The Routledge Handbook of Language and Mind Engineering 1032267496, 9781032267494

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THE ROUTLEDGE HANDBOOK OF LANGUAGE AND MIND ENGINEERING

The Routledge Handbook of Language and Mind Engineering is a comprehensive work that delves into the complex interplay between language, culture, politics, and media in shaping the human mind. The book is divided into five main sections, each exploring different aspects of mind engineering: I. Political Mind Engineering; II. Commercial Mind Engineering; III. Media, Culture, and Mind Engineering; IV. Linguistic and Semiotic Analysis of Mind Engineering; V. Mind Engineering in Educational Settings. The book provides a multi‑dimensional perspective on how language, media, culture, and politics intersect to shape individuals’ thoughts and beliefs. It highlights the diverse methods and contexts in which mind engineering occurs, making it a valuable resource for scholars, researchers, and policymakers interested in understanding the complexities of contemporary discourse and manipulation of human thought. The contents of this cutting‑edge handbook will engage all undergraduate, postgraduate, PhD students and scholars, and researchers at all levels, in fields such as languages, linguistics, politics, communication studies, media studies, and psychology. Chris Shei, originally from Taiwan, pursued MPhil and PhD degrees in the UK at Cambridge and Edinburgh, respectively. Since 2003, Chris has taught and researched in applied linguistics and translation studies at Swansea University, UK, with a particular interest in authoritarian discourse. Highly experienced in overseeing large‑scale book projects such as handbooks, encyclopedias, and thematic book series, Chris invites proposals to publish monographs, edited volumes, or book chapters in the fields of linguistics, rhetoric, political discourse, language learning, Chinese stud‑ ies, or translation studies, at [email protected]. James Schnell, Ph.D. (Ohio University, 1982), presently works in administration at Ohio State University after spending three years as a cultural advisor in the Defense Critical Languages & Culture Program at the University of Montana, USA. He retired from the U.S. Air Force at the rank of Colonel with his final 14 years serving as an Assistant Air Force Attache at the U.S. Embassy in Beijing, China. Schnell is a three‑time Fulbright Scholar to Cambodia, Myanmar, and Kosovo; has completed three visiting fellowships at the East‑West Center (Honolulu); and has taught at universities in the United States and throughout Southeast Asia.

THE ROUTLEDGE HANDBOOK OF LANGUAGE AND MIND ENGINEERING

Edited by Chris Shei and James Schnell

LONDON AND NEW YORK

Designed cover image: YQW First published 2024 by Routledge 4 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 605 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10158 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2024 selection and editorial matter, Chris Shei and James Schnell; individual chapters, the contributors The right of Chris Shei and James Schnell to be identified as the authors of the editorial material, and of the authors for their individual chapters, has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. With the exception of Chapters 15, 17, and 18 no part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Chapter 15 of this book is freely available as a downloadable Open Access PDF at http://www.taylorfrancis.com under a Creative Commons Attribution (CC-BY) International license. We acknowledge support by the Open Access Publication Fund of the Otto-Friedrich-Universität Bamberg. Chapter 17 of this book is freely available as a downloadable Open Access PDF at http://www.taylorfrancis.com under a Creative Commons Attribution‑Non Commercial‑No Derivatives (CC‑BY‑NC‑ND) 4.0 license. Chapter 18 of this book is freely available as a downloadable Open Access PDF at http://www.taylorfrancis.com under a Creative Commons Attribution-Non Commercial-No Derivatives (CC-BY-NC-ND) 4.0 license. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing‑in‑Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library ISBN: 978‑1‑032‑26749‑4 (hbk) ISBN: 978‑1‑032‑26750‑0 (pbk) ISBN: 978‑1‑003‑28974‑6 (ebk) DOI: 10.4324/9781003289746 Typeset in Times New Roman by codeMantra

CONTENTS

Editorial Board List of Figures List of Tables List of Contributors

ix x xii xiii

Introduction Chris Shei

1

PART I

Political Mind Engineering

9

1 Nostalgia as False Commemoration: How US Conservatives and White Supremacists Mind Engineer through Dog Whistle Politics Laila S. Dahan 2 “Trump”‑ing to the Capitol: Brainwashing through Social Media Rimi Nandy and Jhilli Tewary 3 The Chinese Communist Party’s Historical Resolutions as Mind‑Engineering Projects Heike Holbig 4 Identifying Partisan Efforts to Generate Authoritarian Legitimacy Joanna Rak

v

11 25

39 58

Contents

5 Political Legitimization of Hybrid Regimes: Chinese State Discourses on the Democratization of Post‑Handover Hong Kong Chi Kit Chan PART II

74

Commercial Mind Engineering

89

6 The Benefit of the Doubt: How Big Oil Makes Us Think William F. Schnell

91

7 Chain‑Effect Mind Engineering: The Multilayered Manipulation of Advertising Brian L. Schnell

105

8 On the Commodification of Sexual Wellness: Race, Gender, and the Engineering of Consent Kwasu D. Tembo

121

9 Manipulative Practices of Programming and Controlling Employee Behaviour in the Activities of Chinese Managers Pavel Deriugin, Liubov Lebedintseva, and Evgeny Kremnyov

137

10 Humor as a Mind‑Engineering Tool in the Digital Age: The Case of Stand‑Up Comedy Joanna Ut‑Seong Sio and Luis Morgado da Costa

153

PART III

Media, Culture, and Mind Engineering

167

11 Corporate Colonization, Geopolitical Power Struggles, and Hypernudge – How Social Media Engineers Minds Till Neuhaus and Lee J. Curley

169

12 Red Tourism: Spirituality, Modernity, and Patriotism in China’s Tibet Kamila Hladíková

183

13 The Truth Lies In‑between: Mind Engineering in the 2020–2021 Indian Farmers’ Protest Sony Jalarajan Raj and Adith K. Suresh

197

14 Patriotism and Nationalism in Chinese Fansubbing Pin‑ling Chang vi

212

Contents

15 Pop Cultural Media as a Resource for Fostering Responsible World Citizens Valentin Werner and Theresa Summer PART IV

224

Linguistic and Semiotic Analysis of Mind Engineering

243

16 Newspeak and Cyberspeak: The Haunting Ghosts of the Russian Past Kristina Šekrst and Sandro Skansi

245

17 Understanding the Roles of Violent Extremist Dream Accounts in Radicalization and Recruitment Noor Aqsa Nabila Mat Isa, Nurul Miza Mohd Rashid, and Ahmad El‑Muhammady

259

18 Framing and Metaphor in Media Discourse: Multi‑Layered Metaphorical Framings of the COVID‑19 Pandemic in Newspaper Articles Tetsuta Komatsubara

274

19 Uncovering the Linguistic Agenda of ‘Hindi’stan: The Political Implications of Language Imposition in India Raisun Mathew

293

20 Language Corruption in Chinese: A Cognitive Linguistic Perspective Haidan Wang and Albert H. W. Jiang

310

21 Visual Language and Mind Engineering: The Case of Multicultural Emojis Amin Heidari

329

22 Brainwashing at Home and Abroad in Cold War Fiction and Film David Seed

352

PART V

Mind Engineering in Educational Setting

367

23 Engineering the Mind of a Child: The Potency of Japanese Language Lessons in Colonized Korea Catherine Ryu

369

24 Creating ‘Ignorance of Ignorance’ through School Education: A Sociology of Knowledge Approach to Victimhood Nationalism and Educational Ignorance in Japan Mitsuhiro Tada vii

386

Contents

25 Language, Ideologies, Discrimination, and Afrocentric‑Focused, Critical Language Awareness Writing Curricula for African American Language and Akan Language Speakers Shenika Hankerson and Monica A. Obiri‑Yeboah

404

26 Navajo Students’ Perspectives of Their Heritage Language and Translingual Identity Yi‑Wen Huang

418

27 Linguistically Responsive Instruction and Ideologies in Preservice Teacher Preparation Laura Mahalingappa, Jessica B. Crawford, and Astrid Sierra

431

Index

447

viii

EDITORIAL BOARD

Said Faiq, Nadia Hamrouni, Pascal Hohaus, Amy Leshinsky, Ekaterina Lesnikovskaya, Sarah MacDonald, Mariam Orkodashvili, Cringuta Irina Pelea, Tiyasha Sengupta, Darcy Sperlich, Vio‑ leta Stojičić, Vivienne Tailor, Verena Zipperer, Karin Zotzmnn

ix

FIGURES

2.1 Word cloud for Donald Trump’s tweets 36 7.1 Graphical representation of crosstab data from weighted (000) 115 sections of Table 7.1 7.2 Hypothetical sales pitch using crosstab data from index sections in Table 7.1 116 15.1 Basic requirements for critical literacies pedagogies focusing on language ideologies 234 17.1 Analytical model used in exploring the dream accounts in Daesh propaganda materials262 18.1 Changes in the number of examples and new infections 286 18.2 Change in framings of authorial texts 286 18.3 Change in framings of quoted texts 287 288 18.4 Change in frequency of the war framing in authorial texts 288 18.5 Change in frequency of the war framing in quoted texts 289 18.6 Change in frequency of the journey framing in authorial texts 289 18.7 Change in frequency of the journey framing in quoted texts 313 20.1 A post in Jinri Toutiao titled with 灵活居住者 ‘flexible dweller’ 20.2 The Qingdao sub‑district announcement issuing a warning to those who 316 恶意不买房 ‘­spitefully refuse to buy real estate’ 20.3 Conceptual blending of Example 6: Weifang and Lei Feng 319 20.4 The mental spaces of 失业(者) ‘laid‑off’ and its related phrases 320 20.5 The blended space for 维修性拆除 ‘dismantled for the purposes of maintenance’ 321 20.6 The mental spaces of ‘lockdown’ and its related Chinese terms that are used 322 20.7 The mental spaces of 恶意+ 攻击 ‘spitefully attack’ 323 20.8 The mental spaces of 恶意+ 看病 ‘see a doctor with malice’ 324 21.1 Exhibition of Humanæ project in Valencia, Spain 337 21.2 Leonardo da Vinci’s The Vitruvian Man 340 21.3 The Vitruvian Man by Cesare Cesariano 341 21.4 Geoffroy Tory’s The Vitruvian Man 342

x

List of Figures

21.5 Heinrich Cornelius Agrippa’s The Vitruvian Man 21.6 An AR Emoji laid over Leonardo da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man 21.7 A Bitmoji laid over Heinrich Cornelius Agrippa’s Vitruvian Man 21.8 An emoji laid over Geoffroy Tory’s Vitruvian Man 21.9 A Meta avatar laid over Cesare Cesariano’s Vitruvian Man 24.1 Map titled ‘Air Strikes in Mainland Japan: Number of Victims by Aerial Bombing’ in the Y ­ amakawa Illustrated Catalogue of Japan History 24.2 Table titled ‘Pacific War Damage: Number of Victims’ in the Yamakawa Illustrated Catalogue of Japan History 24.3 Map titled ‘① The Japanese islands (Ⅱ)’ in the New Detailed Atlas for Upper Secondary School Students

xi

342 343 344 344 345 393 396 398

TABLES

2.1 LIWC cognition category and subcategories score 4.1 A regime’s legitimacy claims in the Polish state media during the 2020–2021 mobilization for women’s reproductive rights 7.1 Example of standard crosstab report layout using syndicated data from market research firms (for the purposes of this example, all numbers are fictional) 15.1 Common racial stereotypes 15.2 Sociolinguistic studies on animated telecinematic artifacts for children 15.3 Octonauts main characters overview 17.1 Discursive analysis of dream accounts in Daesh magazines 18.1 Metaphorical sources of the coronavirus 19.1 Total (first, second, and third Language) speakers of selected languages in India (Census 2011) 23.1 Education ordinances issued during the Colonial Era 23.2 Line distributions of the 20 My Precious Granddaughter Cards 23.3 The quantitative narrative structure of ‘The Song of Clementine’ 25.1 The curriculum’s session topics and goals

xii

34 66 114 226 231 233 265 283 295 370 374 381 409

CONTRIBUTORS

Chi Kit Chan is Associate Professor at the School of Communication at the Hang Seng University of Hong Kong. His research interest covers journalism, mass communication, media sociology, and cultural identities. Chi Kit’s articles are seen in various peer‑reviewed journals – Journalism, Media, Culture and Society, Journal of Contemporary China, Chinese Journal of Communication, and China Perspectives, for example. He is the leading author of Hong Kong Media: Interaction Between Media, State and Civil Society (Singapore: Palgrave Macmillan, 288 pages, published in 2022). Chi Kit is the guest editor of a special issue of the Chinese Journal of Communication –  ‘Anti‑extradition law and beyond: the role of media and communication in the crisis of Hong Kong’ (Vol. 15, Issue 3, 2022). He also received the Emerald Awards Literati – Outstanding Re‑ viewer from Emerald Publishing in 2022.  Pin‑ling Chang is Professor at the Department of Applied Linguistics and Language Studies, Chung Yuan Christian University (CYCU), Taiwan. She earned her PhD degree in Translation Studies from Newcastle University, UK. Her research interests focus on identity and ideology in translation and interpreting history and practice in the Chinese language world. Her publi‑ cations have appeared in journals, such as The Translator and Linguistica Antverpiensia, New Series – Themes in Translation Studies (LANS–TTS). She has also contributed to two other Rout‑ ledge Handbooks and another three edited volumes published by Routledge, Palgrave Macmillan, and Cambridge Scholars. Jessica B. Crawford is a Ph.D. student in Applied Linguistics and Language Education at the University of Maryland, College Park, USA. Her research interests include TESOL teacher edu‑ cation, the literacy and biliteracy development of multilingual youth, and asset‑based, culturally sustaining pedagogies. Lee J. Curley submitted his PhD in January 2018 and graduated with his PhD in June of the same year. Lee is currently a lecturer in applied Psychology in the School of Life and Health Sciences

xiii

List of Contributors

at Glasgow Caledonian University, UK. His research interests include forensic cognition, legal psychology, and decision science. Lee has published over 20 articles in highly respected journals and has engaged with the media extensively, being written about in the UK press (the Telegraph, the Times, and The Guardian) and being interviewed on BBC radio. Laila S. Dahan is Adjunct Professor of writing and ESL specialist in the Professional Writing Department at Woodbury University in Burbank, California, USA. She taught writing for 14 years in the UAE at the American University of Sharjah. She holds MAs in political science and TESOL and a PhD in applied linguistics from the University of Exeter. Her research interests are multidis‑ ciplinary including global English, language and identity, women and Islam, politics of the Middle East, and social justice. Pavel Deriugin has been working at St. Petersburg State University since 2010. In 2022, he be‑ came Head of the Russian‑Chinese Center for Interdisciplinary Research at the Sociological In‑ stitute of the Russian Academy of Sciences. His areas of teaching and research interests include modern Chinese sociology and the sociology of organizations. He is particularly interested in the study of human capital in modern societies, especially in Russia and China. He has over 200 papers published. Ahmad El‑Muhammady is Assistant Professor and Head of Responsible Research and Innovation at the International Institute of Islamic Thought and Civilisation (ISTAC‑IIUM). Besides that, he holds various external positions such as Associate Fellow at the International Centre for Counter‑ Terrorism (ICCT), The Hague, Netherlands; International Advisory Committee Member at the Global Peace Institute (GPI), United Kingdom; and Associate Research Fellow at the Accounting Research Institute (ARI), Universiti Teknologi MARA (UiTM), Malaysia. Dr. Ahmad also testi‑ fied as an expert witness in the Malaysian High Court in various terrorism cases involving former members of Jama’ah Islamiyyah (JI), al‑Qaeda Malaysia, and ISIS‑affiliated groups. Additionally, he is a panel member in the prison rehabilitation program for individuals detained under terrorism laws and a consultant to develop Malaysia’s National Action Plan on Preventing and Countering Violent Extremism (NAPPCVE). Shenika Hankerson is Assistant Professor of Applied Linguistics and Language Education in the Department of Teaching and Learning, Policy and Leadership at the University of Maryland‑ College Park. Her research explores the intersection of race, language, and equity, with a focus on African American Language (AAL) and college writing. Dr.  Hankerson’s research has two strands: (1) examining how critical and Afrocentric college writing practices and policies shape the writing experiences and outcomes of AAL speakers, and (2) examining how college writing instructors develop dispositions about teaching and learning that foster equitable and just writ‑ ing environments for AAL speakers. Her published and forthcoming scholarship can be found in peer‑reviewed journals such as the Journal of Second Language Writing, Written Communi‑ cation, and Language Arts Journal of Michigan and edited collections published by Routledge, Oxford University Press, and Utah State University Press. Amin Heidari shifted his focus to the world of art and theater after obtaining his law degree from the University of Kashan. He pursued a master’s degree in Theatre Directing at the Tehran Univer‑ sity of Art. He is now a PhD candidate at Macquarie University, analyzing the performativity of

xiv

List of Contributors

emojis in digital communications. Specifically, he is exploring how emojis, in their aesthetic en‑ gagement within everyday digital interactions, contribute to the propagation of macro ideologies like neoliberalism and principles of the capitalist market. His other field of interest is film studies, and his article on the anti‑Nietzschean nature of the cinema of Abel Ferrara is under review. Kamila Hladíková graduated from sinology at Charles University in Prague and completed her PhD in 2011. Since 2007, she has been teaching Chinese literature and film at the Palacky Univer‑ sity Olomouc. In her research, she focused primarily on the representation of Tibet in the PRC and contemporary Chinese popular culture. She published articles on Tibet‑related literature and film in the PRC and translated works of modern Chinese and Sinophone Tibetan fiction. She is also the author of the first Czech language teaching material on modern Chinese literature and co‑author of the first Czech lexicon of the Sinophone cinema. Heike Holbig has been trained in Modern and Classical Chinese Studies, macroeconomics, and social sciences in Erlangen, Beijing, and Heidelberg, where she obtained her PhD in 1997. Since then, she has worked as a researcher on Chinese politics at the German Institute for Global and Area Studies in Hamburg and as a professor of political science with a focus on Chinese and East Asian area studies at Goethe University in Frankfurt am Main. Her research interests include, among others, the role of language and ideology in the legitimation of party rule in the People’s Republic of China, Chinese domestic politics, state‑society relations, comparative authoritarian‑ ism, and growing efforts by the Xi Jinping leadership to shape global norms and global governance standards. Yi‑Wen Huang is a Professor of English and Linguistics at the University of New Mexico‑Gallup, USA. Her research interests include language anxiety, writing apprehension, second language ac‑ quisition, psycholinguistics, and Native American literacies. Albert H. W. Jiang received a Bachelor of Science and a Master of Engineering in Chemical and Biological Engineering from Princeton University. He is currently working as a biomedical scien‑ tist in New York City. Previously, Jiang was a senior news writer and associate editor at The Daily Princetonian, specializing in coverage of research, science, education, health, and health policy. Tetsuta Komatsubara is a lecturer at Kobe University, Japan. He received his PhD in linguistics from Kyoto University in 2015. His main fields of research are rhetoric, pragmatics, and cognitive linguistics with foci on communicative effects of metaphor and metonymy, conceptual motiva‑ tions for figurative understanding, and grammatical constructions of figurative language. He is the author of Retorikku to Imi no Sozosei: Kotoba no Itsudatsu to Ninchi Gengogaku (Rhetoric and Creativity in Meaning: Linguistic Deviation and Cognitive Linguistics, Kyoto University Press, 2016) and has published articles in Cognitive Linguistic Studies (John Benjamins), Journal of Cognitive Linguistics (The Japanese Cognitive Linguistics Association), Studies in Pragmatics (Pragmatics Society of Japan), and others. Evgeny Kremnyov graduated from Transbaikal State University in 2002 and worked at Irkutsk State Linguistic University. Since 2016 he has been working at Irkutsk State University. In 2022, he joined the work of the Russian‑Chinese Center for Interdisciplinary Studies of the Sociological Institute of the Russian Academy of Sciences as an associate researcher. He carries out teaching

xv

List of Contributors

and research in the following areas: sociology of management in China and transdisciplinary re‑ gionology in Asia Pacific. Much of his research focuses on China’s socio‑political system. To date, he has published more than 100 research papers. Liubov Lebedintseva graduated from St. Petersburg State University and has been working there since 2002. Since 2022 she has been an associate researcher at the Russian‑Chinese Center for Interdisciplinary Studies of the Sociological Institute of the Russian Academy of Sciences. She teaches and researches in the field of modern Chinese sociology and economic sociology and is particularly interested in the study of indigenization processes in Eastern societies’ social knowl‑ edge, especially in China. In total, more than 150 works have been published. Laura Mahalingappa is Associate Professor in the Applied Linguistics and Language Education program at the University of Maryland, College Park. Her research focuses broadly on the lan‑ guage and education of marginalized learners, incorporating sociolinguistic and critical linguistic and pedagogical perspectives into issues related to teacher preparation to support linguistically and culturally diverse learners and first and multilingual language acquisition. Noor Aqsa Nabila Mat Isa is Senior Lecturer based in the Department of English Language, Faculty of Languages and Linguistics, Universiti Malaya, Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. She is also a Research Fellow at Rabdan Academy, Abu Dhabi, United Arab Emirates. Her teaching and schol‑ arly interests are focused on the areas of Critical Discourse Studies, Social Semiotics, and Multi‑ modality. She is interested in multidisciplinary work and research involving (violent) extremism, (de)radicalization, religion, and politics, specifically on social media platforms. She is actively involved in various Preventing and Countering Violent Extremism initiatives in Malaysia, and she hopes to educate the general public about the dangers of (violent) extremism, equipping them with knowledge to resist extremist ideologies. Raisun Mathew is Assistant Professor of English at Chinmaya Vishwa Vidyapeeth (Deemed to be University) in India. He teaches and researches in English literature and language and has con‑ ducted his doctoral research in liminality and transition studies. He is the author of Zephyr: The Breeze of Love (2021) and In‑Between: Liminal Stories (2022), and the editor of Literature, Media, and Society: Scholarly Perspectives (2021), The Post‑Truth Era: Literature and Media (2021), Identity: Quest and Questions (2022), and Power, Politics, and People (2023). He has presented many research papers and guest lectures at hybrid international conferences held in Spain, Poland, the Philippines, Turkey, and different states in India. His research interests include identity studies, liminality, post‑truth, power politics, and religious studies. Nurul Miza Mohd Rashid is Assistant Professor at the International Islamic University of Malay‑ sia (IIUM). She has recently completed her PhD in Psychology at IIUM. Her thesis uncovered the risk factors of the radicalization process using Malaysian ex‑detainees and citizens as her research samples. Her main research interests include violent extremism and the radicalization process from a psychological point of view. Her other interests include exploring various psychological processes in media use and social issues permeating Malaysian society, including the intergroup tensions between Malaysians and migrants in Malaysia. Her most recent publication, ‘Examining the Effects of News Frames as a Risk Factor of Radicalisation’, is available in the Journal of Intel‑ lectual Discourse.

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List of Contributors

Luis Morgado da Costa received his PhD from the Nanyang Technological University, in Singa‑ pore. He is currently an Assistant Professor in Computational Linguistics at the Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam, The Netherlands. His main research interests are Computational Lexical Semantics, Syntactic and Semantic Parsing, Educational Technology, and Digital Humanities. His work often employs multi‑ and cross‑lingual methodologies. He works mainly with English and Mandarin Chinese but has also worked with other languages such as Japanese, Portuguese, Kristang, Can‑ tonese, Coptic, Indonesian, and Abui. Rimi Nandy is a PhD Research Scholar at the School of Media, Communication and Culture, Jadavpur University, India. She has been teaching English Language and Literature at various institutions since  2011. Her research interests include Digital Humanities, Narratology, Media Studies, Postmodernism, Posthumanism, and Japanese Cultural Studies. She has published journal articles and book chapters in the field of digital humanities. Till Neuhaus works and researches at Bielefeld University, Germany. In his PhD project, he in‑ vestigates decision processes in the field of educational assessment. His research interests include the history of decision‑making sciences and the socio‑political negotiation of Nudging. Prior to his current occupation, he earned three separate master’s degrees – Political Communication, In‑ teramerican Studies, and Education – all from Bielefeld University. Monica A. Obiri‑Yeboah is a PhD student of Applied Linguistics and Language Education at the University of Maryland College Park. She seeks to promote diversity, equity, and inclusion in education through her research and teaching. Specifically, her research focuses on language policy in education (especially in multilingual settings), black language, and language use in specific contexts. She has published with the Nordic Journal of African Studies and Current Issues in Language Planning. Sony Jalarajan Raj is Assistant Professor at the Department of Communication, MacEwan Uni‑ versity, Edmonton, Canada. Dr. Raj is a professional journalist turned academic who has worked in different demanding positions as a reporter, special correspondent, and producer in several news media channels. Joanna Rak is Associate Professor at the Faculty of Political Science and Journalism of Adam Mickiewicz University in Poznan. From 2016 to 2023, she was a visiting researcher at CEU San Pablo University in Madrid, Universidad de Navarra, Charles III University of Madrid, and Val‑ ladolid University. She is the principal investigator of the research projects ‘The Culture of Po‑ litical Violence Dynamics of Anti‑austerity Movements in Europe’, ‘Contentious Politics and Neo‑Militant Democracy’, and ‘Civil Disorder in Pandemic‑ridden European Union’ financed by the National Science Centre, Poland. The laureate of Scholarship by the Minister of Science and Higher Education for outstanding young scientists, the Barbara Skarga Scholarship, the START Scholarship by the Foundation for Polish Science, and the POLITYKA Scientific Award. The author of the book Theorizing Cultures of Political Violence in Times of Austerity: Studying Social Movements in Comparative Perspective (Routledge, New York 2018) and co‑editor of Neo‑­ militant Democracies in Post‑communist Member States of the European Union (Routledge, New York 2022). Her research interests include political violence, militant democracy, democratic and nondemocratic regimes, contentious politics, and protest movements.

xvii

List of Contributors

Catherine Ryu is Associate Professor at Michigan State University. Her teaching and research interests encompass classical Japanese poetry, second language studies, game studies, digital hu‑ manities, global studies, translation studies, children’s literature, and diaspora studies. Recently, her research scope has broadened to include data visualization and human–machine collaborative writing. She is one of the co‑editors for Passing, Persuasion, Propaganda: Cultural Production and Coloniality in Japan’s East Asian Empire, published by the University of Hawaii Press in 2023. A key aspect of her ongoing research is the transnational and translingual translation of writ‑ ings by ethnic Koreans in China. Brian L. Schnell studied Cognitive Science, Psychology, and Marketing at Case Western Reserve University. Prior to his current role in consumer research, Brian worked in market research at Au‑ dacy – one of the nation’s largest radio companies – in support of its media sales team. His current research focuses on the exploration of trends in consumer sentiment during times of crisis. William F. Schnell (Bill) retired as a pastor after a 37‑year tenure serving three congregations in succession, including a term as President of the Ohio Council of Churches. He earned a Mas‑ ter of Arts degree from Central Michigan University and both Master of Divinity and Doctor of Ministry degrees from the Methodist Theological School in Ohio, USA. Since retirement Bill has completed a Graduate Certificate in Social Justice from Harvard University, where continuing coursework supports his independent research. In 2022 he published Migration and the Metaprob‑ lem of Climate Change based upon research that had previously informed a presentation at the 2021 Annual Symposium of the Harvard Extension Alumni Association and a TEDx Talk at Case Western Reserve University. Bill is a trained activist with the Climate Reality Project. He is mar‑ ried to Nancy, and they have two grown children and three grandchildren. David Seed was educated at Cambridge, Leicester, and Hull universities and has taught in the Eng‑ lish Department of Liverpool University since 1977. He helped secure the transfer of the Science Fiction Foundation Archive to that university, one of the largest such collections in Europe. His published work includes editing scholarly editions (Edward Bulwer‑Lytton’s The Coming Race, for example) and critical collections on nuclear war, science fiction, and nineteenth‑century travel writing. His monographs include studies of Thomas Pynchon, Joseph Heller, and Ray Bradbury; an analysis of Science Fiction and the Cold War; a study of the interaction between the cinema and U.S. fiction up to the Second World War; and Brainwashing: The Fictions of Mind Control (2004). His main current projects are an edited collection of nineteenth‑century science fiction and a study of John Wyndham’s fiction. Kristina Šekrst has earned a PhD in Logic at the University of Zagreb. She holds master’s degrees in Philosophy, Comparative Linguistics, Cognitive Linguistics, and Croatian Language and Lit‑ erature. She is an author of an Ancient Egyptian grammar and a contributor to various papers and talks regarding philosophy, linguistics, logic, computer science, and film studies. She is currently teaching linguistic and philosophical courses at the University of Zagreb, along with volunteer‑ ing as a mentor in Caltech’s and University of Illinois at Urbana‑Champaign online courses. Her research interests comprise logic, comparative and historical linguistics, philosophy of science, ar‑ tificial intelligence and cognitive science, cosmology, film studies, and computational complexity. Astrid Sierra is a PhD student in Applied Linguistics and Language Education in the Department of Teaching and Learning Policy and Leadership at the University of Maryland, College Park. Her xviii

List of Contributors

research focuses on equitable spaces for bi/multilingual learners and teachers, teacher education, bilingual education, transnational bilingual teachers, TESOL, and language ideologies. Joanna Ut‑Seong Sio received her PhD from Leiden University, The Netherlands. She has worked in Hong Kong (Hong Kong Polytechnic University, Hong Kong Baptist University) and Singapore (Nanyang Technological University) and is currently Associate Professor of Chinese linguistics at Palacký University Olomouc, The Czech Republic. Her main research focus is on the syntax and semantics of languages spoken in China (Mandarin, Cantonese, Min, Zhuang), especially in the area of noun phrase structure. She is also an improviser and a stand‑up comedian and is interested in the use of verbal arts in the training of communication skills. Sandro Skansi is Associate Professor in Logic at the University of Zagreb. He is the author of Introduction to Deep Learning (Springer, 2018) and Logic and Proofs (Element, Zagreb, 2016), serving also as the editor of Guide to Deep Learning Basics: Logical, Historical and Philosophi‑ cal Perspectives (Springer, 2020). He is a member of the Association for Symbolic Logic, the Association for the Advancement of Artificial Intelligence, the SAT Association, and the Croatian Philosophical Society. His main research interests include artificial intelligence, philosophy and history of cybernetics and artificial intelligence, deep learning, reasoning, complexity, and logical satisfiability. Theresa Summer is Associate Professor of Teaching English as a Foreign Language at the Uni‑ versity of Bamberg, Germany. She completed her PhD at the University of Würzburg and worked as an English and Music teacher at secondary schools for several years. Her research interests comprise learner perspectives, critical language pedagogy and taboos, pop culture, global educa‑ tion, and grammar teaching and learning. She is co‑editor of the volume Taboos and Controversial Issues in Foreign Language Education (Routledge, 2023, with Christian Ludwig), co‑editor of the practitioners’ journal Englisch 5–10, and has been active as a developer of teaching materials. Adith K. Suresh is currently associating as a research assistant at the Department of Communica‑ tion, MacEwan University. Adith holds a master’s degree in English Language and Literature from Mahatma Gandhi University. His research interest includes Film Studies, Literary Criticism, and South Asian Cultural Studies. Mitsuhiro Tada, Professor of Sociology at Kumamoto University in Japan, works on sociological theory, history of sociology, and sociology of nationalism. He received the Young Investigator’s Award for The Temporal Construction of the Social World: Theory of Social Systems as Socio‑ logical Phenomenology (English title) from the Japan Association for the Study on the History of Sociology. He is presently researching the relationship between nationalism and language in sociological theory. His latest English publication, ‘Alfred Schutz on Race, Language, and Subjec‑ tivity: A Viennese Jewish Sociologist’s Lifeworld and Phenomenological Sociology within Transi‑ tion from Multinational Empire to Nation‑State’, appears in Kumamoto Journal of Humanities 4 (2023), 103–158. Kwasu D. Tembo’s eclectic and wide‑ranging research interests include – but are not limited to – comics studies, literary theory and criticism, and philosophy, particularly the so‑called ‘proph‑ ets of extremity’  –  Nietzsche, Heidegger, Foucault, and Derrida. He has published in Christo‑ pher Nolan’s The Prestige, in The Cinema of Christopher Nolan: Imagining the Impossible, eds. xix

List of Contributors

Jacqueline Furby and Stuart Joy (Columbia UP, 2015), and in Superman, in Postscriptum: An In‑ terdisciplinary Journal of Literary Studies (2017). He also has essays in Porn Studies; American, British, and Canadian Journal and Messengers from the Stars, as well as a monograph on the life and work of Genndy Tartakovsky for Bloomsbury titled Genndy Tartakovsky: Sincerity in Anima‑ tion. He is currently a full time lecturer at Lancaster University, UK. Jhilli Tewary is Assistant Professor in the Department of Psychology, School of Arts and So‑ cial Studies, St. Xavier’s University. She has been teaching Psychology at various institutions since 2000. Her research interests encompass the fields of positive psychology, personality studies, and aggression. Dr.  Tewary’s scholarly contributions have been featured in numerous peer‑re‑ viewed journals, where she has shared valuable insights and findings related to these areas of study. Haidan Wang is Associate Professor at the University of Hawai‘i at Mānoa. She is interested in cognitive linguistics, pragmatics, and many perspectives of Chinese as a second language (CSL), ranging from proficiency assessment to multimodal interactions at workplaces. Wang’s publica‑ tions cover CSL curriculum design, program evaluation, pedagogy, and technology‑assisted Chi‑ nese learning for specific purposes. She co‑authored the Intermediate to Advanced Level textbook, Chinese for Working Professionals, and co‑edited a volume, Chinese for Business and Profession‑ als in the Workplace: Reaching across Disciplines. Wang’s articles have also appeared in interna‑ tional journals and as chapters of books published by Springer and Routledge. Valentin Werner is Associate Professor of English Linguistics at the University of Bamberg, Germany. He studied at the universities of Bamberg, Limerick, and Cambridge and held previ‑ ous positions at Leipzig and Marburg. His research interests comprise stylistics, sociolinguistics, the study of variation and change, media linguistics, applied linguistics (including learner corpus research), and how linguistic insights can inform EFL education. He has co‑edited the award‑ winning volume Pop Culture in Language Education: Theory, Research, Practice (Routledge, 2021, with Friederike Tegge) and has published several articles on the language of TV series and song lyrics and their use in language education. He is the founding editor of the Journal of ­Language and Pop Culture.

xx

INTRODUCTION Chris Shei

At the time of this publication, ‘mind engineering’ is not a well‑defined or widely accepted concept within the scientific community, and its meaning can vary widely depending on the context. It can refer to the field of neuroengineering, which combines principles from neuroscience, engineer‑ ing, and computer science to develop technologies for understanding and manipulating the brain, often with a focus on enhancing cognitive functions or creating brain–computer interfaces. Some self‑help and personal development circles use the term to describe techniques and strategies for optimizing one’s cognitive and emotional processes. However, ‘mind engineering’ can also pertain to efforts to control or manipulate the human mind, including ideas related to brainwashing, mind control, or the use of advanced technologies to influence or alter people’s thoughts and behaviors. In this handbook, our primary focus is on the aspect of mind engineering related to mind control and manipulation. The Chinese internet, in stark contrast to global condemnation of Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, has exhibited strong pro‑Russia, pro‑war, and pro‑Putin sentiments. Chinese social media users have hailed President Vladimir V. Putin as ‘Putin the Great’ and have criticized Russian anti‑war protesters as being influenced by the United States. They have resonated with Putin’s portrayal of Russia as a victim of Western aggression, which aligns with China’s narrative of being targeted by the West. Although the Chinese government has not explicitly endorsed Russia’s actions, its foreign policy has taken a more confrontational stance in recent years, shaping a generation of online nationalists (Li 2022). Wang (2020) calls attention to the profound transformation occur‑ ring within China’s digital landscape, particularly among its younger, tech‑savvy generation. She observes how the once‑vibrant online environment for open discourse, criticism, and debate has shifted toward a more nationalistic and state‑influenced platform. The impact of strict internet cen‑ sorship, government control, and the propagation of nationalistic narratives, according to Wang, have effectively stifled alternative perspectives and made it increasingly difficult for critical voices to be heard. Ric and Chen (2022) examine the alignment between Chinese state rhetoric and public opinion. It focuses on several recent socio‑political/geopolitical disputes involving the Chinese govern‑ ment, assessing the extent to which state rhetoric, often citing public opinion and citizens’ ‘hurt feelings’, genuinely reflects domestic public sentiment. The study involves a public opinion sur‑ vey in China, exploring citizens’ awareness, knowledge, and concern regarding these issues, such

1

DOI: 10.4324/9781003289746-1

Chris Shei

as criticisms against Mercedes‑Benz for quoting the Dalai Lama, the NBA boycott over a Hong Kong‑related tweet, pressure on Marriott for recognizing Taiwan as a country, and the govern‑ ment’s retaliation against Prague for meeting Taiwanese leaders. Their findings reveal that the Chinese government accurately represented the displeasure of domestic audiences, with citizens being well‑informed and advocating more forceful measures than those adopted. This suggests the impact of rising nationalism in China and challenges conventional assumptions about undemo‑ cratic governments’ actions being inconsistent with public opinion. The ‘hurt’ emotions of citizens are predominantly driven by nationalistic sentiment rather than personal experiences, emphasizing the effectiveness of state propaganda in shaping public opinion. Mattingly and Yao (2022) investigate the influence of emotionally resonant ‘soft’ propaganda, such as television dramas and viral social media content, by conducting experiments involving over 6,800 Chinese respondents exposed to actual propaganda videos. These videos, featuring nationalist messages endorsed by the Chinese Communist Party, were drawn from television dra‑ mas, state‑backed social media accounts, and state‑run newscasts. Contrary to prevailing theories suggesting propaganda’s lack of persuasiveness, their findings demonstrate that propaganda ef‑ fectively triggers emotions like anger, anti‑foreign sentiment, and behavioral changes, with the heightened anti‑foreign attitudes persisting for up to a week. Liu and Shao (2023) explore how autocratic leaders can influence public backing for war through the use of nationalist propaganda. By conducting two online survey experiments involving textual and musical propaganda content in mainland China, their findings indicate that nationalist propaganda effectively enhances public support for potential military conflicts related to the Taiwan Strait. The research reveals that propa‑ ganda contributes to an increase in respondents’ expectations of the benefits of winning wars, stirs up feelings of national pride, and decreases the sensitivity of respondents to the costs associated with warfare. Fortuin (2022) delves into Russia’s assertion that the war with Ukraine, initiated on Febru‑ ary 24, 2022, is a response to alleged genocide by the Ukrainian government led by Volodymyr Zelenskyy. It reveals that these claims are part of a broader rhetorical narrative painting Ukraine as a Russophobic Nazi regime conducting genocide against Russians, rooted in Russia’s propa‑ ganda tactics, drawing on historical World War II themes. Fortuin examines the evolution of this narrative across five stages, beginning in post‑Soviet Russia and Ukraine and further developing after Ukraine’s Orange and Maidan revolutions. Russia substantiates this narrative by referenc‑ ing established facts concerning the Donbas situation, Ukraine’s language laws, and right‑wing extremists in Ukraine, selectively highlighting certain ideas while downplaying others. However, the article exposes Russia’s arguments as invalid, relying on exaggeration, hyperbolic language, and falsehoods. The primary objective of this narrative is to garner support for Russia’s policies toward Ukraine and deflect potential criticism. Geissler et al. (2023) collected messages from Twitter expressing pro‑Russian sentiment, which garnered approximately 251,000 retweets reaching an audience of around 14.4 million users. They found that bots played a significant role in disseminating these pro‑Russian messages, particularly from countries like India, South Africa, and Pakistan, which abstained from voting on the United Nations Resolution ES‑11/1. About one‑fifth of the accounts responsible for spreading these mes‑ sages were identified as bots, which indicates the existence of a large‑scale Russian propaganda campaign on social media, underscoring the new societal threats it poses. Valcore et al. (2023) discuss the use of hostile rhetoric in politics, specifically focusing on the speeches and commu‑ nication tactics employed by former President Donald Trump. They emphasize how Trump’s use of denigration and deprecation was a prominent feature of his campaign and that these speech acts are part of a trifecta of violence that includes violent ideology, policy, and actions aimed at 2

Introduction

undermining political opponents. According to them, hate speech in political discourse can be problematic and, when contextualized within a broader environment of hostility, can serve as a precursor to more violent speech. Contemporary mind engineering is widespread, encompassing government propaganda for opinion manipulation and the impact of social media bots on shaping public perceptions. The once‑fictional notion of ‘brainwashing’ is now a tangible concern, transcending science fiction and conspiracy theories. By introducing the term ‘mind engineering’, our objective is to pave the way for a fresh academic discipline dedicated to investigating how modern society experiences ma‑ nipulation by authoritarian governments, charismatic leaders, commercial entities, and individuals who exploit advanced technology and extensive surveillance to influence human minds. Studying mind engineering scientifically necessitates a multidisciplinary approach, drawing from psychol‑ ogy to delve into cognitive, emotional, and clinical aspects, sociology to analyze group dynamics, and neuroscience to explore neural mechanisms. Communication and rhetorical studies are crucial for understanding propaganda and persuasive communication strategies, while political science investigates authoritarian regimes’ use of mind control tactics in political contexts. Philosophy and ethics provide insights into the ethical and moral dimensions of brainwashing, and legal scholars examine its legality and human rights implications. Historical analysis offers lessons from past cases, and AI and computational studies explore technology’s role in mind manipulation. A more comprehensive approach, encompassing the cognitive, social, ethical, and legal facets of mind engineering, is essential for achieving a holistic understanding of this intricate phenomenon. The Routledge Handbook of Language and Mind Engineering carries out a comprehensive exploration of the multifaceted ways in which language, media, and education are used to shape and influence human cognition and behavior. The book is organized into five sections, each delv‑ ing into a distinct aspect of mind engineering. The first section, Political Mind Engineering, in‑ vestigates how political ideologies are promoted and manipulated through language, including the use of dog whistles and Twitter. The second section, Commercial Mind Engineering, focuses on the role of advertising and corporate influence in shaping our perceptions and desires. Media, Culture, and Mind Engineering, the third section, delves into the ways in which platforms like social media can engineer thoughts and opinions on a global scale. The fourth section, Linguistic and Semiotic Analysis of Mind Engineering, explores the language and symbolism employed to engineer minds, touching on issues like extremism, media framing, and language corruption. Finally, the fifth section, Mind Engineering in Educational Setting, examines how language and education are employed to influence students’ beliefs and identities, in both historical and con‑ temporary contexts. Chapter 1, titled Nostalgia as False Commemoration, uncovers how US conservatives and white supremacists utilize dog whistle politics to influence and manipulate their followers, ap‑ pealing to deep‑seated fears and desires. Laila Suleiman Dahan examines the role of nostalgia in crafting inaccurate visions of the past, shedding light on the tactics used by these political actors in the current political landscape. Chapter 2, ‘Trump’‑ing to the Capitol, delves into the impact of social media on brainwashing and the spread of right‑wing populism, with a focus on the case of Donald Trump’s tweets and the ‘Save America’ Rally speech. Rimi Nandy and Jhilli Tewary dissect the use of social media platforms to create ‘epistemic bubbles’ and manipulate truth, leading to the polarization of beliefs in a post‑truth era. Chapter 3, ‘The Chinese Communist Party’s Historical Resolutions as Mind‑Engineering Projects’, explores how the Chinese Communist Party utilizes linguistic strategies to engineer minds. Heike Holbig investigates the genre of Party literature represented by historical resolutions 3

Chris Shei

and reveals their mind‑engineering functions, which reshape historical reality, instill ideological ­orthodoxy, and prime audiences for a particular interpretation of history and leadership. Chapter 4, Identifying Partisan Efforts to Generate Authoritarian Legitimacy, offers a theoreti‑ cal tool for measuring partisan efforts to generate a regime’s legitimacy, with a focus on Polish state‑led mind engineering. Joanna Rak presents a methodological approach to differentiate be‑ tween democratic and authoritarian frames, shedding light on cognitive and behavioral aspects of public involvement in supporting political systems. Chapter 5, Political Legitimization of Hybrid Regimes, takes a closer look at the political legiti‑ mization of hybrid regimes through the case of post‑handover Hong Kong. Chi Kit Chan explores the reconstruction of nationalism and democracy in Chinese state discourses, illustrating how hybrid regimes respond to democratic aspirations and international values. Chapter 6, The Benefit of the Doubt, takes a close look at how the fossil fuel industry has con‑ sistently sowed doubt regarding climate change, effectively casting a shadow over the scientific consensus. William F. Schnell examines the tactics employed by the industry and sheds light on the psychology behind the muted public response to this existential threat. Chapter 7, Chain‑Effect Mind Engineering, broadens the scope of advertising manipulation by exploring the interplay between advertisers and media firms. Brian L. Schnell unveils the concept of chain‑effect mind engineering, wherein both advertisers and consumers are manipulated through advertising processes, offering a fresh perspective on how advertisements reach the public. Chapter 8, On the Commodification of Sexual Wellness, delves into the exploitation of gender and race in the marketing of sexual wellness products. Kwasu D. Tembo scrutinizes the case of a sex‑toy company and reveals how it employs strategies of engineered consent from traditional marketing, shedding light on the consequences for both consumers and contemporary identity politics. Chapter 9, Manipulative Practices of Programming and Controlling Employee Behavior in the Activities of Chinese Managers, explores the world of managerial practices in Chinese organiza‑ tions. Pavel Deriugin, Liubov Lebedintseva, and Evgeny Kremnyov dissect the manipulative strat‑ egies used by managers, highlighting their adaptability and effectiveness in achieving behavioral control. Chapter 10, Humor as a Mind‑Engineering Tool in the Digital Age, takes a lighter but equally significant perspective, focusing on stand‑up comedy as a tool for challenging mainstream ide‑ ologies. Joanna Ut‑Seong Sio and Luis Morgado da Costa investigate the intentions of stand‑up comedians, advantages and drawbacks of disseminating comedy on digital platforms, and the limi‑ tations of topics used for mental manipulation. Chapter 11, Corporate Colonization, Geopolitical Power Struggles, and Hypernudge, authored by Till Neuhaus and Lee J. Curley, delves into the intriguing realm of social media as a mind engineering platform. It explores the use of nudging and the emerging concept of hypernudging to understand how social media induces behavioral changes. By dissecting case studies involving Facebook and TikTok, the authors reveal the underlying motivations, linking economic interests for Facebook and geopolitical factors for TikTok. In Chapter 12, Red Tourism: Spirituality, Modernity, and Patriotism in China’s Tibet, Kamila Hladíková takes us on a journey into the enigmatic perceptions of Tibet. This chapter examines the portrayal of Tibet on Western social media platforms during the COVID‑19 pandemic, as shared by Tibetan influencers. Hladíková scrutinizes the role these vlogs play in promoting Tibet as a modern and spiritually significant destination, deeply intertwined with Chinese identity and political narratives.

4

Introduction

Chapter 13, The Truth Lies In‑between: Mind Engineering in the 2020–2021 Indian Farmers’ Protest, authored by Sony Jalarajan Raj and Adith K. Suresh, offers an illuminating perspective on the role of social media in shaping narratives during the 2020–2021 Indian Farmers’ Protest. It uncovers the interplay of identity, nationalism, and communication technologies, exploring how they led to the polarization of public opinion and a realm of misinformation. In Chapter 14, Patriotism and Nationalism in Chinese Fansubbing, Pin‑ling Chang takes us into the world of Chinese fansubbing. Exploring the ideologically charged realm of subtitles in foreign films and TV shows, Chang examines the manipulation of content to convey Chinese nationalism and patriotism. The chapter unveils how social media, especially platforms like Facebook, has become a canvas for shaping national image and identity. Chapter 15, Pop Cultural Media as a Resource for Fostering Responsible World Citizens, au‑ thored by Valentin Werner and Theresa Summer, embarks on a journey through language educa‑ tion and pop cultural media. It sheds light on the role of media in molding language learners, underlining the need for an anti‑discriminatory approach. The authors argue that language educa‑ tion plays a pivotal role in creating responsible global citizens who value freedom of expression and independent thought. Chapter 16, Newspeak and Cyberspeak: The Haunting Ghosts of the Russian Past, steps into the fascinating realm of cyberspeak and newspeak with Kristina Šekrst and Sandro Skansi. This chapter explores the lingering traces of cyberspeak’s cybernetic origins in modern science and its subtle influence on our thoughts. Drawing a parallel with newspeak, the authors dissect the theory of speech acts to analyze how words shape our perceptions. They also examine contemporary Russian public communication, specifically Putin’s speeches, to uncover the performative aspects of newspeak. Chapter 17, Understanding the Roles of Violent Extremist Dream Accounts in Radicalization and Recruitment, authored by Noor Aqsa Nabila Mat Isa, Nurul Miza Mohd Rashid, and Ahmad El‑Muhammady, delves into the uncharted territory of dream accounts in the discourse of vio‑ lent extremism. They explore how dream accounts serve as a potent tool in Daesh’s recruitment strategy. By integrating approaches from critical discourse studies, psychology, and ideology, the chapter aims to shed light on the role of dream accounts in radicalization and recruitment. In Chapter 18, Framing and Metaphor in Media Discourse: Multi‑Layered Metaphorical Framings of the COVID‑19 Pandemic in Newspaper Articles, Tetsuta Komatsubara takes us on a journey through the multi‑layered world of metaphorical framings in media discourse. This chapter reveals how journalists wield metaphors to shape public perceptions and beliefs regard‑ ing the COVID‑19 pandemic. By analyzing the evolving frames in Japanese newspaper articles from 2020 to 2021, the author highlights the influence of media discourse on public opinion and social issues. Chapter 19, Uncovering the Linguistic Agenda of ‘Hindi’stan: The Political Implications of Language Imposition in India, authored by Raisun Mathew, delves into the intricate relationship between politics and language in India. By dissecting recent language policies, Mathew seeks to unveil the historical, political, and linguistic motives behind the imposition of Hindi over regional languages. The chapter scrutinizes how language can be a tool of dominance and division, as well as a means of cultural preservation and unification. In Chapter 20, Language Corruption in Chinese: A Cognitive Linguistic Perspective, Haidan Wang and Albert H. W. Jiang embark on a linguistic exploration of language corruption in China. They redefine linguistic putrefaction as a cognitive phenomenon that distorts language for po‑ litical, ideological, or economic purposes. Using cognitive linguistic concepts, they unveil how

5

Chris Shei

corrupted language manipulates mental spaces and reshapes perceptions, ultimately distorting ­ordinary language within societal discourses. Chapter 21, Visual Language and Mind Engineering: The Case of Multicultural Emojis, au‑ thored by Amin Heidari, examines multicultural emojis as a form of visual language and their role in neoliberal mind engineering. Heidari delves into how multicultural emojis, which often conform to Euro‑centric standards, reinforce notions of diversity while upholding traditional West‑ ern ideals. The chapter investigates the use of color categorization and the Vitruvian Man body template in these emojis, revealing their impact on contemporary discourses of diversity and white supremacy. In Chapter 22, Brainwashing at Home and Abroad in Cold War Fiction and Film, David Seed takes us on a journey through the portrayal of brainwashing in American and British fiction and film since the 1950s. Seed delves into the origins of ‘brainwashing’, first introduced through trans‑ lation from Chinese and its subsequent portrayal as a menacing technique of mind control. By ana‑ lyzing works like Richard Condon’s The Manchurian Candidate and science fiction classics such as The Invasion of the Body Snatchers, Seed explores how the concept of brainwashing infiltrated popular culture and its impact on American and British societies. In Chapter 23, Engineering the Mind of a Child, Catherine Ryu unravels the strategic use of language education in colonized Korea during Imperial Japan’s rule (1910–1945). Ryu’s explora‑ tion focuses on the establishment of the Japanese language as ‘the national language’ in Korea and the psychological effects of this imperialization policy on colonized individuals. Through cultural representations like My Precious Granddaughter and ‘The Song of Clementine’, Ryu uncovers the potent mind engineering methods employed to assimilate Korean subjects into Japanese identity. The chapter centers on the experiences of children in this mind‑altering process, highlighting the emotional and psychological consequences. In Chapter 24, Creating ‘Ignorance of Ignorance’ Through School Education, Mitsuhiro Tada explores the intricate link between school education and nationalism from a sociological perspec‑ tive. Tada investigates how school education creates ‘ignorance of ignorance’ by promoting a spe‑ cific viewpoint, particularly regarding matters critical to nationalism. Focusing on Japan’s school materials related to the Asia‑Pacific War, the chapter examines how educational ignorance, espe‑ cially victimhood nationalism, is cultivated. Tada argues that this process of educational ignorance contributes to nation‑building and the perpetuation of nationalism, highlighting its implications for memory wars. In Chapter 25, Language, Ideologies, Discrimination, and Afrocentric‑Focused, Critical Lan‑ guage Awareness Writing Curricula for African American Language and Akan Language Speak‑ ers, Shenika Hankerson and Monica A. Obiri‑Yeboah delve into the world of Afrocentric‑focused, critical language awareness (CLA) curricula and their impact on African American Language (AAL)‑speaking students’ writing skills. The authors emphasize the need for college writing in‑ structors to adopt such curricula and provide guidance on designing Afrocentric‑focused, CLA curricula tailored to AAL speakers. The chapter also explores the potential of these curricula for broader K–12 writing contexts and the Ghanaian Akan language‑speaking population, offering a blueprint for dismantling discrimination against AAL in educational settings. In Chapter 26, Navajo Students’ Perspectives of Their Heritage Language and Translingual Identity, Yi‑Wen Huang delves into the experiences of Navajo students near the Navajo reser‑ vation who grapple with the loss of their heritage language. By analyzing their reflections and stories, Huang highlights the impact of language loss, emphasizing the desire to reconnect with their cultural roots. The chapter explores the complexities of translingual identities among Navajo students, shedding light on the role of language in shaping their identity. 6

Introduction

In Chapter 27, Linguistically Responsive Instruction and Ideologies in Preservice Teacher Preparation, authors Laura Mahalingappa, Jessica B. Crawford, and Astrid Sierra delve into criti‑ cal approaches to teacher preparation with a focus on developing positive language ideologies. They emphasize the importance of addressing language biases held by teachers who may view minoritized languages and dialects negatively. By promoting linguistically responsive instruc‑ tion (LRI), this chapter aims to equip teachers with the knowledge and consciousness needed to support the linguistic diversity that students bring into the classroom. The authors advocate for asset‑based approaches to teaching and provide insights on how to prepare teachers for linguisti‑ cally diverse classrooms. The Routledge Handbook of Language and Mind Engineering offers a comprehensive explora‑ tion of the intricate interplay between language, cognition, and societal influence across diverse domains. By delving into various chapters, readers are exposed to a multifaceted analysis of how language serves as a tool for molding minds and engineering cultural and ideological constructs. The handbook provides an in‑depth examination of linguistic strategies used in shaping public opinion, the impacts of historical events on language, and the complex relationships between lan‑ guage and nationalism, identity, and social justice. These chapters, informed by a wealth of ex‑ pertise, offer profound insights into the role of language in controlling and manipulating human thought, making it an indispensable resource for scholars, educators, and anyone interested in understanding the dynamics of language and its influence on the human mind.

Acknowledgments I wish to express my sincere gratitude to Andrea Hartill and Iola Ashby from Routledge for their unwavering support and exceptional professionalism during this project. Special thanks are owed to Violeta Stojičić and Verena Zipperer, whose invaluable contributions as members of the Edito‑ rial Board went above and beyond. My heartfelt appreciation goes to Jim Schnell not only for his warm friendship but also for his constant supply of wisdom, wit, and professional guidance. I am also deeply thankful to Professor Sian Rees, Professor Tess Fitzpatrick, and Dr. Alexia Bowler at Swansea University for their remarkable administrative efficiency and consistent moral support, which proved instrumental in navigating numerous challenges.

