.

The Theoretical Innovations Theoretically, for the first time, an analysis develops a public sphere model that clearly and affirmatively states that publics are prompted by news and based on which systematically assesses the implications of such a connection. It proposed a new line of argument than that of the deliberative public sphere model and other subsequent antitheses. The new conceptualization no longer focuses only on the conversational quality of individual public spheres, but instead moves to explore the mechanism that fuels the continuous emergence of public spheres. It carefully examines the two most basic concepts related to public spheres: news and communication. It discusses them as unique social phenomena and approaches them as they are understood and practiced in concrete social contexts, not as something subordinated to public sphere theories or as utopian ideals. It reintroduces news theories, communication theories developed by theorists other than Habermas (e.g., Michael Schudson, Niklas Luhmann) into public sphere studies. With these efforts, it hopes to push forward new perspectives in approaching this topic, including Hannah Arendt’s important sociological assertion about the unpredictability of human actions. To repeat, this new approach starts by recognising news and news production as distinguished social phenomena than mixing them with the public sphere, and by approaching communication as a contextualized and embodied meaning-making process. The well-accepted Habermasian bourgeois public sphere model has failed to take into account both points. Habermas (1962/1989) did address the historical development of news

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and the changes in media content (news information, commentary, entertainment information or advertisement), but he did not go further to explore the nature of news as a unique phenomenon. He errs in equating editorializing news media with the public sphere, which probably has unintendedly delayed analysis over such a relationship. This is probably because he was not interested in the broader function of news as an information product, but only in commentaries and editorials that once were the dominant part of a press. His major attention was on the bourgeois stratum talking about “public affairs”, which often get publicity in the form of news in seventeenth- and eighteenth-century Western Europe. He stresses the importance of the public’s expression of opinions around news events and naïvely believes that the media could be an institution of publics or a neutral channel conveying well-educated, propertied men’s opinions. Such an understanding of news—an admixture of information and opinions—and confounding it with participants’ opinions lead to de facto neglection and marginalization of news in his public sphere theory. The idea that news feeds raw materials to, and incites, public spheres was neglected. In Habermas’s (1996, 2006) later works, the effort of developing a theory of truth-seeking rational communication might have taken his attention away from the subject of news. Although he acknowledged the privileged role of journalists in the public sphere compared with the general publics, the concept of news nevertheless retreated to the background or entirely disappeared. And the concept of communication stays highly abstract: there is much concern about reaching consensus but none about changing communication means or modes, or motivations of embodied, value-laden communicators, which all have decisive impacts on the ways in which public issues are discussed. The sanctification of public communication rejects any self-centred, personalized, plural and concrete expressions. Such an illusionary understanding of news and communication might have led to Habermas’s long-time utopian expectation of mediated public spheres, which then to some extent impedes academic imagination within the scholarship. Today, such a differentiation is still important as the ongoing blurring of news engagement and news production might ambiguate the two concepts (news and public sphere) again. We thus turn to Schudson’s and Luhmann’s accounts of news, and Arendt’s assertions about human action and the public realm. Drawing on these theorists’ works, we define news as publicized narratives about unpredictable and never-ending changes that might affect the public interest and potentially provoke constellations of public spheres. We therefore

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trace the origin of news to chronic and unending changes in human societies. Such an effort of distancing news from public spheres allows spaces for a closer approach to the unique qualities of the former and to understanding how these qualities might impact the latter. As such the analysis identifies three qualities of news and public spheres: surprise, chronicity and ephemerality. The chronicity perspective frees researchers from individual communication cases, temporary policies and concerns over the uniqueness of political systems. It delves into questions of public spheres from a broader scope and a historical angle. It is thoroughly constructivist as it contends that public spheres are something being constructed and still to be constructed rather than something that has already been written up or fully framed by political settings of the body politics. It is thus concerned with the mechanism nurturing the gatherings of publics and their formation, evolution and dissolution. It is unhappy with static approaches, which suffer from limitations in generalizing research arguments. Such a theory provides a unique prism through which an empirical study can explore the relationship between the state and society and interactions between other entangled players. It no longer restricts itself to narrow topics such as how a repressive state restricts public spheres, thus taking the first step towards exploring other features, such as the ephemerality of publics and the role of the element of surprise. The chronic and unending quality of publics has important empirical bearings. It means that public contestation usually cannot be resolved once and for all. Challenges posed by public spheres persist through time, and scholars are urged to avoid drawing hasty conclusions about the effects of relaxed or tightened censorship. Whenever and wherever the conditions permit, news-prompted public spheres will emerge, although it is unknown when more crucial consequences will be generated. The idea that news is marked by surprises has rarely been linked to public sphere studies although it has been well-documented by journalism researchers. When we do so, we immediately see how disruptive and emancipatory it can be, in heightening tensions, provoking attention and catalyzing changes. It triggers a swift and spontaneous gathering of publics, breaking silence and oppression in an uncontrollable and unpredictable way. It motivates people to take immediate and assertive actions (Dahl et al., 2003), and therefore the public spheres driven by it could hit like storms while the authorities are still trying to figure out how to respond because they are dazzled. In a tightly controlled and oppressive