References Fortuin, E. (2022). ‘Ukraine commits genocide on Russians’: the term ‘genocide’ in Russian propaganda. Russian Linguistics, 46(3), 313–347. Geissler, D., Bär, D., Pröllochs, N., & Feuerriegel, S. (2023). Russian propaganda on social media during the 2022 invasion of Ukraine. EPJ Data Science, 12(1), 35. https://doi.org/10.1140/epjds/s13688‑023‑00414‑5. Li, Yuan. (2022). Why the Chinese Internet Is Cheering Russia’s Invasion. The New York Times. https://www. nytimes.com/2022/02/27/business/china‑russia‑ukraine‑invasion.html. Liu, D., & Shao, L. (2023). Nationalist propaganda and support for war in an authoritarian context: Evidence from China. Journal of Peace Research. https://doi.org/10.1177/00223433231178849. Mattingly, D. C., & Yao, E. (2022). How soft propaganda persuades. Comparative Political Studies, 55(9), 1569–1594. https://doi.org/10.1177/00104140211047403. Neo, Ric, & Chen, Xiang (2022). State rhetoric, nationalism and public opinion in China. International Af‑ fairs, 98(4), 1327–1346. https://doi.org/10.1093/ia/iiac105. Valcore, J., Asquith, N. L., & Rodgers, J. (2023). ‘We’re led by stupid people’: Exploring Trump’s use of denigrating and deprecating speech to promote hatred and violence. Crime, Law, and Social Change, 80(3), 237–256. https://doi.org/10.1007/s10611‑023‑10085‑y. Wang, Yaqiu (2020). In China, the ‘Great Firewall’ Is Changing a Generation. Politico. https://www.politico. com/news/magazine/2020/09/01/china‑great‑firewall‑generation‑405385.

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PART I

Political Mind Engineering

1 NOSTALGIA AS FALSE COMMEMORATION How US Conservatives and White Supremacists Mind Engineer through Dog Whistle Politics Laila S. Dahan Introduction Dog whistle politics describes how words and implied meanings reach those for whom they are intended through speeches and the media according to Haney López (2014) (see also Khoo 2017; Mendelberg 2001; Saul 2018; Stanley 2015). Dog whistles, sometimes referred to as coded lan‑ guage or code words, are messages that are elusive in nature and can be heard and understood only by those ears trained to capture their subtle meaning (Åkerlund 2021; Khoo 2017). The term “dog whistle” is a metaphor that is a “reference to high‑pitched dog‑training whistles that use frequencies inaudible to humans” (Bonikowski and Zhang 2020: 2). These dog whistles have the additional effect of mind engineering or brainwashing their listeners as the propaganda effects of the dog whistles pull on the subconscious fears and longings of people. Additionally, many of the dog whistles harken to a time in the past, when life was “simpler” and white men were in charge. This nostalgia is not based on facts about the historical past of America or other western nations, but it draws in those who are offended and fearful that the present is being ruined by globalization, immigration, and civil rights for all. The dog whistles function as a tool to help politicians and white supremacists emphasize the divide between “us” – the ingroup – and “them” – the outgroup. Using a conceptual frame of nostalgia, this chapter will elucidate how conservative lawmakers, worldwide, utilize dog whistles in an effort to expand support for personal gain, while US white supremacists use them to increase their numbers, attain more power, and become mainstream. Nostalgia studies, as a conceptual structure, fused with dog whistles politics, offer insight into peo‑ ple’s attitudes about the past, their perceptions of history, and bygone traditions, while effectively being mind engineered. The chapter uses a simplified version of critical discourse analysis as a research tool to carry out qualitative content analysis. This type of analytical research predomi‑ nantly looks at how “social power abuse, dominance, and inequality are enacted and reproduced” in the social and political context (Van Dijk 1998: 164). This research assessed speeches, Tweets, media records, and manuscripts. It employed an interpretive methodology since the focus was on understanding the occurrences in a comprehensive way.



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DOI: 10.4324/9781003289746-3

Laila S. Dahan

Contextual Framework I: The Psychology of Nostalgia Nostalgia, generally, is a look back at the past with fond remembrance. According to extensive research, nostalgia can be social and satisfying, while offering cultural and psychological benefits (Menke 2017). Generally, nostalgia is viewed as a positive emotion that can improve people’s views on life and may even diminish feelings of human peril (see Behler et al. 2021; Routledge et al. 2008). Part of the longing for the past is that the time before is depicted as a world where all the people lived with the same belief systems and traditions (Duyvendak 2011; Steenvoordena and Harteveld 2018). However, there is a false assumption that diversity was not part of that past ­(Parrillo 1994). The US began on land that belonged to Native Americans, and it was further diver‑ sified by the African slaves imported by white Americans. The truth about America’s multicultural past is hidden because, as Appleby (1992: 425) argues, those “exotic cultures of Africans and Native Americans could not be incorporated” into US history, because that would have ­undermined the tale of American evolution and exceptionalism. Nostalgia, although not obviously political, can turn “darker” when an ingroup determines the “vision for society” while disregarding or threatening those “declared members of outgroups” (Menke and Wulf 2021: 239). There tend to be negative consequences when the nostalgia is group based and that group refuses to accept those seen as the outgroup or “other” (Behler et al. 2021). While individual nostalgia can be positive, there is a very different psychological profile among group‑based nostalgia. In recent years, the sentimental longing for the past has been exploited for emotional manipula‑ tion. We are currently living in a time when many “white Americans feel free to speak openly of their nostalgia for an age when their cultural, political, and economic dominance” was the norm (Alexander 2020: xi). According to Bonikowski and Stuhler (2022: 1), these “nostalgic appeals to an idealized past are commonly associated with radical‑right discourse” and are used as a method of persuasion (Lammers and Baldwin 2020). Research has found that populist and conservative parties often use nostalgia to compare the present negatively to the past (Steenvoordena and Harteveld 2018). In the US, for example, the use of “nostalgia to frame exclusionary nationalist and authoritarian appeals, is limited to the ­radical‑right” (Bonikowski and Stuhler 2022: 1). They are successful because they latch on to the negative attitudes of white Americans toward the increasing numbers of people of color in the US population (Hooghe and Dassonneville 2018; Major et al. 2018; Mutz 2018). Slogans used by right‑wing populists call for a return to the past. Former president Trump used nostalgia as an appeal to his supporters; he tugged on their anxieties as an ingroup – white ­Americans – that outgroups – including immigrants, Asian Americans, African Americans, and people of color – should be feared as they are a threat (Behler et al. 2021) to their “safety and stability” (Menke and Wulf 2021: 246).

Contextual Framework II: Dog Whistles Dog whistle politics have the distinction of being “inaudible” to those they might “alienate” ­(Goodin and Saward 2005: 471). Dog whistles are coded words with sometimes hidden or implicit meanings – essentially, they operate as strategies to communicate secretly with those able to decode their significance (Haney López 2014; Khoo 2017). Haney López (2016) describes dog whistling as “speaking in code to a target audience.” In addition, using dog whistles allows speakers to step away from “politically correct” speech but still maintain that they are not saying anything untoward (Mendelberg 2001) allowing for plausible deniability (HoSang and Lowndes 2019; Saul 2017). 12

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These coded words are all a part of a larger approach wherein “power is the game” (Haney López 2016: 11). Coded racism, according to Haney López (2016: 15), operates by offering up ste‑ reotypes that suggest that “white people are innocent, hardworking, endangered, and ‘real’ Ameri‑ cans; while people of color are predatory, lazy, dangerous, and perpetual foreigners.” Republican politicians have been using dog whistles that emphasize the superiority of white Americans over all other minorities, especially African Americans, for years as a way to appeal to their white supporters (Phillips 2017: 1867). The purpose of these dog whistles is to inspire negativity and hostility toward those who are not white (Haney López 2014: ix). Furthermore, this racial type of discourse tends to increase concerns about a racial threat to whites, leading to intensified racial hostility (Hurwitz and Peffley 2005; White 2007). Today, coded language is utilized by the far‑right to convey hidden meanings to fellow far‑right sympathizers (Åkerlund 2021; Kien 2019). These dog whistles are not new and have been used to stir up resentment among white voters because they subtly entice racial animosity through manip‑ ulation. Some examples of this are seen in the “southern strategy” and “silent majority” outlined by Nixon, in addition to the 1990s rhetoric that promoted “tough on crime” and “law and order” (see Bonikowski and Zhang 2020). Without even mentioning race, coded language sends racial messages through allusions to “culture, behavior, and class”; in fact, America’s “political milieu is saturated with ugly racial innuendo” (Haney López 2014: 129). There are multitudes of examples offering glimpses into the world of racist dog whistles. Space limitations prohibit discussing them all in depth; therefore, an overview of the most common will be included here. Nixon started the “law and order” and “tough on crime” dog whistles, which resonated with white voters who were unhappy about the civil rights movement (Bolden 2015). Reagan continued this trend by using the terms “welfare queens” and “strapping young buck” to prop up the stereotype that African Americans were using welfare at the expense of white people’s needs (Ericksen 2019). Other terms used as dog whistles over the years have included “inner city,” “welfare,” “ghetto queen,” “thug,” “hoodlums,” “looters,” “illegal alien,” “anchor baby,” “hardworking Americans,” “decent folks,” and “heartland.” Trump expanded on the notion of im‑ migration and its “illegality” by harping on “intruders,” “illegals,” and how they were attempting to enter “our” country (Nacos et al. 2020). The US media further entrenches these dog whistle ste‑ reotypes leading to “ideological conditioning,” especially through the “black thug” who represents a “pimp, drug dealer, etc.” (Bolden 2015: 181), which are all associated with black criminals in America (Joseph 2020). It is not just words that are dog whistles but “images and visual symbols also express significance and ideology” (Moshin 2018: 32). There are obvious white supremacy symbols and images that most people are familiar with such as the Ku Klux Klan hoods and robes, cross burnings, the confederate flag, and Nazi symbols and salutes. Other racist images use implicit racial appeals that are understood to be racist but can be denied as such, for example, images that contain “apes, witch doctors, fried chicken, watermel‑ ons, etc.” (Hughey and Parks 2014, as cited in Rosino and Hughey 2016: 328). However, some racist images may not be as apparent to a general audience and those not versed in white supremacist dog whistles such as the use of the “OK” sign, Pepe the Frog, and “echoes.” The “OK” sign has been used by many right‑wing supremacists; however, they claim it is just a “joke” and they enjoy using it to mock those who get upset when they see it. According to Neiwert (2018), it becomes difficult to tell if it is a signal to other white supremacists or just an innocent symbol. This offers those using it the ability to deny they are doing anything racist. Pepe the Frog started in a cartoon in 2005 but was conscripted by the far‑right in memes that alluded to concentration camps and other anti‑Semitic images and tropes (Moshin 2018) (see Nuzzi 2016 for details). As a symbol, Pepe offers reasonable refutation because users can claim they had no idea 13

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he was associated with anti‑Semitism (Moshin 2018). Another symbol is the triple parentheses ((())) also known as “echoes,” positioned “around the names of those who are or might be Jew‑ ish, often these people are journalists,” and once identified as being Jewish they face “abuse and threats” (Moshin 2018: 32). Churchwell (2018) argues that the slogan “America first” is simply a dog whistle. Its mean‑ ing is part of the long dark history of slavery in America combined with the white supremacists’ hatred of immigrants and other races. Although conventional history has lost the meaning behind this “terrible tale,” its meaning has been “kept alive by underground fascist movements” (Church‑ well 2018: 2). Other words ascribed to belonging to the white race of Anglo‑Saxons included “Nordic,” which was used in a similar way that Nazis used “Aryan,” and “100% American” were all used interchangeably (Churchwell 2018: 3). Trump’s “Make America Great Again” is another example of a dog whistle entreating those white supremacists, who feel they are losing their power, culture, and identity, to take their country back to a time when it was “great” – but categorically suggesting “white.” White supremacists hold racist beliefs that somehow their skin tone and melanin content make them “superior to other races, characterized as outgroups, and therefore should be dominant over them” (Ong 2020: 2). Regardless of the names they give themselves or those that are attached to them by outsiders, the ideologies of these groups represent a span of opinions regarding race and dominance, anti‑Semitism, Islamophobia, homophobia, misogyny, xenophobia, and more (Godin et al. 2013; Simi and Windisch 2020).

Background: History of Racism To understand how dog whistles continue to work in the US in 2024, it is important to offer a brief historical background about racism generally and in the US specifically. Racism has a deep historical grounding in the Enlightenment where white supremacist writings were observed in the work of Charles Montesquieu, Voltaire, Hume, Kant, and America’s Thomas Jefferson (Bobo 2017: S89). Racism is abundantly clear in the US in the enslavement of black people from Africa, who were first brought to Virginia in 1619 (Allcorn 2021). This establishes how “deeply woven” white supremacy and racism are in the “fabric of American society” (Allcorn 2021: 284). Since the basic institutions of the US were premised on racism, it is ingrained in the minds of most Americans’ worldviews and how they determine what is beautiful or unattractive and what is untainted or contaminated (Bobo 2017; Hacking 2006). Those dispossessed slaves had their black bodies placed outside the possibility of citizenship by the Founding Fathers, who supposedly were creating a constitutional democracy (Bong Cook 2017). The disrespect and dehumanization of African Americans is found in the US Constitution, wherein slaves “were considered three‑fifths a person” (Taylor et al. 2019: 216). It is this historical precedent of slavery, white supremacy, and Jim Crow that has consigned the US to its current situation wherein white power is institutional‑ ized (Allcorn 2021). Up until the mid‑ to late 1930s many white Americans accepted the idea of whites being su‑ perior, as racism was blamed on ignorance. Kendi (2017: 9) however contends it is actually the institutions and their policies that have made white Americans think there is “something wrong with Black people” and this is what has “produced racist ideas of Black people as being best suited for slavery, segregation, or jail.” The European Americans handed down those beliefs be‑ cause their self‑deception let them imagine themselves to be superior Christians, while perceiv‑ ing African Americans and Native Americans as dangerous brutes and infidels who needed to be constrained (Freese 2018). Despite the length of time that has passed since slavery was condoned, 14

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much remains to be done in America to come to terms with its racist past and its troubling p­ resent. Despite the supposed “freedoms” offered by emancipation, African Americans continued to suf‑ fer from Jim Crow. The civil rights movement met with the “school‑to‑prison pipeline,” and the Obama presidency elicited the Tea Party and then Trump (Bong Cook 2017: 15). In the midst of the continued racism encountered by black Americans, other peoples of color such as Asian Americans, Latinx, and Arab Americans have faced and continue to face intolerance. The structure of racism in America is based on an absolute border between black and white people due to the fear of miscegenation (Myrdal 1944). This made‑up word from the 1860s led to rulings outlawing marriages between black and white people. Although one might think this type of unscientific nonsense is in the past that would be incorrect. While being president in the fall of 2020, Trump appealed to the “pseudo‑scientific eugenics saga of white genetic superiority” when he said to his predominantly white listeners: “You have good genes. A lot of it is about the genes, isn’t it, don’t you believe? The racehorse theory. You think we’re so different? You have good genes in Minnesota” (Nacos et al. 2020: 4). This is further evidence of using language to separate his ingroup, who fancy themselves having the “good genes,” from the outgroup which they look upon as “other.” Using this type of language gives Trump a tool that aids him in maintaining au‑ thority over his followers.

US Conservatives and Trump’s Dog Whistles Nativism is at the heart of Trump’s policies, many conservatives, and white supremacists. Nativ‑ ists are guided by the principle that only those who are native to the country should be favored, while any person or idea that is outside the local group is a threat (Koski and Bantley 2020). Despite sustaining continual immigration into the country, nativism was discernable early on and plainly intimated that “Anglo‑Saxon and Protestantism would be protected” (Steinberg 1981: 13). This situation remains today wherein nativist ideologies advocate power and authority over those residing in America (Borunda et al. 2020: 38). Trump used dog whistles associated with nativist arguments at the Naval Academy graduation in 2018, when he asserted “our ancestors tamed a continent,” followed by “we are not going to apologize for America” (Borunda et al. 2020). This type of rhetoric only serves to worsen the rift in the “nation’s political, social, and moral fiber” while advocating for white supremacist ideologies (Borunda et al. 2020: 38). In addition, nativism and an intense bond to the nation correlate with xenophobia (Ariely 2012; Bonikowski et al. 2021). This rhetoric allows Trump’s supporters to focus on the nostalgic aspect of his words and credit themselves as the “tamers” of wild uninhabited land, which is a false narrative. Nativist and racist speech have been part of America since its inception. However, according to Nacos et al. (2020), this most recent spate of white nationalism and hate speech are a direct reaction to Obama’s vic‑ tory in 2008. It is an unfortunate truth that when America finally got a president who represented the diversity of most Americans, the white people who harbored hatred and fear arose to ensure it may never happen again. As a candidate for president, Trump offered an opening to white identity that had been unspo‑ ken for the past half century. He accomplished this through “racist, xenophobic, and Islamophobic rhetoric” (Banahene Adjei 2018: 58). Some examples include: in 2016 Trump said, “Islam hates us”; in an October 2016 Tweet he wrote, “If elected POTUS – I will stop RADICAL ISLAMIC TERRORISM in this country!” In August 2017 he tweeted, “Radical Islamic Terrorism must be stopped by whatever means necessary!” and these are just a few instances of the continuous Islamophobic rhetoric that emerged from Trump, before and after his election (see Khan et al. 2016). Trump used his rhetoric to ensure that those with a white identity in the US could connect 15

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with him and their “perceived collective identity of the movement” (Simi and Windisch 2020: 4). This is further proof of using dog whistle politics to link to his ingroup while asserting their ­differences from the outgroup. Trump’s speeches and authoritarian behaviors maintained a focus on “othering” those his followers feared. He consistently pointed out how their differences made them incapable of being “real” Americans while stimulating hate and anger toward outgroups (Åkerlund 2021; Betz 1994; Thompson 2021). Political leaders in the US are being strategic when they engage in “othering,” as they are aware that they can convince their supporters to a­ ccept poli‑ cies that demean the outgroup. Trump sees American identity in a very particular way. His rhetoric is exclusionary and has been since he led the Birther movement. It culminated with attacking Mexican immigrants and banning Muslims. His MAGA slogan implies the need to take back the country (Railton 2019), while all his words offer his supporters a false society that excludes out‑ groups (Nacos et al. 2020). It is for this reason that it is relevant to review some of Trump’s language, as a candidate and then president. Due to the use of dog whistles, it is difficult to pin a charge of invoking violence on Trump. However, his words definitely focused on power and strength, which could be (mis) understood as calls to act out violently by his supporters. His preferential words projected might, rigidity, and victory according to Nacos et al. (2020). Trump’s expressions celebrated and inspired violence, and a brief review of his most often used words in his tweets included: “win” and “won” (1,136 times); “strong” (551 times); and “fight” and “attack” (over 200 times each) (Nacos et al. 2020: 16). In view of the influence of language, it is very possible that Trump’s constant criticisms of minorities, such as Mexican Americans, Muslims, Asian Americans, and immigrants, com‑ bined with his implied and sometimes obvious appeals to hostility “against singled‑out groups and individuals did result in political violence” (Nacos et al. 2020: 17). Negative political rheto‑ ric, especially when it comes from the highest office, can be dangerous and lead to objection‑ able consequences. Those in positions of power use “linguistic aggression” to “confuse and tempt their supporters” (Apressyan 1998: 589). It is through speech that extremists are able to assemble and collaborate on their collective identity, which entails “violent and aggressive worldviews” ­(Windisch et al. 2020: 72). By using coded language, politicians and their supporters can deny racism by pointing out that their words are harmless (Haney López 2014). Most Americans disagree with any signs of obvious racism (Horowitz et al. 2019); however, dog whistles use oblique language that usually conceals the bigotry from those “being racially manipulated” (Haney López 2016: 12). An example of this is Trump’s blunt comments about banning Muslims and calling Mexicans rapists (Korte and Gomez 2018; Simon 2018; Wilson 2020). Although many felt Trump had been racist, by never using “racial epithets or mentioning skin color” (Haney López 2016: 12), he was able to feign in‑ nocence. When white supremacists are called out for their dog whistles, they immediately turn on those criticizing them, claiming those people are racist for bringing up race (Haney López 2016). Some politicians have become so adept at this maneuver that it is often difficult to get around them. Many white supremacists felt that Trump agreed with their ideologies and during his tenure “white supremacist attitudes toward African Americans remerged” in a more noticeable man‑ ner (Railton 2019: 139). They looked to the president as the man who not only wanted to make America great again but perhaps more importantly wanted to make America white again (Allcorn 2021). Trump and his beliefs act as a “cultural force that creates a dark, dystopian worldview” (Kusz 2017: 237). He fuels the underlying fears of white men regarding their status in society by launching racist attacks at immigrants and others whom white people perceive as dangerous to their livelihoods or white American civilization (Kusz 2017). Since the ascension of Trump, the white supremacist movements have operated more openly online, and, according to Alexander 16

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(2020: xii), they are using this platform to “celebrate mass killings and recruit thousands into their ranks.” Currently, alt‑right beliefs are an integral part of today’s political arena in the US, with several conspiracy proponents working in elected positions. Their ability to organize online and evade detection allows them to expand their membership and become more influential and threat‑ ening, while their newly minted roles in the federal government are a dangerous step toward an unpredictable future America.

Findings: White Supremacist Functions and Strategies There are several aims of American dog whistle politics. Mainly they are applied to persuade their listeners that there is a tangible and valid division between those of “us” who are white and those others, who are “them.” Trump supporters and white supremacists utilize dog whis‑ tles in a carefully scripted way to emotionally manipulate their followers into believing that all their anxieties about the declining social status of white people are factual and should be ad‑ dressed. Furthermore, the dog whistles are often able to activate stereotypes, sometimes even unconsciously, by using terms such as “welfare queen,” which encourages their followers to categorize what they are hearing in a specific way. In addition, dog whistles are adjusted to influence negativity and hostility toward people of color, who are painted as the “other” who cannot ever fit into white people’s America, which in their minds is a white and Christian nation. Finally, by using dog whistles, white supremacists and others, including politicians, are always able to have plausible deniability, because nothing in their dog whistle speech is overtly racist. The findings of this research discovered that dog whistles have a multitude of ways to achieve their aims of mind engineering their followers. The three most relevant include the push for the belief in the ingroup versus the outgroup or “us” and “them,” the dangers of immigration to “real” Americans, and the notion of colorblindness, which absolves them of any burden of guilt for their racist actions.

Ingroup versus the Outgroup (Us versus Them) In the US, the “white supremacist movement embodies one of the most enduring political sub‑­ cultures in American history” but remains largely misunderstood (Simi et al. 2017: 1). One of the clearest definitions of white supremacy is offered by Frederickson (1981) as the “attitudes, ideolo‑ gies, and politics associated with blatant forms of white dominance over ‘non‑white’ populations” (as cited in Almaguer 1994: 7). The Southern Poverty Law Center (n.d.) defines supremacists as those who spread and accept far‑right ideologies whose goals are to safeguard and advance white‑ ness and white supremacy. At the heart of what white supremacists believe is that “We are not them, and they are not us” (Tenold 2018: xiii). They spend an inordinate amount of time character‑ izing and classifying what it means to be white, which is accomplished by identifying who is not white or more specifically who is not black. White supremacy maintains its control by relying on “historical economic, social, political, and judicial power” (Allcorn 2021: 280) and counts on the “willingness of whites to recognize white superiority over racial outgroups and maintain oppres‑ sion” (Phillips 2017: 1873). Through regular attention toward the past, white supremacists remind themselves of a nostalgic time when they reigned, and they can pretend that life was better for everyone. These beliefs allow them to assure other whites that being “superior” is not a problem and should be the norm. Fundamentally, white supremacists are a powerful culture of “paranoia and conspiracy that ferments in American society” (Simi and Futrell 2015: 1). Despite doctrinal variations, they all 17

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share the notion that “white racial genocide” is a real threat (Simi et al. 2017: 2). Despite the horrors of Hitler’s actions based on his assumed genetic superiority, many white supremacists look upon Hitler and his rule as something to be revered – a nostalgic time in history where being white meant something. The majority of them want to maintain their racial “purity” and many idolize Hitler and his gruesome actions. The veneration they offer to Hitler is visible today in the use of the swastika and Nazi salutes. They have various names and designations, some given to them and others they have chosen. Some of the monikers they and others label them with include white supremacists, white nationalists, separatists, Aryans, the radical right, and racists. Additionally, there are more well‑known groups such as the alt‑right and those long‑established factions such as the “Ku Klux Klan, neo‑Nazis, racist religious sects, prison gangs, football hoo‑ ligans as well as skinheads” (Ong 2020: 2). In the US, Canada, and Europe, there are a variety of white supremacy groups whose objectives and positions differ. Some of them hope for a world that has geographically separated areas where whites and non‑whites could live in segregation and avoid any mixing or marrying, while others want to completely eliminate all people of color (see Ferber 1998; Simi 2010). Their overall objectives are the same: subjugation and exploitation (Bong Cook 2017). Although violence is not at the heart of all white supremacist culture, according to Windisch et al. (2020: 66), they do tend to endorse and foster violence. Their world depends on all members being supportive of violence on behalf of the group and unreservedly defending all of their radi‑ cal adherents. In recent years, these groups have been stockpiling weapons in “anticipation of a second civil war” (Ong 2020: 3). Despite the violent talk and increase in arms purchases, very few go on to coordinate and put into practice “shooting sprees, bombings, or assassinations” (Windisch et al. 2020: 72). Although at this juncture there have been no overwhelming amounts of dangerous attacks, as many have been thwarted by law enforcement – during the Trump administration white supremacists were invigorated and indoctrinated by his dog whistles and conspiracy theories. Na‑ cos et al. (2020: 2) found that Trump’s hate speech led to “aggressive rhetoric, threats of violence, and actual violence” from his followers, who targeted Trump’s “enemies” mainly his political op‑ ponents, the media, and minorities.

Immigration Immigration maintains a major role in the worldwide rise of the far right. By insisting they are supporting their nation, white supremacists can more easily oppose immigration because they can claim it is not racism. It is more socially acceptable to be anti‑immigrant because it is viewed as being patriotic and therefore commendable (Saul 2019). However, it is important to understand that “cultural racism” remains discriminatory and it has been extremely notable in “British rac‑ ism” (Modood 2001, as cited in Saul 2019: 17). Many conservatives and white supremacists are convinced that immigrants and refugees are taking away the rights of the majority – that is whites. They pine for a false time when the US and the UK belonged to white Christians who dominated every aspect of society (Gorski and Perry 2022; Whitehead and Perry 2020), while turning to a false nostalgic past that allows politicians to control their beliefs. The “good” versus “bad” scenario is often used in far‑right populist discourse where they ­ensure that outgroups are viewed as “evil them” while the ingroup is seen as “good, white, and devout” (Åkerlund 2021; Hameleers and Schmuck 2017). The ingroup is easily threatened by perceived dangers, leading to heightened bitterness toward the outgroup (Bonikowski and Zhang 2020), like what occurred after 9/11. These opportunities allow dog whistles to heighten ­differences and prompt the ingroup to be alert. 18

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Colorblindness One way that white supremacists profess that there is no racism emanating from them is the no‑ tion of colorblindness. The fundamental conception of colorblind racism is that racism does not exist anymore because there are no officially recognized blockades holding back people of color. Therefore, all Americans have the same chances to prosper (Bonilla‑Silva 2021). Fundamentally, colorblindness disregards all visible suggestions of racial injustice and the “socio‑historical mean‑ ings of racial markers,” thereby effectively keeping racism alive (Edgar and Johnson 2018: 72). An example would be Justice Antonin Scalia, while still a law professor, arguing against affirmative action, stating that people do not owe each other anything “because of the blood that flows in our veins” (cited in Haney López 2014: 90). This reference to blood is a technique to “disjoint race from social context” (Haney López 2014). Colorblindness is a ploy that offers critical concealment according to Haney López (2014). It promotes conservatives’ declarations that racism is only real when a “person actually uses an epithet or confesses to malice”; effectively “coded speech is never racism so long as it remains in code” (Haney López 2014: 132). Ultimately, however, according to Alexander (2020: xi), the “colorblind veneer of the early 21st century American democracy was just that: a veneer.” There are some political leaders who only want Americans to understand one thing about rac‑ ism: that it involves hatred and can be recognized through cross burnings and physical assaults. Conservatives strongly condemn that behavior but so do most people in society. However, only condemning “malicious racism, with its hooded robes, tattooed swastikas, and apartheid flags” while insisting that this is the only form of racism is a political strategy (Haney López 2014: 5). This permits the right to claim that racism is mostly a thing of the past and ergo they cannot be racists because they do not use racist language or carry nooses (Haney López 2016). Conserva‑ tives are able to defend their coded racism because it obviously does not look like the types of overt racist imagery that they claim is true racism. As conservatives routinely assure people that racism must be seen to be actual racism, they “prevent individuals from recognizing how dog whistling – rooted in code, routine, and strategy – constitutes racial manipulation” (Haney López 2016: 17). The language of the Republican Party “reconstructs whiteness” as being infused with dominance, integrity, “citizenship, and victimhood” (Rosino and Hughey 2016: 328). They are skilled at applying their rhetoric to provoke racial animosity, while denying any accusations of racial discrimination (Bolden 2015: 175). Republicans and the conservative media presented ra‑ cially prejudiced, anti‑immigrant, and anti‑Muslim configurations long before Trump applied the same to his campaign and presidency (Anderson 2016; Bail 2014; Bonikowski et al. 2021; Parker and Barreto 2014). Their “socially exclusionary rhetoric” reveals progressively more prejudice, intolerance, xenophobia, Islamophobia, and anti‑Semitism (Bonikowski et al. 2021: 494).

Conclusion The fact that some politicians are able to exploit stereotypes without ever mentioning race is the remarkable part of dog whistles. Large numbers of Americans are mind engineered by “coded rac‑ ism because racism is endemic in our society,” and at its heart dog whistle politics are designed to manipulate white people’s anxiety about their “eroding social status” (Haney López 2016: 15). Long‑term, dog whistle politics succeed due to the indecisive and contradictory attitudes of white Americans toward racial matters – specifically with regard to African Americans (see Hutchings and Jardina 2009; Mendelberg 2001). Even though most white Americans no longer accept the biological assertions of racism, many have negative feelings about African Americans that are 19

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based on stereotypes and a view that “racial inequality is attributable to the individual failings of black people” (Wetts and Willer 2019: 2). Essentially, dog whistle politics used by right‑wing populists may work as indirect hints that mind engineer in such a way as to “activate people’s antipathy toward ethno‑racial minorities and immigrants” (Bonikowski and Zhang 2020: 12). This is relatively easily managed as many white people think that minorities are the foundation of so‑ ciety’s problems, and the dog whistles “resonate with their unconscious racial anxieties” (Haney López 2014: 178). Ultimately, in the US and some European countries, white supremacists are seeking ways to return to “white nations” dominated and ruled by white people. These groups strive to cause ten‑ sion by appearing authoritative and skilled enough to save the white race. They are convinced that they should rightfully be the leaders of society, and they believe they are losing resources and stature due to other groups, such as black people and immigrants. What white supremacists fail to understand and accept is that the US and much of Europe are made up of many cultures, languages, and religions. However, they still want to focus on a historical past that promotes the status of white people, all of which is “antithetical” to the democracy that supposedly undergirds the nations (Borunda et al. 2020: 40). The repeated use of nostalgia especially that which focuses on the nation and nationality is a part of the conservative and populist parties. The goal of nostalgic thinking is to “preserve cultural hegemony” while “stigmatizing outgroups” (Behler et al. 2021: 1). By offering praise to the na‑ tion’s past, the ingroup develops positive emotions and is very receptive. At the same time, the call to the past aggravates the group because they believe they have lost their power and prestige – this anger is then “channeled towards xenophobia” (Menke and Wulf 2021: 239). Trump’s MAGA slogan uses a nostalgic position that appeals to many but especially to older white men. The slogan reminds them of America when the US was the most powerful nation in the world, where diversity was not so obvious, and patrimonial power was the norm (Steenvoordena and Harteveld 2018: 31). Although to the many diverse people residing in the US, the past is not something to celebrate; for white supremacists and many white males, it was a time when they boasted all the authority and respect. Many white Americans, of European descent, fear annihila‑ tion and want their life of “comfort and privilege” to remain – and that depends on the “unchal‑ lenged, continuing exploitation, and oppression of people of color” (Freese 2018: 345). According to Bonikowski and Stuhler (2022: 22), Trump’s speeches used nostalgia to emphasize “populism, exclusionary nationalism, and authoritarianism.” His discourse ties in closely with the prevailing theories of “radical‑right politics in the literature,” while his practice of reaching back for nostalgia offered his campaign roots in radical‑right foundations (Bonikowski and Stuhler 2022). Trump’s racial dog whistles encouraged the festering resentments found among many white people during the Obama presidency. In addition, he pushed their internal beliefs that to be a “real” American, one must have a white identity, and this was done through “scapegoating and stigma‑ tizing” all those perceived as “others” or outgroups, because of their religion, ethnicity, or race (Kusz 2017: 238). Since most Trump supporters were only interested in rescuing “their” America from African Americans, Asian Americans, Muslims, Mexicans, and multiculturalism, they were not concerned about truth or facts. Therefore, Trump’s lies, “xenophobia, racism, sexism, and Islamophobia” did not affect their opinions of him; rather, those behaviors probably created more adoration for him (Banahene Adjei 2018: 50). White privilege is based on the supposition that whites are superior (Mitchell‑Yellin 2018). Conservative ideology in the US argues that any inequality between races should be blamed on the culture of those underprivileged factions or individual choices (HoSang and Lowndes 2019). By criminalizing black people and those viewed as “other,” this offers the “justification 20

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for exploitation” and suppression (Bong Cook 2017: 12). Through dog whistles, many Ameri‑ cans have been brainwashed/mind engineered to believe a certain story when it is repeated in a variety of subtle and not so subtle ways. They are no longer willing to engage critically with what they are hearing but instead accept it at face value, especially when it supports their own racial proclivities.

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2 “TRUMP”‑ING TO THE CAPITOL Brainwashing through Social Media Rimi Nandy and Jhilli Tewary

Introduction Politics and rhetoric have been intertwined within political discourse. In America specifically, authority figures have linked the physical territory to signify freedom and liberty. The American dream warrants a freedom of choice beyond any hierarchical constrictions. Nineteenth‑century “expansionism” in America defined the significance of expanding the American territory to fa‑ cilitate the progress represented by the idea of the liberating American dream (Azria 2018). The right‑wing populism prominent during the tenure of Ronald Reagan has evolved further in the contemporary age, spreading its effect quickly with the help of the internet. The rapid evolution of information communication technology has profoundly impacted how humans interact with information and each other. The internet has become an essential tool for con‑ necting people in the contemporary age. The social media platforms have been transformed into discussion spaces based on shared content. With the increased networked population, social media platforms have become effective tools for manipulating public opinion. The term “brainwashing” became prominent in the context of spreading propaganda using advanced forms of information communication technology. The space afforded by social media platforms, coupled with the al‑ gorithms behind the platforms, transforms social media into an effective tool for brainwashing. Negative news stories dominate the news because we are hard‑wired to respond more to them. It’s simple brain science, really, and harkens back to our days of needing every bit of news we could find in order to guarantee our survival. (Jones and Flaxman 2015: 346) This can be connected to “broaden and build” theory, which states that negative news leads to the narrowing down of “the field of attention”. According to recent neuroimaging studies, “positive and negative states had opposing influences over perceptual encoding in early visual cortices with positive states broadening and negative states narrowing the field of attention” (Schmitz et  al. 2009). The emergence of the internet transformed computers into a persuasive technology. With the rise of the network society, information is available in abundance. Most often, contradictory

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DOI: 10.4324/9781003289746-4

Rimi Nandy and Jhilli Tewary

news could be seen floating across social media platforms such as Facebook, Twitter, and Insta‑ gram. The significance of the information available in the internet space is not connected to the truth value but the affective value. Concepts such as spectacle, pleasure maximizing algorithm, and illusory truth effect have to be understood in the context of the role of social media in gen‑ eral and, in particular, Twitter’s role in disseminating information and constructing a political discourse. For this chapter, the tweets shared by Donald Trump during the first week of 2021 will be closely analyzed. The extracted tweets using #MarchforTrump and #StoptheSteal will also be critically evaluated. Apart from the aforementioned tweets, Trump’s speech at the rally preceding the protest at the Capitol on January 6, 2021 will also be evaluated. Social media has enabled the acceleration of the spreading of information/misinformation. With the increasing relevance of post‑truth in the contemporary age, the brainwashing trend has been enhanced with the help of cyberspace at the disposal of human society. Dissemination of information has become a collective and persuasive venture caused by the sheer volume of data created and shared every second. The ideas connected to truth and false are no longer seen as dy‑ namic opposites. Instead, the words have become part of manipulating public discourse. Creating doubt and confusion in the audience’s minds forms the base for the post‑truth era. The construction of social bias is no longer just restricted to humans alone. The presence of bots and trolls com‑ bined with a human presence online creates a persuasive environment of what appears to be truth (Foster 2022). For a piece of information to be considered as truth, the manner of its dissemination is also essential. How and by whom the data is shared goes a long way in its perception as true or false. Foster refers to several pieces of research proving that “fake news is spontaneously shared as much as six times more than evidence‑based news and is thus specifically about ‘circulation’” (Foster 2022). Truth value is no longer significant. Instead, the virality of a piece of information/ misinformation caters to constructing a manipulated belief system. This chapter focuses on the es‑ sence of post‑truth and the process of manipulation enabled by the digital communication system in the form of social media interaction. Politicians like Donald Trump have popularized the term “fake news” by using Twitter to polarize political viewpoints. To investigate the importance of the term fake news within “convergence culture”, the algorithmic patterns of social networking sites have to be critically analyzed. This chapter will analyze various posts to connect the irrelevance of truth in the contemporary age with mind manipulation through social media platforms. Fogg elaborates on the idea of computing technologies being used as persuasive tools. He refers to the persuasive role enacted through human–computer interaction (Fogg 2003). The persuasive ability is fashioned by the network of human and material elements. This is depicted through Latour’s ­actor–network theory, which is used to study the connection between human society and new me‑ dia technologies. The ubiquitous nature of computing technologies has constructed a constant con‑ nection between humans and technological devices such as laptops and mobile phones. According to Latour, technology and sociology cannot exist in siloes but are already connected (Sovacool et al. 2020). Following the introduction, the chapter is subdivided into five sections. The first section dis‑ cusses the architecture of social media platforms, its significance in social media, and the resulting prominence of post‑truth phenomena. The second section concentrates on Twitter’s popularity and its role in creating the political brand of Donald Trump. Further, it discusses various theoretical aspects connected to media studies and psychology to assess Twitter’s significance as a tool for brainwashing. The third section elaborates on the methodology used for data extracting and analy‑ sis of tweets and Trump’s speeches. The fourth section discusses the implications of the collected data in forming a political discourse efficient in persuading Trump’s followers. The final section concludes with a brief reflection on the study’s implications and this chapter’s hypothesis. 26

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Theoretical Implications of Post‑Truth and Politics on Social Media Social media platforms have created a space for prosumers. Every user is a potential broadcaster. This has led to the circulation of misinformation and fake news (Moravec et al. 2018). Since the users have the liberty to publish anything connected to their pre‑existing ideas and ideology, the data is not always verified. With the development of feminist criticism and post‑colonial criti‑ cism, the need for counter‑narratives has become essential in public narratives. The move from truth to affective narrative has made the value of truth redundant, thereby influencing the birth of the post‑truth era. The rise of ubiquitous computing, that is, the easy access to mobile devices enabled with internet connection, has made it easier to share opinions disguised as information around the clock. The role played by social media in the political sphere is embedded in the con‑ cept of participatory democracy. However, since the emotional effect of a message has become more ­important to rational information, anyone can participate in creating opinions and biases. The importance of new media rests in its ability to mobilize groups based on partisan politics (Olaniran and ­Williams 2020). Social media algorithms aim to create echo chambers catering to users’ accepted viewpoints. This has resulted in users being surrounded by information validating his/her ideas and ideologies. The users are never exposed to alternate viewpoints. This creates “filter bubbles”, further reinforcing existing beliefs and preferences (Wanless and Berk 2021). For an in‑depth understanding of public discourse on social media, psychological analysis is essential in comprehending how such a practice influences the creation of ideological homophily, favoring the reduction of cognitive dissonance. When these filter bubbles are combined with the naturally occurring homophily among human social networks with an affinity for gathering like‑minded people, a powerful homogenous network is born. This homogenous network functions like an echo chamber that regularly reflects similar opinions, creating the impression of an imagined commu‑ nity where every individual becomes a single homogenous voice (Currarini et al. 2016). Social media’s viral nature and affective capability make it an essential tool for persuasion. With the emergence of new media and the deepening of political polarization, a binary political approach has surfaced, aiming to boost political engagement and voter turnout among individu‑ als who perceive themselves as marginalized or lacking influence within the democratic system (Olaniran and Williams 2020). As Baggini puts it, “[o]ur current predicament is that authorities of expertise are routinely dismissed, with the authority of the gut, intuition, the people and/or God taking its place” (Baggini 2017: 30). The appeal of alternative authorities like popular opinion or intuitive beliefs often lies in their alignment with the sentiments and desires of the general public. However, such sources of authority may not always align with factual accuracy or the complexity of the issues at hand. Relying solely on populist appeal can oversimplify nuanced problems and hinder the implementation of evidence‑based solutions. The “echo chambers” enhance the effect of confirmation bias, seeking and interpreting information that confirms one’s preconceived no‑ tions. This may become more prevalent in a context where authoritative expertise is dismissed, leading to a polarized and fragmented society, with individuals selectively accepting information that supports their existing views. While the freedom to believe in a particular reality from within the plethora of alternative realities and truths might appear to be democratic, it also makes manipu‑ lating the consumers, even more, easier than in the preceding ages (Castillo and Egginton 2017). The access to uninterrupted information on social media platforms has affected the habits of the audience in relation to gathering news. However, the characteristics of the news in the form of information and knowledge available on social media are dynamically different from the in‑ formation made available by mass media tools such as radio, newspaper, and television. Data refers to information pertaining to various events occurring in society, whereas knowledge refers 27

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to the reasons behind a particular event. With the proliferation of the “attention economy”, the intention behind an act is less important than the act itself. However, in the post‑truth era, where misinformation and subjective narratives can easily gain traction, credibility verification remains essential for ensuring informed decision‑making, combating falsehoods, and preserving the integ‑ rity of information. However, it becomes challenging as the users function as content creators and reviewers. The cognitive reaction of the audience while processing a piece of information can be con‑ nected to “source credibility”, “repetition” and “pictures” supporting information. Human beings tend to believe information which is perceived to be credible. Since perception is based on a sub‑ jective reaction, the perceived credibility of the source might change from one person to the other. The idea of repetition is essential in social media, as the algorithms in each social media platform work toward creating “echo chambers” which reiterate one’s apperceptive mass, which refers to the previous experiences used to understand a new percept and idea. The significance of echo chambers in legitimizing information can be better grasped through the lens of referential theory (Korteling et al. 2018). This theory states that the experience of fluency depends on a statement’s fit with a recipient’s semantic network. The more references the statement shares with the network and the more coherently it fits into the network, the more fluently it is processed at re‑exposure and the more likely it will be judged as true. Hence, the referential theory highlights the role of conceptual rather than perceptual fluency. (Nadarevic et al. 2020) A discussion on the same will be undertaken in the latter half of the chapter. The multimodal affor‑ dance of social media platforms brings texts and images together in meaning‑making. The verbal component of social media posts depicts the human perception and reaction to public discourse. As mentioned previously, the algorithmic structure of social media enhances the creation of “echo chambers”. These “echo chambers” are created due to the principle of homophily char‑ acterizing social networks. The term “homophily” with reference to social networks represents the tendency of human beings to create natural bonds between people with similar attitudes and viewpoints. The presence of homophily enables the transfer of information within a homogeneous demography (Currarini et al. 2016). The “filter bubbles” are created through social media’s ability to constantly surveil consumers’ personal data. Deibert discusses three major perceptions based around social media, which he refers to as the “three painful truths” of social media: 1) That the social‑media business model is based on deep and relentless surveillance of consumers’ personal data in order to target advertisements; 2) that we permit this stagger‑ ing level of surveillance willingly, if not altogether wittingly; and 3) that social media are far from incompatible with authoritarianism, and indeed are proving to be among its most effective enablers. (Deibert 2019) He further refers to social media as “addiction machines”, which influence the human brain and the secretion of the hormone oxytocin, creating a longing for social media interactions. With the high level of influencing capability, social media inevitably becomes an effective tool for manipula‑ tion. Deibert also discusses how social media, instead of being a democratic space, has become a 28

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platform that helps spread authoritarianism. The constant production of information in the form of data affects the quality of public discourse. The cognitive aspect of information processing can be overwhelmed by information overload, leading the public to gravitate toward accepting informa‑ tion that aligns with their pre‑existing opinions and belief systems (Deibert 2019). In light of the earlier discussion in this chapter, post‑truths have increased the value of pathos compared to logos. Pathos, a mode of audience persuasion to connect with the speaker/writer’s point of view, has become an essential element in post‑truth rhetoric. It successfully transforms logic into a concrete object that can be quantitatively and qualitatively analyzed simultaneously. To understand the integration of pathos within the network culture, one needs to look back to Guy Debord’s idea of the Society of Spectacles (Briziarelli and Armano 2017). He talks about the image‑saturated consumer culture based on the objects’ representation rather than the object itself. The same idea of spectacles can be found in the contemporary age, though the spectacle and the spectator’s characteristics have undergone a massive change. Debord talks about a spectator who is a passive receiver of spectacle. In contrast, the spectacle and spectator of Web 2.0 is entwined in an interactive relationship. Baudrillard focuses on how “simulation” through images has replaced reality. He furthers the idea of the political economy of signs “according to which a world of commodified objects then turned into a world of signs without material referent, thus a post‑modern hyper‑reality” (Briziarelli and Armano 2017: 32). The digital space embodies spectacle, which is entirely immaterial, and it increases the value of pathos. This, in turn, makes “affect” more relevant for fulfilling the consum‑ ers’ desire for popularity. Therefore, the role of information in the digital age is connected to its ability to attract attention, which denotes affective capacity. Affect is a comprehensive term en‑ compassing personal reactions, feelings, evaluations, moods, and emotions. It influences our lives, including perception, social interactions, behaviors, decision‑making, and information processing. By understanding the role of affect, we can gain insights into how our emotional states shape our experiences and behaviors (Kalpokas 2019). As discussed earlier, affect has become the driving force behind constructing an audience con‑ trolled by affective truth. According to Van Dijk, in a networked society, “Direct experience is replaced by mediated and technically supported or affected perception” (Dijk 1999: 189). This shows how human–machine interaction is characterized in the context of social media. The social media platforms, such as Twitter, transcend the bounds of geographical space and time while bringing together an interactive expanse catering to the representation of an individu‑ al’s perception. Massumi refers to affect as transversal in the sense that it cuts through realms that are usually seen as separate—such as subjective/objective, desire/what is given, freedom/constraints. Affect happens in the mid‑ dle, the in‑between; the two realms are like two facets of the same event. (Hipfl 2018: 7) In this context, Deleuze and Guattari’s idea about society being a complex interconnection system is extremely relevant. According to them, this network is like a rhizome with multiple nodes, mak‑ ing the system fluid and dynamic. An individual exists within this system of networks in a con‑ stant flux of a state of “becoming” and “actualization”. Since the state of becoming is never fixed, it focuses more on potentiality and multiplicity. Deleuze and Guattari’s concept of assemblages refers to a continuous process of connecting, disconnecting, and reconnecting. Social network‑ ing site such as Twitter is entirely based on a system of networks that brings together opinions to create a social discourse. An integral part of the post‑truth era is passing opinion as truth. 29

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The data created and produced is always targeted toward creating a sense of pleasure among the users. Contemporary consumer culture works toward maximizing the sense of pleasure charac‑ terized by “emotional enrichment from commercial goods and experiences”—a utopia of easily ­accessible pleasure (Kalpokas 2019). The emotional responses to social media updates cater to the construction of “electronic elsewhere”, that is, “social spaces sustained through digitally enabled affective structures” (Papacharissi 2015: 24). Such affective publics can be defined as “public formations that are mobilized and connected or disconnected through expressions of sentiment” (Papacharissi 2015: 125). This drive toward instant gratification and agglomeration through shared affects (i.e., shared gratification) also means that competition over audience attention effectively turns into competi‑ tion over the maximization of pleasure and consumer satisfaction: in other words, politics‑as‑a‑­ service becomes a satisfaction‑maximizing service. The newer version of politics is embedded in the proliferation of post‑truth. Politicians now manipulate “facts” as per the requirement of their narratives. Ignas Kalpokas comments on the formation of contemporary political culture by quot‑ ing Horsthemke “in which political debate characteristically assumes the form of appeals to per‑ sonal feelings detached from policy details, and of frequent repetition of bold assertions to which factual counterevidence is disregarded” (Kalpokas 2019). This implies that algorithmic politics potentially undermine political agency, as individuals may perceive themselves as making choices based on their own will and agency. Still, the choice environment is manipulated through algorith‑ mically determined triggers. Instead of consciously addressing matters of concern, personalized satisfaction is induced through these triggers, which individuals may not consciously recognize. Consequently, political agency becomes compromised, with the choice environment predispos‑ ing individuals toward specific choices, thereby limiting their autonomy. As a result, the commu‑ nication specialists working for world leaders such as Donald Trump and Vladimir Putin, among others, use social media to propagate alternative truth, strengthening the preconceived notions of popular public discourse. This section enumerated the characteristics and principal features of social media platforms and their affordances, encouraging the transformation of such platforms into tools for brainwashing and spreading fake news. The following section will delve deeper into the politics of language and Trump’s rhetorical lies.

Trump and Post‑Truth in Twittersphere The use of media to achieve political ends is not a new practice. This process has existed since time immemorial. Manufacturing news has always been a tool in the hands of the dominant sphere of society, namely, the leaders in power. The Red Scare, during the reign of Senator McCarthy, is symbolic of the prevalence of manufactured truth which was used to brainwash the citizens of America to George W. Bush’s claim that Saddam Hussain hid weapons of mass destruction in Iraq. This is another example of how media was used to spread information that did not necessarily have any basis for existence (Leffler 2023). Ronald Reagan’s promise to the voters to take them back to the more liberating past of America, using political vocabulary, is another instance of the persua‑ sive value of language and media. Reagan’s abolition of Fairness and Accuracy in Reporting paved the way for “affective” media. As mentioned earlier, post‑truth phenomena became increasingly important. This reached its culmination in the form of social media communication. Within the sphere of social networking, “Microblogging services provide a simple, easy form of communica‑ tion that enables users to broadcast and share information about their day‑to‑day activities, opin‑ ions, news stories, current status, and other interests” (Bae and Lee 2012). Twitter’s format of 140 30

“Trump”-ing to the Capitol: Brainwashing through Social Media

characters makes it more appealing to users. The shortened and restricted length is in keeping with the decreasing attention span of the public and increases the pace of information dissemination. Twitter, a social media tool, provides a different information‑sharing approach. It combines the features of a social networking site and microblogging, which helps spread information in real time. Unlike other social networking sites, Twitter allows sharing of information with users. It is mainly used to share information and opinions about different aspects of society. As a plat‑ form, it works as a collaborative public space. Twitter uses a particular model termed “following”, which does not require prior connection to any user. Networking occurs when a user “ follows” another user, which refers to real‑time updates from the profiles being followed. A “follower” is another Twitter user who has followed you. Some elements specific to Twitter are the format for responding to a tweet (@username) and #(hashtag) to define different categories. Because of its influential capacity, Twitter is used as a branding and marketing platform for products and politics (Cripps et al. 2020). Since signs, images, and spectacles have become more important in society, image‑making has become integral to politics. This chapter mainly focuses on understanding Twit‑ ter’s role in spreading fake news. To understand this, it is essential first to discern the reason for the belief that fake news is genuine. The social media platform acts as a breeding ground for opinions and information that may be reliable and untrue. Unlike traditional news media, social media content generally does not run through a thorough filtering process, such as fact‑checking or editorial judgment (Allcott and ­Gentzkow 2017). Unlike traditional news, news circulated in social media is not chosen by the user but is determined by algorithms. In the absence of fact‑checking, the information obtained from unreliable sources cannot be distinguished from information circulated by reliable sources. Silverman stated, “More fake news articles are shared on social media than real news” (Moravec et al. 2018). The reason behind the higher circulation of fake news is the presence of bots and trolls, which are used to manipulate and manufacture consent. The pleasure‑seeking attitude of ­users leads them to avoid existential concerns that arise out of the possibility of the negative ­impact of climate change. This approach causes users to become uncritical of the source ­information, ­causing them to process information superficially without in‑depth cognitive processing. The combination of various psychological aspects creates an increasing acceptability of fake news. These aspects can be defined with reference to the dual‑process theory, heuristics, partisan bias, illusory truth effect, and cognitive biases (Korteling et al. 2018). In relation to this, the dual‑process theory can be accurately used to analyze the impact of fake news on the audience’s mind. The dual‑process theory states that there are two modes of information processing called System 1 and System 2. System 1 operates automatically and quickly, with little or no effort and no sense of voluntary control, whereas System 2 allocates attention to the difficult mental activities that demand it, including complex calculations. The operations of this system are often associated with the subjective experience of agency, choice, and concentration (Evans and Stanovich 2013). Analytical reasoning, associated with System 2, is more effective in detecting fake news. However, based on the pleasure‑seeking principle, the human mind mostly avoids using System 2 as it requires more effort. A further discussion of this theoretical aspect will be undertaken later in the chapter with reference to the results of linguistic analysis of extracted tweets. Being “cognitive misers”, we will likely process information based on heuristics. A study con‑ ducted by Allcott and Gentzkow (2017) reported that those who claimed they had seen and agreed with fake news stories were more likely to react to the coherence of the fake‑news story headlines with their predisposition and consumed information consistent with their support or opposition to the main party presidential candidates. This leads to a conformity bias. Confirmation bias refers to 31

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a bias created against any form of information challenging one’s accepted belief system and there‑ fore refusing to believe any information proclaiming to the contrary (Nickerson 1998). Exposure to similar ideas and ideologies repeatedly enables the process of brainwashing in the absence of any contrary opinions (Tabet 2021). When judging news headlines, people are likely to use heuristics, lowering their resistance to false information. Heuristics  are mental shortcuts that allow people to solve problems and make judgments quickly and efficiently. These rule‑of‑thumb strategies shorten decision‑making time and allow people to function without constantly thinking about their next course of action ­(Schirrmeister et al. 2020). This study used the Linguistic Analysis Word Count (more commonly known by the acronym LIWC) tool to derive an analytic score of the tweets, which in turn is used to understand the heuristic aspects. The significance of LIWC analytic count lies in its ability to provide insights into individuals’ psychological and emotional states based on their language usage. By examining the frequency of words associated with different categories, LIWC can help researchers or analysts understand pat‑ terns of communication and gain a deeper understanding in various fields, including psychology, linguistics, and social sciences. The LIWC analytic count is significant as it allows researchers to quantitatively measure and analyze linguistic and psychological dimensions in texts, providing valuable insights into the emotional and cognitive aspects of communication (Tausczik and Pen‑ nebaker 2010). The following section will focus on the methodology used and the interpretation and discussion of the results.

Methodology and Results The hypothesis being examined in this study points to the fact that the Twitter platform is a sig‑ nificant tool for manipulating public opinion through brainwashing techniques. To prove the hy‑ pothesis, Donald Trump’s tweets and speeches connected to the attack on the U.S. Capitol building have been used as a case study. A mixed‑method approach was employed to investigate this, ana‑ lyzing relevant tweets obtained through data scraping. The study also analyzes Trump’s “Save America” Rally speech. The data collection for this study utilized a Twitter developer account. Twitter provided an Academic Research Access for the same. Twitter application programming interface (API) was used to scrape tweets through Python programming. A total of 27 tweets were extracted from Donald Trump’s Twitter account dated January 1, 2021, to January 8, 2021. The case study will also refer to relevant comments on the same. The extracted data was then analyzed using the licensed version of LIWC. The collected data was analyzed to show how the sentiments reflected in the tweets were used to manipulate public opinion. Trump’s tweets from the first week of January 2021 were analyzed to connect the quantitative values to the qualitative analysis of the statements. The storming of the U.S. Capitol by Trump supporters on January 6, 2021, makes the study of Trump’s tweets during this period extremely significant. The quantitative values of the cognition process depict how Trump’s tweets are used to brainwash his supporters into believing that the presidential election was rigged. There are also instances of Trump supporters speaking about being brainwashed and persuaded through his “cha‑ risma” and “lies”. For example, in a comment dated August 26, 2023, the erstwhile support talks about how he realized that Trump “duped” him into believing in his falsehoods under the influence of his “charisma, bravado” and lies. He comments: I also turned a blind eye to the lack of accountability, the erosion of democratic values, and the blatant disregard for justice and diversity. I was so caught up in the “us vs. them” 32

“Trump”-ing to the Capitol: Brainwashing through Social Media

mentality that I failed to see the bigger picture: that democracy thrives on diversity of thought, that justice is for everyone, and that climate change is a real and present danger that we need to address now. (P a u l ◉ [@ybarrap] 2023)

In opposition, supporters are tweeting “Thank you for coming back” alongside a reiteration of the phrase “Make America Great Again”. Mirroring the words of Ronald Reagan “Let’s Make America Great Again”, Trump strengthens right‑wing populism, through mind manipulation and persuasion. The later part of this chapter engages in the qualitative analysis of various tweets pertaining to the promise of a greater America of an imaginative past under extreme right‑wing policies (Hassan 2019). The LIWC analysis (Table 2.1) shows a cognition value of 10, suggesting that only 10% of the tweets contain words related to cognitive processes, thinking, understanding, and perceiving. As a result, the audience readily accepts the information shared through the tweets. The category of cog‑ proc (cognitive process) represents words related to thinking, analyzing, and processing informa‑ tion. A value of 8.75 suggests that very few of the tweets initiate critical and analytical processing of the shared information. Insight, which is a subcategory of cognition, includes words related to gaining insight or understanding. A value of 1.54 suggests a very low percentage of words providing an understanding of the comments made by Trump. Similarly, a value of 1.25 in the cause category can be considered to signify the prominence of a form of language not explaining the reasons behind Trump’s political proclamation. Discrep, another subcategory of cognition, denotes words depicting discrepancy. With reference to Trump’s tweets, the value suggests that 2.12% of the words show the presence of discrepancy. Since Trump does not cite the sources for the statements he makes, it becomes impossible to verify his claims. A total of 1.35% of the words represent a cautious note, whereas the value of certainty is much lesser at 0.77. Since Trump neglects to cite the sources for the information he shares, the rate of discrepancy is higher than the words helping to understand the reasons or causes behind the statements he makes. Dr. Jonathan Schroeder refers to the right‑wing media machine’s strategy of lying and skewing information by using the vocabulary of statistics and science which makes his statements appear truthful. In his words, the right‑wing media uses cite a statistic, or they’ll cite a finding. But they won’t really tell you where it’s from. They won’t tell you much about the study. They won’t tell you who’s compiling that statistic. They just cite it out of thin air. Who put this statistic out? Is this scientifically proven? Was it peer reviewed? Who paid for it? (Senko 2021: 103) This is clearly evident in Trump’s tweets and speeches, also posted and reposted on Twitter. For example, in his tweet “Georgia election data, just revealed, shows that over 17,000 votes illegally flipped from Trump to Biden”, Trump does not indicate the source of this data. This is a strategy very commonly used by Donald Trump. Another important psychological element working in favor of the sharing and acceptance of fake news is partisan bias. Ideological beliefs construct every social identity. Information congru‑ ent with one’s beliefs is accepted, and those incongruent are dismissed. Regardless of their ac‑ curacy, social networks efficiently spread information clustered together and disconnected from other parts of society. If the source of information disseminated is from within the recognizable social circle, then it is evaluated more favorably. Within this network, an echo chamber is created, making one an easy target for conscious and unconscious manipulation. 33

Rimi Nandy and Jhilli Tewary

Table 2.1  LIWC cognition category and subcategories score S. no.

LIWC_Measure

Value

1 2 3 4 5 6 7

Cognition Cogproc Insight Cause Discrep Tentat Certitude

10 8.75 1.54 1.25 2.12 1.35 0.77

Partisan bias causes one to reject or accept the information based on whether the preferred politician is being portrayed in a negative or positive light. Critics with a negative attitude toward a politician willingly accept fake news which highlights the negative aspect of the politician and reject positive news in favor of the politician, even if it is real. The construction of cognitive bias is closely related to the framework of the neural networks. Neural networks are considered to be the basic biological component responsible for the percep‑ tion and motor function of the human body. These networks are characterized by four neural mechanisms which give rise to cognitive bias. The four neural mechanisms are categorized as association, compatibility, retainment, and focus principles. All four principles create the basis for the human brain to form associations and connections between unrelated information which are in sync with preconceived notions and beliefs. Further, the exposure to irrelevant information tends to be integrated into the brain permanently, which in turn gets concretized by exposure to “known knowns’ or repeated information (Korteling et al. 2018). Since Twitter as a platform creates filter bubbles through algorithmic processes, alternative viewpoints are often completely missing in the discourse built around understanding a particular phenomenon. Repetition of news within the Twitter circle creates a familiarity that primes the mind to process similar stimuli quickly. For example, the repeated use and circulation of the phrases “Make America Great Again”, “Our Country”, and “Rigged Election”, along with “#StoptheSteal” and “#MarchforTrump”, success‑ fully establishes a stronghold of blind supporters, almost forming a cult. In his book The Cult of Trump, Steven Hassan states: Trump uses all kinds of cult tactics—lying, insulting opponents, projecting his weaknesses onto others, deflecting, distracting, presenting alternative facts and competing versions of reality—to confuse, disorient, and ultimately coerce his followers. Repetition programs the beliefs into the unconscious. (Hassan 2019: 11) The following tweets can be read in the context of cognitive bias and neural network mechanisms. The linguistic category of pronouns is critical in constructing the context and meaning of the tweets. The tweets repeatedly use the term “we” to refer to Trump and his supporters, and the per‑ sonal pronoun “they” is used more commonly to refer to Trump’s opposition, mainly the Demo‑ crats and the Liberals. For example, the tweet “Just didn’t want to announce quite yet. They’ve got as many ballots as are necessary. Rigged Election!”, is such an instance. The tweets on Donald Trump’s Twitter account1 show a similar pattern of opinion building in support of Trump. Continuous tweets referring to fraudulent elections create an impression of 34

“Trump”-ing to the Capitol: Brainwashing through Social Media

truth. The repetition of these opinions successfully creates “filter bubbles” exposing the users to similar viewpoints repeatedly, creating a cognitive bias. The biological functions of neural net‑ works therefore play an essential role in brainwashing through the interaction of Twitter.

Discussion LIWC is used to infer a speaker’s psychological state based on the categorization of the spoken or written words. A previous study has shown that language elements associated with deception are “(a) fewer self‑references, (b) more negative emotion words, and (c) fewer markers of cognitive complexity” (Newman et al. 2003). This is clearly visible in the collected datasets. The analysis of individual tweets revealed that the use of the term “we” is much higher than other personal pronouns, with a total value of 1.73 and for the Save America Rally speech a total value of 3.24. This indicates the desire to create a community feeling among Trump supporters. The category of authenticity reflects a value of 1 in both cases. Authenticity deals with the content words acting as the markers of honesty, clarity, transparency, and authenticity markers. The low value indicates that the number of words projecting authenticity is much lesser in number. In spite of this, Trump’s followers readily believe his words due to their affective capability. James Moir refers to Peter Bull’s work on Atkinson’s theory of rhetorical devices and the idea of “claptrap” to discuss the role of performance in a political speech. According to this discussion, certain words invoke instant ap‑ plauses. Bull further categorizes Atkinson’s idea of “claptrap” into invited and uninvited applause (Moir 2013). Though this theoretical approach is used to denote political speeches, the comments on tweets could also be analyzed using this approach. An analysis of the comments on the tweets clearly shows the presence of both kinds of applauses. For example, in his speech, Trump’s words “We will not let them silence your voices. We’re not going to let it happen, I’m not going to let it happen” led the audience to chant “Fight for Trump”. LIWC analysis of the separate datasets shows a higher rate of use of the term “we” in the year 2021 in comparison to the use of “I” and “they”. A calamity or impending danger brings people together as a group. This is very clear from the fact that “we” is used more often in tweets. Using the homophylic tendency of communication on social media platforms such as Twitter creates a space for the increasing use of pronouns like “we” and “you”. The word cloud (refer to Figure  2.1) shows the ten most frequently used words in Trump’s tweets. The words “great” and “states” are used to associate with the greatness of America and the need to protect it. Trump’s use of the words “election” and “fraud” evoked a sense of anger among his followers, which finally led to the attack on the U.S. Capitol. This is clearly reflected in the tweets referred to earlier. The word cloud image shown in Figure 2.1 was made using a licensed version of LIWC. LIWC contextualizer analysis under the affect category also shows the placement of words in context to manipulate the followers’ allegiance. For example, the word “great” is categorized as an affect word in the context of the text. In this context, it appears to be describing the “American patriots” who number 75,000,000. The use of the word “great” here suggests a positive sentiment or evaluation of these individuals. The term “American patriots” implies that these people are highly regarded as devoted and loyal citizens of the United States. Therefore, the text appears to be expressing a positive opinion about a large group of American patriots, characterizing them as “great”. The word “great” is associated with an America of the past and a prosperous future for the country. The inclusion of “will have” at the end of the phrase indicates a future action or outcome related to making America great again. In another instance, the word “illegally” is being associated with electoral misconduct and irregularities. The tweet suggests that there were over 17,000 votes 35

Rimi Nandy and Jhilli Tewary

Figure 2.1  Word cloud for Donald Trump’s tweets

that were changed or “flipped” from Donald Trump in a manner considered illegal. This statement implies an accusation of electoral misconduct or irregularities. The word “illegally” indicates that these actions were not per the law or regulations, and it raises concerns about the integrity of the election process. The analysis of the dataset2 depicts various aspects of Donald Trump’s use of words to ma‑ nipulate and “brainwash” his followers to believe in the narrative of election fraud that he paints through Twitter. The structure and linguistic and cognitive markers, along with rhetorical devices, validate the presence and ready acceptance of Donald Trump’s political discourse.

Conclusion Social media has transformed the practice of public discourse. Real‑time communicative ex‑ changes and the ubiquity of social media platforms enable an easier way of undertaking mass brainwashing. The current age of “inflationary media” based on the fragmented nature of society has created a “crisis of reality”. Eli Parser’s use of the term “filter bubble” deftly explains the consumer‑driven culture of the digital age. This study has focused on understanding the process of brainwashing American citizens into following Trump’s instigation to storm the U.S. Capitol. An analysis of extracted tweets by Trump shows that the algorithmic structure of social media, coupled with the prevalence of post‑truth, enables the manipulation of the citizens to create a large number of supporters for Trump. His supporters in turn through the repetition of Trump’s use of political vocabulary continue the process of manipulation. The Twitter platform essentially becomes a tool efficiently wielded by Donald Trump in molding his followers to believe in the conspiracy related to the rigging of the 2020 U.S. presidential elections. 36

“Trump”-ing to the Capitol: Brainwashing through Social Media

Notes 1 A table containing the tweets referred to can be found at https://docs.google.com/document/d/1ZgvFM7 t34PQSgWqk9IEa1R20Jg60ZRFA/edit?usp=sharing&ouid=108689591193300984010&rtpof=true&sd= true 2 The Result of the LIWC contextualizer can be found at https://docs.google.com/document/d/17FWc5BY GpEtvIFjcqPDZxB8QLDeVTFYt/edit?usp=sharing&ouid=108689591193300984010&rtpof=true&sd= true

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Rimi Nandy and Jhilli Tewary Newman, M., Pennebaker, J., Berry, D., & Richards, J. (2003). ‘Lying Words: Predicting Deception from Linguistic Styles’. Personality & Social Psychology Bulletin. 29: 665–675. https://doi.org/10.1177/ 0146167203029005010 Nickerson, R. S. (1998). ‘Confirmation Bias: A Ubiquitous Phenomenon in Many Guises’. E Educational Publishing Foundation. 2(2): 175–220. Olaniran, B. and Williams, I. (2020). ‘Social Media Effects: Hijacking Democracy and Civility’. In J. Jones and M. Trice (Eds.), Platforms, Protests, and the Challenge of Networked Democracy (pp. 77–94). https:// doi.org/10.1007/978‑3‑030‑36525‑7_5 P a u l ◉ [@ybarrap]. (2023, August 26). @realDonaldTrump My DMs are filled with folks like Sylvia. MAGA, you can do better. “I can’t believe I’m writing this, but I have to get it off my chest. For years, I was a die‑hard Trump supporter. I believed in the man and his message—Or at least, what I thought was his message. I wore the… [Tweet]. Twitter. https://twitter.com/ybarrap/status/1695312367016382789 Schirrmeister, E., Göhring, A.‑L., and Warnke, P. (2020). ‘Psychological Biases and Heuristics in the Context of Foresight and Scenario Processes’. Futures & Foresight Science. 2(2): e31. https://doi.org/10.1002/ ffo2.31 Schmitz, T. W., De Rosa, E., and Anderson, A. K. (2009). ‘Opposing Influences of Affective State Valence on Visual Cortical Encoding’. The Journal of Neuroscience. 29(22): 7199–7207. https://doi.org/10.1523/ JNEUROSCI.5387‑08.2009 Senko, J. (2021). The Brainwashing of My Dad: How the Rise of the Right‑Wing Media Changed a Father and Divided Our Nation—And How We Can Fight Back. Sourcebooks. Sovacool, B. K., Hess, D. J., Amir, S., Geels, F. W., Hirsh, R., Rodriguez Medina, L., Miller, C., Alvial Palavicino, C., Phadke, R., Ryghaug, M., Schot, J., Silvast, A., Stephens, J., Stirling, A., Turnheim, B., van der Vleuten, E., van Lente, H., and Yearley, S. (2020). ‘Sociotechnical Agendas: Reviewing Future Directions for Energy and Climate Research’. Energy Research & Social Science, 70, 101617. https://doi. org/10.1016/j.erss.2020.101617 Tabet, R. (2021, May 24). ‘Brainwashing Capabilities of Social Media’. Gritnova. https://gritnova.com/ brainwashing‑capabilities‑of‑social‑media/ Tausczik, Y. R. and Pennebaker, J. W. (2010). ‘The Psychological Meaning of Words: LIWC and Com‑ puterized Text Analysis Methods’. Journal of Language and Social Psychology. 29(1). https://doi. org/10.1177/0261927X09351676 Trump, D. (2023, August 25). Donald J. Trump (@realDonaldTrump) / X. X (Formerly Twitter). https://twit‑ ter.com/realDonaldTrump Wanless, A. and Berk, M. (2021). ‘Participatory Propaganda: The Engagement of Audiences in the Spread of Persuasive Communications’. In D. Herbert and S. F. Hoyrem (Eds.), Social Media and Social Order (pp. 111–132). De Gruyter.

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3 THE CHINESE COMMUNIST PARTY’S HISTORICAL RESOLUTIONS AS MIND‑ENGINEERING PROJECTS Heike Holbig Introduction In November 2021, the Central Committee of the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) approved the Resolution on the Major Achievements and Historical Experience of the Party over the Past Cen‑ tury (henceforth 2021 Resolution), the third resolution of its kind. Together with the Resolution on Certain Questions in the History of our Party published in 1945 under Mao Zedong (henceforth 1945 Resolution)1 and the Resolution on Certain Questions in the History of our Party since the Founding of the People’s Republic of China passed in 1981 under Deng Xiaoping (henceforth 1981 Resolution), it forms a string of watershed documents, each of them inaugurating and legiti‑ mating a new ‘dynasty’ of Party rule. The purpose of the CCP’s historical resolutions can be captured most aptly from the perspective of mind‑engineering as conceptualized in this handbook. As this chapter shows, each resolution is designed to (re‑)shape the perception of historical reality with a view to creating historical narra‑ tives that justify and transfer authority to the incumbent Party leadership. To do so, first, the perio‑ dization of Party history is repeatedly recalibrated, historical protagonists and events are enlarged or downplayed, and ‘history’ itself is ascribed agency to bestow rightful authority to the Party leadership. Second, the resolutions are written in a rhetoric that strives to inculcate beliefs in the Party’s evolving ideological orthodoxy. As pedagogical texts, they call for instilling Party mem‑ bers with the core tenets of the Party canon which they help to reproduce under incumbent CCP leaders. Last but not least, they prime for action in the sense of invoking audiences’ consent to the ‘correct’ interpretation of historical reality and thus to the current leadership’s right to rule, while sanctioning other ‘incorrect’ accounts of Party history – recently labeled ‘historical nihilism’. This chapter elaborates on the evolution of these three functions of mind‑engineering from 1945 to 2021. To do so, the three resolutions published under Mao, Deng, and Xi are analyzed from a linguistic perspective, thereby offering an original contribution to the existing literature. Each of the three resolutions has been studied by Party historians and political science scholars in its respective contemporary context, mostly from a perspective of power politics. To name just a few seminal works, Schwartz (1968), Apter and Saich (1994), Saich (1995), and Li (2002) have discussed the political background and implications of the 1945 Resolution; Goodman (1981), Weigelin‑Schwiedrzik (1987), and Leese (2020: 434–448) have investigated the machinations of 39

DOI: 10.4324/9781003289746-5

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elite politics and the forging of a consensus on the post‑Mao Party leadership in the making of the 1981 Resolution, while Engman (2021) focuses on its role in Party propaganda efforts to reconcile personal experience and Party historiography. The third resolution, published in November 2021, has been covered mainly in online media commentary (Leese 2022; Introvigne 2022), still await‑ ing a more systematic analysis. So far, there is almost no overarching research on the CCP’s history resolutions as a generic form of text evolving over the course of time (Weigelin‑Schwiedrzik 2006 being an exception, see below). This chapter aims to fill this research gap by treating the resolutions on Party history as a genre of its own. The concept of genre denotes a specific type of communication recognized via social conventions that shape discursive interaction (Fairclough 2003: 26) and characterized by specific linguistic functions, formal traits, and patterns of textual organization as well as specific communicative relations implied in a text’s genre (Charaudeau et al. 2002: 278–280). Building on the existing literature dealing with the power politics and propaganda rationales behind the three consecutive resolutions, the linguistic perspective chosen in this chapter allows us to focus on the discursive modus operandi behind the evolving mind‑engineering functions as outlined earlier – the (re)shaping of historical ‘truth’, the inculcation and molding of beliefs, and the justification of incoming leadership generations vis‑à‑vis a wider public. This approach bears some similarity to Apter’s and Saich’s (1994) notion of ‘exegetical bonding’,2 which he used in his analysis of the 1945 Resolution – in a nutshell, the process of bestowing symbolic capital and political authority to incumbent leaders via a collective process of textual exegesis orchestrated top‑down by the Party leadership. In line with the conceptualization of the historical resolutions as a genre of its own, however, this chapter attaches more weight to the upstream process of the discursive con‑ struction of the texts than to the downstream process of emotional ‘bonding’ facilitated by their collective exegesis. The chapter is structured according to the three functions of mind‑engineering; each of them is analyzed diachronically. While the first section elaborates on how perceptions of the CCP’s historical reality have been shaped by Soviet historiography and reshaped under Mao, Deng, and Xi, the second section investigates how the three resolutions have contributed to the indoctrination of beliefs in the evolving Party canon. The third section illustrates how the genre is designed to prime its target audiences for action by incentivizing certain forms of behavior and disincentivizing other forms of behavior, followed by a conclusion on the genre’s evolving mind‑engineering role. The linguistic analysis is based on primary sources, including the original Chinese‑language versions of the 1945, 1981, and 2021 Resolutions, as well as the official English‑language transla‑ tions offered by foreign language outlets of the CCP’s propaganda apparatus. For purposes of cita‑ tion, citations will refer to document sections instead of pagings in the three resolutions to allow for cross‑references between Chinese and English versions.

(Re‑)Shaping Perceptions of Historical Reality Stalin’s Short Course and Mao’s 1945 Resolution The first resolution on CCP history was adopted by an enlarged plenary session of the Party’s central committee in April 1945, marking the end of Mao Zedong’s rectification campaign in the Yan’an revolutionary base area (Apter 1994; Saich 1995; Gao 2019). It was closely mod‑ eled on the 1938 version of the Short Course of the History of the All‑Russian Communist Party (Bolsheviks) (henceforth Short Course), the constitutive text of the would‑be genre. The Russian blueprint, which had been commissioned in the early 1930s and heavily edited by Stalin himself,

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served as one of the most widely used textbooks on Party history and as an encyclopedia of Marx‑ ism–Leninism well into the 1950s not only in the Soviet Union but also in other communist coun‑ tries around the world (Brandenberger and Zelenov 2019). Mao Zedong was one of the most fervent readers of a 1939 Chinese translation of the Short Course, particularly of the concluding parts of each section. Allegedly, he took pride in not having read the entire book – instead of get‑ ting lost in the details of Soviet history, he aspired to apply the book’s main ideas to conditions in China (Li 2002: 364). The main formal trait of the new genre is a master‑narrative copied by Mao Zedong from Sta‑ lin’s Short Course. This master‑narrative is based on a formula that can be traced all the way to the 2021 Resolution: the ‘integration’ of theory and practice, or, as the 1945 Resolution has it, the ‘integration of the universal truth of Marxism–Leninism with the concrete practice of the Chinese revolution’ (马克思列宁主义的普遍真理和中国革命的具体实践相结合). Epistemologically, the idea of ‘integration’ is different from a mere application of theoretical knowledge to empirical practice. Rather, it is described as a continuous Sinification of Marxism, a process driven forward by respective communist vanguard leaderships whose historical mission is to update and develop Marxist–Leninist theory by organically adapting its basic tenets to the changing reality of society (Schurmann 1968: 18–33). For the CCP under Mao Zedong, the appropriation of this master‑nar‑ rative allowed to tap into the authoritative legacy of world communism while emancipating itself from a dominant Soviet model and creating its own identity in line with the Chinese experience. A second basic feature of the genre copied by Mao from Stalin’s Short Course is a specific pat‑ tern of textual organization – a plot structure of continuous ‘struggle’ (Li 2002: 359). Each stage of Party history and each significant development was conceived of as resulting from political ‘struggles’ (斗争) between the ‘correct’ (正确) line of the vanguard and various ‘incorrect’ (不正 确), ‘erroneous’ (错误), and ‘distorted’ (偏向) positions inside or outside the Party. In the 1945 Resolution, this plot structure shapes the perception of historical reality to a large extent. While covering the full period from the founding of the CCP in 1921 to 1945, the narrative focuses on the period 1927 to 1937, that is, between the end of the first and the beginning of the second united front with the ruling Guomindang (GMD). While the Party is depicted as having primarily strug‑ gled against GMD ‘reactionary cliques’ during 1921–1927 (‘First Great Revolution’) and against the enemy of Japanese imperialism during 1937–1945 (‘War of Resistance against Japan’), the ‘Agrarian Revolution’ period from 1927 to 1937 is narrated as dominated by intra‑Party struggles. Section III identifies the various ‘“Left” and Right deviations’ (‘左’、右倾的偏向)3 threaten‑ ing the Party’s unity during 1927–1937 in chronological order, with a focus on three ‘“Left” lines’ (‘左’倾路线) challenging Mao Zedong’s ascent as Party leader between 1927 and 1935 (Sections III–V). A six‑month ‘First “Left” Line of putschism’ in 1927/28 was followed by a ‘Second “Left” Line’ led by Moscow‑trained Li Lisan over a course of ‘less than four months’ during the summer and fall of 1930. A ‘Third “Left” Line’, led by Wang Ming, Stalin’s devoted disciple, spans the full four years (1931–1934) of Party history, before culminating in the famous Zunyi Conference of January 1935, which marks Mao’s breakthrough as the uncontested leader of the CCP (Section III). Taken together, the duration of the three ‘“Left” lines’ amounts to almost five years, that is, close to but less than half of the ten‑year period that is in the resolution’s focus. This plot structure allows to streamline the historical narrative in a way that portrays Mao Ze‑ dong’s ascent to the Party’s apex not as a personal political power struggle but as an ideological contest between the Party’s ‘correct’ line and various ‘erroneous’ lines. Section IV of the 1945 Resolution, which covers almost half of the text, offers a trenchant analysis of the main errors committed during 1927–1935 ‘politically, militarily, organizationally and ideologically’, only to

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juxtapose them with the ‘correct’ lines across the four domains as developed by Mao Zedong in the course of struggle. Summarily, the resolution states: The correctness or incorrectness of any political, military or organizational line has ideo‑ logical roots – it depends on whether or not the line starts from Marxist‑Leninist dialectical materialism and historical materialism and whether or not the line starts from the objective realities of the Chinese revolution and the objective needs of the Chinese people. (Section IV/4) In this way, the resolution transforms the historical contingency of political power struggles inside the CCP to a strict consequentiality of Mao Zedong’s rise that results from his acting out of an arduous and heroic ideological struggle between ‘correct’ and ‘incorrect’ positions. Zooming in on the seven and a half years leading to his ascent to uncontested leadership in 1935, the previous six years and the following ten years of Party history are relegated to a mere prelude and coda, respectively. Thereby, the resolution normatively justifies the rightful authority of Party leadership under Mao Zedong, elevating him to the pantheon of communist ideology to sit eye to eye with Marx, Lenin, and, Stalin thanks to his efforts in integrating Marxist theory with China’s practical experience. With the help of this master‑narrative and a plot structure of continuous struggle between ‘cor‑ rect’ and ‘incorrect’ lines copied from Stalin’s Short Course, the 1945 Resolution not only rewrites CCP history based on Maoist discourse and interpretation, as Saich (1995) has argued. It goes much further, claiming to offer ‘historical proof’ (历史证明) of the rightful authority of Party leadership to complete the revolution and rule the country. As the last section summarizes, The practice of the Chinese Revolution […] has proved, and continues to prove, that the line represented by Comrade Mao Zedong, the line of struggle of our Party and the people of the whole country, is entirely correct. […] The great success achieved by our Party […] and the decisive role our Party has played testify most vividly to the correctness of this line. (Section VII) The underlying argument is a tautological one: As a revolutionary vanguard, the Party is mandated with the ‘historical task’ (历史任务) (Section IV/1) to complete the revolution – fulfilling this task then ‘proves’ the correctness of the Party’s line, which again is testified by the Party’s success. As the following analysis of the 1981 and 2021 Resolutions demonstrates, this tautology of a Party living up to its self‑proclaimed ‘historical mission’ has come to form another core trait of the genre.

The 1981 Resolution and the Transfer of Leadership Authority from Mao to Deng Thirty‑seven years after the 1945 Resolution, the second resolution on CCP history was passed by the Party’s central committee in June 1981 on the occasion of the CCP’s 60th anniversary. In the meantime, the Party had declared victory in the ‘War of Resistance’ against Japan in 1945 and in the ‘War of Liberation’ against its domestic competitor, the GMD, in 1949. With the founding of the People’s Republic of China (PRC) in October of that year, the CCP under Mao Zedong be‑ came China’s ruling party for decades to come. Mao not only had ‘liberated’ the Chinese people and initiated the country’s socialist transformation but had also launched increasingly devastating

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political campaigns and purges, among them the ‘Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution’, which swept across the country from 1966 to 1969 and triggered protracted strife between various elite factions and among the people’s ‘masses’. Mao’s death in September 1976 left the Party in disar‑ ray and created a vacuum of leadership authority. After successfully discrediting and removing Hua Guofeng from his two‑year stint as Party chief, a new leadership collective formed around Deng Xiaoping, Mao’s brother‑in‑arms, since the late 1920s (Leese 2020: 441–443). As Goodman (1981: 520/1) observed, the Party elite then consisted of leading members of the ‘revolutionary generation’ who had first come to power in 1949 and made their careers during the 1950s and 1960s. For many of them, including Deng, the ‘Cultural Revolution’ was a traumatic watershed during which they faced massive criticism, humiliation, and persecution, often with fatal results. Those who had survived the purges faced an unprecedented dilemma: while Mao Zedong was clearly the main culprit behind two decades of political purges, the Party’s authority rested on his ideological legacy. His revolutionary merits could not be denied without cutting off CCP legiti‑ macy from its Marxist–Leninist sources. To solve this dilemma and justify a transfer of leadership authority from Mao Zedong to Deng Xiaoping, the new leadership collective around Deng devised a linguistic operation that allowed to separate Mao Zedong’s personal role in Party history from ‘Mao‑Zedong‑Thought’ – the quintes‑ sential collection of ideological tenets distilled under Mao’s leadership but detached from his per‑ son. The CCP’s central committee mandated a drafting group – among them Party historiographer Hu Qiaomu who had already helped to draft the 1945 Resolution (Weigelin‑Schwiedrzik 1987: 80–83) – to enshrine this separation in an updated version of Party history. In line with the genre’s master‑narrative appropriated from Stalin’s Short Course and elaborated in the 1945 Resolution, ‘Mao‑Zedong‑Thought’ (毛泽东思想) was defined in the penultimate section (the longest out of eight sections) as: the product of the integration of the universal principles of Marxism‑Leninism with the concrete practice of the Chinese revolution (马克思列宁主义普遍原理和中国革命具体实 践相结合的产物) […]. Mao‑Zedong‑Thought is Marxism‑Leninism applied and developed in China […], a crystallization of the collective wisdom of the Chinese Communist Party. Many outstanding leaders of our Party made important contributions to the formation and development of Mao‑Zedong‑Thought, and they are synthesized in the scientific works of Comrade Mao Zedong. (Section 7/28) While this abstract definition of Mao‑Zedong‑Thought as ‘crystallization of collective wisdom’ was the easy task, the corresponding rewriting of the Party history was more challenging. The 1981 Resolution had to serve as a consensus paper, weighing the merits and demerits of Mao, but also ‘legitimizing the balance of power between different factions inside the CCP and defining the hierarchy of its leading members according to their contributions and mistakes […] made in the course of Party history’ (Weigelin‑Schwiedrzik 1987: 86). To do so, the drafting group recalibrated the plot structure of continuous struggles between correct and incorrect positions, the other defining trait of the genre. The 1981 Resolution started with a review of the 28 years before the founding of the PRC. While the 1945 Resolution’s valid‑ ity and the ‘correct’ summing up of historical experience were explicitly confirmed, the abridged narrative of those years included subtle and not‑so‑subtle revisions of protagonists, periods, and political struggles. Instead of the Comintern and Stalin, who had figured prominently in the 1945

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Resolution as the CCP’s godfathers, the updated version focuses on Lenin’s and Sun Yatsen’s revolutionary contributions. By cutting out the first three years after the Party’s founding, the ‘First Great Revolution’ (1921–1927) is downgraded as the ‘Northern Expedition’ (1924–1927). While the 1945 version had gone to length to include China’s peasants as part of the proletariat, the 1981 version praises the historical role of the ‘Chinese workers’ movement’. Mao Zedong is not portrayed as struggling on his own but side‑by‑side with other Party veterans. The previous narrative of Mao’s struggle against three ‘“Left” lines’ is condensed to only one, namely the strug‑ gle against Wang Ming’s ‘Left’ errors, which are blamed for causing ‘enormous losses’ before and during the Long March. By straightening out the trajectory of line struggles, the establish‑ ment of Mao’s leading position in the Party and the Red Army at the 1935 Zunyi Conference is highlighted as a first ‘vital turning point (生死攸关的转折点) in the history of the Party’ (Section 1/3). As another defining trait of the genre, we again find a tautological ‘proof’ of the correctness of Mao‑Zedong‑Thought irrespective of Mao Zedong’s personal role: Just as the [CCP] is recognized as the central force leading the entire people forward, so Comrade Mao Zedong is recognized as the great leader (伟大领袖) of the [CCP] and the whole Chinese people, and Mao Zedong Thought, which came into being through the collec‑ tive struggle of the Party and the people, is recognized as the guiding ideology (指导思想) of the Party. This is the inevitable outcome (必然结果) of the 28 years. (Section 1/5) The following five sections offer a ‘basic appraisal’ of the 32 years of Party history since 1949, divided into four periods: seven years of ‘socialist transformation’; ten years of ‘initially build‑ ing socialism’; and ten years of ‘Cultural Revolution’, followed by a short transition period after Mao’s death in 1976 that culminates in another ‘great turning point in history’ (历史的伟大转折) in December 1978 – the Party session that confirmed Deng as the CCP’s new leading figure. To make a long (hi‑)story short, the first period of socialist transformation, officially declared complete in September 1956, is unequivocally praised as highly successful across the board. The resolution hails the achievements made in the development of productive forces and in the ideo‑ logical sphere. In particular, it emphasizes the Party’s collective insight into the post‑1949 era’s ‘principal contradiction’ (主要矛盾), a key term of dialectial materialism. In 1956, the new con‑ tradiction was ‘correctly’ identified to be no longer between the working class and the bourgeoisie but between the ‘demand of the people for rapid economic and cultural development’ and the rela‑ tively backward state of China’s economy and culture. Starting from this ‘golden age’, Party his‑ tory is narrated as cascading downward decade by decade. For the period 1956 to 1966, the 1981 Resolution registers ‘very big successes despite serious setbacks’. For example, the Anti‑Rightist Movement of 1956/57 is interpreted as a ‘correct and necessary’ rectification, except for admitting that ‘the scope of struggle was made far too broad’, with too many unjust verdicts against Party members. Similarly, the momentous episode of the ‘Great Leap Forward’ of the late 1950s, which resulted in a dramatic three‑year famine, is portrayed very briefly as a well‑intentioned but hastily implemented campaign caused by ‘excessive targets, arbitrary directions, boastfulness, and the stirring up of a “communist wind”’. While Mao is said to have tried to correct these ‘Left’ errors, he failed to do so in a sufficient way; instead he mistakenly ‘widened and absolutized class strug‑ gle’, which actually no longer was the principal contradiction of the times. Nevertheless, the 1981 Resolution makes it clear that the responsibility for those ‘Left’ er‑ rors (Section 4) is carried by the Party’s leadership collective by Mao Zedong, not by him as

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a person (Section 4/16–18). Given the fact that the Great Leap Forward has caused the death toll of dozens of millions of peasants, this assessment as a mere ‘collateral damage’ of social‑ ist policies (Leese 2020: 432) appears highly apologetical. It might be explained as an act of self‑exoneration: Deng Xiaoping and other members of the incumbent leadership generation had been involved in the Anti‑Rightist Movement on the side of Mao and had made their po‑ litical careers during the years following the Great Leap (Holbig 1999: 1031–1032; Engman 2021: 198). Compared to this moderate rhetoric, the 1981 Resolution portrays the following ten years from 1966 to 1976, labeled as ‘The Decade of the Cultural Revolution’, as the darkest period in PRC history. Notably, the period is homogenized as a decade of ‘chaos’ (混乱) by stretching the ‘Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution’, launched by Mao in May 1966 and declared as completed by April 1969, to also cover the years until his death and the demise of the ‘Gang of Four’ in late 1976. This semantic extension of the ‘Cultural Revolution’, on the one hand, allows to criticize Mao Zedong for its initiation, said to be motivated by erroneous ‘Left’ assumptions, which caused him to ‘confuse right and wrong, people and enemy (混淆了是非和敌我)’, while, on the other hand, to shift the ultimate blame for the ‘ten years of chaos’ away from Mao and to the ‘coun‑ ter‑revolutionary cliques’ around Lin Biao, Jiang Qing, and other ‘criminals’. History has shown that the ‘Cultural Revolution’, initiated by a leader laboring under a mis‑ apprehension and capitalized on by counter‑revolutionary cliques, led to domestic turmoil and brought catastrophe to the Party, the state and the whole people. […] Chief responsibil‑ ity for the grave ‘Left’ error of the ‘Cultural Revolution’ […] does indeed lie with Comrade Mao Zedong. But after all it was the error of a great proletarian revolutionary (终究是一 个伟大的无产阶级革命家所犯的错误). […] Herein lies his tragedy (是他的悲剧所在). (Section 5/20–22) Besides saving Mao’s overall reputation as a ‘beloved great leader and teacher’ (Section 5/22), blaming a small minority of counter‑revolutionary criminals for the ‘decade of chaos’ allows to portray the overwhelming majority of Party members and the people as misled but innocent vic‑ tims. By rehabilitating those who had suffered ‘unjust verdicts’ during the Anti‑Rightist Movement and the ‘Cultural Revolution’, the reassessment of Party history is translated into political real‑ ity, a step which provides the incumbent Party leadership with a broad support base (Section 6). By attributing the key role in cleaning up the chaos to the new leadership collective under Deng Xiaoping, the 1981 Resolution massively bolsters his authority, as a phoenix rising from the ashes. The penultimate section brings home the resolution’s main message in an unmistakable fash‑ ion: Mao remains a great revolutionary leader whose ‘merits are primary and [whose] errors are secondary’ (Section 7/27). It is entirely wrong to try to negate the scientific value of Mao‑Zedong‑Thought and its guid‑ ing role […] just because Comrade Mao Zedong made mistakes in his later years. […] And it is likewise entirely wrong to adopt a dogmatic attitude towards the sayings of Comrade Mao Zedong […]. Both these attitudes (两种态度) fail to make a distinction between Mao Zedong Thought – a scientific theory formed and tested over a long period of time – and the mistakes Comrade Mao Zedong made in his later years. And it is absolutely necessary that this distinction should be made. (Section 7/31)

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Based on the same dialectics, the last section completes the transfer of authority from Mao to Deng. Armed with Marxism–Leninism and Mao‑Zedong‑Thought, the CCP’s ultimate ‘historical mission’ (历史使命) is to realize communism. The Party leadership cannot be exempt from mistakes, but there is no doubt that it can cor‑ rect them […] So long as we earnestly uphold and constantly improve Party leadership, our Party will definitely be better able to undertake the tremendous tasks entrusted to it by his‑ tory (担负起历史所赋予的巨大的责任). (Section 8/34) With this conclusion, the 1981 Resolution builds on the same tautological argument as the 1945 Resolution, thereby confirming this key trait of the genre. By entrusting the Party’s leadership with a ‘mission’ and with ‘tremendous tasks’, ‘history’ takes on an agency of itself: the Party is not free from mistakes, but by knowing and fulfilling history’s tasks, the Party will always be able to correct its mistakes and, as history proves, remain victorious. Overall, the perception of historical reality has been remolded to fit this tautology. Mao‑Zedong‑Thought, as the Party’s constant guid‑ ing ideology, is the vehicle for a smooth transition of CCP leadership authority from Mao to Deng.

The 2021 Resolution and the Making of Xi Jinping’s Supremacy The genre of CCP history resolutions has been developed further in 2021, the Party’s centennial. In November, less than a year before the 20th Party Congress in October 2022, which would con‑ firm Xi Jinping for an unprecedented third term as CCP general secretary, the last plenary session of the 19th Central Committee adopted the ‘Resolution on the Major Achievements and Histori‑ cal Experience of the Party over the Past Century’. Slightly longer than the 1981 Resolution, it features a similar pattern of textual organization. Starting with an opening section (‘Preamble’) that puts the document in a long historical context and confirms the validity of the previous two resolutions, the first four sections (I‑IV) chronologically outline the Party’s history from 1921 to the present, divided into four periods (1921–1949, 1949–1978, 1978–2012, 2012– ). Among them, the last section on ‘A New Era of Socialism with Chinese Characteristics’ (IV), dedicated to the most recent period under Xi Jinping, covers more than half of the entire text. It is followed by two reflective sections that systematically elaborate on the Party’s ‘historical significance (历史意义)’ (V) and the ‘historical experience (历史经验)’ (VI), followed by a concluding section (VII) which projects the CCP’s ‘great glories and victories’ well into the future. As before, the chronological narrative is bracketed by pedagogical reflections about the evolving significance of Party ideology. The 2021 Resolution builds on the same master‑narrative of integrating Marxist theory and Chi‑ nese practice found in the previous resolutions. However, the narrative is now unfolding in distinct steps across various leadership generations. The establishment of Mao‑Zedong‑Thought is praised as the ‘first historic step (第一次历史性跃, lit. “the first historical leap”) in adapting Marxism to the Chinese context’ (Section II). The ‘theory of socialism with Chinese Characteristics’ as devel‑ oped by Deng Xiaoping and his successors since 1978 is then summarized in the Chinese version as ‘a new breakthrough (新的飞跃, lit. “a new leap”) in the Sinification of Marxism’ (Section III). Yet, when it comes to Xi Jinping’s contribution to the Sinification of Marxism, described as another ‘new breakthrough’ (‘new leap’), the master‑narrative of ‘integration’, besides repeating the well‑known ‘practical’ element of China’s reality, is enlarged to include a second ‘practical’ element. The formula now reads ‘adapting the basic tenets of Marxism to China’s specific realities

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and its fine traditional culture (把马克思主义基本原理同中国具体实际相结合、同中华优秀 传统文化相结合4)’, thereby elevating the country’s ‘traditional culture’ to the highest level of Marxism’s ongoing authentication. Accordingly, the 2021 Resolution celebrates on the contribu‑ tion of Xi Jinping, eulogized as the ‘principal founder (主要创立者)’ of ‘Xi Jinping Thought on Socialism with Chinese Characteristics for a New Era’ (hereafter as ‘Xi‑Jinping‑Thought’) with various new superlatives: Xi‑Jinping‑Thought is trumpeted as ‘Marxism of contemporary China and of the 21st century’ (是当代中国马克思主义、二十一世纪马克思主义), embodying ‘the best of the Chinese culture and ethos in our times’ (中华文化和中国精神的时代精华) (Section IV). In Chinese, the condensed version of Xi’s unique contribution is a hard‑to‑translate 中国化时 代化, literally the ‘Sinification and Era‑ification of Marxism’. This careful extension and elaboration of the genre’s master‑narrative attributes an authority of Xi Jinping (Thought) that is clearly superior to that of Deng Xiaoping (Theory), not to speak of Jiang Zemin’s and Hu Jintao’s impersonal contributions covered only by few lines of text each. Compared to Mao Zedong (Thought), Xi Jinping (Thought) is situated at eye level if not even more elevated. Other features of the 2021 Resolution appear to confirm Xi’s superior authority. While Mao is labeled as the ‘core’ (核心) of the CCP’s ‘first generation of the central leadership collective’ (Section I), Xi is ascribed a double ‘core position on the Party Central Committee and in the Party as a whole’ (Section 4). Thanks to Xi’s theoretical innovations, Marxism has take[n] on a fresh face in the eyes of the world (以崭新形象展现在世界上) and signifi‑ cantly shifted the worldwide historical evolution of and contest between the two different ideologies and social systems of socialism and capitalism in a way that favors socialism (有利于社会主义的重大转变). (Section V/3) Thanks to Xi, the Party is ‘certain to see Marxism emanate mightier and more compelling power of truth (更强大、更有说服力的真理力量) across the land of China’ (Section VI/3). Moreover, in an international context, while Mao is praised for having liberated the country from foreign imperialism and restored its lawful rights in the United Nations, the sections about Xi Jinping (Thought) stress the global emanations of his rule throughout. In the Resolution’s chrono‑ logical sequence, the Chinese nation has ‘stood up (站起来)’ under Mao, ‘become rich (富起来)’ under Deng and his successors, but is ‘getting strong’ (强起来) on the international stage only under Xi’s rule. His global ambitions are framed in lofty Sino‑centric rhetoric, for example, ‘[w] hen the path is just, the common good will reign over all under Heaven (大道之行，天下为公)’. In a modernist variant, the text invokes a ‘global vision for the future [destiny] of mankind (以世 界眼光关注人类前途命运)’, which will allow the Party ‘to stand on the right side of history and the side of human progress (站在历史正确的一边，站在人类进步的一边)’ and to bring about ‘more miraculous achievements that amaze the world (更多令人刮目相看的人间奇迹)’ (Section IV/6–7). By conjuring Xi’s global charisma, the 2021 Resolution appears to signal that his leader‑ ship authority has the potential to outshine that of Mao. The genre’s second basic feature, the plot structure of continuous struggle, is also discernible in the 2021 Resolution, though slightly modified. The vocabulary of conflictive ‘struggle’ (斗争) be‑ tween ‘correct’ and ‘incorrect’ positions inside the Party is mainly reserved for the Mao era and the early post‑Mao period. In stark contrast to the increasingly dark and erratic narration of the PRC’s first three decades in the 1981 Resolution, the account is now streamlined into a compact narra‑ tive of regrettable mistakes not rectified in good time. While the 1981 Resolution’s basic appraisal

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of the ‘Cultural Revolution’ is maintained, the language is much less dramatic and emotionally charged (Section II). In line with the 1981 Resolution, the post‑1978 period is defined by aban‑ doning ‘class struggle as key link’ (以阶级斗争为纲) and ‘completely renouncing (彻底否定) the “Cultural Revolution’’’ (Section III) – but, conspicuously, not any longer by abandoning the Mao‑style ‘personality cult’, as the 1981 Resolution had done. From 1978 onwards, the Party’s ‘struggle’ is limited to the fight against corruption, for the realization of developmental goals and for gaining international status. Taking a bird’s‑eye view, by toning down the language of conflic‑ tive struggle, the plot structure of the 2021 Resolution levels out the extreme low of the ‘Decade of Chaos’ under Mao and the phoenix‑like rise of Deng. What results is a substantially smoothened trajectory of Party history that allows projecting the CCP leadership far into the 21st century. In the sections dedicated to Xi Jinping’s ‘New Era’ (新时代), the realm of conflictive ‘strug‑ gle’ is limited to the realm of national security and military combat. At the same time, another type of ‘struggle’ in a more constructive sense as 奋斗 (‘fighting for’, ‘making endeavors for sth’) gains in importance. Prominently, it also features as ‘a century’s struggle’ (百年奋斗) in the Chinese version of the resolution’s title (not appearing in the English translation. In line with dialectical materialism, the Party’s contemporary ‘struggle’ is portrayed as being about identify‑ ing the ‘principal contradiction’ of each period and striving for its gradual solution. Accordingly, the 2021 Resolution defines the ‘New Era’ under Xi Jinping as characterized by a new principal contradiction, which Xi is praised to have identified as the contradiction ‘between unbalanced and inadequate development and the people’s ever‑growing needs for a better life’ (Section IV). In this logic, what is ‘correct’ and ‘incorrect’ is no longer the outcome of (violent) political line struggles (斗争) but depends on whether the Party’s struggles and endeavors (奋斗) help to resolve the cor‑ rectly identified principal contradiction. Thanks to Xi Jinping’s merits in the ‘Sinification and ‘Era‑ification’ of Marxism, the Party knows what for and how to struggle into the future. While China is said to have ‘caught up with the times in great strides (大踏步赶上了时代)’ by the end of the Reform‑and‑Opening period (Sec‑ tion III), the ‘century’s struggle’ has made the Party ‘a forerunner of the times’ (走在时代前列)’ by 2021. This historiographical choreography of leap‑frogging across ‘the times’ (时代) – from catching up to overtaking – will not escape the attention of the resolution’s more diligent readers. To complete the tautological argument typical of the genre, ‘history’ itself is instrumentalized once more to ‘prove’ the CCP’s correct path, glories, and victories. While the two previous resolu‑ tions had already emphasized the Party’s ‘historical mission’ and ‘responsibility’, the 2021 Reso‑ lution goes one step further in assigning ‘history’ an agency of its own. It even claims that ‘it has been proven through practice that history and the people have chosen (历史和人民选择了) the Communist Party of China’ (Section I), thereby suggesting a proto‑democratic role of ‘history’. A similarly torn version of a combined agency of history and the people can be found in the Chinese version of the resolution’s concluding section. It is not included as such in the official English version, obviously due to translators’ concerns – that the metaphoric language might appear too parochial to foreign readers. Here is a literal translation: Over the past century, the Party has handed to the people and to history an excellently an‑ swered examination paper (党向人民、向历史交出了以份优异的答卷). […] The times are the ones who provide the paper (时代是出卷人), we are the ones who answer the paper (我们是答卷人), and the people are the ones who score the paper (人民是阅卷人). We must continue to achieve good test results (一定要继续考出好成绩) and to develop a new impos‑ ing manner and new accomplishments (新气象新作为) on our new journey in the new era. (Section VII) 48

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To interpret this impressively naturalistic passage of the 2021 Resolution’s Chinese version, in‑ stead of democratic accountability, it appears to claim a kind of meritocratic accountability based on the Party’s performance in perpetual examinations handed out by ‘the times’. It is hard to tell whether this metaphor is meant to reminisce about China’s imperial examination system or to forebode the coming realization of Marxism’s soteriological promises. Regardless, ‘history’ – in collaboration with the ‘people’ – is refunctioned as an agency testifying to the Party’s rightful source of authority, a linguistic device that aptly demonstrates the genre’s function to shape and reshape perceptions of historical reality. As this linguistic analysis has shown, the purpose clearly is not to reconstruct the past but to reproduce the authority of new leadership generations in the present and to project it into the future.

Inculcating Beliefs in the Party Canon For the purpose of mind‑engineering, (re‑)shaping perceptions is not enough though. To be effec‑ tive, resolutions on Party history also have to inculcate their audiences with beliefs in the CCP’s ideological orthodoxy. In fact, this function has evolved over time with the change of the genre’s target audiences. As this section shows, the genre has become an important site for the construc‑ tion and reconstruction of the Party’s evolving ideological canon, a process designed to instill enduring beliefs in a malleable corpus of texts. As described earlier, the genre’s basic pattern of textual organization combines a more or less compressed narration of Party history with analytical reflections that serve a pedagogical purpose.5 The 1945 Resolution is divided into various chronologically organized sections, followed by a long analytical section (covering half of the text) dissecting the errors of the various ‘Left’ lines in the realm of politics, military, organization, and ideology. Each of the four subsections starts from outlining the respective erroneous positions, only to juxtapose them with the ‘correct’ positions, which are then elaborated on in much detail. Similar to Stalin’s Short Course, the resolution thus offers a kind of encyclopedic knowledge of Maoist tenets. The subsection on organizational is‑ sues even mentions a ‘Mao Zedong Model’ (毛泽东模范) of how to conduct inner‑Party struggle while maintaining inner‑Party unity (Section IV/3). Here, it is important to remember that the 1945 Resolution was drafted at the end of the Yan’an rectification campaign. Its target audience con‑ sisted of the survivors of the Long March and a growing group of educated urban youth who were sympathetic to the revolutionary cause but had no revolutionary experience of their own. By offer‑ ing a summary of the orthodox version of Party history (Saich 1995), the resolution’s proto‑canon served both as an ex‑post justification of the rectification of comrades who had been ‘misled by erroneous positions’ and as a pedagogical tool to mold the revolutionary identity of younger Party members. The tautological rhetoric of historical mission, embellished by eulogies of revolutionary martyrs who ‘heroically sacrificed their lives’ and who will be ‘forever revered’ (Section IV/4), creates a transcendental realm of belief in the ‘sacred’ cause of the Party. According to Apter, the collective act of textual exegesis has been highly effective in inculcating Party members with quasi‑religious convictions, suggesting a ‘transcendence of ordinary understanding’ and helping them to internalize ‘Mao’s correct understanding of party history’ (Apter 1994: 264, 269). The 1981 Resolution features a similar basic organization of sections, consisting of six sec‑ tions featuring a period‑by‑period chronological setup, followed by two reflective sections with a pedagogical purpose. Among them, the penultimate section (Section 7), covering almost a quarter of the text, outlines the quintessential wisdom of Party ideology. After distinguishing between the historical person of Mao and Mao‑Zedong‑Thought, the latter’s ‘wide‑ranging con‑ tent’ is developed systematically in six subsections, reaching from key insights into the new 49

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democratic revolution and socialist construction to military strategy, policy, and tactics, to ideo‑ logical work and Party‑building. Each of the subsections summarizes the main convictions and offers a list of Mao’s main publications on the respective elements of the canon (Section 7/29), thereby offering a ‘must‑read’ selection of the Selected Works of Mao Zedong that had been published since the 1960s. This list of canonical elements is then followed by an equally detailed elaboration of ‘the stand, viewpoint and method embodied in the component parts’ of what is hailed here as ‘the living soul (活的灵魂) of Mao Zedong Thought’ (Section 7/30). As the formal structure and the rhetoric suggest, it is this section which is designed not only to inculcate basic knowledge of the Party orthodoxy but also to keep up the collective faith in the Party’s cause despite the Mao era’s traumatic experience. It is important to note that the audience of the 1981 Resolution was much larger and more di‑ verse than in 1945. It included a large part of people ‘either too young to know or politically not active inside the Communist Party’ (Weigelin‑Schwiedrzik 1987: 82) who needed to be trained in Party history and familiarized with its ideological belief system. The 1981 Resolution contrib‑ uted to these efforts by offering a crash course on the existing Party canon while warning against overtly ‘dogmatic’ (教条化) (Sections 6 and 7) interpretations and prohibiting any kind of ‘per‑ sonality cult’ (个人崇拜) (Sections 5 and 8). The pleas for an ‘undogmatic’, ‘seeking truth from facts’ attitude, however, should not be misread as expressions of pure pragmatism, as is often done with regard to the reform period under Deng. Rather, the expectation that CCP members ‘believe’ in Party ideology is obvious, for example, from the ‘Four Fundamental Principles (四项基本原 则)’.6 Mentioned seven times in the 1981 Resolution, the formula clearly serves as an ideological rail‑guard to prevent overtly ‘undogmatic’ and liberal interpretations. Compared to its predecessors, the 2021 Resolution reflects the most systematic efforts in craft‑ ing a contemporary canon designed to indoctrinate beliefs in the Party’s ideology. To understand the rationale behind these efforts, we have to bear in mind the political context in the run‑up to Xi Jinping’s contested third term as Party leader, which had to be justified vis‑à‑vis an unprecedent‑ edly large audience of more than 95 million Party members as of 2021. Noticeably, in a ­section on Party‑building, the 2021 Resolution brings home the urgency of instilling Party members with unwavering beliefs in the Party’s ideology. It deplores a ‘serious lack of political conviction’ (政治信仰出现严重危机; literally, ‘a serious crisis of political belief’) among the rank and file of Party members, followed by a long typology of misconduct resulting from the decay of ideological beliefs (Section IV/2). Reading the resolution in line with this diagnosis as a pedagogical text, it also provides the necessary means to tackle this endemic ‘crisis of belief’. Noticeably, a personal ‘explanation’ (说明) of the 2021 Resolution offered by Xi Jinping himself mentions Zhao Leji, the leading figure of the Central Committee’s Discipline Inspection Commission (CCDIC), as one of the chief politburo members in charge of the drafting process (Xi 2021). This fact might explain the heavy emphasis on Party‑building throughout the text and indicates the resolution’s potential impact on the weal and woe of Party members under the purview of the powerful CCDIC which scrutinizes, and if necessary disciplines, individual beliefs, and behaviors. In the challenging process of circumscribing a unified system of thought ascribed to a living leader who produces new texts all the time, the 2021 Resolution serves as an apt opportunity to dis‑ till its most essential elements. In fact, Section IV, which follows three chronologically structured sections and covers almost half of the entire text, presents the locus canonicus for important seg‑ ments of ‘Xi‑Jinping‑Thought’, which has been in the making since 2017 (Holbig 2022). Official online encyclopedias such as Baidu Baike or the Chinese version of Wikipedia, for example, cite the 2021 Resolution as the authoritative source for the main contents of Xi‑Jinping‑Thought. Most

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prominently, the reader finds a list of ‘Ten Clarifications’ (十个明确), ranging from Party leader‑ ship, the overarching tasks of Socialism with Chinese Characteristics, the New Era’s Principal Contradiction, to a series of ‘magic‑number’ formulas summarizing the state of the art of domes‑ tic governance (such as the ‘Five‑Sphere‑Integration’ (五位一体) or the ‘Four Comprehensives’ (四个全面), too long to be detailed here), to external domains such as security, military develop‑ ment and diplomacy, and ending with Party‑building (Section IV). The same long section also lists the ‘Historical Achievements in Thirteen Fields’ (十三个方面历史性成就), again starting with the Party’s overall leadership, followed by its ‘full and rigorous self‑governance’, achievements made in economic, political, legal, cultural, social and ecological fields as well as national defense, security, ‘One Country Two Systems’ and international diplomacy (Section IV:1–13). A third inte‑ gral segment of Xi‑Jinping‑Thought, the ‘Fourteen Upholds’ (十四个坚持), likewise starting with Party leadership and ending with Party‑building, are not numerically listed in the 2021 Resolution but are elaborated across the text. To grapple with the complex canonical structure, propaganda de‑ partments at lower levels have transcribed the resolution by using the mnemonic code ‘4135101’, referring to ‘4 periods, 13 achievements, 5 significances, 10 experiences, and 1 appeal’ (Leese 2022). Equipped with this canonized system of thought, the resolution expounds its pedagogical mis‑ sion in the most explicit ways. To tackle the serious ‘crisis of belief’ diagnosed in Section IV/2, the final section calls for ‘educat[ing] our people with Xi‑Jinping‑Thought’ and ‘enhanc[ing] cohesion by instilling in them the Party’s ideals and convictions (用党的理想信念凝聚人)’. Party members and cadres in particular should be educated to become ‘firm believers and faithful practitioners’ (坚定信仰者和忠实实践者) of Xi‑Jinping‑Thought. The concluding ‘appeal’ (号召) call[s] upon the entire Party, the military, and all Chinese people to rally more closely around the Central Committee with Comrade Xi Jinping at its core, to fully implement Xi‑Jin‑ ping‑Thought […] and to champion the great founding spirit of the Party (大力弘扬伟大 建党精神). (Section VII) Again, the rhetoric insinuates a sacred aura reminiscent of the personality cult of the Mao era – which, in contrast to the 1981 Resolution, the 2021 Resolution fails to renounce explicitly. The genre’s second function of mind‑engineering, the cultivation of ‘true believers’, is illustrated most aptly by this evocative language of the 2021 Resolution. Of course, we cannot look into the private recesses of Party members’ minds to know to which extent they ‘truly believe’ in the Party canon and to which extent they simply pretend to do so to conform with official expectations. While the production of belief and the mobilization of emotions in the Mao era have been investigated in depth (aptly summarized and developed, for example, in Perry 2002; Liu 2010; Cheek 2016b), there is little research on the psycho‑affective dimensions of political discourse in post‑Mao China. The few extant publications such as Davies (2008) on the legacy of ‘moral emotions’ in political discourse in the 21st century, Sorace (2018) on the ‘affective sovereignty’ claimed by the Party over people’s emotional life in televised confessions of allegedly corrupt cadres in the Xi era, Sorace (2021) on the ongoing adaptation of the CCP’s ‘affective governance’ from the Mao to the Xi era, or Shue (2022) on ‘regimes of resonance’ Xi Jinping’s Party‑state rule suggest, however, that the Party’s ongoing efforts of psychological and emotional engineering have not been ineffective, at least with regard to Party‑state cadres – who, after all, are the target audience of the genre under study here.