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environment, such promptness buys time for publics. As a result, these unforeseeable digital flashes could become powerful challenges to the status quo. Some researchers may tend to consider them in pejorative insinuations; they are no lovers of surprise or uncertainty. Instead, they are believers in institutions and organized actions, which unfortunately risk losing their legitimacy of representing popular will immediately after their institutionalization (see Butler, 2015). Surely civic institutions are important, but we oppose evaluating surprising news and unpredictable public spheres in a simplistic and decontextualized way. The ephemeral quality of news-prompted publics seems to be quite straightforward, yet it is long neglected and its democratic bearings understudied. The majority of publics, both in democracies and non-­democracies, are vigilant and monitorial citizens rather than full-time politicians. News-­ prompted publics are not dedicated political organs and their discussions do not always aim at achieving consensus or making decisions. They are not bound by any institutional interest, expectations or norms. They only occasionally pop up to execute their citizen rights, when they act in concert and non-violently, and question or disapprove the rule of the powerful. It is rightly such a casual but vigilant nature that ensures the “critical function” (Butler, 2015, p. 7) of popular assemblies towards the ruling government. Those who declare that they have popular support and crystallize in the form of governments and institutions cannot avoid getting contested by transient public spheres over their representativeness. Further, this implies a simple fact: that monitorial public spheres are not necessarily part of the institutional political system. Their configuration does not rely on a democratic system; as a matter of fact, the quality of ephemerality constitutes one of the main reasons that public spheres survive and sometimes even boom in undemocratic contexts. Recognizing the critical function of publics, the difference between democratic and non-democratic political systems might be less big than imagined when approaching this old topic. One could compare public spheres in democratic and non-democratic countries with fewer concerns over political differences on the system level. Yet this does not mean one should adopt a decontextualized stance. For instance, the ephemeral feature study reveals how, under specific circumstances such as in China, an apparent disadvantage could transform into an advantage. In summary, this original news-prompted public spheres theory is coloured by a constructivist approach. It examines how public spheres as communication processes are triggered by news and explains why and how

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publics evolve and produce uncertainties, based on the abstraction and differentiation of news from public spheres. It is more interested in the life and death of the phenomenon called public spheres—popping up as surprises, disappearing swiftly, interacting with each other in the form of networks, generating unexpected effects in a never-ending process as new spheres continuously emerge—than in their linguistic or communicative features, such as rationality, emotionality, antagonism or a carnivalesque nature. This is the main contribution of this original news-prompted public spheres theory. It deepens the understanding of the resilience of online publics in an unfavourable environment. Such a new framework is less time-limited and less territory-bound than the Habermasian deliberative model because the former builds on discussions of the intrinsic features of news while the latter focuses on a specific form of news—the editorializing press in several seventeenth- and eighteenth-­century Western European countries. Nor is it built over any antithesis of the deliberative public sphere theory, such as the affective public sphere theory, the agonistic public sphere theory and the carnivalesque public sphere theory, all focusing on the conversational qualities of participants’ expression. A public sphere theory that is not bound by news format, news production modes or news consumption modes is analytically more powerful and can better capture public communication practices in a variety of contexts. I also hope to reinvigorate the uncertainty principle of communication discussed by Arendt and Luhmann, which contends that neither the occurrence nor the consequences of communication are foreseeable.1 I have argued that communication is embodied, context-dependent and highly contingent. I have thus linked communication to temporality and societal changes. Societal changes concern people and motivate them to exchange ideas and views with each other. This could be understood as an intuitive reaction to changing contexts, when people feel the urge to adjust their actions to ensure that they still understand and agree with one another. This is also the moment of what Luhmann (1992) called communication bifurcating the reality—leading to simultaneously yes/no answers and forcing interlocutors to take a position. Yet people communicate exactly because they are fully aware that any agreements have a time limit and that they need to update their knowledge to avoid essential  See also John Keane’s (2022) most recent reflection on uncertainty. 1