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Priming for (Non‑)Action By shaping perceptions of historical reality and instilling beliefs in the malleable Party canon, the three resolutions have also provided the conditions to prime the audiences for action, both at a collective and an individual level. To understand the genre’s behavioral implications, we need to look at incentives that shape certain forms of active consent as well as at disincentives that help to preempt dissent. At the collective level, the three resolutions uniformly call for learning the lessons from past experiences to rally allegiance for the Party’s future mission. Illustrated in a most paradigmatic fashion in the concluding appeal of the 2021 Resolution just quoted, the key is to educate Party members to enhance cohesion, achieve unity within the Party, and have the whole nation ‘rally more closely’ around the Party’s leadership core. The formulaic rhetoric of ‘educating’ (教育), ‘uniting’ (统一), and ‘rallying’ (团结), which can be found in all three resolutions, constitutes a clear imperative to actively acknowledge the historically ‘proven’ rightful authority of the Party’s leadership. The 2021 Resolution goes one step further by emphasizing the ‘great historical initia‑ tive (伟大的历史主动精神), tremendous political courage (巨大的政治勇气), and a powerful sense of mission (前列的责任担当)’ demonstrated by Xi Jinping (Section IV), and by repeatedly admonishing readers not to forget their ‘original aspiration and mission’ (初心使命) (Preamble, Sections V and VII). The slogan ‘Do not forget the original aspiration, keep the mission firmly in mind (不忘初心，牢记使命)’ in particular has been propagated widely to the Chinese public via gala festivals, propaganda songs, and films since 2016. Starting in May 2019, a formal education campaign on the same theme focused on leading cadres, followed in February 2021 by a related campaign for ‘Party history study and education’ (党史学习教育) that targeted Party members at large, thus providing fertile ground for the 2021 Resolution’s mind‑engineering efforts later in the year (Zheng and Hu 2022). As these education campaigns suggest, the genre’s action‑priming function is not limited to the collective level but has direct implications for individual behaviors. By complying with the resolu‑ tions’ mantra to ‘study’ (学习) Party history and the Party canon, CCP members actively demon‑ strate their loyalty vis‑à‑vis Party leaders. While this behavioral dimension of performing loyalty is inherent, of course, in all official ‘study’ activities, the genre’s characteristic plot structure of ‘struggles’ between ‘correct’ and ‘incorrect’ positions gives a more existential meaning to the per‑ formance of studying. In the 1945 Resolution, individual failure to attend intensive courses for the study of Party history implied a lack of loyalty and a higher risk of relentless ‘rectification’, particu‑ larly for educated urban Party members with ‘petty‑bourgeois’ class background (Saich 1995). The 1981 Resolution toned down class struggle and renounced the Maoist rituals of personality cult as proof of loyalty. Instead, loyalty was redefined in terms of Party members’ past and current conduct (Doyon and Yang 2022). Those who distanced themselves from ‘factionalism’, ‘anarchism’, ‘ul‑ tra‑invidualism’, and other ‘unhealthy tendencies’ (不正之风) would be rehabilitated; those who failed to do so would be ‘weed[ed] out [as] degenerate elements (清除腐化变质分子)’ (Section 8/35(10)). According to Goodman (1981: 526), the approval of the 1981 Resolution can be seen as ‘festival of vindication’ for the generation that had been active on the eve of the ‘Cultural Revolu‑ tion’ and from which the incumbent leadership was recruited. And as Engman (2021: 199) argues, ‘each person who was rehabilitated […] became a stakeholder in the official story of the past’. Under the leadership of Xi Jinping, the call for acting out one’s political loyalty has been stepped up once more as a key element of ideological governance through rectification (Cheek 2021). In language reminiscent of the Mao era, the Chinese version of the 2021 Resolution calls

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for all Party members to undergo ‘self‑revolution’ (自我革命, toned down as ‘self‑reform’ in the English version), ‘criticism and self‑criticism’ and lauds the Party’s continuous efforts in ‘self‑pu‑ rification, self‑perfection, self‑renovation and self‑improvement’ (自我净化、自我完善、自我 革新、自我提高; not translated literally in the English version) (Section IV/2). Presaging a vague but wide‑ranging social impact of Party members personal conduct, the resolution’s Chinese ver‑ sion even promises that the Party, ‘by engaging in a great self‑revolution, will steer a great social revolution (以伟大自我革命引领伟大社会革命)’ (Section IV). This topos of ‘steering a great social revolution with a great self‑revolution’ – included as the last of ‘Ten clarifications’ expounded in the 2021 Resolution as part of the new Party canon (Sec‑ tion IV) – is elaborated in a People’s Daily article authored by CCDIC head Zhao Leji. Published a week after the resolution, the article praises Xi‑Jinping‑Thought as ‘action guide (行动指南) to lead the Party’s great self‑revolution and promote the great social revolution’ and calls for ‘arming the Party’s innovative theory as the basis for casting the soul’ (把党的创新理论武装作为铸魂之本). According to Zhao Leji, the 2021 Resolution ‘profoundly reveals the dialectical relationship of self‑revolution and social revolution accompanying and promoting each other (自我革命和社 会革命相伴相随、互促共进的辩证关系) and fully reflects the historical initiative of Chinese Communists who, while transforming the objective world consciously transform their own sub‑ jective world, to transform the objective world even better (充分体现中国共产党人在改造客 观世界的同时自觉改造主观世界，从而更好改造客观世界的历史主动) (Zhao 2021: 3). In a rare expression of dialectical materialism, this explanation appears to draw a direct connection between the CCP’s great historical mission of ‘social revolution’ and individual Party members’ equally great mission to constantly probe into their souls and steel and prove themselves in the daily practice of social life. Whoever fails to do so, the article makes clear, too, will be ‘eliminated from the Party’s body like a malignant tumor through self‑purification’ (以自我净化革除自身毒 瘤) (Zhao 2021: 3). Embedded in the genre’s characteristic plot structure of an ongoing struggle between ‘correct’ and ‘incorrect’ positions, this vocabulary bears clear reminiscences of Maoist‑style rectification. If we agree with Cheek (2021: 10) that ‘rectification politics depends on the power of correct thought […] and on the impact of it through a mobilized, faithful cadre of leaders’, the 2021 Resolution embodies this power of correct thought in a most trenchant way. While the previous two resolu‑ tions employed the Maoist term of ‘political attitude’ (态度) to categorize the supposed unity of (in‑)correct political conviction and conduct, belief, and behavior, the 2021 Resolution does with‑ out the term. However, the pedagogical impetus based on the assumption of an integral relation‑ ship between cognition, emotion, and conscious action, aptly coined by Cheek (2016b: 80–87) as ‘cognio‑affective disposition’, is clearly still there. In this pedagogical context, the benchmark for measuring correct political attitude at the indi‑ vidual level – manifest in the congruence of proper conviction and proper conduct – is the political orthodoxy of Xi‑Jinping‑Thought, which Party members are obliged to study on a daily basis. A propaganda app for smartphones called ‘Study to Make the Country Great’ (学习强国, readable also as ‘Study Xi to Strengthen the Country’) launched in 2019 assists these efforts. The app of‑ fers textual and visual material expounding Xi‑Jinping‑Thought in theory but also trains and tests the user’s knowledge with interactive tools, quizzes, and points to earn. The app is mandatory for Party members – scores achieved are documented by the system and visible via publicly available leaderboards (Spence 2019). With this kind of competitive training device, individual dedication to the study of the Party canon becomes a measurable criterion of loyal conduct under the purview of the CCP’s disciplining agencies. By putting its members’ devotion to study on display, the Party

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sends a strong signal that personal loyalty, integrity, and ‘true beliefs’ in Party ideology are obliga‑ tory for Party members not only in their official but also in their private capacities. Incentives for individual dedication to the study of Party history in particular are complemented by strong disincentives to cast doubt on the official narratives. Since 2013, ‘historical nihilism’ (历 史虚无主义) has been framed as an element of the offense – and as another manifestation of the continuous power of correct thought in political discourse under Xi Jinping (Cheek 2021). The no‑ tion was listed as one of seven ‘false ideological trends, positions and activities’ that were banned from public discourse by an internal Party directive in April 2013 (the famous ‘Document No. 9’). The danger of ‘historical nihilism, in the guise of “reassessing history”’, was seen in ‘fundamen‑ tally undermin[ing] the CCP’s historical purpose, which is tantamount to denying the legitimacy of the CCP’s long‑term political dominance’. Denying the ‘historical inevitability in China’s choice of the Socialist road’ [or] ‘the scientific and guiding value of Mao Zedong Thought’ was marked as intolerable behavior (ChinaFile 2013). Five years later, after various individuals had been publicly accused of ‘distorting’ history and tarnishing the image of revolutionary martyrs, the National People’s Congress approved a new ‘PRC Law on the Protection of Heroes and Martyrs’ in March 2018. Ideological disputes over the correct interpretation of Party history could now be turned into lawsuits (China Law Translate 2018; Wu 2023: 160–164). In tandem with this criminalization of ‘historical nihilism’ under Xi Jinping, the orthodox ver‑ sion of Party history as canonized in the 2021 Resolution must be regarded as an effective tool of the Party‑state’s ideological governance to prevent dissenting views on CCP history and related claims for legitimacy. Priming Party members for active displays of consent and loyalty go hand in hand with preempting any form of contestation over Party history, which would have to be inter‑ preted as active disloyalty vis‑à‑vis the CCP and its core leader. Whether the ultimate goal of the genre’s pedagogical impetus is to rectify and transform individual Party members into faithful be‑ lievers and agents of the Party’s cause or rather to scrape off the malignant tumors from the Party’s bones and repair its tarnished image remains open to debate. What is at stake in both scenarios is the legitimation of the Party’s present and future right to rule based on the incumbent leadership’s claim to provide an irrefutable version of the Party’s past and to test Party cadres’ willingness to succumb to its version of CCP history with their hearts and minds.

Conclusion As this chapter’s analysis has demonstrated, the CCP’s historical resolutions can be conceived of as a distinct genre of Party literature with powerful mind‑engineering functions. Modeled on Sta‑ lin’s Short Course, the genre’s main formal traits include a master‑narrative of integrating Marxist theory with Chinese practice and a plot structure of ‘struggle’ between correct and incorrect ideo‑ logical positions. The precise form of ‘struggle’ has changed over time from a partly antagonistic class struggle to a non‑antagonistic struggle for the realization of an evolving ‘historical mission’ as ascribed to the CCP in successive resolutions. The texts, however, are organized according to a common scheme as a chronological narration of the Party’s ongoing ‘struggle’ bracketed by lengthy pedagogical sections. The latter offer authoritative reflections about the ongoing Sinifi‑ cation of Marxism presented as crystallization of the evolving collective wisdom of the Party’s central committee, with the incumbent core leader as the primary creator but not as the sole author of the guiding ideology. By separating the historically contingent role of core leaders, described as learning individuals not free from errors and misperceptions, from the abstract ‘thought’ distilled

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from the Party’s collective struggle, leadership authority can be transferred from one generation to the next while tapping into a constant stream of ideological resources of Party legitimacy. In this way, the genre reproduces CCP legitimacy by tautologically ‘proving’ that the Party has always lived up to the ‘historical mission’ correctly analyzed and ascribed to it by successive resolutions. The genre’s implicit social convention is not to offer a credible reconstruction of Party history but to reshape historical reality in ways that justify the rightful authority of its incumbent leadership. The mind‑engineering role of the Party’s historical resolutions, however, goes beyond reshap‑ ing reality. To validate the genre’s legitimacy claims, Party members are addressed as individuals expected to cultivate unwavering beliefs in the CCP’s malleable guiding ideology. As this chapter has shown, the resolutions themselves serve as key texts in the ongoing canonization of Party ide‑ ology by providing systematic outlines of the evolving Party orthodoxy and pedagogical manuals to instill Party members with ‘true beliefs’. Last but not least, the resolutions urge their audiences to rally their allegiance to the Party’s cause by learning the lessons of the past, thereby priming Party members for action at an individual level. Measured obligations to devote themselves to the study of the ‘correct’ updates of Party history are combined with threatening consequences for those who harbor incorrect views or even cast doubt on the orthodox version of Party history, be it rectification, non‑rehabilitation or the criminalization of ‘historical nihilism’. Incentives for ac‑ tive demonstrations of Party loyalty through dedicated study of Party history and disincentives to question its orthodoxy thus complete the genre’s mind‑engineering role.

Notes 1 The official version of the 1945 Resolution, on which our analysis is based, was officially published only in 1953. For the drafting and publishing process, see Saich (1995). 2 Apter and Saich define the notion as ‘an engagement with words and ideas in a context of immediated social learning [which] results in an emotional and symbolic intensity that includes the consciousness of self in terms of others, [… an] act of realizing transcendental understanding [that] results in a kind of bonding’ (Apter and Saich 1994: 264). They developed the concept in their analysis of the CCP’s Yan’an period and of Mao’s Rectification Cam‑ paign (1942–1945), which culminated, among others, in the adoption of the Third Resolution in 1945. In Apter’s words, ‘[r]ectification presented what might be called the hermeneutical transformation of texts as social facts into things in themselves embodying the party line. Exegetical bonding was the way to internalize this line and reshape interpretative capacities. […] opportunities for conflicts in interpretation were reduced at the same time that people were called on to take an active part in interpretation’ (Apter and Saich 1994: 266). The author is grateful to Daniel Leese for drawing her attention to this similarity. 3 Note that in case of ‘Left’ deviations, the term ‘Left’ always appears in quotation marks, while ‘Right’ deviations appear without in the Chinese as well as the English version. This seems to indicate that while ‘Right’ deviations are regarded as truly founded in rightist (bourgeois, capitalist) ideas and beliefs, ‘Left’ errors often appear in disguise, cloaking themselves in correct Marxist–Leninist, socialist, progressive form but being reactionary in substance. Accordingly, “Left” errors’ are described as more challenging to deal with than ‘Right’ ones. 4 Note the difference between 中国 referring to China as a country and 中华 referring to an imagined Chi‑ nese cultural entity. 5 For an analysis of a ‘pedagogical party‑state’ emerging during the Yan’an period, see Cheek (2016a); see also Cheek (2021) for a discussion of a perpetuation of the pedagogical party‑state under Xi Jinping. 6 The ‘Four Fundamental Principles’, also translated as ‘Four Cardinal Principles’, refer to ‘upholding the socialist road, the people’s democratic dictatorship, the leadership of the Communist Party, and Marxism‑Leninism and Mao Zedong Thought’. They had first been introduced by Deng Xiaoping on Theory Meeting of the CCP’s Central Committee in March 1979 and were included in the PRC’s 1982 Constitution.

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References English References Apter, D. E., and Saich, T. (1994) Revolutionary Discourse in Mao’s Republic, Cambridge: Harvard Univer‑ sity Press. Brandenberger, D., and Zelenov, M. (eds.) (2019) Stalin’s Master Narrative: A Critical Edition of the History of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union (Bolsheviks): Short Course, New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Charaudeau, P., Maingueneau, D., and Adam, J. (2002) Dictionnaire d’analyse du discours, Paris: Seuil. Cheek, T. (2016a) ‘Making Maoism: Ideology and Organization in the Yan’an Rectification Movement, 1942–1944’, in R. Culp et al. (eds.), Knowledge Acts in Modern China: Ideas, Institutions, and Identities, Berkeley: Institute of East Asian Studies, University of California, pp. 304–327. Cheek, T. (2016b) ‘Attitudes of Action. Maoism as Emotional Political Theory’, in L. Jenco (ed.) Chinese Thought as Global Theory. Diversifying Knowledge Production in the Social Sciences and Humanities, Albany: Suny Press, pp. 75–100. Cheek, T. (2021) ‘Xi Jinping’s Counter‑Reformation: The Reassertion of Ideological Governance in Histori‑ cal Perspective’, Journal of Contemporary China, https://doi.org/10.1080/10670564.2021.1893554. ChinaFile (2013) ‘Document 9: A ChinaFile Translation’, 8 November, https://www.chinafile.com/ document‑9‑chinafile‑translation. China Law Translate (2018) ‘People’s Republic of China Law on Protection of Heroes and Martyrs’, Promulgation date: 27 April, https://www.chinalawtranslate.com/en/peoples‑republic‑of‑china‑law‑ on‑protection‑of‑heroes‑and‑martyrs/. Davies, G. (2008), ‘Moral Emotions and Chinese Thought’, Michigan Quarterly Review 47(2) (Spring), http://hdl.handle.net/2027/spo.act2080.0047.212. Doyon, J., and Yang, L. (2022) ‘Shades of Red: Changing Understanding of Political Loyalty in the Chinese Communist Party, 1921–2021’, Journal of Current Chinese Affairs 51(3): 386–410. Engman, P. (2021) ‘Breaking with the Past. Party Propaganda and State Crimes’, in J. Farley and M.D. Johnson (eds.), Redefining Propaganda in Modern China. The Mao Era and Its Legacies, London & New York: Routledge, pp. 183–204. Fairclough, N. (2003) Analysing Discourse: Textual Analysis for Social Research, London and New York: Routledge. Gao, H. (2019) How the Red Sun Rose. The Origin and Development of the Yan’an Rectification Movement, 1930–1945, translated from Chinese by S. Mosher and J. Guo. Hong Kong: Chinese University of Hong Kong Press. Goodman, D. (1981) ‘The Sixth Plenum of the 11th Central Committee of the CCP: Looking Back in Anger?’, China Quarterly 87(September): 518–527. Holbig, H. (1999) ‘Fifty Years of PRC Politics in China’s Official Historiography’ (Fünfzig Jahre Politik der VR China in der offiziellen chinesischen Geschichtsschreibung), CHINA Aktuell, October: 1030–1034. Holbig, H. (2022) ‘Canonising Xi Jinping Thought – Ideological Engineering and Its Real‑World Relevance’, in F. N. Pieke and B. Hofman (eds.), CPC Futures. The New Era of Socialism with Chinese Characteris‑ tics, Singapore: NUS Press, pp. 41–46. Introvigne, M. (2022) ‘The Resolution on CCP History’, Bitter Winter, 15 March, https://bitterwinter.org/ the‑resolution‑on‑ccp‑history/. Leese, D. (2020) Maos Langer Schatten. Chinas Umgang mit der Vergangenheit (Mao’s long shadow. China’s dealing with the past). Munich: C.H.Beck. Leese, D. (2022) ‘Auf dem Sprung’, Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung, 31 January, p. 6. Li, H‑Y. (2002) ‘Stalin’s Short Course and Mao’s Socialist Economic Transformation of China in the Early 1950’, Russian History 29(4): 357–376. Liu, Y. (2010) ‘Maoist Discourse and the Mobilization of Emotions in Revolutionary China’, Modern China 36(3): 329–362. Perry, E. (2002) ‘Moving the Masses: Emotion Work in the Chinese Revolution’, Mobilization 7(2): 111–128. Saich, T. (1995) ‘Writing or Rewriting History? The Construction of the Maoist Resolution on Party History’, in T. Saich and H.J. Van den Ven (eds.) New Perspectives on the Chinese Communist Revolution, Armonk, NY: M.E. Sharpe, pp. 299–338.

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The CCP’s Historical Resolutions as Mind-Engineering Projects Schurmann, F. (1968) Ideology and Organization in Communist China, Berkeley: University of California Press. Schwartz, B.I. (1968) Communism and China: Ideology in Flux, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Shue, V. (2022) ‘Regimes of Resonance: Cosmos, Empire, and Changing Technologies of CCP Rule’, Mod‑ ern China 48(4): 679–720. Sorace, C. (2018) ‘Extracting Affect: Televised Cadre Confessions in China’, Public Culture 31(3): 145–170. Sorace, C. (2021) ‘The Chinese Communist Party’s Nervous System: Affective Governance from Mao to Xi’, The China Quarterly 248(November): 29–51. Spence, P. (2019) ‘How to Cheat at Xi Jinping Thought’, Foreign Policy, 6 March, https://foreignpolicy. com/2019/03/06/how‑to‑cheat‑at‑xi‑jinping‑thought/. Weigelin‑Schwiedrzik, S. (1987) ‘Party Historiography in the People’s Republic of China’, The Australian Journal of Chinese Affairs 17(January): 77–94. Weigelin‑Schwiedrzik, S. (2006) ‘In Search of a Master Narrative for 20th‑Century Chinese History,’ The China Quarterly 188(December): 1070–1091. Wu, G. (2023) Chinese Revolution in Practice. From Movement to the State, London and New York: Routledge. Zheng, Y., and Hu, J. (2022) ‘Political Discourse in Chinese Urban Community: Pragmatic Utility and Ideo‑ logical Fatigue’, Journal of Contemporary China, Online First: 20 September, https://doi.org/10.1080/10 670564.2022.2124355.

Chinese References CCP Central Committee 党中央委员会 (1945) ‘关于若干历史问题的决议’ (Resolution on Certain Ques‑ tions in the History of our Party’), Adopted on April 20, 1945 by the Enlarged Seventh Plenary Session of the Sixth Central Committee of the CCP. In: 毛泽东 (Mao Zedong) (1953) 选集 (Selected Works), Vol. III, pp. 975ff. A digital version is available at https://zh.wikisource.org/wiki/關於若干歷史問題的決議. The official English translation appeared as an appendix to the chapter ‘Our Study and the Current Situation’ in the 1965 ‘First Edition’ of Volume III of the Selected Works of Mao Tse‑tung (Peking: Foreign Language Press), pp. 177–225. A digital version is available at http://www.marx2mao.com/PDFs/MaoSW3.pdf. CCP Central Committee 党中央委员会 (1981) ‘关于建国以来党的若干历史问题的决议’ (Reso‑ lution on Certain Questions in the History of Our Party since the Founding of the People’s Re‑ public of China), Adopted on June 27, 1981 by the Sixth Plenary Session of the Eleventh Central Committee of the CCP. 人民日报 (People’s Daily), 1 July 1981, pp. 1ff. A digital version is available at https://zh.wikisource.org/wiki/中国共产党中央委员会关于建国以来党的若干历史问题的决议. The official English translation was published Beijing Review 24, no. 27 (6 July 1981), pp. 10–39. A digi‑ tal version is available from the History and Public Policy Program Digital Archive, http://digitalarchive. wilsoncenter.org/document/121344. CCP Central Committee 党中央委员会 (2021) ‘关于党的百年奋斗重大成就和历史经验的决议’ (Res‑ olution of the Central Committee of the Communist Party of China on the Major Achievements and Historical Experience of the Party over the Past Century), Adopted on November 11, 2021 at the Sixth Plenary Session of the Nineteenth Central Committee of the CCP, 新华社 (Xinhua News Agency), 16 November 2021, http://www.gov.cn/zhengce/2021‑11/16/content_5651269.htm. A digital version of the official English translation is available at https://english.www.gov.cn/policies/latestreleases/202111/16/ content_WS6193a935c6d0df57f98e50b0.html. Xi, Jinping 习近平 (2021) ‘关于“中共中央关于党的百年奋斗重大成就和历史经验的决议”的说明’ (Ex‑ planation of the Resolution of the Central Committee of the CCP on the Major Achievements and His‑ torical Experience of the Party of the Past Century), 新华社 (Xinhua News Agency), 16 November 2021, http://www.gov.cn/xinwen/2021‑11/16/content_5651271.htm. Official English translation available at www.news.cn/english/2021‑11/16/c_1310314613.htm. Zhao, Leji 赵乐际 (2021) 以伟大自我革命引领伟大社会革命 (Steering the Great Social Revolution with a Great Self‑Revolution), 人民日报 (People’s Daily), 18 November 2021: 3, http://cpc.people.com.cn/ n1/2021/1118/c64094‑32285471.html.

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4 IDENTIFYING PARTISAN EFFORTS TO GENERATE AUTHORITARIAN LEGITIMACY Joanna Rak

Introduction The crises of democratic legitimacy reveal that democracies in various stages of their institu‑ tions’ erosion are vulnerable to threats from anti‑democratic actors (Schmidt 2020: 139). Partisan institutions that are subordinate to the ruling parties use their resources to generate authoritarian legitimacy under the guise of protecting democracy, translating into a rise in social support for authoritarianism (Rak and Bäcker 2022). Legitimacy allows authoritarian rulers to stabilize politi‑ cal regimes (Gerschewski 2013; Grauvogel and Von Soest 2014). Simultaneously, an increase in authoritarian legitimacy uncovers the effectiveness of using mind engineering through discursive frames to embed ideology in government propaganda (Bray, Shriver and Adams 2019). Johannes Gerschewski (2013: 14) formulated a classic theory of authoritarian stability to ex‑ plain why some autocracies collapse while others remain stable. It draws on the assumption that the longevity of autocracies depends on legitimacy, repression, and co‑optation. However, the study of legitimacy in non‑democratic regimes raises methodological difficulties. It requires conducting surveys to explore political consciousness, whereas fear of the consequences of disclosing op‑ position to rulers may result in hiding genuine attitudes. Accordingly, the declared attitudes may differ from the actual ones. Thus, such studies may be biased and lead to erroneous conclusions. Constantine Boussalis, Alexander Dukalskis, and Johannes Gerschewski (2023: 2) developed the theory to overcome the difficulties. The modification consists in redirecting the scholarly attention from legitimacy as the belief in regime legitimacy toward claims to legitimacy. As they assume, the state‑controlled and pro‑government distribution of information keeps authoritarian rulers in power. The remaining factors include elite cohesion enforced by co‑optation and selective repression. Embedded in the body of works on claims to legitimacy as a pillar of stability, recent studies present how authoritarian regimes and other anti‑democratic actors use media to shape their power position (Gerschewski 2018). They deliver empirical evidence to confirm that the strategic use of state‑controlled information allows authoritarian rulers to avert threats to a political regime. On the one hand, the focus is on targeting the opposition and ordinary people who engage in anti‑­ government protests (e.g., Thyen and Gerschewski 2018). It takes a form of delegitimization, con‑ sidered soft repression (Rak 2021). On the other hand, researchers address self‑legitimacy to reveal how authoritarian rulers claim and justify the right to rule (e.g., Dukalskis and Gerschewski 2017).

DOI: 10.4324/9781003289746-6

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Authoritarian rulers socially construct meaning when they produce and distribute ‘elite frames’, also called ‘state official frames’ (Bray, Shriver and Adams 2019: 685). When directed internally, frames serve to influence other elites’ perceptions of challengers, i.e., protesters and opposition. Externally directed frames facilitate the mobilization of mass support (Bray, Shriver and Adams 2019: 685). Both democratic and autocratic rulers claim the right to rule, and the stability of the political system depends on their effectiveness. Nevertheless, not all claims by non‑democratic actors are overtly anti‑democratic. Some calls for autocratic legitimacy rely on references to respect for democratic values and institutions (San‑ filippo 2022). Others rest on similarities to militant democracy (Malkopoulou and Kirshner 2019), which is the principle of limiting the rights and freedoms of the enemies of democracy to prevent the latter from using them to change their political roles and become rulers (Loewenstein 1937a; 1937b). This practice is quasi‑militant democracy, which means that a non‑democratic actor re‑ stricts civil rights and freedoms under the guise of protecting the values of a higher order, such as democracy, public order, or health. However, the actor limits the sovereignty of a political na‑ tion (Rezmer‑Płotka 2022). Identifying and distinguishing between democratic and authoritarian claims to legitimacy remains challenging for students of political system stability (Bäcker 2021). At the same time, these are essential civic competencies for those who consciously strive to par‑ ticipate in politics. Informed by the puzzle of differentiating between democratic and authoritarian legitimacy‑­ generating actions, the chapter aims to propose and test a theoretical tool for measuring partisan efforts to generate a regime’s legitimacy. The tool also applies to unpacking legitimacy‑generating actions independently, and, as such, it is of practical use for non‑specialists. Based on a qualitative news frame analysis, the tool undergoes an empirical test through an illustrative case study of Pol‑ ish state‑led mind engineering. The test covers state media efforts to generate legitimacy during the largest wave of social mobilization in democratic Poland that expressed opposition to restricting women’s reproductive rights combined with anti‑government views. In a non‑democratic setting, protest activities, taking a form of civil disorder, undermine the stability of political regimes since they put state legitimacy at risk (Bray, Shriver, and Adams 2019: 682). Moreover, anti‑government protests as communication situations offer rich material for understanding discursive efforts to maintain and rebuild the rulers’ endangered legitimacy and limit political pluralism and participa‑ tion. The main argument is that the Polish state media, as partisan institutions, used interpretative frames typical of authoritarian mind engineering to generate authoritarian legitimacy during the 2020–2021 mobilization for women’s reproductive rights in Poland. The study contributes theoretically to our understanding of generating a regime’s legitimacy by modifying and combining the theories of mind engineering and ideology‑based education. The modification departs from normative significance‑based evaluation of mind engineering conse‑ quences. This feature of mind engineering is replaced with a type of political system to capture what ideology it instills. Also, the study proposes sensitive criteria for differentiating between democratic and authoritarian frames. A methodological contribution lies in offering and testing a theory‑based tool useful to unpack cognition‑ and behavior‑oriented claims to democratic and authoritarian legitimacy. The new empirical approach uncovers the mechanisms of mind engineer‑ ing aimed at influencing cognitive and behavioral aspects of the public’s involvement in support‑ ing political systems. What is new is the broadening of the perspective to generate legitimacy expressed through views and controlled behavior. Besides, the test demonstrates how to apply the tool to analyze media news. It helps develop civic competencies in understanding the language used by partisan institutions, and, as such, it can be incorporated into language and civic education.

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The remainder of the chapter consists of four parts. The first introduces a critical literature review on mind engineering as a means of generating democratic and authoritarian legitimacy. It offers a discussion on applying the theory of mind engineering in studies on political systems. The discussion uncovers the theory’s strengths and possible difficulties in its application. Simultane‑ ously, it gives grounds for developing a theoretical tool for measuring partisan efforts to generate democratic and authoritarian legitimacy. The tool’s presentation concludes the discussion. Then, the chapter sheds light on a research design. Apart from justifying methodological choices related to the source corpus and methods, it shows how to apply the tool step by step to analyze news. The two final sections deliver research findings and conclusions. They locate Polish state‑led mind engineering between the Weberian ideal types of democratic and authoritarian legitimacy claim‑making efforts.

Overview of Research on Mind Engineering Mind engineering is crucial in stabilizing political systems since it underlies the processes of gen‑ erating legitimacy. In studies on political regimes, the category of ‘mind engineering’ is usually associated with ‘brainwashing’, ‘propaganda’, ‘mind control’, ‘manipulation’, and ‘coercive per‑ suasion’ (cf., e.g., Donskis 2003: 81; Ivančić 1994: 101). Andrii Leonov (2022: 191) argues that it results from treating mind engineering as a tool to instill political agendas and ideologies into sup‑ porters and opponents. Based on David Chalmers’s and Charles Peirce’s theories, Leonov (2022: 191) defined mind engineering as the ‘design, implementation, and evaluation of minds’. Minds are sets of beliefs, whereas beliefs are pragmatically hermeneutically interpreted as habits. What is more, the latter is a ‘“fixed” functional interpretation of the world, and one’s place in it that either works or does not work’ (Leonov 2022: 192). As a result, in Leonov’s (2022: 192) approach, mind engineering is ‘the process of design/redesign, implementation/reimplementation, and evaluation/ re‑evaluation of the “fixed” functional interpretations of the world, and one’s place in it that either work or do not work’. The process can be deliberate or forceful. While the former means educa‑ tion, the latter signifies driving somebody to do something against one’s will and desire. Finally, mind engineering can differ in terms of its normative significance. As such, it can be positive when it signifies the acquisition of good habits or negative when it results in the acquisition of bad habits (Leonov 2022: 192). Leonov’s (2022) theoretical approach may cause two application difficulties. First, although the differentiation between deliberate and forceful mind engineering reveals two distinctive influence aspects, their measurement poses several challenges. Education may lead people to act against their will and desire. The criteria for when deliberate mind engineering becomes a forceful action are underdetermined. Still, Leonov revealed a hitherto marginalized, in mind engineering stud‑ ies, aspect of the impact on cognitive and behavioral spheres. Notably, this distinction is present in public engagement studies that account for the mechanism of generating the involvement of various communities in public affairs. According to the current studies, building cognitive public engagement is about shaping beliefs. In turn, generating behavioral public engagement boils down to stimulating people to take actions in the public sphere that go beyond passive acceptance or lack thereof (e.g., Dubovi and Tabak 2021; Kucuk and Richardson 2019). Considering the influence on cognition and behavior through legitimacy claims allows for a more in‑depth understanding of legitimacy claim‑making efforts. Leonov’s theoretical approach (2022) directs scholarly attention to generating a regime’s legitimacy through attitudes and ac‑ tions. While the former includes calls to internalize a particular vision of a political reality, the

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latter involves calls to act expectedly in this reality. For instance, mind engineering oriented on cognition can draw upon a call to interpret unjust, partisan, and partial policing of anti‑government protest as a necessary and adequate means of establishing relationships between the government and its opponents or the only means to restore public order. Mind engineering focused on behav‑ ior can rest on a call to join a pro‑government meeting or vote. Regardless of orientation, mind engineering develops interpretations and justifications to spark cognitive or behavioral reactions. These different calls can coexist, complement, and reinforce or weaken each other. Second, applying Leonov’s theoretical approach requires intersubjective identification from whose perspective habits are good or bad. Additionally, it tells little about whether the motivations or consequences of habits undergo normative evaluation. However, in studies on political systems, the type of generated legitimacy, either democratic or authoritarian, is much more important than normative significance because it uncovers a political regime under construction (Burnell 2006). Legitimacy claim‑making efforts aim at justifying and gaining support for democratic or auto‑ cratic institutions, values, and norms, respectively. Studies on ideology‑based education provide tools for research inscribed in mind engineering. They treat education as a means of instilling in recipients the values and norms that underpin po‑ litical regimes. Simultaneously, they allow for systematic differentiation between democratic and authoritarian values and norms characteristic of the regimes (Österman and Robinson 2023: 1). It is an essential step toward an intersubjective comparison of mind engineering in diverse political settings. Accordingly, less normative approaches and comparative research begin replacing the current distinction between pro‑democratic civic education and authoritarian propaganda (cf. Şanlı and Altun 2015). However, it is still problematic to classify such elements of education that, under the guise of praising and promoting democratic values and norms, are anti‑democratic. Based on William A. Galston’s (2004) model of civic education, Joanna Rak and Kamila Rezmer‑Płotka (2022) formulated a tool for measuring media engagement in civic education. It rests on the assumption that ideology‑based and state‑orchestrated education shapes an ideal citizen’s civic attitudes and behavior. The ideal of citizenship varies according to the type of political system that education serves. Rak and Rezmer‑Płotka’s tool is a dyad of antinomic ideal types of democratic and autocratic civic knowledge. The democratic variant’s essential features include (1) promoting support for democratic values, (2) promoting political participation, (3) helping citizens learn about civic affairs, (4) assisting citizens in reducing mistrust and fear of public life, and (5) preventing po‑ litical divisions based on hostility (Rak and Rezmer‑Płotka 2022: 85). In turn, the characteristics of the autocratic variant are (1) devaluating democratic values, (2) discouraging political participation, (3) convincing citizens of the rightness of the ruling’s policy, (4) spreading mistrust and fear of pub‑ lic life, and (5) forging political divisions based on hostility (Rak and Rezmer‑Płotka 2022: 85–86). Rak and Rezmer‑Płotka’s (2022: 85–86) contribution to studies on knowledge distributed under democratic and authoritarian education lies beyond evaluating orientation on democratic values. Still, it includes ‘promoting support for democratic values’ and ‘devaluating democratic values’. Nevertheless, they are not indicative of democratic and authoritarian discursive frames since autocratic and anti‑democratic actors discursively recognize the protection of democratic values and norms as their objective (e.g., Sharafutdinova 2014). Removing this indicator from the model might optimize its use in comparative studies. In sum, the theory of mind engineering offers a theoretical framework that enables a researcher to make sense of legitimacy claims. It applies to unpack frames that shape attitudes and actions relevant to the political regime’s stability. Moreover, after expansion, it allows for a differentiation between democratic and authoritarian frames used to stabilize different systems.

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Joanna Rak

Drawing on the theoretical developments in mind engineering and ideology‑based education studies, the chapter proposes a theoretical tool for measuring partisan efforts to generate democratic and authoritarian legitimacy. It rests on Leonov’s (2022: 192) definition of mind engineering as the ‘process of design/redesign, implementation/reimplementation, and evaluation/re‑evaluation of the “fixed” functional interpretations of the world, and one’s place in it that either work or do not work’. Mind engineering draws on democratic and authoritarian frames embedded in ‘interpretations of the world’. It is a means of making a regime’s legitimacy claims understood as pressurizing the popula‑ tion to accept a political and social order proposed by the rulers (von Soest and Grauvogel 2015: 5). Following Rak and Rezmer‑Płotka’s (2022: 85–86) differentiation between democratic and authoritarian knowledge, the chapter proposes cognition‑ and behavior‑based democratic and au‑ thoritarian claims. The cognition‑based ones are interpretative schemas imposing a peculiar in‑ terpretation of political and social order. Behavior‑based democratic and authoritarian claims are requests for action that manifests legitimacy. At a cognition‑based level, democratic claims include (CD1) helping citizens learn about re‑ solving civic affairs, (CD2) assisting citizens in reducing mistrust and fear of public life, and (CD3) preventing political divisions based on hostility. In turn, authoritarian claims are (CA1) convincing citizens of the rightness of the ruling’s policy, (CA2) spreading mistrust and fear of public life, and (CA3) forging political divisions based on hostility. At a behavior‑based level, while democratic claims include (BD1) encouraging independent political participation, authoritarian ones involve (BA1) discouraging independent political participation (Rak and Rezmer‑Płotka 2022: 85–86). In contrast to the original framework, the modified model specifies the orientation toward independ‑ ent political participation to avoid misinterpretation of managed behaviors. The antinomic features constitute dyads, the antinomic ideal types in Max Weber’s meaning. Each thematic claim distrib‑ uted by a state actor can be located on one of four continua.

Research Design A case study approach was applied to develop an in‑depth understanding of the mechanisms involved in state‑led mind engineering through claims to legitimacy. It facilitated delving into the claims ho‑ mogenous regarding claimants and their recipients and embedded in the same political, social, and cultural context. Simultaneously, a case study approach effectively elaborates and tests theoretical tools (Dooley 2002: 351). It facilitates finding significant features of phenomena under scrutiny, developing their comprehension, and conceptualizing for further studies (Punch 2014: 124). The study is theoretically embedded in mind engineering and ideology‑based education studies. It rests on qualitative news frame analysis to answer the question: what types of mind engineering did the Polish state media use to generate a regime’s legitimacy during the 2020–2021 mobiliza‑ tion for women’s reproductive rights in Poland? The types of mind engineering were analyzed through discursive frames in Michelle D. Bonner and Lucia Dammert’s (2022: 632) meaning. The frames are interpretative schemas that show situ‑ ations by simplifying and accounting for them to make sense to the targeted audience. Delving into discursive frames employed to generate a regime’s legitimacy, the analysis captures two variants of mind engineering. While cognition‑based claims address knowledge spread to claim legitimacy, behavior‑based claims focus on action expressing legitimacy. It uncovers how different frames or narratives used in communication can influence how people interpret information and subse‑ quently guide their thoughts and actions. This theory is relevant to understanding cognition‑ and behavior‑based strategies of mind engineering by unpacking the attempts to influence individuals’ thinking about politics and political actions. 62

Identifying Partisan Efforts to Generate Authoritarian Legitimacy

Cognition‑based and behavior‑based strategies of mind engineering are two distinct approaches used to influence individuals’ attitudes and actions. They differ in their focus and methods of per‑ suasion. Cognition‑based strategies center on shaping individuals’ cognitive processes, including their thoughts, beliefs, perceptions, and understanding of the world. The primary goal of cogni‑ tion‑based strategies is to impact how people interpret information and make sense of the environ‑ ment around them. These strategies aim to change or reinforce existing mental frameworks and schemas, which, in turn, influence decision‑making and behavior. Behavior‑based strategies, on the contrary, concentrate on directly influencing individuals’ actions and behaviors. These strate‑ gies are focused on encouraging or discouraging specific actions without necessarily changing the underlying cognitive processes. Behavior‑based approaches often leverage rewards, punish‑ ments, incentives, and social norms to shape behavior. The distinction between cognition‑based and behavior‑based strategies is crucial as they represent different paths of mind engineering. Cognition‑based strategies aim for deeper, more lasting changes in individuals’ cognitive frame‑ works, which can have broader and long‑term effects on behavior. In turn, behavior‑based strate‑ gies may achieve more immediate and observable changes in actions but might not necessarily result in long‑term shifts in attitudes or beliefs. The study covers frames used by state media to claim the right to rule to the incumbent rulers during a period critical to their legitimacy and, thus, the political regime’s stability. It was the 2020–2021 All‑Poland Women’s Strike (Ogólnopolski Strajk Kobiet) protests, the largest wave of social mobilization in democratic Poland that lasted from October 22, 2020, to January 29, 2021. The movement won the support of 70% of Poles (Kiełczykowska 2021). The analysis is limited to the period of mass mobilization. With the emergence of a powerful challenger, there was a threat of  the political system’s collapse and the replacement of the ruling elites (Polynczuk‑Alenius 2022). The threat came from ordinary citizens who protested against restricting women’s repro‑ ductive rights and the ongoing erosion of democracy in Poland. It is worth mentioning that the protests continued during the coronavirus pandemic, lockdown, and other restrictions. The rulers struggled with a public health crisis, winning legitimacy for their crisis management policies and extending executive power competencies (Kustra‑Rogatka 2023). The source corpus contains 1,481 news articles and videos archived on the TVP Info portal, the Polish state media’s (TVP – Telewizja Polska S.A., Polish Television) comprehensive digital archive. It consists of original news articles and video materials spread on all nationwide public sta‑ tions during Wiadomości (a major news release on TVP1), Teleexpress (an afternoon news release on TVP1 and TVP Info), and Panorama (a major news release on TVP2). The subject scope of ma‑ terials determines the theme of mobilization for women’s reproductive rights. Therefore, the source corpus includes only the materials that contain at least one of the following searching phrases ‘wom‑ en’s strike’, ‘women’s protest’, ‘women’s demonstration’, ‘women’s manifestation’, and ‘abortion’. TVP is a Polish state media corporation. After the 2015 parliamentary election, PiS passed a new media law, thus providing the government with complete control over public broadcasting. As a result, TVP became a tool for disseminating pro‑government news and pursuing the rulers’ political agenda. Compared to other Polish media, it has one of the lowest brand trust scores. Nevertheless, the Institute for Media Monitoring Report (2020) informed that TVP Info was the most opinion‑forming state media during the 2020 world crisis of public health. Also, during the mobilization for women’s reproductive rights, TVP news had more viewers than other stations. From the perspective of the research objectives, the state media must aim to regain, win, and main‑ tain support for the rulers. Utterly dependent on and subordinated to the ruling party, they loyally created the regime’s legitimacy in times of crisis. Also, their unique role resulted from nationwide mass coverage (cf. Otwinowski 2022). 63

Joanna Rak

Qualitative news frame analysis followed Margaret Linström and Willemien Marais’s (2012) methodology. First, data was collected from the source corpus by determining excerpts related to women’s protests and their participants. News excerpts from articles and transcribed videos were treated as units of analysis. In one excerpt, more than one legitimacy claim may occur. Moreover, legitimacy claims were counted to determine the configuration and number of democratic and au‑ thoritarian frames in the news. It was assumed that regardless of the number of sentences, words, or signs used to make a claim, one excerpt introducing a whole idea of a regime’s legitimacy claim was counted as a single employment of a democratic or authoritarian frame. An idea repeatedly emerging in one piece of news was counted as one excerpt. The next step involved a pilot study aimed at elaborating a codebook. Frames that occurred when scrutinizing excerpts were inductively chosen. Drawing upon the investigation of 40 ran‑ domly selected excerpts, news frames (codes) for eight democratic and authoritarian cognition‑ and behavior‑based legitimacy claims were formulated and their operational definition was developed. While the first three dyads concentrate on cognition‑based claims, the last one addresses a behavioral sphere. The first set of antinomic ideal types consists of (CD1) helping citizens learn about resolving civic affairs and (CA1) convincing citizens of the rightness of the ruling’s policy. CD1 frames are (1) ‘pluralization of information sources’ by encouraging to search, compare, and verify information from different sources; (2) ‘tackling problematic issues’ by informing about the whole complexity of a situation without concealing inconvenient facts; and (3) ‘giving a voice to conflicting positions’ by providing the opportunity to people representing various environ‑ ments, having different political interests, and conflicting opinions to present their positions. CA1 frames are (1) ‘monopolization of information sources’ by recommending only state‑controlled information sources and warning against obtaining information from other sources as unreliable and misleading; (2) ‘political tabooing’ by depicting anti‑government contentious performances, related situations, or their participants without referring to the social movement; and (3) ‘block‑ ing a voice’ by not giving a voice to contentious performance participants when discussing their actions and ideas. The second dyad covers (CD2) assisting citizens in reducing mistrust and fear of public life and (CA2) spreading mistrust and fear of public life. CD2 frames are (1) ‘preventing prejudice’ by ex‑ plaining emerging views and beliefs and (2) ‘introducing contentious performances’ by depicting them as a component of political life rather than disruption. CA2 frames are (1) ‘making people threats’ by convincing the audience that those who oppose the government put their health, lives, interests, and public goods at risk and (2) ‘making anti‑government contentious performances a dangerous experience’ by presenting harmful consequences of anti‑government contentious per‑ formances and engagement in them. The third dyad involves (CD3) preventing political divisions based on hostility. In turn, au‑ thoritarian frames are (CA3) forging political divisions based on hostility. CD3 frames are (1) ‘including in a political community’ by encouraging social unity and solidarity beyond possible divisions and (2) ‘respecting variety’ by showing that everyone, regardless of their views and be‑ havior, deserves to be heard and respected as a part of a political community. CA3 frames are (1) ‘excluding from a political community’ by pointing to ‘them’ and arguing that ‘they’ do not belong to ‘our’ community due to their characteristics or deeds and (2) ‘normalizing’ by setting standards of normality and stimulating hostility and non‑acceptance of those who fail to meet the set criteria. Finally, the fourth dyad includes (BD1) encouraging independent political participation and (BA1) discouraging independent political participation. BD1 frames are (1) ‘assisting free con‑ tentious performance participants in need’ by calling for providing help to those making public

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claims independently, if needed, and informing them about what help is expected and (2) ‘facili‑ tating voluntary activities to influence public policy’ by encouraging and supporting organization and participation in contentious performances, regardless of the political side the media favor. BA1 frames are (1) ‘establishing counter‑movements’ by encouraging to oppose anti‑government contentious performances by taking to the streets or organizing vigilante action and (2) ‘staying home’ by discouraging from engaging in contentious performances and assuring that the state ac‑ tors solve all problems on their own. In line with Linström and Marais’s (2012) methodology, the study used a comparative tech‑ nique for manual qualitative analysis to classify news frames. The analysis commenced with the comparative assignment of excerpts to categories (CD13, CA13, BD1, BD2) and then to frames, which resulted in grouping the excerpts. The following steps involved refining and counting data, which were crucial to locating the clusters of a regime’s legitimacy claims on the four continua and evaluating the mind engineering variants. The last analysis stage involved simplifying, gen‑ eralizing findings, and integrating them into a coherent theoretical framework. It finished with a conclusion on the type of state‑led mind engineering during the Polish mobilization for reproduc‑ tive rights, which was shaped to generate a particular regime’s legitimacy.

Research Findings The characteristics of cognition‑based claims locate the state‑led mind engineering very close to the ideal type of authoritarian regime’s legitimacy claims (Table 4.1). However, a few democratic claims emerged (0.5% of all claims). The latter helped citizens learn about resolving civic affairs and boiled down to giving a voice to conflicting positions (64 excerpts). These few attempts ap‑ peared only in journalistic articles published on the TVP Info portal but not on television, which limited their reach. Giving the floor to conflicting positions consisted of presenting various opin‑ ions to demonstrate that the decisions taken by PiS were correct and just (Gąbka 2020a). They were selective, often put PiS opponents in a negative light, and ridiculed them. Still, no attempts to pluralize information sources or tackle problematic issues occurred. Among the authoritarian frames of convincing citizens of the rightness of the ruling party’s policy, the most important strategy was blocking a voice (372 excerpts). The state media presented public gatherings as collective actions supporting abortion. By selective presentation of claims and ignoring the movement’s voice, the state media avoided discussing the complex demands, includ‑ ing protecting women’s reproductive rights, legally protecting LGBTQI+ minorities, limiting the Catholic Church’s meddling in politics, and stopping democratic backsliding. Despite different political views, journalists from the state and PiS‑favoring media, PiS politicians, and experts supporting them explained the anti‑government movement’s motivations, goals, and demands. Opponents of ideas presented their interpretations, not ideas. At the same time, the media aimed to conceal that the anti‑government social movement had a collective identity (JMK 2020). They replaced it with the image of scattered individuals whose hazardous behavior was representative of the protests. Imposing a political taboo was a less popular strategy (163 excerpts). The state media avoided referring to the massiveness of the movement’s support. Journalists highlighted that few protested, and they failed to mobilize others. Second, TVP silenced claims unrelated to abortion to limit the discussion and trigger unequivocal condemnation of activists. The third taboo was avoiding nam‑ ing the movement by its name and presenting its members or supporters. Accordingly, protests were ‘few’, attended by a ‘handful of people’ or ‘only by their organizers’. The movement was a

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Joanna Rak Table 4.1 A regime’s legitimacy claims in the Polish state media during the 2020–2021  mobilization for women’s reproductive rights Categories of a regime’s legitimacy claims

Discursive frames

(CD1) helping citizens learn about resolving civic affairs

1 ‘pluralization of information sources’ 2 ‘tackling problematic issues’ 3 ‘giving a voice to conflicting positions’ 1 ‘monopolization of information sources’ 2 ‘political tabooing’ 3 ‘blocking a voice’ 1 ‘preventing prejudice’ 2 ‘introducing contentious performances’ 1 ‘making people threats’ 2 ‘making anti‑government contentious performances a dangerous experience’ 1 ‘including in a political community’ 2 ‘respecting variety’ 1 ‘excluding from a political community’ 2 ‘normalizing’ 1 ‘assisting contentious performance participants in need’ 2 ‘facilitating voluntary activities to influence public policy’ 1 ‘establishing counter‑movements’ 2 ‘staying home’

(CA1) convincing citizens of the rightness of the ruling’s policy (CD2) assisting citizens in reducing mistrust and fear of public life (CA2) spreading mistrust and fear of public life (CD3) preventing political divisions based on hostility (CA3) forging political divisions based on hostility (BD1) encouraging independent political participation

(BA1) discouraging independent political participation

The number of a regime’s legitimacy claims across excerpts 0 0 64 12 163 372 0 0 4,731 3,626 0 0 2,678 1,989 0 0 312 904

Source: Own study.

‘so‑called women’s strike’ (SJ and KF 2020), and its leaders often remained unnamed or called ‘pro‑abortionists’, ‘abortion advocates’, and ‘those women’, e.g., God, save us from such women – I thought deeply, listening to the two leaders of the Women’s Strike. The first name begins with L, and the second with S. I will not write their names in full, not to save them, but so as not to make them popular. Presence in the media, regardless of the context, satisfies their psychological needs to the greatest extent. They represent two crude, vulgar people, resembling horror movie characters living on the margins of society. (Jachowicz 2020)

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The monopolization of information sources was unimportant due to the TVP’s targeting of the PiS‑supporting viewers and readers, which constituted the state media’s audience. The few refer‑ ences (12 excerpts) were the warnings against using non‑governmental information sources as un‑ reliable and likely to spread disinformation typical during election campaigns and crises. It means the state media were not afraid of their position in national broadcasting as opinion‑making actors. The second type of cognition‑based claims referred to attitudes toward mistrust and fear of pub‑ lic life. The state media did not prevent prejudice regarding protesters, including the LGBTQI+ community, and avoided introducing contentious performances. Instead, they fueled it by present‑ ing the protests as unjust violence. Any democratic challenge to prejudice‑based frames could weaken the basis for authoritarian behavior‑based claims. The latter were coherent with the most numerous authoritarian frames of making people threats (4,731 excerpts) and depicting anti‑gov‑ ernment contentious performances as a dangerous experience (3,626 excerpts). They provided the grounds for and strengthened arguments against joining the movement. Protesters were threats due to being offenders (multiple criminals, convicted before the protests by final court judgments, committing crimes during the women’s protests, and breaking pandemic‑induced restrictions), vandals, and prone to risky and unpredictable behavior. Their involvement in contentious perfor‑ mances turned the latter into dangerous experiences. Peaceful demonstrations transformed into vi‑ olent clashes with the police, and public order transformed into civil disorder. State media incited and sustained fear of protest participants instead of facilitating comprehension of their claims. The final cognition‑based category of a regime’s legitimacy claims is an attitude toward po‑ litical divisions based on hostility. No democratic attempts to eliminate divisions between PiS’s supporters and opponents occurred. The state media avoided shaping Poles’ image as an inclusive nation and did not appeal for respect for the diversity of political views. Instead, they used authori‑ tarian frames to determine relationships between those who opposed the ruling party and those who did not. A criterion for excluding from the community of Poles (2,678 excerpts) was political and related to the PiS’s political agenda. The participants of the anti‑government protests and the op‑ position supporting the protesters were excluded. According to TVP, their views and behavior devi‑ ated from the norms of Poles that should have been united and shown solidarity in times of crisis. Normalizing (1,989 excerpts) justified exclusion from the community and drew upon the three standards. The first assumed that it is normal for people to be Pole‑Catholic and defend human life from conception, regardless of the costs, such as the mother’s life and health. Thus, whoever sup‑ ported abortion was an ‘abortion advocate’ (SJ and SC 2020) not up to the standard. The second benchmark was heteronormativity. Any deviation from the state‑established norm was treated as a deviation (e.g., creating ‘LGBT‑free zones’ as an acceptable political practice (Gąbka 2020c)). The third standard was belonging to a group of polite Poles. It appeared in response to the vulgariza‑ tion of the movement’s slogans, which were supposed to express the extreme stage of resistance to government policies that did not respect the rights of women and LGBTQI+ minorities. Anyone who used profanity deviated from the norm (e.g., ‘this is the language used by women (…) As if they had left a hard prison for hardened criminals a few hours ago after a long sentence for using violence against loved ones’ (Jachowicz 2020)). Normalizing was at the ideological and political levels and in opposition to the movement’s beliefs and collective behavior. Behavior‑based claims for action manifesting the regime’s legitimacy also locate the state‑led mind engineering on the side of securing support for the authoritarian regime (Table 4.1). They unequivocally aimed to discourage independent political participation. The unambiguity resulted from diagnosing the real threat to the PiS government. The dominant frames were calls for keep‑ ing from action and staying home (904 excerpts). Noteworthy, mass protests continued during the

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coronavirus pandemic. The need to stop the lethal virus spread provided additional justification for staying home. Calls to refrain from taking to the streets and joining ongoing public gatherings re‑ ferred to a public duty to protect the health and life of oneself and other citizens. They determined the relationship between participation in protests and respect for health and life: The Civic Platform and the Left are pulling Poles onto the street to take power. If the protests do not work, they may take power thanks to many more infections. Taking power with blood on their hands is unacceptable. (Gąbka 2020b) The media shifted the responsibility for the increase in coronavirus infections to the participants of anti‑government protests, ignoring, for example, pro‑government gatherings or meetings of PiS politicians with their supporters. The news reported that people who participated in the protests were infected with the coronavirus and assumed that it was there that the infection took place. Contagion was shown as a deliberate and conscious act against Poles (AB and MNIE 2021; FA and MNIE 2020). At the same time, calls to keep from action aimed to prevent contention and to stop activists from engaging in protests. They were also supposed to decrease the number and turnout of mass protests considered a threat to the political system. Moreover, the media discouraged participation in the protests due to the perceived physical danger posed by their participants. First, the protesters allegedly attacked other participants, wit‑ nesses of contentious performances, and police officers, including policewomen (MK and MNIE 2020). Noteworthy, in Polish culture, there is an image of a woman’s bodily inviolability, and breaking it is widely condemned. Second, the protests were to be attended by dangerous criminals convicted by final court judgments. During public gatherings, they were to commit further crimes because they viewed the protests as an opportunity to do so. Simultaneously, the media showed the irrationality of the protesters. For example, women’s protests were attended by men convicted of mistreating women (PO, KF, and SC 2020) or who did not know what they had come for (SJ and SC 2020). Arguing that the protests were few, unattended, and internet‑based calls for action went unanswered (PO 2020) supported the interpretation that risking life and health through political participation was pointless. The protests were depicted as insignificant, supported by those from the margins of society, and without a clearly defined goal. Based on the ruling party’s leader Jarosław Kaczyński’s call for vigilantism on October 27, 2020, the state media encouraged Poles to establish counter‑movements (312 excerpts). They re‑ peatedly cited the following excerpts from the call: In particular, we must defend Polish churches; we must defend them at any cost. I call on all PiS members and all those who support us to take part in defense of the Church, in defense of what is being attacked today, not by chance (…) the judgment of the Constitutional Tribunal cannot be changed during the validity of the current constitution. All the more, it is impossible to pass a law that would allow abortion on demand, and this is the demand of the extreme left. (SJ and KF 2020) Kaczyński created a community of interests to protect the Catholic Church, its buildings, and the fetus’s life. The leader asked PiS members and its supporters to stand up for shared values. He considered the behavior of the ‘extreme left’ represented by the protesters and the opposition to be a threat to these values. It began a state‑led counter‑movement established to oppose political

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actors threatening the political system’s stability. The media portrayed the call as the founding act of vigilante activism, supporting the police and allowing the use of physical force. Additionally, the news referred to Kaczyński’s call and illustrated the acts of vandalism by the movement’s participants against churches, other public buildings, and people defending them. TVP regularly reported the counter‑movement’s successes. Thereby, it delivered and maintained motivation for the action that confirmed the regime’s legitimacy. At the same time, the state media avoided encouraging the independent political participation characteristic of democracy. They neither encouraged Poles to support contentious performance par‑ ticipants in need nor facilitated voluntary activities to impact public policy. Protests for women’s re‑ productive rights emerged during a particular communication situation. The tightening of the abortion law took place, bypassing the legislative route by the Constitutional Tribunal, which is subordinated to the ruling party. Therefore, the protests were also against violating the rule of law and manifested anti‑government stances. Especially during mass mobilization, the widely supported protesters posed a severe threat to the stability of the political system created by PiS. Moreover, PiS faced a public health crisis and accusations of ineffective crisis management. Deepening economic and social dif‑ ficulties gave rise to further protests by new groups. It was essential to stop large social groups with different interests from publicly expressing opposition and to limit independent political participation against the government. The state media diagnosed the critical moment for the political system and the threat of its collapse due to the protests and the emerging opportunities for the opposition.

Conclusion The state‑led mind engineering was oriented toward creating absolute subordination to PiS, gen‑ erating the regime’s legitimacy, and depriving its opponents of the legitimacy to perform political roles. Claim‑making drew upon (re)designing, (re)implementing, and (re)evaluating attitudes and behaviors considered significant to the political system stability. Using systematic means, TVP pressurized its readers and viewers into adopting beliefs radically different from those held by 70% of Polish society supporting the movement for women’s rights (Kiełczykowska 2021). Also, the instilled beliefs radically differed from those typical of democratic discourse shaped before 2015, i.e., until PiS started changing the political system. Unpacking legitimacy claims, the study reveals that Polish state‑owned media proved loyalty to PiS and acted as a partisan institution. It sought authoritarian legitimacy at the cognitive and behavioral levels, and the former was dominant. The state‑controlled message gave coherent and consistent interpretations of current politics. Frames on various aspects of authoritarian power relations strengthened and complemented each other. Among 13,635 excerpts containing cognition‑based claims, as many as 13,571 aimed at gen‑ erating authoritarian legitimacy (99.5%). At the cognitive level, it was crucial to undermine the protests’ image created by the independent media or to limit its impact on the TVP audience’s awareness. The movement’s representatives did not receive the opportunity to explain their de‑ mands, and the media’s viewers and readers were not given information to understand the com‑ plexity of the contention. The main type of authoritarian claims drew upon spreading mistrust and fear of public life (8,357 excerpts). Fear, anxiety, and doubts about what was true were supposed to make it difficult to assess the situation rationally. They also weakened the will to create or demand social and po‑ litical change. Distrust facilitated confusion. TVP questioned the seriousness of the movement’s demands and did not recognize their common collective identity.

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The second‑most crucial authoritarian category was the forging of hostility‑based political divi‑ sions (4,667 excerpts). The state media made anti‑democratic efforts to exclude some Poles from the national community due to their worldviews and political views. Instead of democratic assur‑ ances of respect for diversity and tolerance, hostility‑based divisions emerged. The movement was not an opponent with whom PiS could negotiate but a dangerous and unpredictable enemy to be fought. The latter was unworthy of trust and respect because it endangered Poles’ health and lives and introduced civil disorder on the streets. Information about resolving current affairs and the changing political situation was less fre‑ quent than perpetuating divisions and spreading distrust. TVP rarely referred to the positions of the opposition and protesters (64 excerpts). The democratic juxtaposition of opinions created the illu‑ sion of pluralism and diverse political views. Still, their selectiveness favored PiS and discredited opponents. A more frequent strategy was convincing citizens of the rightness of the ruling’s policy (547 excerpts). It left no room for misinterpretation. TVP achieved this by blocking informative statements, disallowing people presented by the media, i.e., those directly interested, to speak. Se‑ lected activists, especially the movement leaders, were openly excluded from the state discourse. These strategies of divesting media attention and directing it to selected actors and positions were more potent than strident self‑promotion. Finally, there were only a few recommendations to limit information sources to state‑owned ones. TVP used 1,216 excerpts to make behavior‑based authoritarian claims without references to pro‑democratic behavior. Calls to action and to prove support to PiS by deeds resulted from a criti‑ cal situation for the political system stability. The most desirable social behavior was to keep from independent political participation. Weakening the protests and depriving the protesters of support was supposed to eliminate the threat to the political system. At the same time, institutions subordinated to the ruling party sought allies in averting the threat of political system collapse. In response to Kaczyński’s call recurring in TVP, the counter‑move‑ ment emerged. The state‑managed vigilantes supported the state police in escalated force protest policing. However, stabilizing the political system through repression was impossible in the long run without at least the passive consent of the Poles. Distrust and hostility to protesters considered enemies served to legitimize months of their repression. The study confirms the mind engineering measurement tool’s analytical usefulness in explor‑ ing cognition‑ and behavior‑based legitimacy claims. It allows researchers to distinguish which frames serve to shape views, which can justify action, and which are a call to action. The research findings proved the exploratory power of distinguishing these aspects of claims and considering action claims. Furthermore, the tool effectively differentiates and classifies claims to legitimacy based on the type of regime they support. Non‑specialists can use it to analyze selected political texts without any specialist software independently. However, its application to broadly based comparative research can be time consuming. Thus, the challenge for state‑led mind engineering researchers is to develop IT tools to automate and accelerate the analysis. Automation also could help reduce the likelihood of researchers’ possible mistakes at the data coding and counting stages. More research is still needed to understand changes in political systems, not only their effects but also their mechanisms.

Funding This work was supported by the National Science Centre, Poland (grant number 2021/43/B/ HS5/00290).

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5 POLITICAL LEGITIMIZATION OF HYBRID REGIMES Chinese State Discourses on the Democratization of Post‑Handover Hong Kong Chi Kit Chan Introduction This chapter discusses a political aspect of mind‑engineering: political legitimization of hybrid regimes. Hybrid regimes are polities that feature a mixture of democratic and non‑democratic ­political systems. Notable examples are general elections that are subject to domineering the po‑ litical influence of incumbents or other means of power inequalities. Democratic states solicit their political legitimacy by the people’s mandate indicated in general elections. While regime stability of hybrid states largely comes from political, military, and socio‑economic powers, they also pursue political legitimacy for their existence, claim the representation of general will, and campaign for the heart and mind of the people. Some hybrid states argue for the “merits” of their political systems vis‑à‑vis those of “western” democracies, some resort to the nationalistic senti‑ ment for unity in view of “foreign threats” when suppressing domestic opposition, and some fab‑ ricate political discourses that reproduce the existing power hierarchy. Political legitimization of hybrid states therefore is a prominent topic for scholarly dialogue surrounding mind‑engineering in a political aspect: how do regimes that are characterized by non‑democratic features rationalize their political systems and practices? The political legitimization of hybrid states is vividly illustrated by Chinese state discourses— the political discourses issued by Chinese officials and Chinese state media—on the democra‑ tization of post‑handover Hong Kong. After its handover from Britain to China in 1997, Hong Kong politics has been wrestling with the democratization promised in the Basic Law (the mini‑­ constitution of post‑handover Hong Kong), which stipulates that the Chief Executive (equivalent to the mayor) of the city and all members of its legislature shall be ultimately elected by univer‑ sal suffrages. Throughout post‑handover decades, China has been (re)defining such constitutional promises of universal suffrage by its political discourses in response to local demands for de‑ mocratization. This chapter illustrates that the notion of nationalism is reconstructed by Chinese state discourses as a political legitimacy for refuting the popular demand for universal suffrages in Hong Kong. Equally important is how the notion of democracy, which has been widely under‑ stood as a participatory political system with fair and open elections, is re‑narrated by political discourses of Chinese officials and state media as justification for limited political franchises and

DOI: 10.4324/9781003289746-7

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non‑direct election methods. Democratization of post‑handover Hong Kong shows how a hybrid regime reacts to the democratic aspiration of a highly westernized local civil society. It also in‑ dicates how China reacts to the universal values among international communities—democracy, freedom, human rights, for example—by redefining them in a non‑western way (Leonard 2008; Thornton 2021; Steiner 1950). This chapter begins with a brief literature review of how hybrid regimes legitimize their po‑ litical systems and practices. Their political discourses are a useful reference to our understand‑ ing of Chinese state discourses that address the democratization of post‑handover Hong Kong. Specifically, this chapter will systematically unfold how Chinese officials and state media justify the constitutional power and political patronage of China over Hong Kong’s democratization and refute the application of western democracy to Hong Kong’s constitutional system. The chapter ends by evaluating the social outcomes of the abovementioned political legitimization of Chinese state discourses.

Political Legitimization of Hybrid Regimes All polities and authorities pursue becoming legitimated governances that gain the people’s popu‑ lar will. Legitimacy comes from the Latin word “legitimus”, which refers to a lawful and legal agreement and justification (Reyes 2011: 782). In the political sense, public governance and policy decision entails political legitimacy which sufficiently represents people’s mandate and general will. Scholarly dialogue surrounding political legitimacy is primarily manifested in two ways: public opinion studies and political discourse. The former focuses on the social meaning and constructs of public opinion, and how polities and authorities react to and manage various forms of people’s voices. Riding on the Latin words vox populi, vox dei (voice of the people, voice of GOD), support of public opinion is largely perceived as the political legitimacy for public govern‑ ance and policy decisions. However, political and communication scholars have long questioned the representation and quality of people’s voices. Renowned American writer, Walter Lippmann, once famously depicted public opinion as “pictures in our heads” which were portrayed by the orchestra between political elites, journalists, and a handful of influential experts (Lippmann 1922, p.1). Lippmann’s cynical remarks on the political legitimacy of public opinion were concurred by political scientist, Philip E. Converse, who refuted the rationality and political consistency of American voters through empirical survey data (Converse 1964). Converse’s conclusion on American public opinion was criticized by scholars who argued that by no means we should de‑ mand a politically knowledgeable public, but a public sphere that can show reasonable responses in critical moments such as elections (Lupia and McCubbins 2000; Popkin 1991), and news media which can perform a monitorial citizenship when social problems arise (Zaller 2003). Norma‑ tively speaking, the essence of public opinion on politics may not be indicated by whether the people are politically prolific enough but by how open, plural, and deliberative the public is in the decision‑making process (Herbst 1999; Jaggar 2000). Scholarly dialogue on public opinion pinpoints the significance of political discourses on the po‑ litical legitimacy of public governance and policy decisions. Anthony Giddens (1984) highlighted that political interaction entails linguistic structures and behaviors for social domination and le‑ gitimation. Political discourses are thus comprised of a variety of linguistic, rhetorical, and social dimensions for mind‑engineering, agenda‑setting, and social manipulation (Gastil 1992; Teun and Van Dijk 2006). The academic debates over public opinion in the previous paragraph could be conceived as political discourses that argue over the meaning of people’s voices. Lippmann and

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Converse’s cynical views on public opinion are in line with the calls for deliberative democracy, which questions the representative democracy, elections, and parliamentary politics. Studies of po‑ litical discourses periodically post inquiries regarding social manipulation and mind‑engineering within well‑known democracies all over the world. Citing former British prime minister, Tony Blair’s, public speeches in support of the United States‑led war against Iraq in 2003, Teun and Van Dijk (2006) unfolded the social, cognitive, and discursive dimension of political manipulation us‑ ing critical discourse analysis, and demonstrated how political power could be abused by semiotic choices that reproduce social inequalities in symbolic power. In the same token, Reyes (2011) il‑ lustrated how social fear, social trust to expertise, past critical events, and even altruism could be manipulated as mind‑engineering political discourses in his in‑depth textual analysis of the public speeches made by former American president, George W. Bush. Political legitimacy thus is largely an art of mind‑engineering via political discourses. To non‑democratic regimes, political discourses for their governing legitimacy are equally a pressing issue. The distinction between democratic and autocratic polities often exhibits a contin‑ uum of the grey zone between the two ends rather than a clear boundary (Carothers 2002; Levitsky and Way 2010; Mazepus et al. 2016). Instead of depicting all polities that have non‑democratic features (such as plausible manipulated elections, limited franchise of voting rights, and suspected opaque and abuse of constitutional power) as autocracies, this chapter employs the term “hybrid regime” to describe polities that combine both democratic and autocratic elements (Hale 2011), and displays visible political features that are not in line with open and fair political and human rights. Samuel Paul Huntington (1991) conceptualized two major approaches for regime survival: the input and output sides. Input refers to the representativeness of the people’s mandate, citizens’ interest, and the general will, which are usually manifested in the general elections of democratic polities (Easton 1975). Huntington asserted that non‑democratic regimes usually focus on the output side—especially economic prosperity—as the social output to justify their regime survival. Further studies explicate that hybrid regimes attempt striking both the input and output sides when formulating political discourses for their power incumbency (Levitsky and Way 2010; Mazepus et al. 2016). To justify their governing status in view of questionable democratic elections and so‑ cial freedom, political discourses of hybrid regimes are often characterized by clientele patronage, populist appeal, and xenophobic nationalism. Clientele patronage echoes the output side of regime survival as Huntington (1991) pinpointed. It refers to the parental safeguard of people’s interests, social welfare, and the common benefit of the majority. Different hybrid regimes have varying political discourses of clientele patron‑ age. For example, President Vladimir Putin’s popularity in Russia since 2000 is characterized by a glorified brinksmanship defending for Russian national interest against western sanctions, while the late President Hugo Chávez in Venezuela positioned himself as a Socialist liberator who brought patriotism, liberation, and independence to the people who suffered from social inequali‑ ties and poverty (Mazepus et al. 2016). In mainland China, the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) has been practicing the party‑state structure of which the governmental and partisan organiza‑ tions are connected with each other under the doctrine of democratic centralism (民主集中制) since the establishment of the People’s Republic of China in 1949 (Steiner 1950; Thornton 2021). China has started its socio‑economic liberalization since 1978 when former Chinese leader, Deng Xiaoping, launched the reform and open (改革開放) policy. From the 2000s to the early 2010s, China seemed to be relatively tolerant towards the growth of civil society associations and a vo‑ cal public while keeping their edge in public governance. This was indicated by the academic discussion pertaining to whether China was becoming a progressive hybrid regime via contentious

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authoritarianism (Chen 2011), consultative authoritarianism (Teets 2013), and responsive authori‑ tarianism (Heurlin 2016). While trying to incorporate and represent the interests of the Chinese people, China could hardly accept institutional challenges against the partisan leadership of the CCP (Leonard 2008; Thornton 2021). The abovementioned examples indicate the working of cli‑ entele patronage, which aims to secure regime legitimacy and survival from the output side in terms of socio‑economic stability, improved livelihood, and ruling benevolence. However, there are good and bad days for all polities. When political discourses of clientele patronage look pale in times of socio‑economic adversities or political crises, hybrid regimes may resort to populist appeal to suppress domestic opposition via an “us and them” dichotomic rhetoric. Linguistic and discourse studies have shown that populism is largely an empty signifier or cultural artifact with little political value (Freeden 1998; Laclau 2005). It is an us and them so‑ cial imaginary which fosters distrust of and frustration with political elites, social institutions, and systems, and positions them as the enemy of the people—the majority in the societies (Comroff 2011; Mudde 2004; Taggart 2000). Political discourses of populism are commonly seen in media representation that construct a sense of “in‑groups” and hostility toward elites and institutions of representative democracy (Krämer 2014). In fact, populism is also seen in western democracies (Rooduijn 2014). However, such political discourses are mobilized by hybrid regimes in order to impose institutional sanctions against domestic opposition and dissents (Mazepus et al. 2016). Lastly, xenophobic nationalism is also commonly seen in the political discourses of us and them fabricated by hybrid regimes (Mazepus et al. 2016). Nationalism refers to empathy, passion, and a sense of belonging to nationhood. Scholarly dialogues explicate the formation of nationalism from various historical and socio‑cultural contexts: national reunification, breaking up colonial and multi‑national empires, restoring the ancient state, and mind‑engineering projects which echo ­national greatness and related political discourses (Gellner 1983; Naire 1977, 1997). Political dis‑ courses of nationalism are manifested in various forms of “common sense” in politics (such as the quest for national values), social imaginary (visions about what a good society means), collective identities (stories and folklore about who “we” are and the cultural origins of “our nation”), and so‑ cio‑cultural practices (habitual tributes to national anthem, national flag, and totems alike, and usage of languages in everyday life) (Anderson 1983; Billig 1995; Gellner 1983; Naire 1997). Such com‑ mon political discourses in both democratic and non‑democratic states, however, could be narrated as an us and them dichotomy by questing for domestic unity in front of credible foreign threats when hybrid regimes attempt to secure regime legitimacy (Mazepus et al. 2016; Tang 2016; Zhao 2013). This chapter does not aim to exhaust all mind‑engineering means of hybrid regimes. The above‑ mentioned scholarly dialogue exhibits common political discourses which hybrid regimes employ for their political legitimacy and policy justification. A point to note here is that these political discourses—clientele patronage, populist appeal, and xenophobic nationalism—are not exclusively seen in non‑democratic societies. In fact, they are also well‑documented in academic journals that select democratic polities as case studies (for example, Gastil 1992; Teun and Van Dijk 2006; Reyes 2011; Rooduijn 2014). Nonetheless, they are the political discourses that are utilized by hybrid re‑ gimes to justify their incumbency, governance, and policy decisions in comparative political studies.

Case Study and Methodological Note This chapter discusses the political legitimization of hybrid regimes by using the case study of Chinese state discourses on Hong Kong’s democratization. Democratization of Hong Kong re‑ fers to constitutional reforms of this city, aiming to elect the Chief Executive (political head of

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Hong Kong) and all members of the Legislative Council (the legislature of this city) by universal suffrage. Hong Kong was under British colonial governance from 1842 to 1997. The handover of Hong Kong from Britain to China in 1997 has been celebrated by the Chinese government as a nationalistic triumph over western colonialism (Lee et al. 2002). The handover, however, was also coupled with the solemn promise of democratization stipulated in the Basic Law, the mini­ ‑constitution of post‑handover Hong Kong: the Chief Executive and all lawmakers of Hong Kong shall be ultimately returned by universal suffrages (Articles 45 and 68 of the Basic Law of Hong Kong). However, China has largely been perceived by political scientists as being a hybrid regime with a party‑state structure. The party‑state framework upholds the partisan leadership of the CCP and denounces the western democracy of parliamentary politics and direct elections (Leonard 2008; Thornton 2021). How does China react to the constitutional promise of democratization in post‑handover Hong Kong? This question echoes the general scholarly question of how a hybrid regime formulates political discourses that justify its top‑down governance in view of the calls for democratization from below. To investigate Chinese political discourses on Hong Kong’s democratization, this chapter ex‑ amines the official statements and important documents issued by the Chinese government and their key officials and policy advisors on Hong Kong’s constitutional framework and reforms. Ad‑ ditionally, significant commentaries made by Chinese state media or pro‑China media outlets are also scrutinized. Further to the literature review on how hybrid regimes legitimize their govern‑ ance and political decisions, this chapter focuses on the political discourses expressed by Chinese officials, policy advisors (such as constitutional and legal scholars who drafted the Basic Law of Hong Kong or served in key positions that were in charge of Hong Kong affairs), and pro‑China media outlets. Further to the literature review in the previous section, I will employ the intellec‑ tual lens of clientele patronage, populist appeal, and xenophobic nationalism to examine China’s discourses on Hong Kong’s democratization. We explore how and to what extent the political discourses of China on Hong Kong’s democratization exhibited the abovementioned patterns amid unremitting local demand and outcry for materializing the constitutional promise stated in the Basic Law: holding universal suffrages for the Chief Executive and all members of the Legislative Council. Lastly, scholarly analyses of post‑handover Hong Kong’s politics, public opinion, and formation of cultural identities will be illustrated as evidence that evaluates the mind‑engineering effectiveness and outcome of Chinese state discourses on Hong Kong’s democratization.

Chinese Patronage of Post‑Handover Hong Kong Chinese political discourses on Hong Kong’s democratization have been featured with China’s clientele patronage of Hong Kong under the constitutional framework of “One Country, Two Sys‑ tems” (OCTS). OCTS is the constitutional framework that attempts to guarantee Hong Kong’s capitalist system under Socialist China in the Joint Sino‑British Declaration in 1984. It is mani‑ fested in the Basic Law (Tsang 1997). In brief, China’s political discourses have been highlighting how post‑handover Hong Kong’s political stability and socio‑economic prosperity are the output of China’s successful implementation of OCTS, and successful output could only be guaranteed when the party‑state leadership of China is fully respected in Hong Kong. Such discursive rationale is in line with the political discourses of clientele patronage, which is commonly seen when hybrid regimes attempt to justify their incumbency and legitimacy without fully implementing popular and direct elections. Chinese officials and state media continue reiterating the political patronage of China over Hong Kong in the name of Chinese nationalism. Based on media content analysis of Chinese 78

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state media’s coverage of Hong Kong’s handover in 1997, media scholars concluded that China perceived the resumption of sovereignty over this former Crown colony as a triumph over western colonial history on Chinese soil (Lee et al. 2002). In addition, Chinese state media made an explicit interpretation of OCTS in early 2004 when there were white‑heat social debates surrounding how to make sure that those who governed Hong Kong must be “patriots” to China, and what “patriots” meant politically and culturally to the governance of this city. The background was the massive rallies against enacting national security law in July 2003, a critical social movement event that triggered vibrant momentum from local civil society in Hong Kong to press for holding universal suffrages for the Chief Executive and all lawmakers in 2007 and 2008, respectively (Lee and Chan 2011). Blooming political demands for democratization, however, resulted in vocal rebuttals from Chinese officials, mainland Chinese legal scholars, and Chinese partisan media outlets in early 2004 (Chan and Chan 2014). By reprinting a speech made by the late Chinese leader, Deng Xiaoping, in June 1984, Chinese state media Xinhua News Agency stated that Hong Kong must be governed by Hong Kong people who are mainly “patriots”, whereas loving the [Chinese] na‑ tion and loving Hong Kong are inseparable (Editorial office of Ming Pao 2004: 76–77). People’s Daily—another Chinese partisan media outlet—issued a commentary echoing Deng’s words on patriots and stating that a Socialist China under the CCP’s leadership is the precondition to OCTS and Hong Kong’s prosperity (Editorial office of Ming Pao 2004: 82–83). Despite the conceptual similarities and differences between patriotism and nationalism (for example, see the discussion of Chan and Chan 2014: 954–957), the political discourses of the Chinese state media made clear political patronage of China over Hong Kong: the sovereignty of a Socialist China under the leadership of the CCP is the precondition for the existence of a capi‑ talist Hong Kong. This rationale was comprehensively explicated by Xia Yung (夏勇), director of the Legal Studies Institute of the Chinese Social Sciences Academy on 22nd February 2004 (Editorial office of Ming Pao 2004: 95–99). Xia specified that one country is the precondition to two systems, and the special arrangement of the latter for Hong Kong premises on the respect to Chinese sovereignty. According to Xia, the power relationship between China and Hong Kong is unliterary—the appointment of the Chief Executive and principal officials of Hong Kong, as well as the election methods for the Chief Executive and the Legislative Council must be subject to the Chinese central government’s approval. In addition to the political patronage of Hong Kong, China’s political discourses of OCTS also consist of socio‑economic patronage which specifies that the support of China is indispen‑ sable to Hong Kong’s prosperity and stability. Such socio‑economic patronage under OCTS was vividly illustrated in a significant position paper issued by the Chinese government on 31 August 2014 (The State Council of Chinese government 2014). This position paper was entitled, “The practice of the ‘One Country, Two Systems’ policy in the Hong Kong Special Administrative Re‑ gion”, which was self‑explanatory enough to stand for how the Chinese government implemented OCTS in post‑handover decades. The second paragraph of the paper’s Foreword specified that, under OCTS, “[t]he previous capitalist system and way of life remain unchanged, and most laws continue to apply. Hong Kong continues to prosper, its society remains stable, and full develop‑ ment is being witnessed in all undertakings” (The State Council of Chinese government 2014: 1). Such socio‑economic patronage of prosperity and stability was further explicated in part IV of the document, which reviewed the supporting economic and trading policies from the central govern‑ ment of China to Hong Kong, notably the Closer Economic Partnership Agreement (similar to a free trade agreement at the international level) between mainland China and Hong Kong. Moreo‑ ver, the Appendix of the same document spent 27 and 15 paragraphs, respectively, on various indicators showing the post‑handover socio‑economic development and cross‑border economic 79

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activities between Hong Kong and mainland China. The indicators ranged from economic output, the city’s fiscal and foreign reserves, trading volumes of securities and foreign currencies, eco‑ nomic and trading data released by international organizations such as the International Monetary Fund, international agreements signed by Hong Kong and other territories, and the significance of economic, trading, and merchandizing relations between mainland China and the city. The political and socio‑economic patronage of Hong Kong in China’s political discourses is cited as the justification for rejecting the universal suffrages for electing the city head and all law‑ makers. An example is how the Chinese state media and legal experts interpreted Deng Xiaoping’s comment on Hong Kong. Deng’s original words on patriots addressed the general appeal for sup‑ porting Hong Kong’s handover to China: Respect for the Chinese nation, sincere support for the motherland’s resumption of sov‑ ereignty over Hong Kong and a desire not to impair Hong Kong’s prosperity and stabil‑ ity. Those who meet these requirements are patriots, regardless of whether they believe in capitalism or feudalism or even slavery. We don’t demand that they are in favour of China’s socialist system; we only ask them to love the motherland and Hong Kong. (Editorial office of Ming Pao 2004: 81) On 29 February 2004, the Xinhua News Agency issued a commentary written by Xu Chongde (許 崇德), a professor from Remin University of China who served on the Basic Law Drafting Com‑ mittee in the 1980s (Editorial office of Ming Pao 2004). Xu rode on Deng’s words and argued that universal suffrages could not guarantee that Hong Kong would be governed by patriots. He said that some elected lawmakers in Hong Kong “badmouthed” the city at the international level and expressed supportive rhetoric for the independence of Taiwan (Editorial office of Ming Pao 2004: 111–112). Disregarding the validity of such political accusations, what we note here is how Deng’s remarks on patriots in the 1980s were narrated on as the discursive weapon to criticize the democrats and political dissidents in the city and disapprove electing the Chief Executive and all members of the Legislative Council by universal suffrages. Equally important is how Chinese political discourses narrate Hong Kong’s prosperity and stability as rationales for not holding universal suffrages for the city’s head and lawmakers. As mentioned in previous paragraphs, Chinese state media initiated the public discussion on patriots in early 2004 (Chan and Chan 2014). In early February 2004, the Chief Secretary for Administration of Hong Kong, Donald Tsang, reported to the city’s Legislative Council about his trip to Beijing to discuss constitutional affairs with Chinese officials and concerned legal experts (Editorial office of Ming Pao 2004). Tsang reported that the Chinese central government highlighted the significance of considering “the interest of different social classes” and the goal of “safeguarding the prosperity and stability of Hong Kong” when developing a democratic system that “suits the practical situation in Hong Kong” (Editorial office of Ming Pao 2004: 70). Political scientists argued that Hong Kong’s democratization, which began in the 1980s when the colonial Hong Kong government introduced direct elections to the city, has been encountering resistance from local business sectors and conservatives who worried that democratization would bring welfarism and populist politics to Hong Kong (Fong 2014; So 2000). The abovementioned political rhetoric echoed the concern of local conservative business sectors, and their skepticism to democratization was mobilized as political legitimization for rejecting calls for universal suf‑ frages in early 2004.

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Xenophobic Nationalism and Populism While upholding China’s political and socio‑economic patronage of Hong Kong, Chinese political discourses of Hong Kong’s democratization also exhibit a certain extent of xenophobic national‑ ism. As the literature review for this chapter suggests, some hybrid regimes attempt to anchor an us vs. them dichotomy by arousing domestic nationalism against foreign threats. Such discursive strategy was also present in Chinese official discourses on Hong Kong’s democratization. The most apparent instance is the fact that China’s political rhetoric often criticized foreign nations and their alleged arrogance and disturbance to China. Deng Xiaoping explicitly stated that the “foreigners” “looked down” and “insulted” the Chinese when he urged that the Chinese in Hong Kong could manage the city well (Editorial Office of Ming Pao 2004: 80). Such xenophobic senti‑ ment was also seen in the political spats surrounding the debates on patriots in early 2004. On 20 February 2004, China Daily, an official English media outlet of China, published an editorial that stated that people who “begged” foreign forces to intervene in Hong Kong’s affairs and openly supported the “self‑determination” movement of Taiwan was not comprised of patriots, according to Deng’s words in 1984 (Editorial office of Ming Pao 2004: 85–87). This editorial aimed to react to local democrats who called for Hong Kong’s democratization. In a position paper on OCTS that the Chinese government issued in June 2014, China reiterated that Hong Kong’s affairs are its internal affairs which have no room for “foreign forces” to intervene (The State Council of Chinese government 2014). Chinese political discourse also depicted foreign forces are the culprit making trouble for Hong Kong. In June 2019, the Anti‑Extradition Law Amendment Bill protests (Anti‑ELAB protests) stormed nearly all territories within Hong Kong, expressing the general discontent toward the unpopular bill that allowed fugitives in the city to be transferred to mainland China (Lee et al. 2019). The protests became the critical event that triggered China to remap the city’s political order (Chan 2022). On 29 June 2022, days before the 25th anniversary of Hong Kong’s handover to China, Chinese state media, People’s Daily, issued a long article that narrated the leadership of Chinese president Xi Jinping in the steadfast implementation of OCTS in Hong Kong (Wong 2022). It depicted the Anti‑ELAB protests as disturbances to Hong Kong’s social order under the guidance and deep intervention of some foreign and overseas forces. The deep intervention of Hong Kong by foreign and overseas forces, according to the article, was effectively suspended by China’s introduction of the National Security Law (NSL) to the city in 2020 and China’s reform of Hong Kong’s election system in 2021. This reform largely reduced the weigh‑ ing of directly‑elected lawmakers in the composition of the Legislative Council, and enhanced the censoring mechanism to make sure only patriots could be the head and lawmakers of the city (NPSCS 2021a, 2021b). While some hybrid regimes resorted to populism—soliciting direct support from the people by attacking and circumventing existing political and social systems—Chinese political discourses on Hong Kong’s democratization exhibit very little populism. Instead of demonstrating an anti‑elitist and anti‑system appeal, Chinese political discourses underscore the institutionalization of China’s authority in the constitutional affairs and democratization of Hong Kong. Such institutionalization was manifested in twofold. Firstly, Chinese political discourses keep reiterating the superior and unchallengeable role of the National People’s Congress Standing Committee (NPCSC) in Hong Kong’s constitutional affairs. The NPCSC is the core decision‑making body of China’s legislature at the national level. Its authority and power over Hong Kong’s constitutional affairs—­interpreting the Basic Law—were repeatedly explicated by Chinese legal scholars such as Xia Yung and Xu Chongde during the debates on patriots in early 2004 (Editorial office of Ming Pao 2004). The

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NPCSC’s role in Hong Kong’s constitutional affairs was further substantiated and institutionalized in its decision in 2007, which specified a five‑step legal procedure to amend the selection and for‑ mation methods for the Chief Executive and Legislative Council: (1) the Chief Executive makes a report to the NPCSC, (2) the NPCSC makes a corresponding decision, (3) the Legislative Council endorses the decision, (4) the Chief Executive gives consent, and (5) the NPCSC approves or puts it on the record (The State Council of Chinese government 2014). In addition to the authority of the NPCSC in Hong Kong’s constitutional affairs, China has also institutionalized the constitutional status of patriots by reforming the election systems in Hong Kong after the Anti‑ELAB protests and the enactment of the NSL in 2019–2020. The Anti‑ELAB protests became a total mobilization from below—millions of citizens packed the streets to rally, owing to acute anxiety as the result of the unpopular bill that allowed fugitives’ transfer to Main‑ land China (Cheng et  al. 2021). The Anti‑ELAB movement was radicalized by a social outcry against suspending the extradition law to public demands for democratization and political re‑ forms after rounds of violent interactions between protesters and the police (Lee et al. 2022). It triggered a series of chain reactions from China’s state power, reforming Hong Kong’s election system by the NPCSC in early 2021 and introducing political censorship of the candidates for the city’s head, lawmakers, and members of an election committee that would select the city’s head and a substantial portion of lawmakers in the local legislature in Hong Kong (NPSCS 2021a, 2021b). When narrating the Chinese president’s vision for Hong Kong, the People’s Daily ap‑ praised such electoral reform as safeguarding the city in the hands of the patriots (Wong 2022). Instead of resorting to populist support and both anti‑elitist and anti‑system sentiment, Chinese political discourses appear to be an institutionalizing force that remaps and establishes a sort of political order in the city, especially after its tumultuous experiences in 2019–2020 (Chan, Tang, and Lee 2022). This discursive strategy could be attributed to the waves of the post‑handover social movement that triggered political tension between China and Hong Kong through the mas‑ sive rallies against enacting the NSL in 2003 (Lee and Chan 2011), the Occupying Movement (a 79‑day sit‑in in the central business districts of Hong Kong which called for uncensored democ‑ ratization) (Lee 2015), and the Anti‑ELAB protests that rocked the whole territory of Hong Kong through street fights between protesters and the police (Chan 2022; Lee et al. 2019). China and pro‑China forces in Hong Kong attempted to counter‑mobilize public support for their political stance and undermined the momentum of social protests (Yuen and Cheng 2017). However, such counter‑mobilization by the state power could hardly be a long‑term means to restore social order in Hong Kong. Responding to the abovementioned protests in the name of the people’s power, China could hardly resort to populism, but assumed the role of social stabilizer who safeguards the status quo. Its political discourses on Hong Kong’s democratization thus are different from those for mainland Chinese societies, which have exhibited populist appeal of massive support for the CCP’s partisan ruling (Tang 2016).

Interim Evaluation of the Post‑Handover Political Mind‑Engineering To evaluate the mind‑engineering effect of Chinese political discourses drawing from patronage and nationalism on Hong Kong’s democratization, this chapter reviews two sets of scholarly dia‑ logues surrounding the political and social developments of post‑handover Hong Kong. Firstly, literature on post‑handover Hong Kong identities could inform us regarding the extent to which the local and national cultural identities of Hong Kong people and Chinese could be compatible with each other. If Chinese political discourses could win the hearts of Hong Kong people, the lat‑ ter should exhibit a positive stance on the Chinese national identity or at least a less dichotomous 82

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perception of Chinese and Hong Kong identities. Equally important is how China has been por‑ trayed in Hong Kong’s key political discourses and the extent to which China is perceived as a counterforce against the city’s democratization and the wider local interest. The above questions show whether Chinese political discourses could stand for a moral leadership that legitimizes China’s stance on Hong Kong’s constitutional affairs and democratization. Hong Kong’s identity has been perceived as a distinctive entity vis‑à‑vis the Chinese identity thanks to the socio‑economic uptakes of colonial Hong Kong since the 1970s, which helped the modern city enjoy a cosmopolitan lifestyle that was substantially different from those of mainland China (Mathews, Ma, and Lui 2008). While residents in Hong Kong shared a kind of pan‑Chinese ethnicity and Chinese nationalistic sentiment owing to traditional ethnic and cultural ties (Vickers and Kan 2003), they have been reluctant to fully embrace political allegiance to the governing regime of mainland China thanks to the popular social values of civil liberties, individual freedom, and democracy during the decades of modernization since the late colonial period of Hong Kong (Fung 2001; Ma and Fung 1999). Post‑handover Hong Kong identity surveys exhibited that the majority of residents picked up a mix of Hong Kong and Chinese identities (Fung and Chan 2017). Chinese and Hong Kong identities exhibited a blending trend throughout the early decades in the post‑handover period, which was manifested in the growing socio‑economic integration and trans‑ border living experiences of Hong Kong residents in mainland China (Ma 2006) and the rise of instrumentalism in identity politics which strongly embraced China’s market opportunities while brushing aside the embarrassing questions on its political freedom (Ma and Fung 2007). However, cultural tensions between Chinese and Hong Kong identities became seething in the 2010s amid multiple unexpected social developments: cross‑border consumption demands and outnumbered visitors from mainland China resulted in local discontent in Hong Kong (Chan 2014), a widening gap between local aspirations for democratization and China’s decision on Hong Kong’s constitu‑ tional framework (Kaeding 2017), and the falling social trust in the Chinese central government in Beijing in the eyes of local Hong Kong people (Steinhardt, Li, and Jiang 2018). While the identity politics of Chinese and Hong Kong identities consist of multiple dimensions, related literature highlights two observations that substantially matter to Chinese political discourses on Hong Kong’s democratization. Firstly, growing tension between Chinese and Hong Kong identi‑ ties during the 2010s was explicated by a sort of cultural othering process that was seldom conceived in the past decades. Despite varying social values and modernizing pace, Hong Kong’s identity did not exclude its mixture with Chinese identity (Brewer 1999; Mathews 1997). However, such cultural hybridization between Chinese and Hong Kong identities went pale in the 2010s when the Chinese identity was culturally positioned as the cultural other (Chan 2014) and innate enemies (Ip 2015) by some local political and online discourses in Hong Kong. Such cultural antagonism against China spread to general elections whereas the voting contests were mobilized as a political tug‑of‑war between pro‑China and anti‑China camps (Ma 2015). Widespread local skepticism and political discourses against China in the 2010s explicated the limited mind‑engineering effect of Chinese political discourses on promoting China’s patronage of this city. Secondly, the positive correlation between Chinese and Hong Kong identities weakened during the 2010s (Fung and Chan 2017). Further regression modeling of identity surveys showed that the entrenched social values of Hong Kong—notably, the general belief in democracy, civil liberties, and social freedom—became incom‑ patible with the Chinese identity and its nationalistic narration (Chan and Fung 2018; Chow, Fu, and Ng 2020). Such statistical evidence illuminates how upholding Chinese nationalism and blaming foreign forces could hardly address local aspirations for democratization and social freedom. The decade of the 2010s also witnessed the rise of localism in Hong Kong—a set of radical‑ ized ideologies stemming from local resentment against China’s role in democratization and the 83

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city’s social development (Kaeding 2017; Veg 2017). The term localism was once employed by progressive activists to put forward the leftist social movement for community networking against unregulated capitalist hegemony (Chan 2017). However, it began to signify radicalized right‑wing discourses that called for keeping the status quo of Hong Kong by rejecting the Chinese influence in the city, whereas China was essentialized as a cultural other to Hong Kong society (Ip 2020; Veg 2017). The prominence of localism in the 2010s was a cultural defiance against China’s patron‑ age of the city and Chinese political discourses, which attempted to legitimize China’s stance on Hong Kong’s democratization and social development. These findings demonstrated the limits of Chinese political discourses to justify China’s patronage of the city, and they were not able to gain the hearts and minds of the locals by resorting to Chinese nationalism and the constitutional and legal frameworks established by China’s top legislative body.

Concluding Discussion As pinpointed at the beginning of this chapter, political legitimization is a significant aspect of mind‑engineering. All polities, whether democracies or hybrid regimes, must justify their exist‑ ence, governance, and policies before the public. Political legitimization has been widely attributed to direct and popular elections, which are perceived as being the core representation of the people’s mandate on governing bodies or decisive policies. However, hybrid regimes show inadequate or problematic features in direct and popular elections, which pose an intriguing question about their political legitimization of governance and policies. Studies on hybrid regimes show that they usually focus on the output of their governance—clientele patronage of desirable political and socio‑economic outcomes, nationalism that calls for domestic unity by highlighting foreign threats, and populist appeal that exhibits stances of anti‑elites and the anti‑system when soliciting direct support from the people. This chapter’s case study—Chinese political discourses of Hong Kong’s democratization—is illustrated to scrutinize how a hybrid regime attempts to legitimize its rebuttal against holding universal suffrages and direct elections for the city’s administrative head and legislature amid local demand for democratic reforms. By examining the key Chinese official statements, reportage and editorials of Chinese state media, and important official documents, this chapter unfolds the Chinese political discourses on Hong Kong’s democratization and provides hindsight regarding how a hybrid regime attempted to legitimize its political stance in a cosmopolitan city that featured a social system that contrasted its own. While Hong Kong has been under Chinese sovereignty since its handover in 1997, it already had a vocal civil society that consisted of political parties calling for democratization, civic organi‑ zations that got used to liberties and human rights protection, and residents who highly treasured the social freedom that was remarkably different from mainland China. The ways that Chinese political discourses legitimized China’s political and socio‑economic patronage of Hong Kong and justified the former’s unchallengeable final say on the democratization of this global capitalist city deserve scholarly attention as pertains to those political legitimizing rationales and their similari‑ ties and differences to the political discourses of other hybrid regimes alike. The first and foremost observation is that the political discourses taken by hybrid regimes for legiti‑ mizing their policy options could vary. In this chapter, Chinese political discourses on Hong Kong’s democratization focused mainly on establishing China’s political and socio‑economic patronage of this global city. According to Chinese political discourses, China’s party‑state leadership and its poli‑ cies to Hong Kong have safeguarded the political stability and socio‑economic prosperity of this city.

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Additionally, Chinese political discourses framed the social protests and movement activists of Hong Kong as being disturbances caused by foreign forces. Such narrations were largely in line with the political discourses commonly seen in other hybrid regimes, justifying the regime’s legitimacy via the positive output brought on by the incumbent political leadership and a sort of xenophobic depiction of foreign countries when calling for national unity and internal loyalty. However, populism seemed to be unfit to China for its discourses on Hong Kong’s democrati‑ zation. Post‑handover Hong Kong witnessed several massive rallies and social movement events that called for democratization in the name of the people’s power. In the anti‑NSL protests in 2003, the Occupying Movement in 2014, and the Anti‑ELAB protests in 2019, China was largely de‑ picted by local public discourses as a regime vis‑à‑vis the democratic call by Hong Kong publics. As pro‑China forces could hardly secure majority votes in post‑handover general elections (Ma 2015), populist discourses might induce political embarrassment under Hong Kong’s political context. Hybrid regimes therefore exhibit different political discourses when legitimizing their governance and policies based on the social context and possible political challenges they face. A further noteworthy observation is the momentum for Chinese political discourses on Hong Kong’s democratization at the national level. The key narrations of Chinese political discourses, in addition to China’s patronage of Hong Kong’s well‑being and Chinese nationalism, are the constitutional status and legal authority of China over Hong Kong’s democratization. This is in line with China’s own understanding of democracy under the doctrine of democratic centralism (Leonard 2008; Thornton 2021). Democracy, to China, has been interpreted as an “intra‑party democracy”, which facilitates the partisan governance of the CCP rather than the direct election and representative democracy of parliamentary politics (Thornton 2021). To the CCP’s partisan ideologies, the calls for implementing such a western democratic system in mainland China are a prelude for “peaceful evolution”, undermining the CCP’s leadership and promoting a regime shift in China without explicit violence, military presence, and foreign pressure (Johnston 2017). Such partisan ideologies of the CCP echo China’s key political discourses on Hong Kong’s democrati‑ zation: direct elections could not guarantee electing patriots loyal to China, and the power of the CCP must be safeguarded in Hong Kong’s constitutional reforms. Attribution to foreign forces in view of Hong Kong’s protests and rallies was also reminiscent of China’s vigilance for peaceful evolution by the West. China is remapping the political and social orders of Hong Kong after the tumultuous years of the Anti‑ELAB protests (which mainly occurred in 2019) and the swift enactment of the NSL in Hong Kong in June 2020 (Chan, Tang, and Lee 2022). While the literature of post‑handover Hong Kong identities informed us of the local resistance to Chinese identity and public defi‑ ance against Chinese political discourses in the 2010s, it is expected that China will continue legitimizing the political decisions and policies of Hong Kong’s democracy and constitutional structures. China’s political discourses on Hong Kong’s democratization indicated its considera‑ tion for national security and international relations. They also demonstrated the discursive tactics for a hybrid regime to legitimize its political and policy choices. China’s determination to remap Hong Kong’s political and social orders after the tumultuous years of 2019–2020  must not be underestimated. Its political discourses on Hong Kong’s democratization and other political‑socio reforms are noteworthy case studies to researchers who consider the political legitimization of a hybrid regime and its mind‑engineering effect in the long run amid recent scholarly dialogue and debates surrounding democratic backsliding and shifting geo‑political dynamics between China and other world powers.

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PART II

Commercial Mind Engineering

6 THE BENEFIT OF THE DOUBT How Big Oil Makes Us Think William F. Schnell

Introduction Anthropogenic (human‑caused) climate change poses an existential threat to human civilization and, more immediately, to the fossil fuel industry. As the latter is responsible for meeting most of the world’s energy needs, its constituent businesses are among the world’s most profitable. There‑ fore, the industry has the motive (business survival) and the means (business profits) to counter the threat coming from a scientific consensus about the connection between greenhouse gas emissions from burning fossil fuels and a dangerously warming climate. The fossil fuel industry is one of many to face a threat from a scientific consensus, including the tobacco industry. Indeed, a whole new consulting specialty has emerged from the public rela‑ tions (PR) field to cast doubt in the public mind about a given scientific consensus. Engineering the public mind to doubt sound science can stall legislation and other attempts to curtail profits made at the expense of the public good—hence, the benefit of the doubt for any lucrative industry seeking to buy time to continue business as usual. This chapter details how Big Oil makes us think. Big Oil is a moniker for the fossil fuel in‑ dustry, which includes gas and coal companies. Who are the players in the countercampaigns that challenge the scientific consensus about climate change? What tactics do they employ, and how have they proven so successful over the past 35 years? Engineering the mind to think in a particular way requires knowledge of how the mind operates. It will become clear that the field of psychology has informed successful tactics used by countercampaigns. However, before this study considers those issues, it begins with some historical context to sketch the development of a scientific consensus that became a grave threat to the robust fossil fuel industry and those depend‑ ent upon its extracted resources.

A Scientific Consensus Starts a Movement Only in the late 1980s did anthropogenic climate change illicit controversy beyond scientific cir‑ cles. Before then, it was an academic affair. ‘In the 1820s, French mathematician and physicist Joseph Fourier proposed … that Earth’s thin covering of air—its atmosphere—acts the way a glass greenhouse would. Energy enters through the glass walls, but is then trapped inside’ (Editors 2017).

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In 1856 American scientist Eunice Foote was the first to highlight the importance of carbon ­dioxide (CO2) as a greenhouse gas (Jackson 2019: 105). As the 19th century drew to a close, Svante ­Arrhenius, a Swedish chemist, modeled the surface Earth temperature decrease expected by ­reducing the atmospheric concentration of CO2 by half. He then calculated the corollary— the ­temperature increase from doubling CO2 concentrations. Despite the limited resources at his ­disposal, ‘Arrhenius’ laborious analysis gave thermal results close to those later obtained by hun‑ dreds of hours of calculations carried out with powerful digital computers’ (Arrhenius et al. 2008: 36). Fast forward to 1938 when Guy Stewart Callendar, a British engineer, calculated a 19th‑­century point of reference for CO2 concentrations in the atmosphere at 290 parts per million (ppm). He then demonstrated how much CO2 levels had risen since the human burning of fossil fuels began in earnest and how much the Earth’s surface temperature had warmed as a result (Anon 2006: 1756). The need for collecting more evidence was building and led to the construction of the Mauna Loa Observatory, remotely located near the middle of the Pacific Ocean. It was tasked with moni‑ toring atmospheric CO2 levels and has done so continuously since 1958 (Lindsey 2006). As years of measurements were collected at the observatory, a graphic representation of rising CO2 levels became known as the Keeling Curve, named after the first scientist called to manage the facil‑ ity and maintain its records, Charles David Keeling (Ostrowski 2017: 34). After accounting for seasonal variations, the Keeling Curve revealed ‘an increase of ~2 ppmv (parts per million vol‑ ume) carbon dioxide per year’ (36). Further, ‘the year‑to‑year increase in carbon dioxide roughly matched the amount emitted by the burning of fossil fuels each year’ (35). As early as 1965, the science about the connection between burning fossil fuels and increasing atmospheric CO2 was reaching the White House. On February 8 of that year, President Lyndon Johnson delivered a Special Message to the Congress on Conservation and Restoration of Natural Beauty, where he said, ‘this generation has altered the composition of the atmosphere on a global scale through … a steady increase in carbon dioxide from the burning of fossil fuels’ (Johnson 2007). That was a mere seven years after atmospheric CO2 measurements began at the Mauna Loa Observatory and the Keeling Curve was becoming apparent. ‘By 1976, it was well established that the rising carbon dioxide in the curve was due to anthropogenic emissions’ (Ostrowski 2017: 35). The evidence was becoming clear, the scientific consensus was building, and by 1988 the risks were becoming apparent. ‘The summer of 1988 was the hottest on record (although many since then have been hotter). 1988 also saw widespread drought and wildfires within the United States’ (Editors 2017). The time was arriving for the issue to proceed from scientific circles to the public square. On June 23, 1988, Dr. James Hansen, director of NASA’s Goddard Institute for Space Stud‑ ies, testified before the U.S. Senate about a documented rise in Earth temperatures while noting ‘that it was 99 percent certain that the warming trend was not a natural variation but was caused by a buildup of carbon dioxide and other artificial gases in the atmosphere’ (Mulvey and Shulman 2015: 4). The next day the frontpage headlines of the New York Times read: ‘Global Warming Has Begun, Expert Tells Senate,’ followed by the subheading: ‘Sharp Cut in Burning of Fossil Fuels Is Urged to Battle Shift in Climate’ (4). Coinciding with these developments, 1988 was also the year that the United Nations created the International Panel on Climate Change (IPCC) with the stated objective ‘To provide governments at all levels with scientific information that they can use to de‑ velop climate policies’ (IPCC 2022). On the national level, it took only one month after Hansen’s testimony for the National Energy Policy Act of 1988 to be introduced in the U.S. Senate to ensure ‘a national energy policy to reduce global warming’ (National Energy Policy Act of 1988). The scientific consensus regarding anthropogenic climate change was initially accepted on national and international levels as the mobilization to address it began.