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misunderstanding or disagreement, which may result in disastrous effects. It is such a controversy that drives, catalyzes and fuels communication and public spheres: people communicate to reduce the intrinsically embedded risk of disagreement yet can never fully eliminate it once and for all. It is also a feature that incites successive communication actions; it explains why communication happens, how it may evolve and what consequences it will engender. It undermines any effort that aims to unify thoughts or ideologies among a large number of people or for a lengthy period. That is why we insist that the idea of guided public opinion is doomed to failure. At first sight, not all these five features seem to appeal to deliberative public sphere theorists. They would prefer public debates that are well-­ organized, with fixed aims and a duration long enough to reach an agreement or even consensus. They are believers in order and reason. They do not admire the wildness or uncertainty of public communication. But these features might be the core factors that enable the survival and vitality of public spheres in an oppressive environment. The idea of majority rule and public scrutiny is not unique to Western democracies. What is often forgotten is that the party-state also rule in the name of people (superficial or not) and that it was constantly concerned with loss of authority (Keane, 2018). Undemocratic China and the democratic West are today often contrasted, but they might well share more similarities than some scholars have imagined. This is because “all forms of political dominance and rulership need to rest on a certain degree of public acceptance of their legitimacy and of public trust in order to last” (Gestrich, 2012, p. 37). Therefore, the authorities will always require the repeated approval—superficial or genuine, manufactured or freely generated in the form of public opinion—of the people (or in the name of the people). Consequently, with the production of news and engagement in news becoming commonplace in people’s everyday life, and so long as a small, privileged minority rule in the name of the majority, public spheres will continue to emerge.

Uncertainty This book was developed at a moment when reinforced censorship and increasingly aggressive propaganda actions by the party-state, and concern over this, were reaching their peak. In the last quarter of 2019, the CCP adopted a strategy that mixed censorship and propaganda in mainland China to manufacture “consensus” over Hong Kong’s democratic

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movement. It seems to have succeeded, for a moment. The then patriotist Chinese netizens gave the PRC a nickname, “Azhongge” (“My dear brother of China”, a typical way fans call their idols in east Asia), to express their loyalty and love for their country and swore to protect their Azhongge against “attacks” from the Hong Kong protesters. On Weibo, fans of Azhongge gathered, mainly in the space curated by the Communist Youth League of China (CYLC), which they called Tuantuan (a cute nickname usually used for a child or a pet). The dramatic moment came on 17 February 2020 when the CYLC declared the birth of its two virtual idols—the male Hongqiman (Flying Red Flag) and the female Jiangshanjiao (Magnificent Landscape)—at a moment when COVID-19 was ravaging China. This time, instead of gaining new fans or likes, the CYLC garnered bitter criticism which was so overwhelming that it pulled its announcement within days. Within hours, comments such as “I am your citizen friend, not your fan” harvested more than 50,000 likes, “What is your problem” more than 31,000 likes and “We are amusing ourselves to death” 22,000 likes (Guanguan, 2020). Another popular comment stated: “My motherland is not Azhongge; I am the master of my country, not fans of parties”. Sarcastic and rhetorical questions like “Jiangshanjiao, do you have to shave all your hair?”, “Jiangshanjiao, do you menstruate?”, “Jiangshanjiao, do you wear a short skirt?” also went viral because authorities were at that time trying to propagate the sacrifice of female nurses in fighting against COVID-19, who had to have all their hair cut to reduce their risks of contracting the virus. There are also reports about the shortage of pads for female nurses working in Wuhan—the epicenter. Publics doubted whether this kind of haircut was necessary and wondered whether nurses were forced to do so. Propaganda backfired at a moment when thousands of people were dying, with many thousands more desperately crying for help and a whole population locked down in their homes. This dramatic event is another example of the terrible digital accidents that happen in China when propaganda backfires and the sphere is dominated by alternative discourse. It illustrates a seemingly messy scenario of publics but provides another snapshot of the Chinese public spheres myths that we tried to dispute. It is starkly clear that deliberative public sphere theories cannot explain the controversies, or chaos or robust public gatherings that are happening in present-day China as is shown in the 2022 chained woman case. Neither the spring festival nor the magnificent Olympics diverts publics’ attention from the misery woman. More similar cases could be found in late 2021