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A Fossil Fuel Industry Starts a Countermovement However, something else occurred during that eventful year. ‘The Denialosphere began spinning around 1988, in response to an increasingly outspoken scientific community, led by James Hansen’ (Pooley 2010: 39). Profitable fossil fuel companies quietly funded a countermovement of climate change denial and skepticism (McCright and Dunlap 2000: 504–505). In 1985 the largest corpora‑ tion in America was Exxon Mobile, and 10 of the 20 wealthiest corporations in America were pe‑ troleum companies (Fortune 500). Because climate change policies ‘greatly threatened the profits of the most powerful industry in the world’ (Brown 2017: 126), the fossil fuel industry had a vested interest in countering any public policies that would diminish or eliminate the burning of fossil fuels. Further, petroleum, coal, and gas executives had a legal and fiduciary responsibility to their stakeholders to maximize profits in nearly every way possible short of breaking the law. Indeed, ‘shareholders can and have sued companies for being overly socially responsible, and not paying enough attention to the bottom line’ (Masters 2009). Hence, the industry’s denial and skepticism even though its scientists had long before high‑ lighted the connection between greenhouse gas emissions and global warming. As far back as 1977, this was the message of one of Exxon’s senior scientists, James F. Black, in a meeting at company headquarters (Banerjee et al. 2015: 1). A year later, he was more specific. He warned Exxon scientists and managers that independent researchers estimated that a doubling of the carbon dioxide (CO2) concentration in the atmosphere would increase aver‑ age global temperatures by 2 to 3 degrees Celsius (4 to 5 degrees Fahrenheit), and as much as 10 degrees Celsius (18 degrees Fahrenheit) at the poles. (1–2) However, what Exxon reported to its petroleum executives was kept from the general public. The message for the latter was to be carefully crafted by experts with a proven track record in disinfor‑ mation campaigns and mind engineering. Big Oil would borrow a page from the playbook of Big Tobacco—the profitable tobacco industry which had also felt threatened by a scientific consen‑ sus (Goldberg and Vandenberg 2021: 2). The results since that pivotal year of 1988 have proven spectacularly successful for the fossil fuel industry. ‘Although the Industrial Revolution began more than 250 years ago, more than half of all industrial carbon emissions have been released since 1988—after major fossil fuel companies knew about the harm their products were causing’ ­(Mulvey and Shulman 2015: 3). That was as of 2014. Since then, record amounts of fossil fuel burning demonstrate that the battle for the American mind on anthropogenic climate change con‑ tinues to be won by the fossil fuel industry against an opposing scientific consensus. Any industry has a PR problem whenever scientific advances uncover harm in their products. When the public embraces the scientific consensus, governmental action follows, restricting or eliminating the product and the industry from which it emanates. However, if doubt arises in pub‑ lic thoughts regarding the scientific consensus, the affected industry can buy the necessary time to continue profitable business as usual. That is how industries with such a PR problem benefit from the doubt. A PR problem calls for a PR solution. Hence, when Big Tobacco’s product was deemed significantly unhealthy for human consumption, ‘Big Tobacco turned to one the world’s five larg‑ est PR firms, Hill and Knowlton, to help out’ (Masters 2009). The help received gave Big Tobacco decades to continue business as usual at the expense of public health (Biello 2015). In 1979, the former chairman of R.J. Reynolds could correctly boast, ‘No plaintiff has ever collected a penny

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from any tobacco company in lawsuits claiming that smoking causes lung cancer or cardiovas‑ cular illness—even though one hundred and seventeen such cases have been brought since 1954’ (Oreskes and Conway 2019: 13). In the meantime, ‘Hill and Knowlton, on behalf of the tobacco industry, had founded the “Manufactured Doubt” industry’ (Masters 2009). Other industries have since sought the benefit of the doubt from PR firms like Hill and Knowl‑ ton. Among them have been corporate interests associated with sugar‑sweetened beverages (Maani et al. 2022); vinyl chloride, lead paint, herbicides, asbestos (Oreskes 2015: 2), and, most recently, pharmaceutical opioids (Elsasser 2021). When the scientific consensus about anthropogenic cli‑ mate change reached the public in 1988, lucrative fossil fuel interests were well aware of the ex‑ istential threat to their industries. They knew where to turn for help in creating doubt in the public mind regarding the science. They turned to many of the same PR firms that had served Big To‑ bacco so well, and they drew upon the expertise of some of the very same individuals. The prow‑ ess they sought had as little to do with climate science as it had with the adverse health effects of smoking. What they sought had to do with casting doubt upon a scientific consensus (Biello 2015). One scientist skilled in creating The Benefit of the Doubt for Big Tobacco was Fred Seitz, who lacked expertise in both climate science and the health sciences. He was a physicist who helped to build the first atomic bombs (Oreskes 2019: 10). Having learned how to interface with gener‑ als, he rose in the ranks of science administration to work with politicians, including presidents and, notably, the media (7). In the process, he would build upon his governmental experience by becoming the President of the National Academy of Sciences, a member of the U.S. President’s Science Advisory Committee, and a recipient of the National Medal of Science (25). Seitz was a notable example of ‘Cold War physicists eager to maintain their proximity to government’ (Gold‑ berg and Vandenberg 2021: 2). Nevertheless, just at the height of his career as a physicist and science statesman, Fred Seitz made a professional move that was as uncharacteristic as it was lucrative. ‘Fred Seitz directed a program for R.J. Reynolds Tobacco Company that distributed $45 million to scientists around the country for biomedical research that could generate evidence and cultivate experts to be used in court to defend the “product”’ (Oreskes 2019: 5). Just as a scientific consensus emerged regard‑ ing the harmful effects of smoking tobacco, Seitz began developing a countermovement to create doubt in the public’s mind concerning the consensus. Furthermore, he did not lend his scientific reputation to Big Tobacco alone. ‘In case after case, Fred Seitz and a handful of other scientists joined forces with think tanks and private corporations to challenge scientific evidence on a host of contemporary issues [including] … the fossil fuel industry’ (5–6). In short, a whole new PR specialty emerged. Big Oil looked to the same PR specialty firms like Hill and Knowlton, and even the same ‘experts’ like Fred Seitz, that Big Tobacco had used. That is because the aim of both industries was the same: to protect against an emerging scientific consensus that posed a grave threat to future profitability. In each case, these countermovements were spectacularly successful in creating doubt in the public’s mind regarding a scientific consen‑ sus, thereby securing many decades of business as usual at the expense of the public’s well‑being.

How They Did It A PR firm owned and operated by E. Bruce Harrison had, like Hill and Knowlton, become a merchant of doubt by organizing Big Tobacco campaigns. Harrison’s subsequent involvement with the fossil fuel industry illustrates the engineering of public thinking to ignore a scientific consensus regarding anthropomorphic climate change. Following the congressional hearings of

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1988, various fossil fuel industries, such as coal and oil, created a front group called the Global Climate Coalition (GCC) to ‘lobby policymakers against action to limit fossil fuel emissions’ (McMullen 2022). As those policymakers were just awakening to the connection between burning fossil fuels and climate change, the GCC realized it needed ‘a communications partner to change the narrative on climate change’ (McMullen 2022). They found that partner in E. Bruce Harrison, whose success would result in the moniker ‘The Dean of Green PR’ (McMullen 2022). His PR campaign for the GCC would be two‑pronged. ‘They would persuade people that the scientific facts weren’t settled, and that alongside the environment, policymakers needed to consider how action on climate change would ‑ in the GCC’s view ‑ negatively affect American jobs, trade and prices’ (McMullen 2022). The strategy for creating doubt in the scientific consensus ‘would be implemented through an extensive media campaign, everything from placing quotes and pitching opinion pieces (so‑called op‑eds), to direct contacts with journalists,’ resulting in ‘more than 500 specific mentions in the media’ (McMullen 2022)—all in the campaign’s first year. Further, While most climate scientists agreed that human‑caused climate change was a real issue that would require action, a small group argued there was no cause for alarm. The plan was to pay these skeptics to give speeches or write op‑eds ‑ about $1,500 (£1,250) per article ‑ and to arrange media tours so they could appear on local T.V. and radio stations. (McMullen 2022) The second prong of the campaign was to enlist economists to emphasize the cost of decarboni‑ zation as being too costly. Benjamin Franta, a Stanford Ph.D. candidate, writing in The Other Merchants of Doubt, reveals that ‘Oil companies used their economic power to delay action, even hiring economists to produce reports saying climate action would be too expensive and using these reports to block and delay climate policies’ (Franta, The other Merchants of Doubt 2021). In a separate peer‑reviewed article, Franta also testifies that, beyond funding these economists, ‘the fossil fuel industry has made substantial investments in influential climate economics programs across the U.S.’ (Franta, Weaponizing Economics 2021: 570). Three years into the campaign, Harrison reported that the ‘GCC has successfully turned the tide on press coverage of global climate change science, effectively countering the eco‑­catastrophe message and asserting the lack of scientific consensus on global warming’ (­McMullen 2022). Harrison’s campaign success was representative of many PR firms and campaigns targeting ­climate science. It is illustrative in that it involves a bevy of customary players such as a lucra‑ tive fossil fuel industry, a front group, a PR firm, policymakers, lobbyists, contrarian scientists, paid economists, and journalists eager to give them a voice with the public. However, it is in no way an exhaustive example of players. Other campaigns have included conservative‑supported trade associations, foundations, think tanks, and nonprofit advocacy groups (Dunlap & McCright 2017). Neither is the Harrison illustration exhaustive in terms of the tactics employed by the manu‑ factured doubt industry. Two researchers identified 28 tactics used to create doubt in a scientific consensus, 17 of which were associated with contrarian climate campaigns. An example of a tactic not found in the Harrison campaign is to ‘conduct targeted attacks on opponents by undermin‑ ing their professional or personal reputations’ (Goldberg and Vandenberg 2021: 4). When deep pockets are involved, legal harassment and smear campaigns become options for discrediting or silencing legitimate scientific authors of peer‑reviewed literature.

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Other tactics include greenwashing, where ‘P.R. firms falsely portray oil and gas companies as environmentally friendly, often by overemphasizing renewable energy initiatives, which only make up a fraction of the companies’ activities, or presenting fossil fuels as a safe partner to renewable energy’ (Werthman and Rockwell 2021: 2). In the public’s mind, such companies are portrayed as part of the solution and not the problem. A further aptly named tactic is astroturfing, where ‘P.R. firms manufacture the appearance of grassroots support for their client through groups which appear to be led by community members but are run entirely by the firm and its client’ (2). To the extent people follow the crowd with a herd mentality, public opinion can be swayed by depicting paid fossil fuel industry supporters as concerned citizens and using closeup camera techniques to magnify small groups posing as big crowds. Just as Astroturf, the product, gives the appearance of a real grass lawn, astroturfing creates the appearance of a real grassroots effort. With so many contrarian climate players having so many tactics at their disposal, the public becomes bombarded with the same messages through various media until they become mutually reinforcing. A newly emerging media only compounds the effect. ‘As a result of the internet com‑ munication between participants in this campaign, charges by one … have been quickly transmit‑ ted to others creating an echo chamber of counter‑claims made in opposition to the mainstream scientific view of climate change’ (Brown 2017: 127). This is no small feat, given that mainstream scientific consensus has been overwhelmingly quantified by a survey of peer‑reviewed literature on anthropogenic global warming (AGW). ‘Among abstracts expressing a position on AGW, 97.1% endorsed the consensus position that humans are causing global warming’ (Cook et al. 2013: 1). Yet, despite this overwhelming scientific consensus, the issue remains unsettled in the public mind so long as contrarian climate voices speak in a well‑funded countercampaign. Even when the scientific consensus eventually prevails over a professionally coordinated cam‑ paign, the latter knows how and when to pivot. For example, There has been a noticeable moderation of views from those previously involved in ques‑ tioning the science of climate change. Several now acknowledge global heating resulting from human activity but have shifted focus to arguing that markets and technological in‑ novation rather than government action or international treaties curbing emissions are the best ways to tackle it. (Lawrence et al. 2019) So, when a flat‑out denial of global warming no longer gains traction in the public mind, contrar‑ ians pivot to stating that the cause of warming is naturally occurring and not from burning fossil fuels. Or, even if it is human‑caused, the harm is far off into the future when new technologies will solve the problem. For now, a present fix will be too costly. There is always a contrarian point of view. Far from needing to be widely subscribed to in peer‑reviewed scientific literature, it requires only a few self‑proclaimed authorities to create con‑ fusion, controversy, and, most importantly, doubt in the public mind. ‘When people see two sides arguing a complicated scientific issue, they come away with the impression of an ongoing equally split scientific debate’ (Lewandowsky 2021: 7). Cristine Russell vents in the Columbia Journalism Review: The era of ‘equal time’ for skeptics who argue that global warming is just a result of natural variation and not human intervention seems to be largely over—except on talk radio, cable, and local television. Last year, a meteorologist at CBS’s Chicago station did a special re‑ port entitled ‘The Truth about Global Warming.’ It featured local scientists discussing the 96

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hazards of global warming in one segment, well‑known national skeptics in another, and ended with a cop‑out: ‘What is the truth about global warming? It depends on who you talk to.’ Not helpful, and not good reporting. (Russell 2008) The funding required to support all the players and tactics of the doubt manufacturing industry is immense. As previously noted, the fossil fuel industry has both the means and the motive to underwrite this expense of doing business. In the second quarter of 2009 alone, ‘the fossil fuel industry outspent the environmental groups by $36.8 million to $2.6 million’ (Masters 2009). This expenditure was for lobbying alone. In 2009 there were ‘2,663 climate change lobbyists working on Capitol Hill. That’s five lobbyists for every member of Congress’ (2009). One peer‑reviewed study by Robert Brulle ‘found that between 2003 and 2010 more than $500m had been donated by private conservative philanthropic foundations to organizations whose output included material disputing the consensus’ (Lawrence et al. 2019). But these amounts pale in comparison to others Brulle also uncovered. In another peer‑reviewed study, he estimated that 91 groups involved in the climate change countermovement (CCCM) received between $900 million and a billion dollars each year from 2003 to 2010. All this was to further their work in manufacturing doubt about the scientific consensus regarding anthropogenic climate change (Brulle 2013: 681). The billions paid for manufacturing doubt proved a small price to pay in light of the trillions earned by the fossil fuel companies from the pivotal year of 1988 until the present (Taylor & Ambrose 2020). Nearly every year during the same period record amounts of fossil fuels were burned releasing corresponding amounts of greenhouse gases into the atmosphere.

Why It Worked In 2021, the President of the United States opened a U.N. Climate Summit noting that climate change ‘is an existential threat to human existence as we know it’ (Macaya et al. 2021). One of the most influential human beings on the planet states that the existence of human civilization is at risk because of anthropogenic climate change. What could be a more compelling issue? However, as a subject of casual conversation, it is often avoided in favor of less disturbing topics—hence the title of the book by George Marshall: Don’t Even Think About It, followed by the telling subtitle Why Our Brains Are Wired to Ignore Climate Change (Marshall 2015). Human brains are the product of a long evolutionary process. In their development, not all primitive aspects were left behind. ‘Inside our skulls are fish, reptile, and shrew brains’ (Tattersall 2013: 273). Those neurological remnants help explain how the human brain operates or fails to op‑ erate in given circumstances. For example, humans have evolved two systems for processing risk. ‘One is analytical, logical, and encodes reality in abstract symbols, words, and numbers. The other is driven by emotions (especially fear and anxiety)’ (Marshall 2015: 48). Both the rational brain and the emotional brain typically work together. ‘In cases where the outputs from the two process‑ ing systems disagree, however, the affective, association‑based system usually prevails, as in the case of phobic reactions’ (Weber 2006: 105). For example, an otherwise astute person may strug‑ gle with claustrophobia. The individual may cognitively grasp that the struggle is with irrational fear but that analytical understanding does not keep the person from panicking when jammed next to a window in a commercial airliner beside a hefty traveler in the aisle seat. If need be, the emo‑ tional brain overrides the rational brain in assessing risk and responding to it. Such a method of assessment is helpful when the risk is immediate, such as when the sound of nearby gunfire causes those in crime‑ridden neighborhoods to instinctively duck without requiring time to think about it. 97

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Nevertheless, ‘the emotional brain is poorly suited to dealing with uncertain long‑term threats of the kind that constitute climate change’ (Marshall 2015: 49–50). Further, in concert with the evolved architecture of the brain, are deep‑seated issues of self‑­ identity and worth. Notions of human‑caused climate change can negatively affect one’s self‑­ esteem as one feels part of a problem of epic proportions. One feels guilt over the impact on future generations. One feels anxiety about a situation inexorably digressing from bad to worse. One feels helpless to stop personal behaviors contributing to the crisis. ‘People want to protect themselves from disturbing information to (1) avoid emotions of fear, guilt, and helplessness, (2) follow cultural norms, and (3) maintain positive conceptions of individual and national iden‑ tity’ (Norgaard 2009: 26–27). The denial offered by the CCCM offers a way out of unpleasant feelings people would typically rather avoid. Hence, ‘psychologists consider denial—the refusal to accept facts in order to protect us from uncomfortable truths—to be a primitive defense mecha‑ nism’ (Gorman & Gorman 2019). Unfortunately, ‘these defense mechanisms do their job in the moment, yet prove to be unhealthy or disruptive in the long run’ (Grohol & Russell 2022). For example, a person may ignore a new noise made by an automobile in the hope that it will somehow resolve itself. In the end, what would have been a minor problem to repair is allowed by neglect to grow into a significant, expensive overhaul. Even when outright denial becomes untenable with a personal and progressive experience of a changing climate, an informed countermovement can shift the narrative to its continuing ad‑ vantage, thanks to the insights of psychology that have long informed the field of PR. George Marshall and others identify the psychology undergirding the campaigns to counter the scientific consensus on climate change. While detailed accounting is beyond the scope of this study, several psychological principles can help to explain the reasoning behind various campaign tactics and to help account for their success.

Salience The first has to do with the issue of salience in the public mind. Daniel Kahneman, a Nobel prize‑ winning psychologist, states that ‘Climate change lacks salience. Salience belongs to threats that are concrete, immediate and indisputable. By contrast, climate change is, he says, abstract, dis‑ tant, invisible, and disputed’ (Marshall 2015: 56–57). Countermovement campaigns promote the disputed impression of the issue by depicting the science behind it as ‘junk science’ and ‘tabloid science’ (McCright and Dunlap 2000: 511) even while it besmirches legitimate climate scientists and their motives for research (Brown 2017: 128). The lack of issue salience also permits the countermovement to employ pseudo‑climate research (128), and false notions of journalistic bal‑ ance to attack the idea of a scientific consensus (131). The portrayal of climate change models being imprecise and the effects they forecast being far off in the distant future similarly diminish the issue’s salience.

Bystander Effect Marshall also alludes to a ‘bystander effect,’ which reflects the human tendency to follow the crowd. This tendency evolved over hundreds of thousands of years when humans lived in small tribal groups where individuals deferred to group decision‑making in assessing and responding to risk. According to Marshall, ‘This is a solid behavioral instinct that is built into our core psychol‑ ogy, and most of the time we are not even aware that it is operating’ (Marshall 2015: 27).

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However, designers of contrarian climate campaigns are aware of its operation, which is why they are keen to create the illusion of great grassroots efforts through astroturf campaigns. It also helps to explain the development of the echo chamber, where the same messages bounce to and from think tanks, media outlets, foundations, scientific researchers, trade groups, online sites, poli‑ ticians, and the like. All that countercampaigns need to do is create the appearance of an unsettled issue, and most individuals will take a wait‑and‑see approach. That buys time for the fossil fuel industry to continue reaping profits with business as usual.

Biases Biases are also a feature of human psychology that agents of climate change disinformation suc‑ cessfully manipulate toward the end of attacking climate science. ‘Theoretical and modeling work has shown that even fairly subtle biases and even just a few evidence‑resistant agents are sufficient to prevent a network of rational agents from accepting the best available scientific knowledge in the presence of disinformation’ (Lewandowsky 2021: 7). For example, a single‑action bias oper‑ ates when a person responds to a threat with a single action even though it is inadequate or pre‑ cludes a more complete or appropriate response (Shome and Marx 2009: 21). Illustrating this bias is the fellow who ‘boasted that he recycled everything’ while adding that it ‘makes me feel less guilty about flying as much as I do’ (Marshall 2015: 197). Less guilt translates into less motivation for further action. Fossil fuel interests seek to inhibit further action for addressing climate change by appealing to single‑action bias. Where single actions might have been sufficient for risks en‑ countered in earlier and simpler human environments, the complexity of the modern era poses risks requiring more involving responses (Weber 2006: 116). Unfortunately, single‑action bias persists in human risk assessment and response. One way fossil fuel companies appeal to this bias is when greenwashing. ‘While ExxonMobil says it supports the Paris Agreement, the vast majority of its operations remain focused on fossil fuels. But its ads tell a different story’ (ClientEarth & DeSmog 2021). That different story is compelling for those with a single‑action bias who believe that if Big Oil joins in the fight against climate change, victory must be at hand. Another bias that the counter‑climate campaigns have exploited in enlisting large groups to their cause is confirmation bias. Here the tendency is to seek out information that confirms what a person already thinks and to ignore conflicting information—especially when it demands a change in outlook or behavior (Shome and Marx 2009: 40). Think tanks that have opposed climate change, such as the Cato Institute, the Heritage Foundation, the Competitive Enterprise Institute, and many others, are uniformly conservative in political outlook, if not libertarian. These outlooks oppose government regulation, restrictions upon individual freedom, and similar impediments to free markets. The climate crisis is an expansive global challenge demanding international regula‑ tion and significant financial sacrifices. ‘It is unsurprising, therefore, that countless surveys have shown a strong association between right‑wing or libertarian worldviews and the rejection of cli‑ mate science’ (Lewandowsky 2021: 3). Campaigns countering climate change capitalize quickly on the confirmation bias of some of its most ardent supporters who go on to ‘spread disinformation among family, friends, and relevant parties’ (Goldberg & Vandenberg 2021: 7). Some human biases develop in concert with shared human experiences such as parenthood. ‘Presuming that we wish the best for our children … this inclines us to an optimism bias concern‑ ing climate change and certainly concerning the prospects for our own children’ (Marshall 2015: 189). Otherwise, the current century’s dismal climate projections might incline potential parents to refrain from bearing children. Indeed, 17% of researchers for the IPCC signified in a 2021 survey

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that they have reconsidered the decision to have children because of global warming (Tollefson 2021). However, most people of childbearing age are not climate scientists. ‘So the choice to have children compels us to write a narrative around climate change in which the overall prognosis becomes more optimistic’ (Marshall 2015: 189–190). While the countermovement may not have actively targeted parents with an optimism bias, the former’s more optimistic prognosis would have resonated well with the latter for the following reasons: People with children were consistently less likely to believe that climate change was a seri‑ ous threat, less likely to talk about it, and significantly less likely to have an opinion on how to deal with it. People with children were 60% more likely to say that climate change was not really happening than people without children. (2015: 189) CCCMs offer a narrative that parents with an optimism bias are psychologically inclined to em‑ brace. Even through such indirect means, countermovements make people think by offering ‘food for thought’ to those who already hunger for it. An availability bias leads people to make decisions based on information that is most immedi‑ ately available, as opposed to projections further removed from the present. Because the current weather is not as bad as that which climate models portend for the future, it is easy to disregard the latter as a distant issue for future generations to solve with new technologies not presently avail‑ able. Climate countermovement campaigns portray present fixes as resulting in more economic harm than the problems they seek to resolve (McCright and Dunlap 2000: 515). In other words, they ‘make it just current enough to accept that we need to do something about it but put it just too far in the future to require immediate action’ (Marshall 2015: 64). That buys time for the fossil fuel industry to continue profiting from business as usual. One bias relates specifically to the media and has already been alluded to in this chapter. It is called ‘balance as bias’ and refers to when the ‘press’ adherence to balance actually leads to biased coverage of both anthropogenic contributions to global warming and resultant action’ (Boykoff and Boykoff 2004: 125). If journalistic balance means articulating all sides of an issue, it should also mean a fair weighting of each side. Proper balance in a debate on climate change would need to feature a panel of 97 climate scientists debating three climate contrarians to accurately reflect studies quantifying the consensus among climate scientists. Otherwise, an unwitting public is left to conclude that the issue is unresolved. People tend to ignore issues until little or no doubt re‑ mains. The climate countermovement is adept at creating the appearance of scholarly research that is not peer‑reviewed, producing so‑called experts who are not climate scientists, and fabricating grassroots campaigns that are elaborate productions funded by fossil fuel interests (Brown 2017: 128). Nevertheless, the right‑wing media eagerly covers them under the guise of fair and balanced reporting. ‘Instead of providing balance, this norm magnifies the perception of uncertainty in the public mind, leading to a false appearance of uncertainty and debate’ (Norgaard 2016: 40). If a balance as bias contributes to doubt and uncertainty about the scientific consensus on cli‑ mate change, scientists are not helping the situation because of ‘scientific reticence’ (Spratt and Dunlop 2018: 8). Scientists use language with great precision where ‘uncertainty’ has a particu‑ lar meaning. They may pronounce something with 90% certainty or a high degree of certainty but never with complete certainty. ‘When scientists say uncertain, the public hears unsure, and considers them less reliable or trustworthy’ (Marshall 2015: 73). The climate countermovement capitalizes on this disconnect, portraying the work of climate scientists as junk science while aligning themselves with sound climate science (McCright and Dunlap  2000: 512). Scientists 100

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want to avoid having their work so labeled, just as they want to avoid themselves being labeled greenhouse alarmists or prophets of doom (2000: 512). Hence, their tendency to duck and cover under scientific reticence. Unfortunately, according to the same Dr. James Hansen who first testi‑ fied to Congress about global warming while incurring much vilification for his efforts, ‘scientific reticence hinders communication with the public about the dangers of global warming’ (Spratt and Dunlop 2018: 8). Beyond the psychological processes previously mentioned are others, such as emotional numb‑ ing or the finite pool of worry, that also work against effectively dealing with an existential threat such as climate change. Climate change communication researcher Tony Leiserowitz says, ‘You almost couldn’t design a problem that is a worse fit with our underlying psychology’ (Marshall 2015: 91). Social psychologist Daniel Guilbert agrees. ‘It really has everything going against it. A psychologist could barely dream up a better scenario for paralysis’ (91). The countermovement against the scientific consensus on climate change understands the psychology well and plans ac‑ cordingly, achieving remarkable success on behalf of its fossil fuel clients.

Conclusion It is common to recognize mind engineering when it occurs in others subjected to propaganda in authoritarian regimes. It is equally common to marvel at how vulnerable to manipulation others can be. However, it is rare for individuals to recognize when and how their own thinking is being engineered, especially in first‑world democratic countries like America where individualism is highly prized. This chapter has shown that mind engineering is taking place in America where a very lucrative industry exists to undermine knowledge gleaned by the best and brightest among its citizenry. This industry aims to protect company profits, even at the expense of the public good. Those who make up this industry are merchants of doubt because they are adept at creating doubt in the public’s mind about a given scientific consensus. In this chapter, the focus has been on the scientific consensus regarding anthropogenic climate change. However, over the years, the merchants of doubt have attacked the scientific consensus about numerous things, such as smoking tobacco or taking prescription opioid painkillers. There is often an addictive quality to what is putting Americans at risk. In the 2006 State of the Union Address, President George W. Bush stated, ‘America is addicted to oil’ (Bumiller & Nagourney 2006). America is smitten with a controlling dependency upon the burning of fossil fuels to meet its energy needs more than any other country on a per capita basis. A scientific consensus has been sounding the alarm about the destructive consequences of this dependency for decades. However, an enabler countermovement has been so successful in creating doubt in the public mind that re‑ cord amounts of fossil fuels have been burned in succession nearly every year over that timeframe. History has shown that these countermovements eventually lose their hold over public think‑ ing. Since 1998, laws have required tobacco companies to make multibillion‑dollar payouts to the states annually and in perpetuity where their products are sold (U.S. Government Accountability Office 2001). However, those laws were passed long after the scientific consensus about smok‑ ing’s harm was first made known to the public, allowing decades of very profitable business as usual at the expense of public health. Even now, and at long last, references to climate change are increasingly common in the U.S. media. There may even come a time when the fossil fuel industry must make compensatory payments to those suffering the ill effects of climate change. However, unless legally proscribed, the merchants of doubt industry will abide as a resource for others who, in the future, would engineer public thinking to protect profitability at risk from a scientific consensus. 101

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So while this study begins by looking at past instances of mind engineering on the part of Big Tobacco and proceeds to present instances on the part of Big Oil, it concludes with a warning about future attempts by Big Money to oppose a scientific consensus (particularly where big profits come at the expense of the public good). Indeed, the first question to be asked at any given time is (1) Where is Big Money at present? Then follows other such questions as (2) Who is accessing PR spe‑ cialty firms with a history as merchants of doubt? (3) What scientific consensus is under challenge? (4) When did a countermovement arise to oppose that scientific consensus? (5) How might public dependency be a contributing factor to countercampaign success? The answers to these questions should help expose mass mind engineering attempts at any given time. Praemonitus, praemunitus. For now, the benefit of the doubt accrues to the fossil fuel industry. How Big Oil makes us think is a contemporary study of engineering doubt in the mind of the American public.

Acknowledgment Gratitude to Nancy J. Schnell, without whose hard work and attention to detail this research would not be possible.

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William F. Schnell Norgaard, K.M. (2009) Cognitive and behavioral challenges in responding to climate change, SSRN. World Bank Policy Research Working Paper No. 4940. Available at: https://papers.ssrn.com/sol3/papers. cfm?abstract_id=1407958 (Accessed: December 26, 2022). Oreskes, N. (2015) ‘The fact of uncertainty, the uncertainty of facts and the cultural resonance of doubt,’ Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society A: Mathematical, Physical and Engineering Sciences, 373(2055). Available at: https://doi.org/10.1098/rsta.2014.0455. Oreskes, N. and Conway, E.M. (2019) Merchants of doubt: How a handful of scientists obscured the truth on issues from tobacco smoke to global warming. New York: Bloomsbury Publishing. Ostrowski, A. (2017) ‘Keeling curve: Result, interpretation & global monitoring,’ International Jour‑ nal for Empirical Education and Research, pp.  34–38. Available at: https://www.researchgate.net/ publication/335445675_Keeling_Curve_Result_Interpretation_Global_Monitoring Pooley, E. (2010) The climate war: True believers, power brokers, and the fight to save the Earth. New York: Hyperion. Russell, C. (2008) Climate change: Now what?, Columbia Journalism Review. Columbia University Gradu‑ ate School of Journalism. Available at: https://archives.cjr.org/feature/climate_change_now_what.php (Accessed: December 27, 2022). Shome, D. and Marx, S. (2009) Cred guide | the psychology of climate change communication, Cred.columbia. edu. Cener for Research on Environmental Decisions. Available at: https://doi.org/10.7916/d8‑byzb‑0s23. Spratt, D. and Dunlop, I. (2017) What lies beneath, Breakthrough. National Centre for Climate Restoration. Available at: https://www.breakthroughonline.org.au/whatliesbeneath (Accessed: December 27, 2022). Tattersall, I. (2013) Masters of the planet the search for our human origins. New York: St. Martin’s Griffin. Taylor, M. and Ambrose, J. (2020, February 12). Revealed: Big oil’s profits since 1990 total nearly $2tn. The Guardian. https://www.theguardian.com/business/2020/feb/12/revealed‑big‑oil‑profits‑since‑1990‑total‑n early‑2tn‑bp‑shell‑chevron‑exxon Tollefson, J. (2021) Top climate scientists are sceptical that nations will rein in global warming, Nature News. Nature Publishing Group. Available at: https://www.nature.com/articles/d41586‑021‑02990‑w (Accessed: December 27, 2022). U.S. Government Accountability Office (2001) Tobacco settlement: States’ use of master settlement agree‑ ment payments. U.S. GAO. Available at: https://www.gao.gov/products/gao‑01‑851 (Accessed: December 27, 2022). Weber, E.U. (2006) ‘Experience‑based and description‑based perceptions of long‑term risk: Why global warming does not scare us (yet),’ Climatic Change, 77(1–2), pp.  103–120. Available at: https://doi. org/10.1007/s10584‑006‑9060‑3. Werthman, C. and Rockwell, E. (2021) Beyond climate denial, Climate & Development Lab. Brown Univer‑ sity. Available at: http://www.climatedevlab.brown.edu/uploads/2/8/4/0/28401609/beyond_climate_de‑ nial_‑_cdl_2021_report.pdf (Last Accessed: December 27, 2022).

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7 CHAIN‑EFFECT MIND ENGINEERING The Multilayered Manipulation of Advertising Brian L. Schnell

Introduction Consumers are subjected to mind engineering when viewing advertisements, yet they are not the only ones falling prey to manipulation. It is the advertisers themselves whose mental models must be primed first before they can prime the minds of others. Advertising is the product of chain‑effect mind engineering; this chapter aims to explore its sequential nature by synthesizing criticisms of persuasive advertising and its mind engineering tactics with empirical data gathered from working in the radio advertising industry. Radio, television, and social media provide powerful mediums to advertise on. To gain clients, such media platforms must convince businesses that they can reach their target audiences. In the realm of audio advertising, massive amounts of quantitative consumer data are leveraged through market research tools, enabling audio platforms – such as radio – to craft data‑driven realities where they reach large segments of every target audience imaginable. If maternity clothing companies consider radio as a potential media platform to advertise on, radio companies can utilize market research data to paint a story where its listener base seemingly provides a desirable pool of maternity clothing consumers. In reality, if only a small pool of rel‑ evant consumers actually listens to the radio, such unfavorable data can be concealed so that only favorable data is presented, thus creating positive perceptions without lying. Mooi et al. (2018) highlight the importance of repackaging data based on the context of audience interests, stating that ‘when providing reports (and presentations), you should keep the audience’s characteristics and needs in mind and should tailor the report to their objectives’ (p. 368). Motivation for radio companies to create enticing narratives stems from the need for revenue generation; successful persuasion of prospective advertisers to purchase ad space on their stations yields income (Hack‑ ley 2005). Media platforms generally do not report falsified information to prospective clients. Rather, they capitalize on data as a mind engineering tool by deliberately categorizing data to be shared and data to be concealed. Through this process, the truth is always reported. Whether or not it is reported holistically is left to the discretion of the engineer. Critics of advertising call attention to the ways in which advertisers engineer the minds of consumers (Crisp  1987), yet ignore the complexities of the advertising process that allow

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advertisements to reach consumers in the first place (Turow 2013). In examining such a process holistically, mind engineering follows a chain‑effect sequence where both consumers and advertis‑ ers fall prey to mental model manipulation.

Criticisms of Advertising Crisp (1987) highlights persuasive advertising’s inherent moral issues, proposing that ‘all forms of a certain common type of advertising are morally wrong, on the ground that they override the au‑ tonomy of consumers’ (p. 413). Such a stance casts advertisers in the role of perpetrators, with con‑ sumers starring as victims. Through this narrative, the premise of advertising becomes synonymous with malicious manipulation, prompting the rise of unnatural inclinations for the sake of profit. Rubin (2022) supports this, stating that ‘in an effort to promote products and brands to consumers, advertisers, in effect, become skillful rhetoricians, without a moral compass. Their true north is perpetually commercial profit’ (p. 166). Evidently, the role of advertisers is not a favored one. Their behavior, strategies, and rhetoric are weaponized, and all sympathy is directed toward consumers. In noting that Crisp’s arguments are specifically geared toward persuasive advertising, Moses and Baldwin (2005) define persuasive intent in advertising as a situation in which ‘the advertiser intends to persuade consumers by inducing a change in their mental states’ (p. 191). As discussed by Rozendaal et al. (2009), such mental states comprise beliefs, attitudes, and desires toward the product being advertised. Because the goal of an advertiser is to induce change in consumers’ beliefs, the advertiser is incentivized to enter the mind of the consumer to create such change, thus paving the way for mind engineering to occur. Crisp (1987) differentiates between first‑order desires and second‑order desires, defining the former as desires for objects, and the latter as desires for the initial object‑centric desire to be ful‑ filled. While such orders in Crisp’s contexts are focused on desires, they are applicable to mental states. The ability to identify persuasive intent in advertising – in other words, recognizing when an advertiser is trying to influence one’s thoughts – requires an understanding of second‑order mental states (Moses and Baldwin 2005). Ciolino et  al. (2021) define the role of second‑order mental states as the ability to conceptualize one’s beliefs about another person’s feelings or thoughts. Crisp’s criticisms of persuasive advertising therefore rely on the ability to conceptualize consumers’ beliefs about advertisers’ beliefs, enabling him to conclude that consumers’ beliefs are manipulated and violated by advertisers. The participation of second‑order mental states in this equation illustrates the presence of two minds at work; the advertiser’s mind produces beliefs about the products they are selling, and, in return, the consumer’s mind adopts such beliefs and reacts accordingly. Despite such a duo, Crisp narrowly focuses on the mind of the consumer, thus resulting in a lack of consideration for how an advertiser’s mind is manipulated in the process of advertising.

Chain‑Effect Mind Engineering Turow (2013) addresses Crisp’s oversight by introducing the process of media buying, explaining that: Most people likely think of advertising in terms of its most visible manifestation, the persua‑ sive message. Often lost in discussion of the ads is the advertising industry’s major role as a media support system. That is, advertising involves payment of a media firm (a particular

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magazine, TV network, or website) in return for the right to reach the medium’s audience members with persuasive messages. (p. 99) In acknowledging the over‑emphasis of advertisers’ persuasive tactics, Turow uncovers the under‑ lying dynamics of advertising whereby advertisers become consumers to media firms. Crisp’s flow of manipulation starts with the advertiser, who then manipulates the consumer. While I agree that advertisers manipulate consumers, I propose that such sequencing paints an incomplete picture. Rather than the advertiser being the initial source of manipulation, I suggest that media firms prime the mental models of advertisers to convince them (and their media buyers) to purchase ad space on their platforms, which then allows for the manipulation of consumers. Chain‑effect mind engineering serves to broaden Crisp’s narrow scope of manipulation in advertising, presenting a more holistic view of the series of events where both advertisers and consumers are manipulated. Following this theory, the order in which minds are manipulated follows a chain‑effect fashion, where the sequence of mind engineering does not start with the advertiser. Before advertisers can even manipulate consumers, they must work with media buyers to ensure their advertising content is placed on relevant media platforms provided by media firms (Bala and Verma 2018: p. 332). The need for media buyers introduces another layer of complexity, thus requiring an expanded narra‑ tive. Chain‑effect mind engineering serves to fulfill this need. Amazon (n.d.) highlights the necessity of media buying in the process of advertising, express‑ ing that it’s not enough to have compelling copy and visuals – ads must be placed in the right loca‑ tions and at the right times and frequencies, so that the right audiences see the ad. Media buyers can purchase ads across a mix of media, with traditional and digital media working together – such as radio and digital advertising. Crafting persuasive messages is merely a component in the process of advertising – a component Crisp does not consider. To account for such intricacies, the flow of chain‑effect mind engineering follows an inte‑ grative, sequential fashion that starts with media firms, who then manipulate media buyers and advertisers into placing advertisements on their platform, allowing for the subsequent manipula‑ tion of consumers upon viewing advertisements on such platforms. Given the close collaboration between advertisers and media buyers in this process, I will use the term ‘advertising party’ to refer to both groups. In later sections of this chapter, I utilize empirical data gathered from professional experience working in the radio advertising industry to explore applications of chain‑effect mind engineering in the dynamics between media firms and advertising parties.

Value of Mental Models in Advertising and Mind Engineering Advertising’s goal is to embed favorable perceptions of brands and products into the minds of consumers (Hackley 2005). Thus, the ability to occupy headspace in a consumer’s mind is of great value to advertisers. Hackley (2005) explains that ‘advertising is an important part of the creation and maintenance of the contrived brand values that make particular brands distinctive, memora‑ ble and, above all, desirable’ (p. 66). One such method for making impressions in one’s mind is through the manipulation of mental models.

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Mental models, much like mental states, are rooted in beliefs and perceptions (Furlough and Gillan 2018). Such models are foundational for one’s ability to reason, as well as the ability to construct expectations when navigating one’s environment (Westbrook 2006). Moreover, humans’ reliance on mental models to inform decisions and actions enables mental models to serve as building blocks for navigating one’s reality (Furlough and Gillan 2018). Westbrook (2006) highlights the power of mental models in shaping reality, stating that ‘[men‑ tal] models have a value and reality all their own. Individuals believe in them, often without direct reference to their accuracy or to their level of completeness’ (p. 564). In other words, people con‑ struct personal versions of truth using mental models, regardless of whether such versions of truth contain inaccuracies. Mental models are also sticky; upon their formation, people tend to hold onto such models and are reluctant to deviate from their narratives (Westbrook 2006). Consequentially, the ability to influence mental models affords advertisers opportunities to convince consumers to adopt beliefs and perceptions about products that may not always be entirely accurate and to ensure such beliefs and perceptions persist in the consumer’s mind long after the advertisement is viewed. Language provides a channel through which mental models can be influenced (Brown and Yule 1983). Carley and Palmquist (1992) highlight the interconnectedness between language and mental models, stating ‘language is key to understanding mental models, that is, mental models can be represented linguistically’ (p. 602). Johnson‑Laird (2001) builds upon the manifestation of mental models through linguistic constructs, expressing that ‘mental models can represent dis‑ course about real, hypothetical, or imaginary situations. They can reside in long‑term memory as a representation of knowledge’ (p. 435). Such a stance demonstrates the power of language to trans‑ form information from mental models into perceived knowledge, ultimately establishing language as a gateway into the mind. Van Dijk (2006) further expands upon the critical role of language and discourse when manipu‑ lating the formation of mental models: If manipulators are aiming for recipients to understand a discourse as they see it, it is crucial that the recipients form the mental models the manipulators want them to form, thus restrict‑ ing their freedom of interpretation or at least the probability that they will understand the discourse against the best interests of the manipulators. (p. 367) Thus, the employment of strategic wording in advertising is critical when influencing the develop‑ ment of consumers’ mental models. By leveraging language tactically, advertisers can penetrate the minds of consumers and embed mental models (engineered by the advertisers) that lead to favorable perceptions of the product being sold. Because mental models serve as the foundation for people’s understandings of reality and truth, they are a powerful asset for advertisers in creating realities whereby their products are ideal. In a later section of this chapter, I examine how calculated language alters mental models, enabling inferior products and services to appear superior in the marketplace.

Mind Engineering of Advertisers During the rise of consumerism in the United States during the mid‑1960s, Kotler (1971) identi‑ fied the movement as an inevitable and enduring force, and, through its evolution, the relevance of consumerism would further embed itself into the country’s culture. With the prominence of

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consumerist habits, nearly everyone – including advertisers – can be classified as a consumer, be it of information, products, or services. To explore their susceptibility to mind engineering, Brown imposes psychological manipula‑ tion tactics on advertisers (Brown 2021). To accomplish this, Brown tasks two advertisers with creating an advertising pitch for a chain of taxidermy stores; to prevent the development of pre‑ conceived ideas, the advertisers are unaware of what they are creating a pitch for before the start of the exercise. Upon completion, the advertisers showcase proposed company names, logos, and slogans. Brown reveals his own advertising content that he created before the start of the exercise. When comparing Brown’s sketches to the advertisers’ sketches, it becomes apparent that their creative concepts share numerous similarities. Both Brown and the advertisers utilize images of a bear playing a harp, angel wings, and zoo gates sitting in clouds. Moreover, the advertisers’ pro‑ posed company name is Animal Heaven, while Brown’s proposed name is Creature Heaven; the advertisers’ slogan is The Best Place for Dead Animals, while Brown’s slogan is Where the Best Dead Animals Go. It is revealed that, during the advertisers’ car ride over to meet him, various elements of Brown’s pitch were exhibited to them. A prominently displayed harp along with posters of bears playing harps and large signs saying ‘Where the Best Dead Animals Go’ and ‘Creature Heaven’ with angel wings were showcased in windows of buildings they passed. Additionally, pedestrians walked in front of them wearing shirts showcasing images of zoo gates. Upon tasking the advertisers with creating a pitch for taxidermy stores, a number of taxidermied animals were also unveiled, of which one was a bear. Brown suggests that the deliberate, strategic placement of such items influ‑ enced the advertisers’ creative choices as they developed their pitches (Brown 2021). Trappey (1996) defines subliminal priming in the context of advertising as ‘a technique of exposing consumers to product pictures, brand names, or other marketing stimuli without the con‑ sumers having conscious awareness’ (p. 517). Given that it involves the manipulation of consumer perceptions without their knowledge, such a definition aligns subliminal messaging with criticisms of persuasive advertising regarding violations of consumer autonomy. Verwijmeren et al. (2013) acknowledge this notion of a helpless consumer, stating that subliminal messaging ‘fuels the idea that people may not be able to protect themselves against this type of persuasion’ (p. 1124). The predatory notions surrounding subliminal messaging uphold perceptions of sneaky, immoral mind engineering tactics, thus further segregating advertisers from consumers and ignoring the con‑ sumer status of advertisers. Although the efficacy of subliminal messaging faced years of doubt and controversy, research studies conducted throughout the past two decades demonstrate that subliminal advertising, under certain circumstances, does indeed influence consumer behavior (Verwijmeren et al. 2011). One such study conducted by Karremans et al. (2006) concluded that ‘exposing individuals sublimi‑ nally to the brand name of a drink increases the probability that they will choose this drink, pro‑ vided that they are thirsty’ (p. 797). In other words, if a thirsty consumer is motivated to quench their thirst, then subliminally primed beverage advertising content will have a greater influence on their purchasing decision as they seek to satisfy their thirst‑suppressing goals. Such findings illustrate that subliminal priming tactics are effective under the condition that the primed object is relevant to the consumer’s goals. In Brown’s exercise, the assignment of creating advertising content for taxidermy stores estab‑ lishes a goal for the advertisers. As indicated by Karremans et al. (2006), ‘priming is especially likely to affect a person’s actions if the prime is relevant or applicable to the person’s current motivation’ (p. 797). Although the taxidermized bear is the only primed object of relevance that

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is shown subsequent to goal establishment, it can be argued that the primed objects displayed be‑ fore the task reveal are still goal‑relevant. Given that the advertisers’ participation in the exercise is sought out due to their profession, they are aware that their task is advertising related, despite not knowing the specific details. Thus, the goal of carrying out some advertising‑related tasks is established before the theme of taxidermy stores is revealed. Advertising is therefore relevant to the advertisers’ motivations before the start of the exercise, enabling the priming of logos, slogans, and clothing designs to be considered goal‑relevant. Although Brown’s exercise was not conducted in an academic setting, such a setup reinforces the humanity of advertisers by offering an alternative view of the dynamics between consumers and advertisers, suggesting that advertisers are not immune to manipulative mind engineering tactics. Chain‑effect mind engineering builds upon such a notion, proposing that advertisers and consumers are not so dissimilar given they are both capable of falling prey to mind engineering manipulations. Aylsworth (2020) further removes barriers between advertisers and consumers, arguing that an advertiser’s manipulation is not the fundamental moral issue in the context of persuasive adver‑ tising; rather, ‘the problem with advertising is that it produces desires without being sufficiently attentive to preferences that consumers would effectively endorse’ (p. 690). In other words, he suggests that advertising is only problematic when the audience’s desires are manipulated in ways they do not welcome. Aylsworth (2020) cites instances where manipulation of one’s desires is deemed acceptable; those who visit hypnotists to quit smoking are subjected to having their desires manipulated to suppress their cravings, yet such manipulations are embraced. Aylsworth proposes that if consumers consent to have their mental models manipulated just as hypnotist patients do, then the weight of criticisms surrounding advertising’s manipulative practices ought to be relieved. In the context of second‑order mental states, Crisp’s conceptualization of consumers’ beliefs about advertisers’ beliefs rests on the assumption that the consumers’ beliefs are being violated. However, Aylsworth’s stance offers an alternative conceptualization where, rather than advertisers imprinting unwanted thoughts onto consumers’ minds, they interact with and rearrange existing thoughts to produce desirable, sought‑after outcomes. Such a stance consequently eases preda‑ tory attitudes surrounding advertisers by placing them on the same playing field as consumers. Aylsworth’s argument regarding acceptable manipulation in advertising redefines the predator– prey relationship between advertisers and consumers. Rather than upholding a predatory narrative whereby advertisers prey on consumers through unfair mind games, Aylsworth instead treats ad‑ vertisers as beneficial aids of consumers’ cognitive processes when consent is given, thus balanc‑ ing a previously unequal power dynamic between consumers and advertisers.

Market Research Data in Radio Advertising Market research’s ability to provide quick and effective reporting of consumer sentiment has con‑ sequentially boosted its popularity among marketers in the United States for nearly a century; since the Great Depression, usage of market research practices has grown rapidly across numerous industries as businesses strove to target relevant consumer markets (Samuel 2013). Radio’s wide‑ spread listenership in the 1930s offered advertisers an attractive pool of consumers in which they could survey regarding their purchasing behavior, which positioned radio companies to become some of the earlier adopters of market research techniques (Samuel 2013). For advertisers, utilizing appropriate platforms to reach relevant consumer markets is a top priority. Advertising mediums – such as radio, television, and social media – provide opportuni‑ ties to reach such markets. Findings from a study conducted by Allan (2007) demonstrate that 110

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advertisements played on the radio result in greater brand recall when compared to other forms of electronic media advertising methods. As a result of its ability to make impressions in listeners’ minds, ‘radio commercials play a significant role in influencing listeners on products and services’ (Rajagopal 2011). Such influence on consumer beliefs reflects the effectiveness of advertising through radio mediums. Moreover, radio’s advertising strategy often involves stoking emotional arousal in its listeners using music, playful banter, and familiar anchor voices (Backstrom 2006). Consumers who listen to radio shows regularly tend to develop personal connections to the program and its hosts, thus creating the potential for radio to play a more intimate role in the lives of various consumer seg‑ ments (Hackley 2005). In appealing to listeners’ emotions, radio advertisements enable advertising content to effectively manipulate consumer behavior through the influence of attitudes and percep‑ tions regarding the advertised product (Mustafa and Al‑Abdallah 2020). Consequentially, radio offers potential high value to advertisers in regard to disseminating advertising content. However, for radio platforms to convince advertising parties (i.e., both advertisers and media buyers) to place advertisements on their stations, they must convince them that their platforms are capable of reaching and making impressions on their target audiences. Market research data enables various media platforms to demonstrate their value to prospective advertising clients by offering insight into their audience reach metrics (Mooi et al. 2018). Providers of market research data, such as The Nielsen Company, equip advertisers with massive amounts of syndicated data spanning numerous purchasing behavior categories. Mooi et al. (2018) explain: Syndicated data are data collected in a standard format and not specifically collected for a single client. These data, or analyses based on the data, are then sold to multiple clients. Large marketing research firms mostly collect syndicated data, as they have the resources to collect large amounts of data and can spread the costs of doing so over a number of clients. (p. 6) Because the information is already collected, syndicated data provided by The Nielsen Company are categorized as external secondary data. By utilizing such external secondary data, radio plat‑ forms are spared from spending time and resources on conducting primary research themselves, which ultimately enables them to dive deep into consumer behavior quickly and efficiently. Niels‑ en’s data is gathered from survey responses through their consumer panel, which includes 250,000 households across 27 countries (Mooi et al. 2018). Given its ability to reach large segments of consumers, Nielsen has positioned itself as a leading provider of market research data in the United States since the 1930s (Samuel 2013). Its relevance to the radio advertising industry remains strong, as radio companies continue to rely on its data to demonstrate their abilities to reach relevant consumer markets for prospective advertising cli‑ ents. In having access to external secondary data from market research firms, radio platforms are equipped with the ability to employ mind engineering tools to manipulate the mental models of the advertising party. Consider a hypothetical maternity clothing company looking to gain more customers. Given the radio’s effectiveness in establishing higher brand recall, it considers placing its advertisement on the radio. Just as any company does when creating advertisements, the maternity clothing company has its own agenda for brand communications (Hackley 2005). In creating a successful advertisement that influences consumer perception and behavior, it is necessary for the maternity clothing company to appeal to the needs of their target consumers and communicate their product’s value in a manner that convinces consumers to make a purchase (Glowa 2002). To do so, mind 111

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engineering tactics are necessary to influence consumers’ perception of how such a product will address their needs. By creating persuasive advertising content, the maternity clothing company establishes the groundwork for manipulating consumers. However, for their advertising content to manipulate consumers, they must first consult with media buyers to help secure ad placement on the radio (Bala and Verma 2018; Turow 2013). While the maternity clothing company is a seller, it must also assume the role of a buyer it is a prospective customer of the radio company’s services. In turn, the radio company assumes the role of the advertiser, as it must persuade the maternity clothing and its media buyer to purchase ad space on its platform. The maternity clothing company’s intentions to act as an advertiser do not exempt them from its consumer status; everyone is a consumer, including advertisers themselves. Revenue generation is among the top priorities for businesses that sell services to other busi‑ nesses (Hackley 2005). Therefore, the actual number of people who buy maternity clothes and listen to the radio company’s stations is irrelevant; regardless of whether they have 100 or 100,000 relevant consumers tuning in, the main objective for the radio company is to win over the mater‑ nity clothing company as a client for the sake of revenue generation. If the radio company’s reach numbers for maternity clothing customers are unfavorable, syndicated market research data from external secondary sources can be repackaged so that it favors the desired narrative. Even if an‑ other advertising medium reaches more target consumers, the radio company can present compel‑ ling data‑supported sales pitches that seemingly offer up a more desirable listener base. Capitalizing on data as a means of mind engineering involves deliberate categorization of data to be shared and data to be concealed. Understanding an audience’s objectives enables presenters to determine what details to include and what details to leave out in a report (Mooi et al. 2018), thus allowing for truth to always be reported, even if the entire picture is not showcased. Regard‑ less of how well the radio company reaches a certain target audience, they are motivated to ma‑ nipulate prospective customers into adapting their desired mental models to win business. Mind engineering is therefore necessary for radio companies to attract clients, as it enables the construc‑ tion of realities in which every target audience appears to be reachable through their stations. The following section expands upon mind engineering methods utilized by radio companies to influence the mental models of advertisers and their partnered media buyers.

Syndicated Data and Crosstabs As discussed, radio companies rely on syndicated data from external secondary databases – such as ones provided by The Nielsen Company – to demonstrate the value of their platform to prospective advertisers and media buyers. Nielsen’s subsidiaries include Scarborough Research, which equips users with market research data collected from over 300,000 consumer surveys that cover an ex‑ tensive list of categories spanning various lifestyle activities, demographic information, shopping habits, and purchasing behaviors (Nielsen 2022). Scarborough’s survey methodology – ranging from phone interviews, survey booklets, and internet surveys – asks consumers granular ques‑ tions regarding their attitudes, habits, future plans, and product usage across numerous industries including automotive, dining, financial services, grocery, healthcare, home improvement, internet, media, retail, sports, technology, travel, and voting (Nielsen 2022). Scarborough’s inclusion of cross‑platform consumption data allows users to identify mediums that consumers engage with most, such as radio, television, social media, and streaming plat‑ forms. Insights into cross‑platform consumption are particularly useful for media firms, as they enable comparative analysis with competitors. In the context of audio advertising, radio compa‑ nies can utilize Scarborough’s database to compare their radio stations’ performance metrics with 112

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competing radio companies. To analyze massive amounts of data, Scarborough offers data analysis software that allows for the creation of crosstab reports. Crosstabs – short for crosstabulation – are beneficial for identifying compelling sales stories embedded within datasets, as they allow for the analysis of relationships between multiple variables (Mooi et al. 2018). The ability to identify and construct favorable narratives when analyzing crosstab reports is crucial when influencing target consumers to adopt desired mental models. When harnessed ef‑ fectively, mind engineering techniques can manipulate data to create the appearance of appealing consumer engagement capabilities. Standard crosstab reports using external secondary data from market research firms typically present the following information (Bentley University 2022; Radio Advertising Bureau 2015): • Unweighted: The number of survey respondents who meet the specified criteria (in the case of the maternity clothing company, criteria include the condition that respondents must be in the market for maternity clothes). • Weighted (000): The projected number of people in the specified geographical region that fit the criteria, expressed in thousands. • Vertical %: The percentage of those with a given characteristic as defined by the column head‑ ing. Generally, the target audience (in this case, people looking to buy maternity clothes) is placed in the column section of a crosstab report. • Horizontal %: The percentage of those with a given characteristic as defined by the row heading. Generally, what the user wants to know about the target audience (in this case, what radio stations maternity clothing consumers are listening to) is placed in the row section of a crosstab report. • Index: The likelihood of targeted respondents meeting a specified criterion. Indices are ex‑ pressed in relation to the base of 100, which represents the average. The numerical difference from the average (100) is expressed as a percentage of being more likely (numbers higher than 100) or less likely (numbers lower than 100). If the index is 136, this indicates that target respondents are 36% more likely to meet the specified criterion (136 − 100 = 36). If the index is 85, this means the target respondents are 15% less likely to meet the specified criterion (100 − 85 = 15).

Mind Engineering in Crosstab Interpretation In the example of the maternity clothing company, let us say the radio company generates a cross‑ tab report to identify what stations relevant consumers are listening to. Table 7.1 presents a stand‑ ard example of a crosstab report using syndicated data collected by market research firms such as Nielsen. Using the hypothetical crosstab report in Table 7.1, let us say Radio Company B represents all radio stations belonging to the radio company that is persuading the advertising party (i.e., the maternity clothing company and its media buyer) to advertise on their platform. Radio Company A and Radio Company C represent all radio stations belonging to Radio Company B’s competitors. Limitations in the ability of syndicated market research data to cater to all situations must be acknowledged, as it is unfeasible for market research firms to capture data on every niche consumer market. Such limitations manifest themselves in Table 7.1’s crosstab report, as the target audience is listed as people planning for the birth of a child in the next 12 months, rather than people looking to buy maternity clothes. The maternity clothing company evidently wants to reach consumers who are in the market for maternity clothes; Radio Company B needs to demonstrate its ability to reach 113

Brian L. Schnell Table 7.1 Example of standard crosstab report layout using syndicated data from market research firms (for the purposes of this example, all numbers are fictional) All

All

Music Or Audio Services – Listened to Or Used in the Last 30 Days: Radio Company A

Radio Company B

Radio Company C

Lifestyle changes/ events personally plan to do next 12 months: Birth of a child

Unwgtd Weighted (000) Horz % Vert % Index

104,448 62,481 100.00 100.00 100

2,180 1,433 2.29 100.00 100

Unwgtd Weighted (000) Horz % Vert % Index

10,752 6,333 100.00 10.14 100

248 119 1.87 8.28 82

Unwgtd Weighted (000) Horz % Vert % Index

1,216 879 100.00 1.41 100

39 39 4.44 2.72 193

Unwgtd Weighted (000) Horz % Vert % Index

25,715 16,769 100.00 26.84 100

402 214 1.28 14.95 56

such a demographic. Although Scarborough’s collection of consumer survey responses span across numerous categories, its repertoire does not include data on purchasing habits for maternity clothes. Consequently, data on maternity clothing consumers do not exist within Scarborough. While building compelling sales narratives from non‑existent information seems impractical, Radio Company B must make use of other relevant data, even if it does not perfectly match the topic of interest. Accomplishing this requires the identification of relevant response substitutes. In sifting through Scarborough’s survey categories, the next best option falls under the lifestyle category, which asks ‘lifestyle changes/events planning to do in the next 12 months’, of which ‘birth of a child’ is a response option as displayed in Table 7.1 (Nielsen 2022). As a result, data on people planning for the birth of a child serves as a proxy for data on people looking to buy maternity clothes. A later section of this chapter will discuss how language and inference serve as mind en‑ gineering tools when constructing desired narratives using substitute data. According to the weighted (000) sections of Table  7.1’s crosstab report, Radio Company C has the highest projected number of listeners who are planning for the birth of a child in the next 12  months at 214,000 people, followed by Radio Company A with 119,000 people, and Radio Company B having the lowest number of listeners meeting this criterion at an estimated 39,000 people. Figure 7.1 visually ranks reach numbers from the weighted (000) sections of Table 7.1, 114

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214,000

119,000

39,000 Projected number of listeners who are planning for the birth of a child in the next 12 months Radio Company C

Radio Company A

Radio Company B

Figure 7.1  Graphical representation of crosstab data from weighted (000) sections of Table 7.1

reflecting Radio Company B’s undeniably low reach of listeners in comparison to Radio Compa‑ nies A and C. If Radio Company B presented this data to the maternity clothing company and its media buyer, it would likely lose business given that its competitors’ stations provide greater op‑ portunities to reach significantly more potential customers. Moreover, the low percentages reflected in the horizontal % and vertical % sections of ­Table 7.1 do very little to support Radio Company B’s ability to engage with the maternity cloth‑ ing company’s target audience. The horizontal % section reports that 4.44% of people who listen to ­Radio Company B are planning for the birth of a child in the next 12 months, and the vertical % ­section reports that a measly 2.72% of people who are planning for the birth of a child in the next 12 months listen to Radio Company B. Such percentages are hardly boastworthy. Evidently, a majority of data presented in Table 7.1 do not position Radio Company B favora‑ bly among its competitors. Given the unimpressive nature of Radio Company B’s data points in Table 7.1, there appears to be a lack of compelling sales stories embedded within the numbers. However, the index section of the crosstab report offers redemption. Table 7.1 demonstrates the power of index numbers as tools of perception–manipulation. With indices, 100 represents the baseline average of the population being examined (Bentley University 2022). An index of 125 is 25 percentages above the average of 100, meaning the target consumer is 25% more likely to meet the specified criterion in comparison to the rest of the population, whereas an index of 75 is 25 percentages below the average of 100, indicating the target consumer is 25% less likely to meet the specified criterion than the rest of the population. Indices are calcu‑ lated by dividing the vertical percentage of the target column by the vertical percentage of the base column and multiplying the result by 100 (Radio Advertising Bureau 2015). In the crosstab report of Table 7.1, the target column is titled ‘Lifestyle changes/events person‑ ally plan to do next 12 months: Birth of a child’, while the base column (neighboring the target column on the left) is titled ‘All’. For Radio Company B, the vertical percentage listed under the 115

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target column is 2.72% (the percentage of people who are expecting a child and also listen to Radio Company B), and the vertical percentage listed under the base column is 1.41% (the percentage of the total population within the specified geographical region that listens to Radio Company B), resulting in an index of 193 (2.72/1.41 = 1.929 × 100 = 192.9, rounded up to 193). An index of 193 indicates that Radio Company B listeners are 93% more likely to be planning for the birth of a child in the next 12 months (193 − 100 = 93). The remainder of Table 7.1’s in‑ dex sections report that Radio Company A’s listeners are 18% less likely (100 − 82 = 18) to meet such criterion, with Radio Company C’s listeners being 44% less likely (100 − 56 = 44). Thus, the favorable nature of Radio Company B’s high index in comparison to Radio Companies A and C’s low indices provides the opportunity to use data‑based evidence to create a reality in which Radio Company B dominates its competitors. By deliberately not showing data to the advertising party from the weighted (000), horizontal %, and vertical % sections of Table 7.1, Radio Company B can engineer perceptions of a desirable listener base – without lying – by showcasing data only from the index section. Figure 7.2 presents a hypothetical sales pitch using data reported in Table 7.1’s index sections, demonstrating potential frameworks for persuasion. Figure 7.2 presents an entirely opposite storyline from that of Figure 7.1. Where Radio Com‑ panies C and A outshine Radio Company B for reach numbers in Figure  7.1, Radio Company B dominates Radio Companies A and C for indices in Figure 7.2, consequentially reversing the hierarchy. Although the data originate from the same crosstab report, Figures 7.1 and 7.2 create drastically different narratives while both being rooted in factual information. As discussed in Van Dijk (2006), manipulators must restrict the interpretation of information to effectively implant desired mental models into their target’s minds. Radio Company B has the power to choose what information to present and what language to use when presenting to the ma‑ ternity clothing company, thus gaining influence over which mental model they adopt. Given Fig‑ ure 7.2’s favorable version of reality, it makes sense for Radio Company B to present its narrative

Radio Company B’s Listeners Are More Likely to be in the Market for Maternity Clothes Than Radio Company A and C’s Listeners

193

US Adult Average (100)

Radio Company B’s listeners are 93% more likely than the average US adult to plan for the birth of a child in the next year

82 56 Planning for the birth of a child in the next 12 months Radio Company B

Radio Company A

Radio Company C

Figure 7.2  Hypothetical sales pitch using crosstab data from index sections in Table 7.1

116

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to shepherd the maternity clothing company and its media buyers into thinking that its station provides the best value. Figure 7.2 capitalizes on Radio Company B’s high index by utilizing a dotted line to represent the baseline average of 100, establishing a symbolic threshold of quality. Because Radio Company B’s index is 193, it well surpasses 100, thus assigning it a sense of superiority in comparison to Radio Companies A and C, whose indices dwindle beneath the threshold’s surface. The callout box directs immediate attention toward Radio Company B’s 93% points above the average, reinforcing its distinction from competitors. Moreover, the visual hierarchy of Radio Company B towering over its competitors conjures an image of abundance, thus prompting the idea that Radio Company B has more offerings than its competitors. In reality, the only thing abundant about Radio Company B is its index number, not its listenership. The index number – high as it may be – represents a percentage, not the number of listeners. For this reason, the index is a valuable tool of mind engineering, as it positions Radio Company B above its competitors, despite the fact that its stations reach over five times less the amount of relevant listeners than Radio Company C, and over three times less the amount than that of Radio Company A. Figure 7.2 demonstrates how partnership between indices and strategic visuals enshroud unfavorable data, ultimately manipulating mental models by influencing percep‑ tions of quality regarding Radio Company B’s listenership.

Inference as Mind Engineering Aid As discussed previously, the absence of data on maternity clothing consumers requires mind en‑ gineering tactics to fill its void. Table 7.1 uses a relevant substitute from the lifestyle category of Scarborough’s survey, which asks ‘lifestyle changes/events planning to do in the next 12 months’, of which ‘birth of a child’ is a response option (Nielsen 2022). Evidently, survey respondents who indicate they are planning for the birth of a child may very well be shopping for maternity cloth‑ ing. However, this is not guaranteed. Perhaps respondents are helping their pregnant partner, rela‑ tive, or close friend plan for birth, in which case they themselves do not need maternity clothes. Or perhaps respondents are using surrogacy methods. In instances where survey responses have broad meanings, there is no way to verify if respondents precisely fit the desired criteria; therefore, Figure 7.2’s claim that ‘Radio Company B’s Listeners Are More Likely to Be in the Market for Maternity Clothes Than Radio Company A and C’s Listeners’ is technically true. Inference plays a critical role in utilizing proxy data to foster desired narratives, as it enables manipulators to shepherd their audiences toward specific assumptions. Ultimately, inference com‑ pensates for limitations in the data’s ability to apply neatly to every situation. Collins et al. (1977) explain: Inference is thought of as filling in the missing connections between the surface structure fragments of the text by recourse to context and knowledge about the world. This text‑based view of inference stresses the notion that the inference process looks for meaningful rela‑ tions between different propositions in the text. (p. 2) Figure 7.2’s text presents two propositions: 1 Radio Company B’s listeners are more likely to be buying maternity clothes. 2 Radio Company B’s listeners are more likely to be planning for the birth of a child. 117

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The first proposition capitalizes on the logical postulation that if a person buys maternity clothes, they are pregnant. The second proposition exploits common knowledge that, if someone is preg‑ nant, they are planning for the birth of a child. Figure 7.2’s textual propositions work in tandem to guide audiences toward forming connections between the provided information and common knowledge, thus fostering inferences that, because Radio Company B’s listeners are planning for the birth of a child, they are pregnant and, therefore, need maternity clothes. The unspecified nature of survey responses affords leeway in interpretation, enabling inference to influence audiences’ comprehension of proxy data. In using inference, Radio Company B is able to overcome the absence of maternity clothing consumer data and impose desirable perceptions of reality upon the maternity clothing company and its media buyer.

Conclusion Advertising critics commonly condemn advertisers’ use of mind engineering tactics for the sake of profit (Rubin 2022). Crisp (1987) proposes that persuasive advertising is immoral, given that it robs consumers of their autonomy to formulate their own desires. Such criticisms perpetuate the notion of an imbalanced power dynamic, whereby advertisers reign over consumers with ma‑ nipulative potency. Consequently, discussions surrounding manipulation in advertising are often one‑sided, focusing solely on the consumer. The process of media buying prompts consideration of the ways in which advertisers are sub‑ jected to manipulation. Media firms are motivated to sell access to their platform’s audiences to yield revenue generation; to attract prospective advertisers and media buyers, media firms utilize mind engineering tactics to enhance the appeal of their audiences. Advertising critics are correct to call out advertisers for manipulating consumers for the sake of profit. However, such condemnation does not consider manipulative dynamics in its entirety, as advertisers too are manipulated by media firms for profit. Thus, media buying suggests that advertisers face manipulation in their roles as customers to media firms. Media buying is, in essence, a necessary condition for chain‑effect mind engineering. It must be acknowledged that chain‑effect mind engineering does not occur in all instances of advertising. Consider a small local bakery that uses free social media platforms – such as In‑ stagram and Facebook – to share promotional deals with their small pool of local customers. In this case, there is no need to broadcast advertisements on large‑scale media platforms. Therefore, partnership with media buyers is irrelevant, as there is no need to pay media firms for ad space. Additionally, some advertisers are long‑term customers of certain media firms and form close business partnerships. Businesses that experience repeated success when placing ads on certain radio stations will likely continue purchasing ad space on those stations. In instances of long‑term loyalty, manipulation is not always necessary. It is important to consider limitations in understanding chain‑effect mind engineering as it ap‑ plies to advertising. Turow (2013) acknowledges the lack of discussion surrounding media buying in the advertising process, stating that ‘academics who study advertising typically overlook media buying’ (p. 99). The lack of focus on media buying results in a limited understanding of chain‑­ effect mind engineering in advertising, given that the former is foundational to the latter. Further study of media buying dynamics will benefit the understanding of chain‑effect mind engineering in the advertising space. However, it is important to note that processes of marketing, advertising, and media buying are in constant states of flux as a result of changing social, economic, cultural, and technological dynamics (Bala and Verma 2018; Turow 2013). Forthcoming advancements in data collection and media buying systems suggest that processes of chain‑effect mind engineering will evolve as well. Regardless of how such changes manifest themselves in the media landscape, 118

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maintaining a holistic perspective on mind engineering in advertising will be critical to the future discourse of advertising criticisms. Principles of chain‑effect mind engineering also apply beyond the realm of advertising. While chain‑effect mind engineering in the context of advertising involves three parties (media firms, advertisers, and consumers), certain phenomena – such as the transmission of political ideologies from parents to children – involve numerous links in the chain spanning across multiple genera‑ tions. Jennings et al. (2009) discuss the effects of parental behavior on shaping children’s ideolo‑ gies later in life, stating that ‘parents can have an enormous degree of influence on the political learning that takes place in pre‑adulthood. If parents are politically engaged and frequently discuss politics with the child, transmission rates rise substantially’ (p.  795). Parents who consistently express their political views expose their children to political predispositions early in life; such dis‑ positions stick with the child as they grow up, enabling the reproduction of such political ideolo‑ gies to occur more frequently across generations (Jennings et al. 2009). Consequentially, parents’ political influences live vicariously through their children and subsequent generations. Chain‑effect mind engineering is at play in the case of politicized families, where generational political ideology transmission is more likely to occur. Parents (for the sake of this example, I will call them Generation A) engineer the minds of their children (Generation B) by molding their political mental models. Generation B then carries such models into their adulthood and engineer the minds of their children (Generation C) through imprinting political mental models originally developed under the influence of Generation A. Generation C then engineers the minds of the following generation (Generation D) based on influences made on their political mental models from Generations B and A. The cycle of mind engineering in this instance follows a chain‑effect fashion, whereby the manipulation of one generation’s mental models relies on manipulations of previous generations’ mental models. While this chapter utilizes the domain of advertising to explore the underlying workings of chain‑effect mind engineering, it is likely that such chain‑effect manipulation of mental models occurs in numerous societal facets, thus fostering the formation of many types of biases and prob‑ lems spanning a myriad of domains. Researchers looking to understand surreptitious influences on human minds may benefit from approaching the issue with a chain‑effect framework. Tracing the root of mind engineering as far back as possible uncovers what first went wrong in the chain link, providing greater perspective on the scale of the chain, as well as deeper insights into course correcting such cyclical mind manipulations.

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8 ON THE COMMODIFICATION OF SEXUAL WELLNESS Race, Gender, and the Engineering of Consent Kwasu D. Tembo

Introduction: The Mind Engineering of Consent The past decade has seen an adrenalization of various commercial networks of sexual wellness. These networks have become global cultural, sociopolitical, and economic lodestars of interest, la‑ bor, and general activity. These same networks have also emerged as key aspects of contemporary on‑ and offline identity politics. As a result, they simultaneously intersect with numerous issues and debates related to contemporary lifestyles in digital late capitalism. It isn’t therefore unrea‑ sonable to assert that, within the framework of the ostensibly progressive ideology promulgated and predominating in the liberal democratic regimes in the Global North, sex still sells. A key aspect of this nexus is the concept of sexual wellness. It gestures to and appropriates the lexicon and practices of self‑care, self‑management, and/or self‑work – all of which are characterized as either antidotes or analgesics to the various experiences of psycho‑emotional and physical malady in the contemporary world. Included here is the idea of sexual dissatisfaction due to hook‑up culture and dating apps, as just one example. Here, sexual satisfaction is, through this network and its tributaries, often characterized as a site of potential reclamation and resistance to broader oppressions one endures as a subject of a capitalist regime. This collection of terms and practices has obvious importance within such a regime because, for example, it describes a broader $3.7 tril‑ lion global wellness industrial complex. In view of these resonances and associations, an obvious question emerges: is so‑called wellness nothing but an obfuscatory use of rhetoric and presentation designed to make the exploitation and consumption of commodified sexualities more palatable? This, in turn, begs additional questions. These include, but are not limited to, the following two: is the contemporary commodification of sexual wellness, and its appeal to identity politics’ concern for inclusivity and representation, particularly exploitative of various subject positions, including racialized ones? Do the praxes and effects of contemporary sexual wellness cleave to or cleave apart from traditional mid‑20th century marketing and business methods elaborated most clearly, if not controversially, by Edward Bernays in “The Engineering of Consent” (1947)? This chapter seeks to provide an analysis of how online brands, spaces, and cultures self‑­ identify as allies of progressive interests in the reality market against not only gender but also race. Focusing on Bernays’ essay, it will first offer a critique of Bernaysean strategies of engineered

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consent. It will posit some theoretical grounding concerning sexuality and commodification, mind and market engineering, and some of their racialized lines of flight. Here, it will aim to raise concerns about ostensibly progressive and inclusive brand images and how they can, and often are, essentially predicated on the aforementioned techniques of profit‑oriented psycho‑emotional methods of manipulation. Central to the argumentation of the thesis of this chapter is a disagreement between the online sex‑toy company Wildflowersex, and the public exposure of the company’s exploitative dealings with specifically Black Femmes in 2019, as well as in times preceding. The conflict between Wild‑ flower and Black Femmes arose when the latter began communicating with one another about their negative experiences in business and social relationships with the former. This included, among other things, evidence of tokenistic exploitation and profiteering from Black Femme sex educators and sex‑toy sellers’ identities as queer and black. Moreover, the discourse precipitated between Black Femmes led to a collective investigation into the broader business dealings of Wildflower‑ sex. What resulted was the discovery and exposure of monetary connections and fiscal activity that starkly countermanded the company’s carefully curated public image as an inclusive, progressive, and morally adroit sex company, as well as an accepting and egalitarian space for sex positivity and wellness. With this brief sketch in place, this chapter will explore the following consequences of the company’s exposure and the contentions – public and private – that resulted: (1) the com‑ pany’s manipulation of sexual wellness through Bernaysean mind/consent engineering techniques, (2) its cozening of an entire online space and community of consumers, (3) its influence on their ostensibly progressive ethical understandings of contemporary identity politics, sex and sexuality, and their commodification and consumption. Lastly, this chapter will conclude by emphasizing how Wildflowersex’s engineering of self‑care, self‑management, and work in the frame of sexual wellness has led to, perhaps even required, the clandestine economic, sociopolitical, and cultural exploitation of Black Femmes to achieve its underlying goal of profit.

Capital Sexuality: The Engineering of Wellness Wellness, in its myriad interpretations, forms, modes, and commodity networks (markets), refers to a holistic approach to healthy living. It is characterized by physical, mental, and social well‑being. In view of the fact that the global wellness industrial complex is estimated at $3.7 trillion, contem‑ porary wellness should be more accurately referred to as a “wellness industrial complex” (Global Wellness Institute 2018). Amanda Hess (2019) gives a helpful summation of some of the contours of this complex as it relates to various features of contemporary American and global materialism: shopping, decorating, grooming and sculpting are now jumping with meaning. And a pur‑ chase need not have any explicit social byproduct – the materials Eco friendly, or the pro‑ ceeds donated to charity – to be weighted with significance. Pampering itself has taken on a spiritual urgency. (Hess 2019) Those seeking to provide some intellectual underpinnings for this type of contemporary wellness life‑ style and its underlying pseudo‑spiritualism typically refer to Audre Lorde’s 1988 essay “A Burst of Light” in which she states “caring for myself is not self‑indulgence, it is self‑preservation, and that is an act of political warfare” (Lorde quoted in Hess 2019). Lorde was, however, addressing an exigent concern, namely, managing and treating her liver cancer. As a black lesbian in the United States at the time, Lorde’s invocations of the spiritual dimensions of self‑care and health were a political act of 122

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resistance. For Lorde, what makes health and well‑being revolutionary is the fact that the health and well‑being of people in her subject position was, and arguably still is not, prioritized in America (Hess 2019). Even a cursory comparison of Lorde’s usage of these terms and their signification and contem‑ porary uses and significations of the same reveals an important cleave which separates them. Unlike Lorde, contemporary proponents and producers of narratives and products of wellness like Gwyneth Paltrow equate wellness with luxury more so than they do wellness with health. As Hess notes, the logic of GOOP, Gwyneth Paltrow’s luxury brand that sells skin serums infused with the branding of intuition, karma and healing, is being reproduced on an enormous scale. Women’s shoes, bras, razors, tampons and [sex toys] are stamped with the language of empowerment. (Hess 2019) This contemporary elision of wellness, wealth (luxury), and moral rectitude is key.

Be Well, Buy Well(ness): Bernays, Wellness, and the Engineering of Consent The ideas and practices associated with wellness are now so globally meaningful (or, indeed meaningless) because sociopolitical and cultural issues and debates concerning identity and sex‑ ual politics have been so effectively reverse‑engineered by businesses. The goal of this process of re‑association is, ultimately, converting users into customers. These techniques of engineered consent aren’t new and have been a seemingly inextricable part of global late capitalism’s raison d’etre for nearly a century primarily because of one man: Edward L. Bernays. The phrase “engineered consent” is taken from the title of Bernays’ 1947 essay “The Engineer‑ ing of Consent” (hereon EoC). The phrase refers to the application of psychoanalytic techniques to engineer, manufacture, produce, and reproduce ideal consumers; that is, consumers who cannot disassociate their desires, ideas, beliefs, and sense of selves from products (Bernays 1947; Curtis 2002). As a sort of herald of late capitalism, Bernays came bearing a message to American and subsequently global corporations, and his message was both deceptively and devastatingly simple: as a human being in late capital, “you bought things not just for need but to express your inner sense of self to others” (Curtis 2002). In the Bernaysean model of mind engineering, EoC is inextricable from another concord‑ ant process: the manufacturing of demand. In his pioneering 1928 book Propaganda, Bernays ­unequivocally states that “if we understand the mechanism and motives of the group mind, it is now possible to control and regiment the masses according to our will without them knowing it” ­(Bernays 1928). In this way, the consent engineer must direct their efforts toward the reproduction of demand that is itself reproducible. Bernays notes that this is on account of the precariousness of a business’s profitability if it rests on the whims of the consumer’s desire. To manage this stochas‑ ticity, EoC aims to guarantee demand by, in a way, transcendentalizing the desire for products they can sell. By making the desire that can only be partially satisfied in and through consumption, EoC ensures that there will always be a demand for its products and, therefore, always a dependable stream of revenue to exploit. As Bernays puts it, a single factory, potentially capable of supplying a whole continent with its particular prod‑ uct, cannot afford to wait until the public asks for its product; it must maintain constant touch, through advertising and propaganda, with the vast public in order to assure itself the continuous demand which alone will make its costly plant profitable. (Bernays 1928) 123

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What results, inevitably, is a highly malleable, highly influential, and highly connected network of engineered consent and manufactured need – both of which form the basis, access, and desire for a sense of belonging and community. Just as potently as language or biology, a consumerist ideology becomes a metastatic, omnipotent force or continuum acting on and ultimately binding global capitalist society. As van Dijck (2012) notes, a tremendously powerful tributary or layer of the “constant touch” of this “continuous demand” is social media platforms “where agents of different nature (human and non‑human, material and immaterial) and varied size (individuals, groups, collectives, societies) are building a connective space for communication and informa‑ tion” (Dijck 2012: 142). It is upon or through this layer that acts as a type of caul or membrane that simultaneously connects and disconnects consumers, wellness, health, products, and desire that ordinary people are “trained to desire, to want new things, even before the old have been entirely consumed” so that people’s “desires must [necessarily] overshadow [their] needs” (Mazur quoted in Häring and Douglas 2012). In important and far‑reaching ways, Bernays’ methods laid out the rudiments for the emergence of a modern consumer culture in which consumption is undifferentiated from its various socioeco‑ nomic, political, and cultural networks, for example, the digital Commons of global mass media. In other words, as a reflection of Bernays’ techniques, to exist in contemporary global culture is to desire to satisfy desire through consumption. The triad of Bernaysean propaganda, advertising, and “public relations” has instantiated an intentional shift from a “needs to a desires culture”, which ultimately “weakens and disconnects [sic] us”, alienates us from our true needs and desires, and, according to many, “encourages our self‑absorption” (Levine 2011). The resulting illusion of a (in)finitude of controlled and curated desires by EoC successfully annuls the belief in the possible occurrence or existence of anything outside of what EoC offers. Being enmeshed in this network is like “playing a repeated game”, where the reproducibility of commodification and the processes that engineer and manufacture our real consent and imaginary need, form the crux of contemporary global life (Witold 2013: 354–355). The contemporary manifestation of EoC is also an unavoidable fixture of digital life. EoC has, among myriad other things, interpolated algorithmic sociopolitical and economic processes in contemporary life by exploiting data mining and social media as key new tools of manipula‑ tion (Kassam 2017). The mind engineers of today operating in fields like captology, such as the so‑called modern‑day‑Bernays B. J. Fogg, avail themselves of these technological constituents primarily as persuasive technology that can be leveraged to influence the attitudes and behaviors of users (Kassam 2017). It is important to note that these digital spaces are combinatory in nature that bring together various facets of contemporary digital life: those computational, social, politi‑ cal, and cultural. On account of this influence alone, any critique of the mind engineering potential and use of these platforms needs to recognize that these spaces are ostensibly and covertly spaces governed and sustained by various types of interest, capital, and activity. In and through social media, wellness, inclusivity, and profit can be performed, as well as governmentally, communally, and corporately (dis)regulated. Therefore, while it may appear that the determinations of these aspects of usership are ultimately the result of their interfacing with users or user communities, any and all users are simultaneously interfacing – influencing and being influenced in turn – by a network engineered for control and consent (van Dijck 2012: 145). Being a user in late capitalism is therefore never neutral. The end result of the combination of platforms, protocols, and interfaces is that not only are identities and their commodification necessary to imbue products with a care‑ fully engineered sense of “personality”, but socioeconomic practices and interactions are also as much steered as they are mediated (van Dijck 2012: 145).

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The overarching narratives espoused by the contemporary wellness industrial complex have subsequently come to follow this model. In a Bernaysean sense, the narratives of this complex appeal to customers’ desires to be seen as progressive, informed, and tolerant. The goal of the consent engineer, then and now, is to develop a narrative that simultaneously exacerbates and ame‑ liorates consumers’ deepest desires and personally resonant fears. Included among these are racial guilt and sexual dissatisfaction. The consent engineer then uses these aspects of their potential consumer’s lives to develop narrative templates in the development of products under particular auspices; specifically, ones that posit that the recursive and ever more intensive acts of consump‑ tion are necessary for them to engage with and participate within on and offline cultural content in a timely way and ethical way. The overall effect is the belief and practice of ostensibly conscious consumption as being not only possible but necessary to engender the overcoming of these op‑ pressive forces. What results is the engineering, sale, and most importantly purchase of a sense of psycho‑emotional well‑being. One might speculate that Bernays would be ecstatic were he alive now to witness the reach, immersion, and proliferation of communication technology in late capital through even a sin‑ gle social media platform, let alone the entirety of the communicative aptitude of the Internet. In the 1940s, Bernays and his confederates in the then‑burgeoning enterprise of Public Rela‑ tions were still thinking in terms of syndication, broadcast, and print (newspapers, radios, early cinema, and books). The acceleration of commodifying power that Bernays recognizes communications media to latently possess has now exploded, altered, augmented, and created entirely different experiences of disparate realities. Therefore, what contemporary communica‑ tions technologies can communicate is far more than information. They are capable of dispers‑ ing fractalized realities that sprawl out like viral envelopes shuttled across a capsid of global on and offline content. As the membranes separating lives and markets grow so porous as to disappear, the distinctions between communication and commerce also grow even more indis‑ tinct. This is also true of the lines separating relationships and transactions. This fact and any resultant anxiety resulting from the part of the user can be reverse‑engineered into a product that, upon purchase, promises to annul it. As a result, the “highly mechanical web” of social media is, above all else, concerned with engineering consent to convert users into consumers and, therefore, derive a profit (Bernays 1947: 114). Another key aspect of EoC outlined by Bernays is its relationship with education. So much of what passes for wellness and self‑awareness is framed as a didactic process. Oftentimes, a user purchases a product, learns and uses the terminology of a specific ideology directly or tangentially related to that product, and, as a result of the combination, is inevitably interpellated into wellness, as if wellness were a degree that can be attained through hard work and smart spending. Therefore if, as Bernays claims, “the engineering of consent often does supplement the educational process”, then the engendered consent must be taught in some way (Bernays 1947: 114). In contemporary social media networks, this didactic power coalesces around a singular figure, a social media ar‑ chetype whose semblance is measured in likes, followers, and subscriptions. This is the purview of the influencer who is, among other things, an engineer of attention. They can take many forms: the expert, the guru, the leader, the designer, the caster, the streamer, and/or the (life) coach. Dis‑ seminated, sponsored, and contextualized by this figure, wellness ultimately becomes a series of lessons, products, and practices that are within the power and preserve (mediation) of an expert who then teaches a user‑follower how to consent to be well. This wellness, however, is always also associated with a range of interconnected products, regimes, and praxes, including those pursuant to transaction and consumption.

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One of the most telling moments in the essay is when Bernays professes his belief that knowl‑ edge of the techniques of EoC will make the knower thereof benevolent, democratic, and perhaps even altruistic in trying to achieve what sounds like an oxymoron: good‑natured EoC. However, whatever gains EoC accrues in terms of “efficient functioning of modern society”, the democratic pursuit of “socially desirable ends”, and/or “out‑maneuvering […] opponents in the public in‑ terest”, its underlying goal remains unchanged: “engineering consent” (Bernays 1947: 115). Its view of Bernays’s simultaneous, tacit acknowledgment that EoC can be used for unsurpassable malevolence in the same selection from which the above quote is pulled makes one think that the inescapably manipulative substrate of EoC disqualifies this appraisal on the grounds that to curtail an individual’s ability to, as freely as possible, choose for themselves is antithetical to democracy. The diction of the above quote places EoC firmly and resolutely within the grasp of the bivalent goals of mastery and control.

Mass and Manipulation Many pieces of literature have substantiated the influence of mass media on the behavior of the public.1 According to Tiwari (2021), the informational role media plays in engendering trust in its narratives lies more or less solely on the numinous albeit potent factor of authenticity. Authenticity in media‑mediated information can be engendered through classic appeals to ethos, pathos, and logos. Opining experts, industry insiders, leaders of communities, sector influencers, and agents of authority and techne can elicit a semblance of authenticity which predisposes users and consumers to consent to their attempts to leverage influence over their lives as described by their consumptive habits (Tiwari 2021: 1668). Similarly, Spasova (2022) notes that, in view of the dispersive and networked tributaries of information and opinion, persuasion and influence are both concordant and are each exacerbated exponentially. The idea here is that persuasion is, ultimately, a long con in the sense that it seeks to establish and maintain long‑term lines of influence on users and groups of consumers. A part of this influence concerns itself with the control of notions and narratives of socially approved behaviors. Not only is the desire for this approval but its interpersonal media‑ tion is, in a concrete way, mimetic. A desire to be regarded as “good”, broadly speaking, acting, a desire which exerts itself, through mediated information, upon individuals in and through the collection of individuals such as that found in an online community, for example, “leads to bound‑ less imitative behavior and perception of other people’s beliefs” (Spasova 2022: 31). Spasova evokes notions of pathology that gesture to Marxist notions of commodity fetishism by using the term “contagion” to describe this phenomenon. This is fitting as the relationship between well‑ ness and its contagious consumerist concern itself describes a perhaps extremely revelatory, albeit anamorphic, truth. What makes this particularly relevant to any discussion or analysis of online communities is the fact that, through telecommunications dispersal, far exceeding the vectors of transmission employed and delineated by Bernays, this “contagion does not require the simultane‑ ous presence of users in a single place. It can act ‘from a distance’” (Spasova 2022: 31–31). When it comes to mind engineering as theorized here, the influence on the subconscious and covert tools of persuasion used in mass media and, particularly in social media, need to be men‑ tioned. I propose that the conflict between Wildflowersex and Black Femmes gestures toward the idea that subconscious attachments to sexuality, liberation, quality of life, and the idea of sex‑as‑revolutionary all accrue interest in being framed in particular discourses – not only in gen‑ dered but also in racialized discourses and intersectional struggles. In other words, what we have is what I think of as a “trend‑war”, by which I mean a conflict between influencers concerning

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investment and sale of stock in a product (emancipatory sexuality) framed as simultaneously both a right and part of revolutionary ethics in a digital economy of affects whose credit subsists on influence. The confluences of these areas are a key concern of brand engineering. As Keller (2003) notes, branding is a network of praxes that attempts to simultaneously reify and synthesize numinous psycho‑emotional experiences and concrete physical aspects of a product or service. In so doing, branding is a process “that builds knowledge about a brand leading to brand loyalty or equity” (Keller 2003). Ultimately, branding relies heavily on EoC to disseminate mediated information about the various attributes, the ethics or philosophy, and the bargain of products and their com‑ munities. In buying stock in both through purchase, user‑consumers experience far more than the product‑in‑itself. Instead, along with a product or service purchased, individuals simultaneously purchase images, thoughts, feelings, attitudes, and experiences that have both microscopic (indi‑ vidual) and macroscopic (social) values. There are numerous techniques of influence on the subconscious and covert tools of persua‑ sion used in mass media and particularly in social media that engender this effect, that is, imbuing products with character and personality. As such, a tangible product or service becomes a value. In keeping with the Bernaysian idea that the consumer seeks identitarian and psycho‑emotional affects which they can only directly access in and through their purchasing power, Wee and Ming (2003) suggest that brands exploit this concatenation of emotional appeal and symbolic value in prod‑ ucts through careful curation of semiological signs (Wee and Ming 2003). For example, Dominiak (2004) notes that “words such as trustworthy, feminine, helping, and nurturing convey an entirely different image or brand personality, and, therefore, a different customer expectation of the product, than words such as professional, clinical, intelligent, and scientific” (Dominiak 2004: 296). If we are to take Bernays as a point of departure for modern commercial mind engineering, then we can also say that the effort to transcendentalize products has been a part of 20th‑century capitalism for three‑quarters of a century. While not necessarily new, in this sense, its latent impact on capitalist ethos can be noted in vivid ways. Gobe (2001), for example, at the turn of the mil‑ lennium, offers what he refers to as the “Ten Commandments of Emotional Branding”. The goal thereof is straightforward as it is grandiose: to shift branding and commercial language to empha‑ size the “personality” of brands, as well as the consumer–product interface as a “relationship” as opposed to a service (Gobe 2001). Doing so ensures that the consumer does not, cannot, or will not view the process of capital exchange for goods as a purely economic phenomenon but a cultural and social event which not only affirms but also reinforces the customer’s self‑image, reified and reflected in the product itself. As such, buying things is not only about the meeting of needs but the satisfaction, expression, and affirmation of self through purchase. Such techniques are intended to be durable, to make incumbent on the customer the fulfill‑ ment of tacit and explicit psycho‑emotional responsibilities and expectations with regard to their relationship with their own status as consumers. This includes determining the contours of pro‑ spective customers’ purchasing power. At stake here is the meaning of personal capital as a means of not only accessing but (re)creating and (re)affirming their self‑image through products. In late capital, where trends and microtrends emerge and disappear with heightening acceleration, this connection between customer and product may be seen as a means to endure the undulations of consumer trends and the idiosyncrasies of the market; what we could think of as the stochasticity of global finance. Here, the product becomes an identitarian anchor that, when accessed through the exchange of capital, allows the consumer to remind themselves of who they are. In this way, platforms, manufacturers, distributors, and sellers are not simply a chain of supply feeding linked

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demands. Instead, this entire network and its epiphenomena become a community of individuals whose individual affirmation of self and mutual recognition as individuals is mediated by a com‑ munity of buyers, sellers, and products. In this way, the socioeconomic and socio‑cultural network of customers and products becomes a history and a narrative. Fanning (1999) noted, on the other side of the turn of the millennium, that “successful brands continuously update their stories to adapt to societal changes, while at the same time retaining their core values. In responding to changing market needs while maintaining core values, brands effectively maintain their continu‑ ing relevance” (Fanning 1999, quoted in Dominiak 2004: 296; emphasis mine). In the case of Wildflower vs Black Femmes, some techniques of mass media persuasion are on clear display. One such technique is described in Burgoon and Jones’ (1976) discussion of the Expectancy Violations Theory, which refers to nonverbal behavior involving breaking proximal expectations (Burgoon and Jones 1976). Applying Expectancy Violations Theory to Wildflower vs Black Femmes explains the source of shock and indignation in and by the community both sellers subtended. On the one hand, there was a perception of a normal pattern – one ostensibly marked by non‑exploitative diversity and inclusivity. On the other hand, this was followed by a violation of that very same perception (Meyer 1997). The irony here is that in adopting the image of inclusiv‑ ity, in conjunction with enacting and evoking behaviors that made Wildflower unique in the eyes of potential customers and their community, the company spun a narrative about themselves that they ultimately violated in being unable to live up to. But what of Black Femme’s responses to this failure? Is their collective critique of Wildflower’s failure, which I will discuss in more detail below, indicative of a potential “sleeper effect”? As Nabi, Moyer‑Gusé, and Byrne (2007) note, the sleeper effect refers to an audience discounting the credibility of a message source. However, this incredulity does not entirely negate the persuasive effects of mass manipulation and engineered consent (Nabi, Moyer‑Gusé, & Byrne 2007). This is evident in the fact that, while the Black Femme response to Wildflower’s dealings was indeed controversial for the latter, it did not alter, destroy, or disqualify their message, their appeal, their community, or the popularity enjoyed by their products. In terms of techniques of engineered content and mass media manipulation, we have two types of bias in conflict. If “mass media can be considered as the main manipulator by the consciousness of the masses to form a required attitude to an event, a phenomenon or a person”, then the narrative one tells of actions and their resultant feelings has the potential to heavily influence an onlooker’s conscious processing and understanding of an event (Lippmann 1965). This is why both the public and private attempts to control the narrative of the dispute between Wildflower and Black Femmes were so important. On social media, narratives that avail themselves of a sense of greater or lesser authenticity, identity, capital, and community emerge in virtual spaces as not merely a way of substituting order for the great blooming, buzzing confusion of reality. It is not merely a short cut. It is all these things and something more. It is the guarantee of our self‑respect; it is the projection upon the world of our own sense of our own value, our own position and our own rights. (Lippmann 1965) On the one hand, we have herding bias. Herding is the result of individuals in a particular com‑ munity whose identity is fixed and maintained by their continual and up‑to‑date participation in the said community (Tiwari 2021). The fear of missing out can elicit herding behavior in this way, where conformity and alignment take on increased value of psychological and social intensity. Moreover, herding can be engendered by trust placed in the authority and accuracy of a model, an 128

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influencer’s perception and perspective more so than their own mores and misgivings. In response to the allegations and proofs brought to bear against Wildflower by Black Femmes, the company gestured (since deleting any trace from their Instagram page) to their carefully cultivated and cu‑ rated narrative of non‑exploitative inclusivity and diversity as proof against the potentially ruinous critiques leveled against them. Many users – virtual passers‑by, loyal customers, those against, and those unsure – commented profusely on Wildflower’s official response post that the entire history of their brand is based on a narrative of community support, racial and gender progressiveness, and sexual positivity. Others expressed reservations about wanting to herd around the “right” nar‑ rative, while others were yet torn between their brand loyalty and their commitment or desire for commitment to the “right side of history”. Those expressing contrary views herded around their distrust, vitriol, and envy for and against Wildflower’s ostensible hypocrisy, ruthless and exploitative capitalism, appropriative performa‑ tivity, and status (success) as leaders in the online sex‑positive sex‑toy market. Here, authenticity again becomes important. What gave the Black Femme critique weight was their open, direct, and consistent appeal to the racial and gender dimensions of their dealings with Wildflower. The impli‑ cation of this is that their racial and gender statuses garner them critical authority in, at least, pre‑ cipitating, at most, demanding trust in their suite from those across the spectrum of credulity in it.

On Authenticity In many ways, the term “authenticity” is often a shorthand for a particular kind of coding. This coding can take as its share identitarian categories – as well as combinations thereof – that pertain to socioeconomic status, racial and ethnic appellations, sexual orientation, and geographical locat‑ edness. The term, therefore, is or can be crucial in disputes and disagreements regarding the mis‑ use, misappropriation, and exploitation of any of the aforesaid, singularly or collectively. In terms of Wildflower vs Black Femmes, the idea that Black Femmes are oppressed in numerous ways and that sexuality is a recursive site of oppression, warrants even a brief comment here. In view of the fact that stereotypes acting against Black Femmes, such as the mammy, jezebel, and sapphire, Black Femmes have their sexuality and haptic potential for pleasure circumscribed in historically exploitative, caricatural, and exaggerated functions of WASP2 centrality in global sociopolitical spheres of influence. As a direct result, one might assume that these areas also form the most effective counter‑site of emancipation and reclamation of joy and pleasure. As I will dis‑ cuss later, Wildflower vs Black Femmes achieves a double effect in being a dispute that reflects the reduplication and intensification of these very same stereotypes and oppressions. Some might argue that the dispute between Black Femmes and Wildflower is that the latter treated the former as a type of pool of “magical negresses”, a racialized stereotype of Western visual and lit‑ erary cultures whose purpose is to unflinchingly serve and support the aspirations and goals of white protagonists. As Tembo notes (2019), like the ostensibly progressive representation of black female mainstream comic book characters he analyzes, the Black Femmes in dispute with Wildflower are also seemingly caught in a similar position. Tembo describes this position as an ostensibly beneficent allyship with white producers and sellers who, perhaps surreptitiously, exploit the aura of authenticity garnered from stereotyping their subject positions as angry, black, sexual, and femme (Tembo 2019). Angry, black, sexual, and femme form a network of tensions that relate to three harmful ra‑ cialized and gendered stereotypes that oppress black women. The first two are the mammy and the jezebel. The former emerged from the era of North American slavery whose design was to influence and maintain the dominant sociopolitical perception of black women and the roles they could occupy in a society subject to white centrality. This stereotype propounded the notion that 129

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black women should be as much faithful, as they must be obedient and subservient (Glenn and Cunningham 2009: 139). The mammy is, in an essential way, self‑effacing. She “loves her White ‘family’ more than her own. Even though this family may care for her, she never forgets her role as the obedient servant and has accepted her subordination to white male elite power” (Glenn and Cunningham 2009: 139). Kimberly Wallace‑Sanders (2008) also notes that the term “mammy” reflects a caricatural misunderstanding and misrepresentation in terms of servility and maternalism (Wallace‑Sanders 2008: 2; 6). In contrast, the jezebel inverts the sexlessness of the mammy by representing her as sexually perverse, promiscuous, aggressive, yet  also submissive in her fundamental desire to please. She is forward and brash, albeit acquiescing in her embodied representation of profligate and wanton sexuality. Thus, while the mammy relegates black womanhood to the role of nurturer, the jezebel se‑ questers black womanhood to the role of reproduction. Both subject positions were employed as an oppressive shorthand during the era of slavery in America in this way (Glenn and Cunningham 2009: 139). It would seem that the Black Femmes’ critique of Wildflower entails an acknowledgment and rebuke of the company’s use of their images and lives in the exploitation of a “stereotyped authentic‑ ity” in which libidinal liberation and racial inclusivity accrue interest, value, and subsequently profit. The sapphire refers to a negative stereotype directed toward black women that originated later in the 1940s and 1950s in North America. Like the namesake character from which the stereotype emerged, the sapphire is depicted as nagging and emasculating when it comes to her constant re‑ monstrations of her African American husband. Here, the excess of the mammy’s nurturing takes the form of over‑aggressiveness (Celeste Walley‑Jean 2009: 70). In taking these three negative stereo‑ types black women battle against, holding them up to the case of Wildflower vs Black Femmes, one can see that the vitriol and anger of the latter risks being disregarded and invalidated as an affective force of a legitimate dispute and recklessly stereotyped as the excessive emanations of the sapphire.

Wildflower vs Black Femmes: Race, Gender, Profit, Influence, and Authenticity In July 2019, Wildflowersex (a popular sex‑toy company) and Ev’yan Whitney’s page (a Black Femme sexuality professional, sexual health educator, and promoter) came to a public clash in the Instagram sexual wellness community. The crux of their contention was captured and corroborated by a collective report subsequently produced and ratified by a group of Black Femmes, whose joint statements revealed a troubling pattern of behavior defining their dealings with Wildflower. The core of this pattern was ultimately based on the exploitative use of Black Femmes to undermine their rivals, while simultaneously appearing progressive for having used Black Femmes as tokens of inclusivity within the spaces of social media that comprise a broader “wellness industrial com‑ plex” in which they participate and influence. In looking at the case of Black Femmes vs Wildflowersex, it is easy enough to describe the con‑ flict as a contention between two leaders of a community developed and experienced by users of so‑ cial media, leaders who communicate ideologies, selfhood, grievances, personal communications, as well as products to their overlapping follower‑consumer bases. Through Instagram, Whitney and Wildflower have, in a court of public opinion, in an arena of user‑follower review, prosecuted de‑ fenses; provided proofs to corroborate and substantiate counter‑proofs; and engaged, condemned, and allied with members of their intersecting market bases. All of this was, in some way, an attempt to engineer consent to their point of view. One might contend that such conflagrations are, at this point in the history of social media, so de rigueur as to be banal and not worthy of comment. A counter might assert that such a conclusion is a direct manifestation of the success of the techniques 130

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of mind engineering outlined by Bernays above and those systems of mind engineering influenced by him. While it is true that online conflict in some form is a seeming default of usership, we should be careful to not overlook the techniques of EoC that are often employed in such contentions. With Whitney and Wildflower, one can easily deduce the presence of EoC. Their narratives and counter‑narratives concerning race, gender, sexuality, authenticity, and profit, like some of the most potent forms of propaganda, both rely on “the aspirations, fears and loyalties” of their respective audiences (Kimble 2005: 212). This seems an obvious observation. However, what is interesting is how much the technique and underlying ethos of this contemporary example mirror the initial techniques of public manipulation and coercion refined and put forward by Bernays himself. Whitney’s “Dildon’t Disrespect Black Femmes: Our Personal Experiences with Wild Flower Sex Shop” (2019) details several personal accounts from Black Femmes who felt maligned, ex‑ ploited, and harmed by the owners of Wildflower – Nick and Amy, “two able‑bodied, femme‑ and masculine‑presenting white individuals” (Whitney 2019). To Whitney and other Black Femmes, Wildflower presented itself as a widely influential “non‑binary digital sex shop that centered pleas‑ ure, inclusivity, and education”. After an initially tepid reception, Wildflower and Whitney began what ostensibly appeared to be a collaborative relationship in May 2018. Whitney reveals that early into their relationship, Wildflower’s founders divulged a narrative of ideological and ethi‑ cal concerns against their rivals Unbound Babes, another progressive sex‑toy company run and founded entirely by multi‑ethnic women with strong Instagram influence. In view of those in‑ volved, their image, and their self‑professed ethic of progress and inclusivity, these recriminations were not minor. For example Unbound received $2 million in funding from Peter Thiels, a right‑wing conservative, and do‑ nor who supported Donald Trump’s presidential campaign. Peter Thiels was anti‑woman, anti‑choice, homophobic, and the sole reason behind the bank‑ ruptcy of Gawker, the former online media company and blog network. Unbound has willingly kept this information from the public and has evaded Amy’s attempts to hold them accountable, and the one potential reason Polly (the CEO and co‑founder of Unbound) was able to evade that accountability was by allegedly using her previous cancer diagnosis as deflective sympathy against critique. As Amy was being vocal about Unbound on their Instagram and Facebook, Amy received a cease and desist letter from Unbound, telling them that if they continued to speak about what they knew, Amy would be sued. Amy was frustrated that they had been silenced and wished Unbound would be exposed for who they really were. (Whitney 2019) In view of the list of allegations, one might ask what role does Whitney play in Wildflower’s ri‑ valry with Unbound Babes. She notes While it was never explicitly stated or requested by Amy or Nick that [she] take on the re‑ sponsibility of sharing [the narrative about Unbound she’d received] with [her] own friends and peers, hearing Amy and Nick complain about how hard it was for them, a relatively new indie sex toy business, to make it on their own without the mass support of venture capital‑ ists and to hear them express how much integrity and intentionality they were bringing into their business […], [she] chose to take up the fight. (Whitney 2019) 131

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Amid the palpable sense of personal drama and a litany of grievances, the underlying question is whether Wildflower used Whitney, her ideals, praxis, race, orientation, and maybe even naiveté, to engineer her consent in becoming a tool against its rivals. It is a concern Whitney herself notes as she questioned whether Nick and Amy had any interest in supporting her and her work beyond the dividends good optics in the form of a collaboration with her could afford. Worse, in terms of the concept and praxes of mind engineering, is the possibility Whiney grapples with: that Wild‑ flower maintained a relationship only with her to leverage the authenticity of her subject position to undermine their competitors. As Whitney notes, the concern here is whether or not Wildflower reduced her to not only a corporate bludgeon but also “a black face/body they could put on their Instagram to prove their intersectionality, diversity, and inclusiveness” (Whitney 2019). At the bottom, for Whitney and the other Black Femme complainants, Wildflowersex used her to tap into their customer’s desire for feelings and displays of inclusivity in its products by simply adding the image of equitable collaboration with a popular Black femme. The implication of Whitney’s critique is as important as it is timely. This is because, among other things, EoC, in all its myriad manifolds of power and ideology, is also a matter of privilege. The issue of privilege, in this case, to exploit Black Femme sexuality professionals, specifically as superficial totems of inclusivity and pawns of corporate rivalry, re‑affirms itself alongside the pejorative and exploitative notion that black female labor is, by its very nature, exploitable. Here, the subtext of the role black women are sequestered to, encapsulated in a triad of longstanding stereotypes that sideline black women and caricature any attempts at revolt against that sidelin‑ ing, re‑emerge albeit anamorphically, compared to the explicitness of the mammy, jezebel, and sapphire. Could it be that white privilege here acted as a refracting lens through and by which exploitative praxes against black women could be sublimated and re‑narrativized into what os‑ tensibly looked like its opposite, namely, inclusivity, allyship, and active progressiveness? Ash‑ leighchubbybunny, another well‑known Black Femme sexuality professional who had negative dealings with Wildflower, offers an astute observation of how authenticity became simultaneously a type of capital, as well as a grammar, of mind engineering. Noting the importance of white privi‑ lege within the spaces that comprise online sex‑positive activities, Ashleighchubbybunny states I feel that people inherently think that because talking about sex is such a “freeing” thing, that these conversations and spaces that they occur in are inclusive by default – which is not true. They are still headed by and representative of varying degrees of proximity to ­whiteness – and more times than not led by white women. Which is why what I’m doing as a fat, queer black woman is still seen as “revolutionary” and “inspiring” because the common narrative of my sexual experiences as it pertains to other people is one of settling, trauma, hypersexualization and fetishization. (Ashleigh quoted in Whitney 2019) I call this observation astute because it recognizes the hypocritical dissonance between the narrative(s) of sexual, racial, and bodily inclusivity and representation and the still racist and classist undercurrents determining the flows of sociopolitical, economic, and cultural power that influence every aspect of the contemporary narrative and sale of sex/sexuality. Therefore, when taken in the guise of doses of self‑care, healing, and decolonization, there is often a risk of repeat‑ ing narratives of contemporary sex and sexuality that offer nothing but newer, perhaps even more insidious avenues, for capitalist exploitations to manifest themselves. It is this narrative that brings physical acts of pleasure, the products used therein, the ideology of inclusivity, wellness, progress,

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and the digital act of purchasing together to form a taut kernel of trauma and exclusion that still underpins much of the spaces of the broader wellness industrial complex. To date, Wildflower has offered a stilted and latently defensive non‑dialogical explanation of the situation before it was hastily taken down from their official Instagram page. Much of the critique I recall took Wildflower to task for overlooking, almost entirely, the psycho‑emotional consequences of their exploitative business praxes. Whitney notes how she felt manipulated by Wildflower into turning on herself by turning on similar figures in the sexual wellness community, allowing Wildflower to let its competition destroy itself without getting its hands dirty (Whitney 2019). The underlying manipulative dimensions of this contestation were further reinforced by Whitney’s subsequent conversations with the owner of Unbound Babes, who revealed to Whitney that the allegations leveled against them by Wildflower were categorically false (Whitney 2019). The question then becomes: why did Wildflower bring Whitney into their confidence with a false and defamatory narrative? Whitney herself gives a succinct answer: “I feel that they used me as an object [,] as a Black queer femme to give themselves clout and validate themselves as intersec‑ tional and inclusive” (Whitney 2019). She continues For a platform that claims to be so inclusive, Amy and Nick (two white, cis passing people) take up a lot of space within their own social media. I have yet to see any posts from them highlighting other sexuality educators of color and their expertise on their platform – unless it’s to use their image on WF’s Instagram feed as objects to prove their diversity. As a Black femme who was once featured on WF’s Instagram feed, it has felt more so connected to their brand and company and not my own personhood or humanity. (Whitney 2019) Here, we see a flattening of sexuality, gender, and race into tokens of authenticity used to purchase the attention and brand loyalty of user‑followers in the sexual wellness community. The narrativi‑ zation and symbolization of this process, in a variety of intersectional forms and formats, is the very definition of EoC.

Conclusion: Never Forget the Schematics Perhaps the conflict described above may garner no surprise in any contemporary reader famil‑ iar with social media and the current digital landscape. Perhaps the advent of stronger artificial intelligence (AI), specifically image‑centric recognition software, and image‑generation AI like Midjourney and Stable Diffusion and their potential lines of exploitation are of more immediate interest and concern.3 However, I would be cautious in thinking about the situation above, cer‑ tainly one of myriad; it should be dismissed as a relic of a bygone error of social media capitalism and engineered consent. This chapter has tried to argue that what the conflict between Wildflower and Whitney and other Black Femmes reveals are digitized echoes of Bernaysean mind engineer‑ ing in both overt and subtle ways. The tokenistic exploitation of individuals’ subject positions, in this case as black and queer, to help in the engineering of a cohesive public image of inclusivity and progressive ethics elicits a multidimensional effect. One could conclude that a dimension of this effect is certainly overt because the success of this kind of tactical tokenism relies precisely on narrativized assumptions of authenticity based on the visibility of those exploited. It is the imagis‑ tic or textual visibility of the queerness and blackness of these exploited individuals that engenders

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a feeling of authenticity associated with a brand that ostensibly enacts the ethics it extols. Here, the surfaces of textual and imagistic content of the brand and its products cohere around a per‑ ceived core of authenticity and ethical rectitude. As a result, this engineered feeling of authenticity becomes an attribute of both the products of the company and the company itself. Therefore, pur‑ chasing what appears authentic and progressive allows the purchaser to participate in an activity that potentially feels revolutionary and progressive. Through purchase, the user‑customer can also feel a sense of psycho‑emotional well‑being accessed through the image of an authentically pro‑ gressive product sold by an authentically progressive company. The interiority of this dimension of the above effect makes it easier for one to describe as subtle. However, in the last instance, one could be left asking whether any aspect of contemporary digital culture, capital, and their collec‑ tive effects on the minds and feelings of user‑customers is in any way subtle at all. The conflict between ostensibly inclusive sex‑positive businesses operating on Instagram and their interpolation not only of the issues and debates of wellness broadly speaking but the bodies, specifically the visibility, of black female bodies engineered two narratives. One concerns the os‑ tensible adroitness of sex‑positive ideology, products, and lifestyles. The other is a narrative of the bankruptcy of the same in their chief rivals. In each instance, the ostensible and subtle narratives, the conscious and unconscious narratives, redound to the same goal: to safeguard Wildflower’s position as a, if not the, most profitable and lauded white‑owned brand of its kind. While both narratives engineered by Wildflower sought to enrich themselves, neither can function without the exploitative and paradoxical inclusion/exclusion of Black Femmes. As Karmenife, another Black Femme negatively impacted by WF, notes, the issue here is black women and femmes being dehumanized and viewed as mouthpieces, not human beings with autonomy […] As painful as this is, it comes as no surprise to me […] This is white feminist violence, something that black women and femmes constantly have to deal with and fight against. I was treated like an object, something to be used so that I do all the work while Wildflowersex collects all the profit without speaking on it themselves […] This behavior is violent, anti black. (Karmenife quoted in Whitney 2019) In this sense, the narratives of Wildflower wellness reveal how a Bernaysean kind of mind engi‑ neering can endure because the narratives engineered by Wildflower have no intention of altering the objective conditions that necessitated its countermanding. It is far more profitable to rather commercialize and sell the feeling of progress behind the idea of sexual wellness and inclusiv‑ ity, exploiting Black Femmes to achieve this end. What the Black Femme critique of Wildflower and the sexuality professional/sexual wellness industries and communities more broadly reveals is that the “diversity quota” narratives subtending them are, in the last instance, concerned with securing several key things. These include, but are not limited to, profit and privilege, specifically white privilege, the privilege to command, determine, engineer, and influence. The potency of authenticity as a mind engineering vector is also among them. But, and it is important to note this, the conflict between these companies and individuals also affirms progress in other ways. This is because the case of Wildflower and Black Femmes marks an instance wherein the engineering of these narratives, in part and only briefly, failed. It seems that Wildflower did not anticipate the soli‑ darity, tenacity, and courage of Black Femme sexuality professionals who, aside from constituting a part of the wellness industrial complex at large, also importantly act as ideologues, influencers, and community leaders within the spaces and debates of sex positivity. It is for this reason that Black Femmes speaking out is so important. It is only through their testimonials, critiques, and 134

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willingness for open dialogue/debate, despite the depredations and disadvantages they’ve expe‑ rienced and overcome, that the truth of the engineering of sex‑positive wellness can be exposed, redressed, and/or debunked.