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when several local governments failed to properly manage the COVID-19 crises in their jurisdictions (e.g., in Ruili of Yunnan Province and Xi’an of Shanxi Province). That is why I have tried to revisit fundamental questions around the public sphere concept and to ask why publics form, and how they evolve and come to an end. The uncovering of the dynamic process— its driving mechanism and its features—lends the thesis confidence to claim that it might have grasped a piece of fact of the complex reality and to assert that there are online publics in China, in a body politic that has posed many puzzling questions for serious observers. I certainly do not rule out the possibility that, in the future, China’s online public spheres might disappear temporarily with changing conditions. I object to any decontextualized assertions that often risk being one-sided. Controversies could reside within one internal feature (such as the quality of ephemerality), within an external contextual element (e.g., China’s proactive media policy, or between different types of agents. Ambiguity and tensions among different forces make public spheres vulnerable to appropriation by different players—the authorities, commercial enterprises, etc.—in such a way that a fragile, yet strangely resilient balance has been maintained so far. I nevertheless insist that uncertainty dominates the future of China’s online publics. What is known for certain, though, is that no silence will likely last for very long. We have proposed and tested the idea of the news-prompted public spheres by means of an empirical study of current Chinese cases. Future studies will hopefully apply the framework to other contexts—democratic and non-democratic—given the generalizability of the theory. In democratic countries where surveillance and data/information manipulation are increasingly becoming a real threat to democracy, the theory we advocate may provide some new ideas for studying the new tensions between civil society and the established powers. It also raises serious new questions for deliberative theorists (many of whom are experts of Western democracies): for example, should we consider news-prompted public spheres as a kind of political power equivalent in nature with parliament public spheres given the surprise, ephemerality and uncertainty qualities we discussed here? Or, should they be measured by the same set of norms at all, as many public sphere pundits have? Or, what is the role of non-parliamentary publics in a democratic system? The theory is also particularly suitable for approaching online publics in constrained environments. Researchers could apply it to studying how the contemporary unfinished transformations of the field of journalism and

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public communication—such as the flourishing of citizen and hybrid forms of journalism and the new ways in which people are engaging in news events—might affect the dynamics of public spheres in the future within constantly changing and unpredictable political environments. For example, one could employ the framework to study people’s news engagement in live streaming, where ephemerality has been pushed into extreme. In addition, we have observed significant differences between publics formed around China’s conventional market-oriented media and those formed around official media and nationalist citizen media, but the causes of that difference have not been explored in great depth, due to limits of time and scope. This could be an interesting direction to go in future research on news and public spheres, in China and elsewhere.

References Butler, J. (2015). Notes toward a performative theory of assembly. Harvard University. Campbell, J.  E., & Carlson, M. (2002). Panopticon. Com: Online surveillance and the commodification of privacy. Journal of Broadcasting & Electronic Media, 46(4), 586–606. Chow, A. (2021). Public theology behind the great firewall of China. In T. Huthings & C. Clivaz (Eds.), Digital humanities and Christianity: An introduction (pp. 319–337). De Gruyter. Craig, S. C. (1979). Efficacy, trust, and political behavior: An attempt to resolve a lingering conceptual dilemma. American Politics Quarterly, 7(2), 225–239. Dahl, D. W., Frankenberger, K. A., & Manchanda, R. V. (2003). Does it pay to shock? Reactions to shocking and nonshocking advertising content among university students. Journal of Advertising Research, 43(3), 268–280. Dencik, L., Hintz, A., & Cable, J. (2016). Towards data justice? The ambiguity of anti-surveillance resistance in political activism. Big Data & Society, 3(2) https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/full/10.1177/2053951716679678 Gestrich, A. (2012). The early-modern state and the rise of the public sphere. A systems-theory approach. In R.  Massimo (Ed.), Beyond the public sphere: Opinions, publics, spaces in early modern Europe (pp.  31–52). Società editrice il Mulino. Guanguan. (2020, February 18). Gongqingtuan Xuni Ouxiang ‘Jiangshanjiao Yu Hongqiman’ Shi Shenme? Weishenme Si Xiaoshi Ji Xiaxian? Minxingzibenlun (What are CNCY’s virtual idols Jiangshanjiao and Hongqiman? Why would they go off within just four hours)? https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/ ygC90xwFI0cGMWsrhNm4WA

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Habermas, J. (1989). The structural transformation of the public sphere, an inquiry into a category of bourgeois society (B.  Thomas, & L.  Frederick, Trans.). MIT Press. (Original work published 1962). Habermas, J. (1996). Between facts and norms: Contributions to a discourse theory of law and democracy (W. Rehg, Trans.). MIT Press. Habermas, J. (2006). Political communication in media society: Does democracy still enjoy an epistemic dimension? The impact of normative theory on empirical research. Communication Theory, 16, 411–426. Jia, L., & Han, X. (2020). Tracing Weibo (2009–2019): The commercial dissolution of public communication and changing politics. Internet Histories, 4(3), 304–332. https://doi.org/10.1080/24701475.2020.1769894 Keane, J. (2018). When trees fall, monkeys scatter: Rethinking democracy in China. World Scientific. Keane, J. (2022). Thoughts on Uncertainty. Journal of Social and Political Philosophy, 1(1), 1–13. 10.3366/jspp.2022.0003 Luhmann, N. (1992). What is communication? Communication Theory, 2(3), 251–259. Pieke, F.  N. (2012). The Communist Party and social management in China. China Information, 26(2), 149–165. Wei, W., & Yan, Y. (2021). Rainbow parents and the familial model of tongzhi (LGBT) activism in contemporary China. Chinese Sociological Review, 53(5), 451–472. https://doi.org/10.1080/21620555.2021.1981129 Xiao, Q. (2019). The road to digital unfreedom: President Xisurveillance state. Journal of Democracy, 30(1), 53–67. Yu, T. (2020). Does democracy still have a chance? Contextualizing citizenship education in China. Chinese Education & Society, 53(1–2), 14–24.

Appendix: Coding Protocols

Relevance Comments are considered relevant if they talk about topics directly or indirectly related to the specific story, such as: 1. The news stories themselves or stories of similar theme or nature (including liking or praising the news story), or 2. The professional production process or the professional work of producers of the news story, or 3. People’s participation in the news story and people’s opinions about the story, or 4. Censorship of the story, or 5. Censorship and information control as a general theme. Comments are considered irrelevant if they are: 1. Greetings or expressions of loyalties to the author of the news story for reasons that are not related to the specific news story itself, including expressions of good wishes or care for the wellbeing of authors (for example, “xx, 辛苦了”), or 2. Boasting that they are among the earliest commentators or how many times they have commented on news stories published by the media (for example, “沙发”), or © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 X. Xu, Online News-Prompted Public Spheres in China, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-12156-2

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. Expressions of patriotic thoughts that are irrelevant to the topic, or 3 4. Talks about personal problems (unrelated to the topic under discussion) about which they would like to seek advice from the media or people’s wishes, or 5. Other irrelevant stories about one or multiple actors in the news story.

Diversity/Tolerance of Difference Comments about one specific news story are considered diverse if there are: 1. Conflicting opinions/positions (praises vs. critics; neutral vs. critics) about a specific subject/topic/sub-theme involved in the news story discussed, including critics of each other’s opinion/position, or 2. Critic(s) of the position of the media who published the news story, or 3. Varying critical assessments expressed over essential aspects/themes of the news event. However, 4. Irrelevant information should not be assessed; 5. If all relevant comments are neutral or positive, then the overall debate is homogeneous; 6. If all relevant comments align with positions of the news story, then the overall debate is homogeneous; 7. If all relevant comments are nationalistic, then the overall debate is homogeneous; 8. Where one piece of information published by a media outlet contains multiple news events, comparison of opinions should be among comments over the same events; if there are conflicting ideas over one event, then this information is reckoned as generating diverse opinion.

Index1

A Address Name Change Campaign (ANCC), 9, 39, 151, 165–170 Affective public sphere, 5, 187 Affordances, 3, 86–89, 92, 103, 133, 140, 141, 149 Agonistic pluralism, 5 Alibaba, 65, 66 Alternative discourses, 8, 156, 189 Alternative voices, 4, 10, 54, 63, 92, 121, 158, 177, 178 Antagonism, 18, 187 Anti-rumour campaign, 3 Arendt, Hannah, 6, 8, 17, 20, 27, 30, 113, 156, 157, 183, 184, 187 Armed Police Forces (APF), 143, 146, 148 Australian bushfires, 9, 161–164 Azhongge, 189

B Baidu, 65, 90, 143–145, 147, 148, 150, 151 Beijing News (BN), 59, 91, 93n3, 94–96, 98–100, 103–105, 107, 129, 130, 143 Beijing Spring Democracy Movement, 38 Benkler, Yochai, 7, 30, 139–142 Big characters, 38 Big Data Development Action Plan, 62 Bourgeois public sphere, 31, 40, 183 Bytedance, 170 C Caijing, 58, 59 Caixin, 58, 59, 147, 150 Carnivalesque public spheres, 11, 187

 Note: Page numbers followed by ‘n’ refer to notes.

1

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 X. Xu, Online News-Prompted Public Spheres in China, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-12156-2

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INDEX

Castells, Manuel, 112, 140, 141 Censorship, vi, 1–4, 12, 18, 19, 22, 38–40, 54, 82–84, 92, 93, 99, 101, 108, 115, 119, 120, 125, 126, 128, 134, 142, 171, 179, 182, 185, 188, 193 Central China Television (CCTV), 53, 58, 89, 116, 120, 155 Chained woman, 3, 9, 170–172, 177, 189 Changsheng vaccine scandal, 38, 59, 151 China Digital Times (CDT), 177 China Judgements Online, 62 China Youth (CY), 129, 163 Chinese Communist Party (CCP), 3, 9, 12, 43, 47, 53–57, 59, 62, 64, 82, 91, 107, 128, 134, 150, 156, 159, 165, 169–172, 180, 182, 188 Chinese Soviet Republics, 55 Chronicity, 6, 7, 11, 27, 28, 113, 139, 181, 185 Chronic public spheres, 139 Civility Code Campaign, 4 Civil society, 2, 28, 37, 38, 40, 47, 61, 69, 117, 128, 135, 170, 178, 181, 190 Collectivism, 41 Communicative action, 8, 21, 23, 24, 82, 83, 102, 108, 156, 157 Communicative rationality, 23, 24 Communist Youth League of China (CYLC), 189 Confucianism, 41, 55 Connective action, 127 Constructivist approach, vi, 10, 12, 186 Consultative meetings, 60 COVID-19, 4, 5n1, 57, 61, 84, 111, 121, 189, 190 Craig, Stephen, 183

Cultural Revolution (CR), 166, 167, 169, 181 Cyberspace Administration of China (CAC), 84, 90, 148 D Dazibao, 38 Deliberation, vi, 18–22, 41, 42, 44, 46, 61, 112 Deliberative public sphere, 5, 11, 19, 21–23, 183, 187–189 Dendritic Cells and Cytokine-Induced Killer Cells treatment (DC-CIK), 143, 147 Digital economy, 63, 64, 150, 180 Diversity, 9, 21, 92, 104–108, 128, 131–133, 194 Douyin, 66, 170 Dramaturgic rationality, 23 Duke Huan of Qi, 44 E Economic marketization, 56 Ephemerality, 11, 32, 123–135, 181, 182, 185, 186, 190, 191 Equality, 9, 18–22, 31, 86, 88, 89, 108, 141 Erya, 42 Evanescence, 6, 29, 31 Everyday news producers, 69, 70, 179 F Five-Year-Plans (FYPs), 64 Flexibility, 4, 7, 28, 126, 140, 141 Foucault, Michel, 24 Fraser, Nancy, 5, 20, 21, 182 Freedom of speech, 83 Freezing Point, 59

 INDEX 

197

G Gong, 42, 43n3 Good governance, 52, 61, 61n9, 169 Guangzhou Daily, 58, 115 Guanzi, 44 Guo, Meiling, 114, 115 Guo, Meimei, 9, 113–121 Guoyu, 45

K Kant, Immanuel, 20 Keane, John, 5n1, 17, 18, 29, 30, 42, 43, 54, 62, 64–66, 82, 124, 140–142, 156, 187n1, 188 King of Xia, 45 King Tang, 44 Kong, Pu, 143, 149, 151

H Habermas, Jürgen, vi, 5, 17–19, 21–25, 31, 127, 183, 184 High speed railway accident, 38 Hirschman, Albert O., 8, 30, 156 Hong Kong, 188, 189 Hu, Jintao, 47, 54, 150 Hu, Suli, 58, 61 Human action, 27, 30, 113, 156, 157, 164, 183, 184

L Law on Price, 61 Legislation Law, 61 Li, Wenliang, 1, 57, 81, 83, 112, 177 Liang, Qichao, 46 Lianghui, 93, 94, 97, 98 Liberal journalism, 57 Liji, 42, 42n2 Limited media theory, 12, 156 Lippman, Walter, 7, 18, 29, 123 Luhmann, Niklas, 6, 8, 17, 25–27, 30, 111, 156, 157, 183, 184, 187 Lüshi Chunqiu, 45

I Ideal type, 18, 22 Ideology security, 53 Inclusiveness, 127, 128, 141, 182 Information disclosure, 52, 60, 62, 68, 149, 151, 156, 172 Information openness policy, 52, 59 Instrumental-strategic rationality, 23 Investigative journalism, 57–59 J Jiang, Zemin, 47, 54, 61, 65, 66, 114 Jixia School, 44 Journalism, 10, 11, 42, 46, 47, 54–59, 93n3, 125, 161, 164, 165, 185, 190, 191 Journal of People’s Court (JPC), 135

M Magic bullet theory, 12 Majority rule, 123, 188 Mandate of Heaven, 43, 43n4 Market-oriented media, 94, 105, 191 Mass communication, 127 Mass media, 18, 30, 47, 56, 90, 91, 120, 125, 129, 140, 141, 147, 150, 168 Mass self-communication, 112, 140 Media marketization, 56 Mengzi, 42, 42n1, 43, 43n4 MeToo movement, 4, 5n1 Ministry of Civic Affairs (MCA), 165, 169

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Ministry of Health of the PRC (MH), 146 Ministry of Housing and Urban-Rural Development (MHURD), 165 Ministry of Natural Resources (MNR), 165 Ministry of Public Security (MPS), 165, 172 Ministry of Supervision (MS), 118 Ministry of Transport (MT), 165 Monitory power, 7, 135 Muckraking, 58, 59, 115, 116, 119 N National Audit Office of PRC (NAO), 116, 120 National Committee of the Chinese People’s Political Consultative Conference (NCCPPCC), 93 National Health and Family Planning Commission (NHFPC), 148 National Party Congress, 47 National People’s Congress (NPC), 61, 93 NetEase, 90, 129–132, 144, 148, 149 Networked public spheres, 7, 29, 30, 88, 139–151 News and Public Opinion Work, 53 News engagement, 4, 9, 17, 39, 40, 63, 65, 68, 82, 86, 93, 94, 97, 99, 101, 107, 125, 126, 184, 191 News participation, 9, 25, 81, 83, 84, 86–89, 92–94, 97–99, 141, 149, 179 News-prompted public spheres, 6–10, 10n2, 17–32, 38, 51, 62, 69, 82, 89, 112, 113, 121, 125–128, 177–191 News start-ups, 89, 90 The New York Times, 126, 171 NGOs, 40, 41

996ICU movement, 59, 61, 61n8 Normative constructs, 17, 18 O Official discourse, 52, 54n5, 156 Official media, 5, 53, 89, 116, 147, 155, 165, 191 Off-topicality, 22 Online contention, 11, 159 Orwell, George, 177 P Panoptic surveillance, 177 The Paper (TP), 91, 94–96, 98–100, 104–107, 129, 130, 147, 150, 159 Participation in news, 81, 83, 84, 86–89, 92–94, 97–99, 141, 149, 179 Participatory budgeting, 60 Party journalism, 54, 58, 125 Pei, Minxin, 2 People’s Daily (PD), 53, 54, 89, 91, 93–100, 103–107, 116, 129, 130, 147, 150, 155, 161, 165 Platformization, 66 Political legitimacy, 42–44 Private sociability, 20 Proactive media policy, 52, 62, 180 Procedural equality, 9, 18–22, 86, 88, 89, 108 Propaganda, vii, 1, 5, 10, 12, 52–54, 56–59, 105, 135, 150, 155, 156, 188, 189 Propaganda and thought work, 53, 156 Public deliberation, 20, 44, 46, 61 Public Disclosure of Government Information Regulation of the PRC (PDGIR), 60

 INDEX 

Public engagement, 4, 9, 60, 61, 85, 127, 142, 169, 179 Public hearings, 60, 61, 168, 169 Publicity, 20, 21, 85, 144, 150, 184 Public interest, 6, 27, 38, 43, 47, 66, 90, 111, 119, 143, 146, 149, 151, 166, 168, 184 Publicness, 6 Public opinion, 2, 3, 5, 12, 18, 30, 38, 41, 42, 44, 46, 47, 52–54, 56, 58, 63, 65, 150, 155, 156, 158, 168, 169, 188 Public opinion leader, 3 Public scrutiny, 42, 44, 46, 47, 59, 83, 119, 150, 158, 166, 169, 188 Public sociability, 20 Public spheres, 1, 2, 4–12, 17–32, 37–43, 51, 56, 59, 62, 63, 67, 69, 81, 82, 86–89, 92, 100, 101, 104, 107, 108, 112, 113, 119–121, 123–128, 130, 131, 133–135, 139–151, 155, 158, 172, 177–191 Public spirit, 1, 9, 18, 20, 37, 92, 99 Q Qi Huangong, 44 Qiangguo Luntan (QGLT), 39 R Rationality, 22–24, 31, 187 Real Name Registration (RNR), 39, 121n1 Reasoned agreements, 24 Reciprocity, 18 Red China News Agency, 55 Red Cross Society of China (RCSC), 113–121 Reflexivity, 9, 18, 21, 24, 31, 88, 92, 101–104, 107

199

Reign of virtue, 43 Relevance, 9, 18, 22, 53, 92, 100, 101, 104, 193–194 Republic China, 37, 38 Resilience, 4, 17, 28, 32, 38, 113, 121, 126, 139, 140, 155, 187 Responsive tyranny, 2 Rheingold, Howard, 126 Rights-conscious citizens, 142 Rousseau, Jean-Jacques, 123 S Scholar-politicians, 42 Scholar-officials, 43, 44, 55 Schudson, Michael, 6, 7, 17, 18, 20, 25–27, 41, 100, 111, 112, 123–125, 183, 184 Self-defence law, 132, 135 Shanghai Press Group (SPG), 91 Shenbao, 46 Shun, 45, 45n7 Shuowen, 42 Si, 42, 43n3, 166 Sina Weibo, 39, 82, 114, 116, 130, 133, 134, 159 Social Credit System (SCS), 3, 4 Social media, v, vi, 1, 4, 9, 21, 26, 30, 41, 63, 66, 68, 70, 81, 83, 124, 129, 148, 149, 155, 178 Southern Metropolis Daily (SMD), 91, 94–100, 104, 105, 107, 117, 130 Southern Weekly (SW), 59, 69, 129 Spring and Autumn Period, 44, 45 State administration for Industry and Commerce of the PRC (SAIC), 148, 168 State Administration for Market Regulation (SAMR), 165, 168 State-corporate surveillance, 177 State Council, 59, 60, 62

200 

INDEX

State of Qi, 44 State of Zheng, 44 Substantive equality, 19 Sun, Zhigang, 68 Supreme People’s Court of the PRC (SPC), 3 Supreme People’s Procuratorate (SPP), 105, 130 Surprise, vii, 2, 6, 11, 18, 26, 28, 31, 81, 111–121, 125, 155, 156, 179, 181, 182, 185–187, 190 Synovial sarcoma, 143, 144 T Tencent, 64–66 Tian’anmen square, 38 Tiandao, 43 TikTok, 170 Tolerance of difference, 18, 21, 104–108, 194 Totalitarianism, 2 Two Sessions, 93, 172 U Uncertainty, 4, 6, 8, 10–12, 31, 88, 113, 157, 186–191, 187n1 Unintended consequences, 2, 3, 6, 8, 10, 28, 30, 31, 155–172 Unpredictability, 12, 27, 30, 113, 157, 158, 183 User-Generated-Content (UGC), 65 V Voice of China, 53, 155 W Warring States Period, 44, 45n7 Weber, Max, 10, 18

WeChat, vi, vii, 9, 52, 60, 63, 66, 68, 70, 81–108, 129–131, 134, 145, 148, 149, 161, 163, 165n1, 178, 179 Wei, Zexi, 9, 143–151 Weibo, vi, 1, 4, 40, 53, 57, 60, 63, 66, 68, 82, 83, 86, 88, 89, 114, 115, 117, 119, 130, 133, 134, 143, 144, 147–150, 160, 164, 167, 168, 170, 172, 178, 189 Weiguan, 69 WeMedia, 89, 91 West Zhou, 45 Wumao Army, 96 X Xi, Jinping, 47, 53, 54, 54n5, 111 Xiao, Qiang, 2, 177 Xiaobao, 26 Xiaohuamei, 170, 171 Xiaoshu, 69 Xinhua News Agency (Xinhua), 53, 55, 116, 129 Y Yao, 44, 44n6, 45, 45n7 YouTube, 126, 155 Yu, Huan, 9, 68, 69, 105, 106, 125, 128–135, 139, 183 Z Zhan, Juan, 145–147, 149–151 Zhanhao (ZH), 91, 93–98, 100, 101, 103–107, 107n5, 130 Zhao, Ziyang, 38, 47 Zhihu, vi, 63, 66, 131, 132, 132n1, 134, 143, 144, 148, 149, 164 Zuozhuan, 45