Notes 1 See particularly, S. Bogatyriova, R. R. Garifullin, O. A. Dotsenko. A. A. Diakov, S. G. Kara‑Murza, O. Yu. Balezina, A. S. Tkhostov and A. S. Neliubina who have studied the problem of information manipulation. The research by V. P. Sediakin and I. V. Solovyov provides elaboration on the information needs theory by the information consumers. P. H. Gasanova, O. M. Lozova, and V. F. Petrenko investigate the psychose‑ mantic aspects of ordinary consciousness. The research is based on various theories and approaches: psy‑ chosemantic approach to the human consciousness (O. F. Bondarenko, V. F. Petrenko, O. A. Lapshova), ordinary consciousness theory (Ye. Kant, S. B. Krymskii, N. L. Muskheleshvili), social consciousness theory (L. S. Vygotsky and A. N. Leontiev, O. M. Lozova), mess media influence theory (J. Klapper, L. A. Naidionova, V. O. Popova, J. Baudrillard, M. McLuhan), theory of combination of the real and elusive in ordinary consciousness (F. Garyfillin, V. F. Kazibekova, O. Ulybina), theory of ethnic stereotypes (O. M. Lozova, V. F. Petrenko, O. V. Ulybina), theory of social stereotypes (W.Lippman, L. P. Mardyieva, S. G. Osmachko), theory of manipulation by mass consciousness (S. G. Kara‑Murza). 2 WASP stands for White, Anglo‑Saxon, Protestant. 3 “Levi’s to Test Diverse AI Models to Be More Inclusive”, and “Racial Discrimination in Face Recognition Technology” Harvard University.

References Bernays, E. (1928). Propaganda. New York: Ig Publishing. ——— (1947). ‘The Engineering of Consent’, The Annals of the American Academy of Political and Social Science, 250(1), 113–120. Burgoon, J. K., & Jones, S. B. (1976). ‘Toward a Theory of Personal Space Expectations and Their Viola‑ tions’, Human Communication Research, 2, 131–146. Celeste Walley‑Jean, J. (2009). ‘Debunking the Myth of the “Angry Black Woman”: An Exploration of Anger in Young African American Women’, Black Women, Gender + Families, 3(2), 68–86. https://www.jstor. org/stable/10.5406/blacwomegendfami.3.2.0068. Curtis, A. (2002). The Century of the Self. Wyandotte, MI: BigD Productions, BBC. Dominiak, M. C. (2004). ‘The Concept of Branding: Is It Relevant to Nursing?’, Nursing Science Quarterly, 17(4), 295–300. Glenn, C. L., & Cunningham, L. J. (2009). ‘The Power of Black Magic: The Magical Negro and White Salva‑ tion in Film’, Journal of Black Studies, 40(2), 135–152. Global Wellness Institute. (2018). ‘2018 Global Wellness Economy Monitor’, Globalwellnessinstitute.org. https://globalwellnessinstitute.org/industry‑research/2018‑global‑wellness‑economy‑monitor/. Gobe, M. (2001). Emotional Branding: The New Paradigm for Connecting Brands to People. New York: Allworth Press. Häring, N., & Douglas, N. (2012). Economists and the Powerful: Convenient Theories, Distorted Facts, Ample Rewards. London: Anthem Press. Hess, A. (2019, August 19). ‘The New Spiritual Consumerism’, The New York Times. https://www.nytimes. com/2019/08/19/arts/queer‑eye‑kondo‑makeover.html. Kassam, L. (2017). ‘“Mmm bacon”: The Engineering Of Consent’, Medium. https://medium.com/@laila. kassam/mmm‑bacon‑the‑engineering‑of‑consent‑872e4476efd2. Keller, K. (2003). ‘Understanding Brands, Branding and Brand Equity’, Interactive Marketing, 5, 7–20. https://doi.org/10.1057/palgrave.im.4340213. Kimble, K. K. (2005). ‘Whither Propaganda? Agonism and “The Engineering of Consent”’, Quarterly Jour‑ nal of Speech, 91(2), 201–218. https://doi.org/10.1080/00335630500291521. Levine, B. E. (2011). Get Up, Stand Up: Uniting Populists, Energizing the Defeated, and Battling the Corpo‑ rate Elite. Vermont: Chelsea Green Publishing. Lippmann, W. (1965). Public Opinion. New York: Free Press.

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9 MANIPULATIVE PRACTICES OF PROGRAMMING AND CONTROLLING EMPLOYEE BEHAVIOUR IN THE ACTIVITIES OF CHINESE MANAGERS Pavel Deriugin, Liubov Lebedintseva, and Evgeny Kremnyov Introduction In the sociology of mainland China, the practices of manipulative programming and behavioural control of employees in organisations are considered through the traditional concept of “Jiao hua” (literally “training and nurturing”), which is expressed in the acceptance of an attitude towards managers, which implies a high degree of trust in them and a willingness to follow their instruc‑ tions. (Zhao 2005: 85–88). This is natural, because it is generally accepted that any managerial activity can be seen as a set of manipulative practices that shape the appropriate behaviour of em‑ ployees in organisations to achieve the goals of the activity (Babiuk 2004: 128). In general, Chinese management theory recognises such practices as legitimate, although they are not very common as a topic of sociological research. It can also be said that ethical problems in this regard are perceived quite tolerantly by the Chinese, without fear or demands for legal restrictions ­(Molchanov et al. 2019: 58 and 67). In particular, Berman’s studies show that it is impossible to completely exclude elements of neuroeconomic and neurolinguistic studies of programming practices or manipulative control over the behaviour of personnel from the practical work of organisations (Berman 2015: 497–546). However, it should always be remembered that, in the Chinese tradition, the recognition of the primacy of morality, reputation and a sharp condemnation of any kind of dishonesty in doing business is an important part of the study of managerial activity (Tong 2022). Manipulation is based on one of the basic properties of consciousness (Stepanenko 2012: 166), namely, involuntary and one‑sided perception of information (Kilmashkina et al. 2021: 442), since any management in a certain sense is always coercive and is aimed at covert programming and verification of the volitional, intellectual and emotional efforts of the object of control and the implementation of the will and power of leaders. Manipulative practices can be considered a reflection of the manager’s internal attitudes and external forms of their manifestation (Lobanova and Tersakova 2019: 450). In essence, manipula‑ tion externally manifests itself as a set of methods and techniques used by the manager to pro‑ gramme the behaviour of subordinates.

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DOI: 10.4324/9781003289746-12

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The subject of this study was to identify the manipulative practices of Chinese executives and attitudes towards the manipulation of different social groups. The research questions included iden‑ tifying the manipulative practices of Chinese organisational leaders and studying the attitudes of several Chinese social groups towards manipulative practices, i.e. answering the questions: (1) What are the scientific approaches to the analysis of the manipulative practices of Chinese managers from a ­sociological–historical perspective? (2) What are the manipulative practices of modern Chinese leaders? (3) How do respondents working in different fields, of different ages and experiences relate to manipulation: managers, civil servants, military personnel, intellectuals, engineers and medical workers; employees of large and small commercial organisations and young entrepreneurs; represent‑ atives of the older generation and youth; respondents with managerial experience and without it. In the following sections of the chapter, the results of our study will be presented and discussed in detail.

Historical and Sociological Overview of Manipulation as an Element of Management Manipulation has always accompanied managing people since the earliest human communities and in a sense is an immanent attribute of management in any society (Knyazeva 2010: 220–221). It is known that Shen Dao, long before Machiavelli, suggested that a ruler should combine strength and charm to govern more effectively. In his view, “being dignified” is not enough to subdue the people. For these purposes it is necessary to possess the power of authority to “subdue the dignified” (Udaltsov 2007: 664). Under conditions of market relations, manipulation becomes a mass and common practice of social interaction: manipulation creates the modern world (Yuren‑ kov 2013: 21–23). It should be noted that, although a considerable number of socio‑humanitarian scholars have studied manipulation, little attention has been paid to the genesis of the phenomenon (Bernays 2012: 149–159). We have identified several approaches to the consideration of the his‑ torical evolution of this phenomenon. According to the first approach, manipulation has existed “forever” (Makarovsky 2009: 164– 172). Magical forces, rituals and rites, and gods and sacrifices were the basis of influencing peo‑ ple, a way of social programming and control and reproduction of actual forms of behaviour and patterns of activity. The Olympian gods, as is known, had a clear hierarchy – some gods were subordinate to others. It was this, according to some authors, that gave rise to man’s conscious perception of hierarchical relationships and the recognition of a system in which one member of society controls another. Makarovsky argues that the function of social control emerged together with the birth of human society, and manipulation appeared during the transition from a family community to a neighbourhood community, when the first inter‑group conflicts arose. Further, with regard to the period of slavery, manipulation is studied as an open and perverted nature of the relationship between leadership and slavery, where the master–slave relations were built at the local level of direct influence – interpersonal open manipulation (Crachov 2003: 450). For similar reasons, manipulation is later seen as a factor in ethical problems. The question of how relevant these problems are remains open. In 2014, the Presidential Commission on the Study of Bioethi‑ cal Issues was established in the United States to investigate the bioethical issues associated with the use of neurotechnological manipulation technologies that affect the problems of stratification, the emergence of special groups and the disclosure of personal data (Jones et al. 2014: 224–236). However, the commission did not reach any unequivocal conclusions. The second approach we identify was applied by Crachov and Melnik (2004), who describe the transformation and expansion of manipulative practices starting from the ancient Chinese era, when in the early stages, manipulation was reflected only in certain areas of interaction and 138

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eventually spread to all spheres of human life. Chinese scholars began to comprehend ancient ­Chinese conceptions of ruling by “implanting” ideas convenient for rulers into human conscious‑ ness quite early: in 1906, the Chinese philosopher and populariser of sociology Zhang Binlin wrote that Confucianism was used by rulers to cultivate passivity among the masses, to eradicate the desire to participate in the affairs of governing the country (Taiyan 1906). The early 20th‑century debate in China exposed considerable social contradictions (Kremnyov 2019: 116–142) caused by the centuries‑old manipulation of the public mind through traditional values (Zhang 1960), philosophy and the educational system, religious cults (Changing 1903), etc. Conversely, the rep‑ resentatives of another approach, point out that manipulation acquired its status only during the formation of industrial society (Limnatis 2000: 31). The division of labour and stratification of society played an important role there (Babiuk 2004: 128). The third approach links the emergence of manipulation not so much with the development of social forms of life as with domination and subjugation. For instance, Ortega y Gasset writes about the need for a spiritual dictatorship. Most people have no opinion. People have only value judgments … But without opinions, human society would be chaos, even more so, “historical nothingness”, so opinions “must be squeezed into people under pressure from the outside, like lubricating oil into a machine”. (Knyazeva 2010: 220–221) Such pressure is a manipulative influence, which becomes a forced practice of interaction. This role of management as a tool for “overcoming irrationality” through the actualisation of “correct” and “rational” behaviour as conceived by leaders is noted by many Chinese sociologists, in particular Zhao Lili and Qiu Xihua (Zhao 2005: 85–88). In some cases, the obligatory manipulative function is attributed not only to the management process as such but also to the sciences that study it. For example, Yuan Shaoqing and Tao Wenjun point out that a Marxist sociology of governance should, based on human needs and motives, through the coordination and control of social groups and interpersonal relations in governance, stimulate and induce human behaviour, prevent and correct irrational modes of action, and eliminate factors that hinder the implementation of governance goals. (Yuan 1987: 58–61) In addition to the three approaches mentioned above, one more concept should be highlighted, according to which manipulation in the activities of leaders is spread through the media in the information society (Chernikova 2015: 141–144). Sociologists from different countries and ori‑ entations associate a new stage in the development of manipulative practices with the widespread use of the media as a means of control by those in power: “Radio programmes and advertising are replacing intimidation and violence” (Kara‑Murza 2005: 35). The aim of manipulation through the mass media can be described as the introduction of certain attitudes into the subconscious of people and the formation of behaviour patterns. If we consider the practices of manipulative interaction at the micro level, then at the organisa‑ tional level they arose from the earliest forms of interaction between managers and subordinates. With the transformation of forms of ownership and the emergence of new types of interaction of labour relations, the nature of the manipulative influence of organisational leaders has also changed. Manipulative practices in the activities of managers are especially widespread in modern information (digital) societies. 139

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Manipulative Practices of Managers as an Object of Sociological Analysis The concept of manipulation is used both in everyday and scientific sense. The word “manipula‑ tion” has Latin roots “manus”, which originally meant “hand, handful” (Shanskiy and Bobrova 2004); i.e. originally, manipulation meant a certain action with the hands, as a trick or fraud. So today the term “manipulation” is mostly also perceived negatively at the everyday level. The ety‑ mology of another word – management – is also associated with the concept of a hand. As sources indicate, the Italian “maneggiare” (“to manage; to touch with hands”) also goes back to the Latin manus “hand” (Etymology 2023). Thus, manipulation and management, both conceptually and substantively, are connected with the activities of leading people. The Chinese terms are similarly comparable, only in a different, ideographic key: thus, the sign of “hand” (扌) is present as a semantic sign both in the first hieroglyph of the lexical unit with the meaning of “manipulation” (操纵) and in the first hieroglyph of the word “management” (控制). In the sociological encyclopaedia, manipulation is understood as a way of social influence on people through various economic, political, social media and mass media. At the same time, the purpose of such influence is considered to be the imposition of certain ideas, values, forms of behaviour, etc. (Manipulation 2009). The main areas of study of manipulation in sociology include the following: (1) manipulation of public opinion and public consciousness (Dotsenko 2003; Kara‑Murza 2005; Sheynov 2006; Chaldini 2012; Gorin 2013: 120–126); (2) manipulation in mass media (Malyukova 2011: 105–109; Chernikova 2015: 141–144; Lisova 2015: 52); (3) ma‑ nipulation technologies in the political sphere (Gorin 2013: 120–126); (4) manipulation practices in pedagogy (Gudina 2011: 14–21); manipulation in organisations (Nuridzhanov 2013).

Distinctive Social Features of Managers’ Manipulative Practices as an Object of Sociological Research As an object of sociological research, manipulative practices have a number of distinctive char‑ acteristics which lie in the special relationship between the subject and the object of manipulation and are conditioned by the regularities of the social order. They can be combined into several groups. Firstly, the manipulative practices of managers take place in an environment of direct contact, and therefore in sociology they should be considered as a special form of interpersonal interac‑ tion (Kuptsov 2004: 91–106). This distinguishes the sociological interpretation of the concept from pedagogical, managerial and other definitions which traditionally emphasise the one‑sided nature of manipulation: as “impact” (management, pedagogy), “influence” (psychology, political science) or “use” (economics). Society is a unified holistic system of connections and interactions (Weber 1990), and management, according to Chinese principles, becomes more effective if the manager allows the organisation’s employees to “maintain morale and a sense of success in their work” (Hu 1995: 14–21). Secondly, the study of theoretical sources in sociology shows that manipulation involves the exclusion (circumvention) of consciousness and disregard for the interests and values of others, which is defined as its essential characteristic. On the contrary, we believe that the sociological understanding of manipulation cannot ignore the interests and values of people. It is obvious that at least in all manipulative interactions there are always two facets of social consequences that can be characterised as “functional” and “dysfunctional”, depending on the value bases of the partici‑ pants’ actions. In Chinese sociology, for example, the value bases of management are one of the

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key issues studied by researchers (Gong 2014). All this requires an interdisciplinary approach in the study of the value base of managers’ manipulative practices. Thirdly, the sociological understanding of manipulation should orient the definition of this category in relation to the goals that the manager‑manipulator invents for the addressee and seeks to embed them in the addressee’s psyche (Dotsenko 2003). Relying on the concepts of interpretive sociology, we classify the manipulative practices of leaders as an ideal type of social action – purposive action (Coleman 2004: 35–44). According to the main provisions of Weber, purposive‑­ rational action is an individual’s action oriented on the expectation of certain behaviour of other people and the state of objects of the external world, as well as rational regulation of goals, means and side effects of one’s own behaviour designed to achieve success (Weber 1990). In other words, in purposive‑rational action, the subject of social action realises his goal, rationally determines the means to achieve it (Kultygin 2004: 27–36) and correlates his own behaviour with the desired and possible reactions of other people. The criterion of the effectiveness of such action is the achieve‑ ment of success, which fully applies to the activity of a manager as well (Zhang 1987). Finally, the manipulative practices of managers in sociology should be seen as practices of cov‑ ert and overt interaction. Modern researchers predominantly consider the covert nature of manipu‑ lation, while the object acts as a “victim” of such control. Many authors dealing with the topic of manipulation refer to the works of Sheynov (Sheynov 2006; 2007; 2009) and equate the concepts of “manipulation” and “covert management”. Covert control is such an influence of the initiator on the addressee, when the addressee makes decisions and performs the actions conceived by the initiator without feeling the impact (Sheynov 2006). Thus, manipulative practices of managers should be understood in sociology as socially condi‑ tioned interactions between the initiator (manager) and the object of organisational relations (sub‑ ordinates), in which various means are explicitly or implicitly used to achieve the organisational goals of the initiator, while the goals and values of the object of interaction may not be taken into account. This can effect changes in the structure of relations, potentially with both positive and negative consequences.

Manipulative Practices of Managers in Chinese Organisations Using the concept of “practices”, we emphasise the habitual, i.e. more or less common forms of manipulation in the activities of managers, which combine specific techniques, methods and tac‑ tics. This is important to note, because in the literature, there is often a synonymisation of the types of manipulative influence of managers, i.e. its techniques, methods and tactics. In our opinion, ma‑ nipulation techniques should be interpreted as specific actions or methods of manipulation (there are many such specific actions). For example, it can be the use of terms and concepts unfamiliar to the subordinate; influencing the emotions of others; creating the impression of short deadlines for faster achievement of the organisation’s goals; emphasising the uniqueness and unexpectedness of the upcoming work; regular exposure to significant areas of the organisation’s activity; break‑ ing the task into parts (when only part of the necessary information is presented to employees); taking out of context‑specific information about the content of the upcoming work; modifying the information in accordance with one’s own opinion (mixing facts and the leader’s opinion); referring to authority when setting goals for activities; and highlighting stereotypes and generally accepted patterns of behaviour in similar situations (Kara‑Murza 2005). The specific manipulation techniques described below allow managers to unobtrusively programme the minds of the organi‑ sation’s employees in the desired direction.

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Manipulation techniques and methodologies can include a combination of the specific manipu‑ lation techniques described earlier and manipulation steps arranged in a specific sequence. Such techniques can effectively programme or control the behaviour of an organisation’s personnel over a period of time. For example, a set of manipulations that make it less painful to build relationships when changing the management structure of an organisation or reducing staff. Rather, manipulation tactics can be represented as a line or trajectory of using manipulation techniques and methods. Tactics can, for example, be characterised as harder or, conversely, softer manipulation. Manipulative practices are the most generalised concept and in this case are understood as a set of sustained manipulative techniques, methods and tactics that are most often used by managers and develop into a manipulative experience that is established and based on the positive results of management and in conscious goal‑setting aimed at programming and controlling the activities and behaviour of employees. Based on our review of works on managers’ manipulative practices (Smith 1999, 2011), we will try to systematise the main characteristics of these practices (Pavlova 2013, 16–45). To summa‑ rise, we can say that manipulative practices of managers are most consistently implemented in the process of various negotiations (Statsevich et al. 2007), both with employees of the organisation and with external agents, stakeholders, customers, suppliers and competitors: “The negotiation process is implemented in all those situations of interpersonal interaction in which interests are coordinated or clarified (mutually or unilaterally)” (Grachov and Melnik 2004). Alternatively, we can say that manipulation is primarily relevant in typical managerial situations and communica‑ tions. There is a certain stereotypical feature of such manipulations, irrespective of the specific situation in which the interaction takes place. Specific manipulative techniques (to be described below) vary only slightly in standard situations. In particular, the manager’s manipulative prac‑ tices may not change in situations of hiring personnel or exercising current control, regulating the work process, dealing with crises, dismissal, etc. In such different situations, the manager has to act traditionally, diagnosing the position of the subordinate, and then determining the “targets” of influence and using manipulation tactics to achieve the goals: asserting the authority of the leader, negotiating in crises, striving for loyalty and establishing a hierarchy of relations, achieving discipline and obedience of subordinates and constitutionalising the boundaries of authority and responsibility (Grachov 2003). There are some consistent characteristics in the manipulative practices of Chinese managers, which are based on the following manipulation techniques – stratagems of programming and con‑ trol over subordinates, which adequately reflect the general management system in China. It is the stratagem thinking of the Chinese, as well as Confucianism and the peculiarities of the People’s Republic of China (PRC) as a state, which form the Chinese national style of conducting any ex‑ ecutive negotiations (Lewis 2013). Generalisations, i.e. the unification of certain phenomena into a general category, in most cases has a positive connotation (Odintsova 2010). In the case of Chinese managerial engineering of the mind, the supervisor tries to treat the object of his influence in a benevolent manner, e.g. by saying “my friends”, as it is important for the Chinese to maintain and develop a “spirit of friendship” and to establish informal relationships with partners (Papulova 2015). Reference group. Consider the following examples in combination with compliments: empha‑ sising the importance of the employee’s actions in the eyes of the team (“Everyone in the company sees how well you perform the task”), indicating a high assessment of the employee’s actions in the eyes of the manager (“I personally appreciate the fact that you completed the assigned tasks

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so well”). Here, in addition to compliments, we see a referral to different reference groups. The effectiveness of such practices in China is largely due to the collectivist social orientation of the Chinese in general and management in particular: the average Chinese seeks to create strong social ties – guanxi (关系) and seeks social approval (Song 2009). Labelling. This practice refers to abusive language and metaphorical expressions (Hovland et al. 1957) such as “insiders”/“outsiders” (自己人/圈外人) in combination with other manipu‑ lation techniques and is aimed not at humiliation but at receiving feedback after manipulation ­(Nikitina 2019). The boss would offend the subordinate only if the technique is used incorrectly, which is why the manager must be very skilful in combining it with other techniques. For example, if a Chinese employee is directly or indirectly labelled as an “outsider”, he feels outside the group, loses a sense of security and self‑confidence and will try to get into the circle of “insiders”. Appeal to authority, implying an urgent need to listen to the opinions of leaders, authorities and superstars. By referring to them, the leader reinforces his arguments, thereby giving them more credibility in the eyes of the object of manipulation (Hogan 2007). In Chinese society, which tends to be ethatist dominated (Dou 2014), it is preferable to refer to past and present political leaders. “Your guy”. Employees in Chinese organisations identifying with the group carry a positive charge (Arsenieva 2013). Thus, it is important for Chinese managers to present themselves as one of them. Sun Tzu advises: “Be like an innocent girl first – and the adversary will open the door for you” (Sun 2020); this is one way to gain favour. One of the common ways in which a Chinese leader interacts with subordinates is that the director, for all his undeniable power and authority, must maintain a patronisingly gentle and cordial attitude towards his subordinates, constantly apologising and thanking them for their labours (Zeng 1981). “The common carriage”. This technique emphasises belonging to the same group, community and social class. Here there is a connection between oneself and the group, for example, using the pronoun “us”: “You and I want us to have more visitors, so that our institution brings people only pleasant experiences” (Nuridzhanov 2013). In Chinese, the use of “inclusive we” (咱们, “you and I”) to reinforce the connection with the object of influence instead of the “exclusive we” (我们, “we”) may serve as a marker of this manipulation practice. This practice can be applied in China primarily because the spirit of harmony and shared success is the first priority in Chinese organisa‑ tions (Gao 1993). Multiplicity. In this case, information from the leader comes quickly and in multiple directions, he presents information in a large stream and/or abruptly changes the direction of his decisions (Sheynov 2006). In an excessive flow of information from the manager, the employee does not have time to notice when the manager’s arguments become weak or inappropriate and therefore can agree with them and start to act as the manager wants. It is also called the “Siege of Wei to save Zhao” (Senger 2004) (according to one of the traditional stratagems), i.e. to change the direction of the offensive in a direction unexpected for the opponent. Some researchers also attribute this strategy to the features of the Chinese worldview, which gravitates towards a holistic perception of reality (Malyavin 2013). Taunting. The Chinese do not like to be the object of taunting when it threatens them to “lose face”. Thus, the employee will avoid possible ridicule and try to please the manager. The effec‑ tiveness of this technique lies in the fact that it affects the internal mental processes and acts on the subconscious (Mordachev 2007). Becoming an object of taunting, the worker also becomes vulnerable to external psychological influences. Unlike the techniques where harsh and rude ex‑ pressions are used openly, a playful form of ridicule is not accepted with hostility by the object of manipulation due to its milder form of influence. In addition, in the practice of communication

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between the leaders and employees of a Chinese organisation, it is not allowed to ridicule (1) the politics, the political system of the PRC; (2) parents; (3) mentors (teachers); (4) food; (5) intimate relationships; (6) drug addiction; (7) law enforcement officials, etc. (Kosinova 2013: 675–676). Compliment. Praise produces a pleasant effect at any stage of human interaction. A subtle and skilful compliment is a typical example of manipulative influence. Such manipulative techniques are less commonly used in managerial practice, since the Chinese are generally more cautious about the use of compliments. In Chinese culture, compliments could also have a negative con‑ notation (could be seen as a kind of bribery, which is condemned). Therefore, managers are more likely to pay compliments to those who are older or have a higher social status (Ren 2019). Small concessions, favours. This manipulative technique has a positive effect if used systemati‑ cally (Grachev 2003). The condition for manipulation is the dismissal of employees from work a little earlier, the absence of financial punishment for breaking dishes, forgiveness tardiness and other “favours” that the Chinese leader gives to his subordinates instead of the harsh direct punish‑ ment that may follow. By accepting such benevolent favours, the employee is put in the position of a “debtor”. Reciprocity in relationships, the mutual exchange of “favours”, including within the framework of hierarchical relations, is one of the main features of relationships in organisa‑ tions (Malyavin 2007). Thus, Chinese sociologist Jia Yuijiao believes that a manager’s benevolent behaviour carries a significant resource due to the traditional significance of the concept of “Ren”, “humanity” (仁, the researcher points out that the character is a compound of two simple signs: “person” and “two”, i.e. “two people”, “people together”, “connection between people”) (Jia 2010). In doing so, the strictly hierarchical Chinese who develop tacit obedience tend to become dependent on a “kind”, “understanding” leader. Template phrases. The use of such phrases in the manipulative practice of Chinese leaders is due to the fact that the object of influence does not think about the exact meaning of the phrase, does not perform logical operations to analyse it, but perceives it as confirmation and reinforce‑ ment of the manipulator’s statement (Albertych 2018). In Chinese practice, pattern phrases are not only slogans, proverbs and signs, and set expressions but also lists of status characteristics of a person: Mr., Madam, Engineer, Director, etc. (Shardakov 2010). Implied choice. This technique is used in a situation where the leader expects a subordinate to make a decision or take an action for the sake of manipulation (Pustovoitova 2016). For example, the supervisor offers the target “non‑alternative” options: “Either you clean the kitchen now, or you stay at work for the night” (Senger 2004). Dosage of background information. In this case, the background information is presented, first, in parts, e.g. when hiring, the manager verbally describes all the job responsibilities of his subor‑ dinates, indicating that they are all recorded in writing, but, coincidentally, the list could not be printed before the start of negotiations (Grachov and Melnik 2004). In general, dosed communica‑ tion is highlighted as an essential feature of interaction with Chinese managers (Galeeva 2013). This practice comes from the symbolic communication inherent in the ritual, which requires “looking at the signs to guess the essence”. This approach allows the manager to hide information about which the employee should guess and speculate and not ask directly (Malyavin 2013). Chi‑ nese businessmen explain this concept as follows: the art of managing people the Chinese way is to make workers guess what the manager has in mind: this puts them in a position where they are forced to please the boss (Redding 1996). Management of the discussion process. Discussion process management refers to the meth‑ ods of organisational manipulation (Parshukov 2020). The choice of the place and time of any dialogue between the manager and subordinates in the Chinese organisation is used as a kind of manipulation, in which the leader of the organisation wins (Leichenko 2007). When and under what 144

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circumstances the communication process will be structured has a direct impact on its success. In addition to choosing the time and place, researchers identify some other ways to manage the discus‑ sion process “with Chinese characteristics”: taking the initiative in determining the principles of ne‑ gotiations, exploiting the weaknesses of partners, imposing a sense of shame, etc. (Malyavin 2007). Referencing. The manipulative practice of “Referencing” involves the repetition by the man‑ ager of the position of the employee, which can be modified and transformed in the process of such retelling (Ksheminsky 2016). As numerous sources show, in Chinese culture, only the boss can make decisions, so abstracting the positions of subordinates by their immediate supervisor is con‑ sidered a stable norm (Palkin 2019). The “summary” technique can also be applied to “Referenc‑ ing” where the supervisor summarises the overall message, which also undergoes some changes and puts the right emphasis. Annoying the interlocutor. Annoyance is based on identifying weaknesses in a person (­Manipulation 2021). The principle of “management without action” (achieving maximum results with minimum effort (Anikina 2016)) implies restraint, which often leads to emotional irritation of the subordinate. One of the most common practices is delaying the resolution of important issues when it is unprofitable for the manager. In such situations, the patient wins, while time is more often on the side of the one who is higher in status. Impatience, irritability and excessive demands are perceived as weakness and inability to succeed in negotiations (Malyavin 2007). Self‑glorification. Self‑glorification is used as the opposite of taunting and labelling (Semi‑ zdralova 2012). The examples are “take my word for it”, “I have been in the field for years”, “ become a leader first, and then you can reason”, etc. In real management practice in China, this technique is not uncommon, despite the desire for modesty declared by Chinese culture. This practice is stimulated by another characteristic of the Chinese – the tendency towards hierarchical relationships (Laaksonen 1988) which leads to the automatic recognition that the leader is smarter and more talented than the subordinate. The use of unfamiliar words and terms. For China, the success of this practice is determined primarily by the “cult of an educated person”: such a person, by definition, has a higher status in society – when communicating with him, people with a lower level of education experience a depressing effect, aided by the use of terms and unfamiliar words. Unfamiliar words always put people in an awkward position; some clarify their meaning, while others do not want to seem ignorant or pretend that they know the meaning and nod their heads meaningfully (Malyukova 2011: 105–109). It is only clear that the technique has a psychological effect on the object of manipulation, and the feelings of shame, guilt, incompetence, and innocence make the object of manipulation more vulnerable. Avoiding unwanted discussions, breakdowns. This manipulative technique of manoeuvring dur‑ ing conversations with subordinates allows the leader to control the situation, steer it in the right direction and prevent it from developing in a way that the leader did not expect (Levin 2009). The supervisor can use this technique to resolve a conflict situation and prevent it from developing further. The phrase “That’s it, close the topic and get back to work” demonstrates mastery of the situation, authority and power. From the perspective of Chinese ethnoconsciousness, this also dem‑ onstrates the ability to prevent emerging conflicts – one of the most important qualities of a leader, which is highly valued by the Chinese who generally tend to avoid open conflicts (Yu 2011: 121). Question manipulation. Interrogative sentences are typical for any discussion (Lyubimov 2013). Among the manipulative questions, the following types can be distinguished: (1) Question‑­ repetition: Did you understand the task? Is there something you don’t understand about what I’m saying? (2) Use of counter questions: Tell me, will we have 13 salaries? – What do you think? (3) Questions that cannot be answered: Don’t you learn from your mistakes? (4) Non‑alternative 145

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question: You don’t want to leave tomorrow, do you? As the researchers note, interrogative forms of sentences in the practice of boss–subordinate relations in Chinese organisations have significant distinguishing features – limiting the topics of discussion, for example, uncomfortable questions from the manager about the employee’s personal life (Wang 2021). Comparison is used in different spheres of life (Brusenskaya and Belyaeva 2022). People are constantly being compared to others, some are set as an example and others are criticised as a re‑ sult of the comparison. However, in Chinese society, this is a largely more stable form of upbring‑ ing than in Western culture. Chinese people are compared from childhood to playground kids, classmates and older siblings, reflecting the importance of social ties and social status described above (Chu 2004). Comparison is an effective practice, because through it the Chinese identify themselves: from birth, the Chinese are involved in a network of interpersonal relationships that determines and organises their existence and controls their consciousness (Sun 2015). Negative comparisons with another more successful employee are a hint of “losing face” (丢脸, i.e. a de‑ crease in trust among colleagues and a decrease in opportunities to create useful social connec‑ tions). “Losing face” is one of the most frightening prospects in a Chinese person’s life, so an employee will do everything possible to avoid negative comparisons at work.

Non‑Verbal Manipulative Techniques In addition to verbal and organisational manipulative techniques (choice of the place and timing of the conversation), the non‑verbal sphere should be singled out (Pease and Pease 2006). The distinctive features of non‑verbal manipulation are described by a number of Russian and foreign researchers (Stepanenko 2012). Some consider the classification of techniques; others study ma‑ nipulation in a particular field of activity (Pavlova 2013: 359–383). The similarity of judgements lies in the high degree of significance of non‑verbal communication and manipulation techniques. The authors of The Definitive Book of Body Language (Pease and Pease 2006) note that 7% of any information is verbal (words and the meaning they convey), 38% is vocal (timbre of voice, pronunciation of words, articulation and loudness) and 55% is non‑verbal. This study shows that the first impression of a person is formed in four minutes and the interlocutors may not even have time to utter a sentence or two during this time. During this time, body language conveys from 60% to 80% of all information. It is noted that non‑verbal behaviour can be divided into several systems: acoustic, optical, tactile‑kinesthetic (touch) and olfactory (smells) (Larina 2013: 26–30). Each of these systems uses various manipulative techniques which are divided into sections such as kinesics (gestures, gesture movements), proxemics (distance between interlocutors), haptics (touch as a manipulative effect), optics and acoustic effects.

An Empirical Study of the Manipulative Practices of Chinese Leaders The empirical study was conducted in April–May 2022 to identify the attitudes of respondents from different social groups towards managerial manipulative practices. The random probability sample of the study was n = 1,472 respondents – representatives of different socio‑professional groups. The respondents – people aged 18 to 66 from different provinces of China – were asked to fill out an online questionnaire. The key indicators of the study were the characteristics of the respondents’ interaction with managers and the assessment of the socio‑psychological profile of managers. Statistical methods were used for data processing – calculation of the arithmetic mean on a five‑point ordinal scale. Ethical considerations were taken into account, and all participants gave informed consent. 146

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The respondents had to rate a total of 24 qualities, one of which was the ability to manipulate others. According to the data obtained, the role model of a positive Chinese leader should not have manipulative qualities compared to the other personality traits. Thus, of the 24 qualities of an exemplary leader, modesty (“should be modest”), authority (“the role model should not be overbearing”) and altruism (“the leader should be collectivist”) have a higher mean value than manipulative skills. This distribution indicates that, for the respondents, manipulative abilities are not a characteristic feature typical of a Chinese leader in an organisation (mean = 3.42). Recognition of the importance of manipulative qualities was significantly related to the re‑ spondents’ level of education: the higher the level of education of the respondents, the more this quality was inherent in the role model of the ideal manager. The self‑reporting of such qualities as important also increases with the level of education (average value: they have only a secondary education – 2.3; they are currently studying at a university – 2.5; they already have a university degree – 2.9). Moreover, in different professions, one can see some significant differences in the assessment of the role model for manipulation skills. Managers, economists and the military rate the quality of manipulation as a positive master role model higher than specialists in the humanities, engineering and medicine. The level of ability to manipulate is one of the characteristics that help to compare the positive and negative behavioural patterns of leaders (military –4.0/2.7; economists –3.5/2.7; managers –3.5/2.7). For representatives of the three professions under consideration, the ability to manage people, including the use of manipulative techniques, was the basis of their activities, which testified to the connection between manipulation and management. In contrast, those whom respondents considered to be poor managers were characterised as not being proficient in manipu‑ lation techniques. Employees of large companies attach more importance to a manager’s ability to manipulate others compared to employees of small companies or people with no work experience. In large companies, manipulation is more obvious than in small organisations. Also, those who work/have worked in large companies are more likely to consider their own ability to manipulate as an impor‑ tant quality than employees of small companies or individuals with no work experience. The ability to manipulate others is rated as an important quality depending on the presence of managerial experience: if it is available, manipulation is rated at 3.1 points out of 5; in the absence of managerial experience, manipulation is estimated at 2.3. In another pilot study conducted in July 2021 among young Chinese entrepreneurs (ages 21– 30, university degree, total n = 50 young entrepreneurs), the majority of respondents identified ma‑ nipulation as a negative quality. However, 42 respondents indicated that manipulation techniques can be used to achieve the overall good of the organisation, with 39 noting that manipulation negatively affects the nature of interactions in the workplace. We would like to emphasise that a negative attitude towards manipulative practices is expressed by young people who are going to work in a business environment in the future (Deriugin et al. 2020: 108).

Conclusion The results of the study showed that the scientific and everyday understanding of the role of ma‑ nipulative practices in the activities of managers of Chinese organisations differs significantly. In particular, our analysis of scientific publications suggests that, as Chinese society developed, the understanding of the role of manipulation in management has transformed from complete non‑recognition to the recognition of the importance of such technologies as well as numerous special studies and developments of manipulative practices. We have seen that the understanding 147

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of the manipulative practices of the manager of Chinese organisations is considered in academic research as an advantage and a virtue of his/her managerial activity. In particular, the researchers emphasise that such practices make management more flexible, adaptive and responsive to the characteristics of performers, carriers of a special Chinese culture. The main advantage of using manipulative practices in the managerial activities of the lead‑ ers of Chinese organisations is their unique property of bypassing consciousness – the use of manipulation as a “soft power” that has a corresponding effect on employees. The main problem associated with manipulation was and remains the moral side of the question: in what interests and purposes is this force used? In the conditions of post‑industrial (digital) society, manipula‑ tion is becoming more active, and its capabilities and means are becoming more sophisticated. The manipulative practices of Chinese managers are able to increase the motivational component in the activities of performers and form a special type of social relations, taking into account the personal characteristics of the head and employee of the organisation. There is an idea that a com‑ petent manager should be able to manipulate his wards, use certain manipulation strategies and practice them in everyday communication, relying on the knowledge of the specifics of Chinese morality and communication features. Books, articles, masterclasses and webinars teach how to master the tactics of such influence, focusing on positive management results. On the contrary, at the everyday level, among Chinese employees, a manager‑manipulator is often perceived as a deceiver, a liar who uses the best human qualities to his advantage. There is an increasing num‑ ber of publications about how to avoid influence, how to deal with manipulation and how not to “get hooked”. For the object of influence – the “victim” – recommendations and techniques are developed on how to resist such manipulative influence from the opposite sex, power structures, leadership, etc. The manipulative practices of Chinese managers from the point of view of sociology should be analysed as a special form of social interaction organised by managers as initiators of corpo‑ rate relations, in combination with economic, psychological, technological and other means in the interests of promoting corporate culture, certain ideas, values, etc., sometimes in opposition to the interests, goals and values of employees. Often these are technologies of hidden influence on people. The study presents the manipulative techniques of Chinese managers, which are of a habitual nature and have received their coverage (confirmation) not only massively in the practice of managerial work of Chinese managers but have also been analysed and described in articles, publications and other materials. The conducted empirical sociological research has confirmed a number of positions expressed in relation to the manipulative practices of managers. In general, the ability of Chinese leaders to manipulate is assessed by respondents as a negative quality. At the same time, the role of ma‑ nipulative abilities is recognised as important by respondents with a higher level of education: the higher the level of education, the more loyal attitude is expressed towards the manipulative practices of managers. More loyal to manipulation are those respondents who are themselves in‑ volved in the practice of private and public administration and have such experience (managers, economists, former military personnel). Respondents with humanitarian, medical and technical education are more critical of manipulative technologies. Those respondents who work in large companies are more likely to positively perceive the role of the manipulative practices of Chinese managers. As it becomes clear, the manipulative practices of the leaders of Chinese organisations are to a large extent a specific social engineering – a tool for implementing the leaders’ value worldviews, which largely determines the moral climate of Chinese organisations.

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Acknowledgment This research is funded by the Russian Science Foundation under grant no 24‑28‑01448.

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10 HUMOR AS A MIND‑ENGINEERING TOOL IN THE DIGITAL AGE The Case of Stand‑Up Comedy Joanna Ut‑Seong Sio and Luis Morgado da Costa

Introduction Humor is an effective discourse weapon against mainstream ideologies and has always been relied on to counter mainstream propaganda. Under the veil of playfulness, it introduces marginal and new angles in viewing the status quo. The New York stand‑up comedian Ted Alexandro has the following joke1 J.K. Rowling announced that the character Dumbledore is gay. Some people were outraged – couldn’t believe it. Really? You can’t believe he’s gay, but you can believe he’s a wizard? By contrasting an imaginary fantasy world entity with the existence of gay people in the real world, Ted Alexandro revealed the unconscious bias in mainstream media. Humor is good packaging for ideas because it arouses attention (Bryant and Zillmann 1989), stimulates engage‑ ment (Yeo et al. 2020), creates a bonding experience (via laughter) (Provine 2005, Terrion and Ashforth 2002), and can manipulate people’s perceptions/opinions (Quirk 2015). Dagnes (2012) cites a piece the late Christopher Hitchens wrote in October 2009 for The Atlantic, which states that Tina Fey’s merciless impression of Sarah Palin undid the possibility in people’s minds that Governor Palin could ever be a candidate as Vice President, showing that there is true swaying power behind humor: the laughter is real, and so is the damage. Quirk (2015) argues particularly that stand‑up comedy (SUC), being an accessible and popular art form, helps comedians to bring in non‑­mainstream views, challenging and re‑negotiating social norms. Quirk (2015:15) writes that joking is a ‘veil’ which allows an ever‑present counterculture to express its ‘deviant’ ideas (­citing Wertheim 1964:26); joking is like a weapon, ‘an important means of non‑violent resist‑ ance’ (­Zijderveld 1968:311). Comic license allows stand‑up comedians to speak their minds more freely, allowing them to persuade the audience to agree with ideas (which the audience might not agree with otherwise) temporarily to facilitate the smooth running of the performance and create a reference group (the audience) with the shared experience of being exposed to a certain view. The art form allows a more relaxed approach to truth and the everyday standard of decency, thus af‑ fording something akin to an ‘ideological playground’ for different ideas to be entertained (Quirk 2015). From the audience’s side, there is also strong motivation to pay close attention to what the comedians have to say. The audience wants to laugh and be entertained, and they must listen at‑ tentively to enjoy the punchlines. This provides an ‘in’ for the comedians to get people’s attention: 153

DOI: 10.4324/9781003289746-13

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the audience wants to listen carefully for their own benefits. The promise of laughter is the bait. Regarding the palatability of the more controversial comedy content, it has been suggested that the audience is less likely to scrutinize and counter‑argue against the information embedded in comedy, especially if it is delivered by a likable messenger (the comedian) (Nabi et al. 2007). It is within these favorable conditions that we believe SUC can function as a mind‑engineering tool. There is no clear definition of the term ‘mind‑engineering’ in the literature. A closely related term is ‘brainwashing’, which has a very forceful, politically inclined, and negative connotation. The Oxford English Dictionary defines ‘brainwashing’ as [t]he systematic and often forceful elimination from a person’s mind of more established ideas, especially political ones, so that another set of ideas might take their place; this pro‑ cess regarded as the coersive conversion practiced by certain totalitarian states on political dissidents. (Taylor 2006:3) ‘Mind‑engineering’ is understood generally as a more neutral, not domain‑specific, and less force‑ ful term. To be precise, we define ‘mind‑engineering’ as a sophisticated attempt, drawing on knowledge, skills, or expertise, to manipulate the subjects’ perceptions/opinions/beliefs. SUC is a mind‑engineering tool in that the art form provides an excellent set‑up for mind‑engineering to take place. As a tool, SUC can also backfire, especially in the digital age. There have been cases where humor creates offense. A more recent case is Dave Chappelle’s Netflix Special The Closer (2021), in which he explores his own transphobia and has received backlash from the LGBTQ commu‑ nity. He commented that the people who are most angry at him are the ones who only hear his soundbites as opposed to the whole set.2 Jimmy Carr, a UK comedian with dark humor, recently mentioned that he probably has already told the joke that would end his career.3 It is on YouTube somewhere waiting to explode, like a landmine. Undoubtedly, the style and appreciation of humor change over time. What was considered acceptable decades ago might not be considered so nowa‑ days, but the change in the format of SUC in the digital age is also relevant. SUC is about mental manipulation. The stand‑up comedian manipulates the train of thoughts (e.g., sequence, content) of the audience to make them laugh at specific moments determined by the stand‑up comedian. SUC was traditionally a live performance, where the performer can manipulate a live and finite audience in a controlled environment with mostly prepared material and the performer can adjust the performance content along the way if necessary. It is now also a recorded entertainment piece where the clip can reach a much bigger audience by being listed on streaming platforms (e.g., Net‑ flix, Amazon Prime) or posted on social media platforms (e.g., YouTube, Instagram, TikTok). Such a shift of platforms is both a blessing and a curse: it has boosted the impact of SUC (its availability is no longer restricted by the time and space of the show, and its audience is no longer restricted to physical attendance); it has however also created possibilities where jokes/humorous content could be interpreted out of context by people who had no established rapport with the comedian. As such, the nature of stand‑up as a mind‑engineering tool is altered in the digital age: it has be‑ come more powerful as the audience size expands, and yet some of the properties that make it such a good tool are missing in these bite‑size clips. As a mind‑engineering tool, we are also interested in the question of whether there are topics that are too ‘much’ for the tool, whether stand‑up comedians think there is a limit in terms of the content matter of the art form when the offense would invariably outweigh the funniness.

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Against this background, this chapter focuses on SUC and explores the following three ques‑ tions: (i) Do stand‑up comedians consciously use the stand‑up platform to promote their own agendas (i.e., actively use SUC as a tool for mind‑engineering)? (ii) What are the advantages and drawbacks of disseminating SUC on digital platforms from the perspective of mind‑engineering? (iii) Are there topics that are off‑limit for such mental manipulation in SUC? We conducted an online survey. The survey was sent to 36 comedians based in 12 different countries (Australia:1, Austria:2, Germany:2, USA:1, Czech Republic:6, England:8, Hong Kong China:7, Poland:1, Malaysia:2, Scotland:1, Singapore:4, Canada:1). These are SUC practitioners of various levels who have access to a platform (to speak to the public in the setting of a comedy show) regularly. Among the group, there are stand‑up comedians who are professionals (20 of them do SUC for a living) and semi‑professionals (15 of them perform regularly for financial gain while keeping regular jobs). One of them does SUC as a hobby. Twenty‑four of them have performed SUC for more than seven years, and sixteen of them perform more than ten times a month. Twenty‑seven of them have their own one‑hour show, which is often used as a yardstick to distinguish the more experienced comedians from the beginners. In addition to questions related to the background of the comedians, the survey contains ten open‑ended questions, where comedians were asked about their opinions/practices on SUC. Stand‑up comedians who answered the survey were given the choice as to whether they wanted to remain anonymous or not. All of them have given their consent to use their comments for this chapter. In addition, we have conducted interviews with three profes‑ sional stand‑up comedians: Vivek Mahbubani (Hong Kong), Steve Lee (Hong Kong), and Sam See (Singapore). Our discussions will be structured around insights from the surveys and interviews. The chapter is structured as follows. The section ‘Stand‑Up Comedy’ provides background discussion on SUC as an art form, including its history, format, and the role of the audience. The section ‘Do Comics Consciously Use Stand‑Up as a Platform to Influence Others’ Opinions?’ dis‑ cusses comedians’ opinions on using SUC as a platform for mind‑engineering. The section ‘Online Clips vs. Live Performances’ discusses the advantages and drawbacks of disseminating SUC on digital platforms. The section ‘Off‑Limit Topics in SUC’ discusses whether comedians think there are limits to topics in SUC. We conclude the chapter in the section ‘Conclusion’.

Stand‑Up Comedy Stand‑up comedy (SUC) is a prominent form of entertainment nowadays. In addition to live SUC in physical venues, SUC is also streamed on major online platforms (Netflix, Amazon Prime, You‑ Tube, Instagram, TikTok, etc.). The expansion into the online sphere has increased the impact and reach of SUC but has also led to unexpected consequences as live SUC is interpreted outside the time, space, and context of the performance. These are issues we will discuss in this chapter, but before that, we will first provide some background information on this performance art, including its history, format, and the role of the audience.

What Is SUC? SUC includes the following main components (Double 2013) Personality: It puts a person on display in front of an audience, that person can be an exagger‑ ated comic character or a version of the performer’s own self. Direct communication: It involves direct communication between the performer and the audi‑ ence (a two‑way communication).

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In the present: It acknowledges the performance situation. The stand‑up comedian is duty‑bound to incorporate events in the venue into the act (e.g., the ringing of a mobile phone or someone laughing or clapping at an unexpected time). The inability to do so will result in the audi‑ ence losing faith in the performer. The ‘personality’ component is an important one. It sets apart a stand‑up joke from an ­internet joke: a stand‑up joke has a personality behind it. Becoming a stand‑up comedian in‑ volves ­building and shaping/fine‑tuning this personality (his/her stage persona) – which can include adopting certain political views, stances on important societal issues, and many others. Of course, this stage persona needs not to be aligned with the comedian’s actual views and beliefs (although it often is). This brings great importance to the matter of mind‑engineering: when a comedian (especially famous ones) has earned the trust of a large following of fans with whom rapport is built and accumulated through many performances, this large following of fans let themselves be open to new views and ideas expressed by the comedian, the fans also often expect the comedian’s views to be consistent across performances. Several well‑established stand‑up comedians have also become hosts for comedic news shows (e.g., John Oliver, Stephen Colbert, Trevor Noah, or Samantha Bee), where comedy, news, and political commentaries are merged (what Baym 2005 called ‘discursive integration’). In these programs, the persona of the host comedian is usually politically aligned, and comedy (e.g., satire and parody) is used to undermine certain beliefs or political views. More people are learning about news and politics via comedic talk shows (Baym 2005). This again suggests that ingesting humor into the dissemi‑ nation of news and political matters makes them more palatable/consumable and shows the po‑ tential of comedians in shaping political discourse. One should note, however, that even though these hosts began their careers as stand‑up comedians, comedy news shows are not typical SUC. Regular stand‑up performances are different from comedy news shows/entertainment political commentaries in several ways. In addition to a more elaborate set‑up (e.g., live bands, light‑ ing, staging), limited direct interaction with the audience, and inclusion of different segments (e.g., interviews), a major feature of comedy news shows/entertainment political commentaries (e.g., The Daily Show, The Colbert Report) is political satires. They frame political and social issues in ways that resemble how the public discusses these issues in their daily lives, with jokes and humorous remarks (Faina 2013). While the goal of SUC is to make people laugh (content not limited to social and political issues), these shows (although written by many writers) aim to present a political stand by using humor, a form of public journalism, ‘the humorous content of both Stewart and Colbert enables a characterization of their shows as an extension of public journalism anchored in political satire’ (Faina 2013:546).

Basic Structure of Stand‑Up Performances Stand‑up performances can be of various lengths. It can range from an open‑mic performance of a sheer three min to an hour special, or anything in between. Comedians accumulate material as they progress in the art form. A single performance (of various lengths) can be referred to as a set. A bit is a unit of discourse containing several jokes around a certain theme, e.g., relationship. A joke is a unit of discourse containing the set‑up and the punchline(s). A punchline is an utterance after which the comedian would expect a laugh. It is possible that there can be multiple punchlines after the set‑up. A set can be thought of as a sequence of bits:

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(1) [SET [BIT.A [jokeA1, jokeA2…]], [BIT.B [jokeB1, jokeB2…]], [BIT.C…], …] There are many ways a comedian can arrange the bits in his or her set in a performance. Many comedians adhere to the rule ‘open strong, end strong’: placing your best jokes at the beginning and the end of the set. One of the motivations to ‘open strong’ is to earn the audience’s trust in your ability to make them laugh; once the comedian has won the audience over with a few laughs, the audience will be willing to be led and be open to other ideas of the comedian. Ending strong creates a high at the end of the performance, making the performance more memorable and creat‑ ing the moment in which the comedian can exit in laughter and claps. Bits can also be connected thematically and arranged purposefully with variations in lengths to avoid being monotonous. In addition to pre‑scripted bits, a set often contains ‘improvised’ content, which is used when the performance deviates from the scripted content for various reasons, e.g., when responding to the audience’s heckling. Improvisation is also needed when stand‑up comedians do ‘crowd work’, which is talking directly to the audience for various purposes, e.g., to act as a transition between bits and to engage the audience to heighten the mood and get their attention. Comedians might also adjust their material on the spot if they sense that the audience is not receptive to the material they have prepared. The audience appreciates stand‑up comedians’ ability to think and generate funny remarks on the spot. These non‑scripted interactions, if they go well, can establish rapport between the comedian and the audience.

The Role of the Audience SUC is neither a monologue nor a theater play. There is no fourth wall. It is a two‑way commu‑ nication. The comedian tells a joke; the audience responds, mostly by laughing. There are also times when the comedian elicits verbal answers or contributions from the audience (e.g., to cheer or to clap), but audience responses are always cued by the comedian. The positive response of the audience informs the comedian that the set is going well; the lack of laughter/responses indicates something is amiss; e.g., the jokes are not funny, the jokes are too offensive/considered bad taste, the audience is tired because the show has been going on for too long, etc. During the pandemic when physical shows were not possible (mainly from 2020 to 2022), some comedians resorted to doing online shows. Even though all three components (personality, direct communication, in the present) are technically present, several features that are in live shows are missing. First, there is often a longer lapse of time between the delivery of the punchline and the triggered laughter, and that unexpected gap of silence often throws comedians off, as they expect the laughter to come faster (as in live shows). Second, the laughs from the audience members might be slightly mis‑ aligned due to unstable internet connections, which lessens the effects of the laughing audience, not to mention some people will have both their cameras and microphones turned off. Further‑ more, the comedian cannot catch the eyes of the audience. There is a lack of direct eye contact. It is hard for the comedian to manipulate responses and timing, and the audience doesn’t feel like they are being talked to directly (even if technically they are). In addition, the online setting makes it easier for the audience to disengage because there is less of a feeling of being in a group that laughs together. There is no bonding experience. The lesser degree of engagement in these online shows makes it much less satisfying for both the comedian and the audience. Going back to physical shows, in addition to regular performances, comedians test their jokes in events called open‑mic nights. Audiences of open‑mic nights are aware that jokes performed on

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these occasions are not polished and might not be kept further for future shows and are generally even more open and forgiving regarding the content/funniness of the jokes. Even though an SUC performance is a testing ground for non‑mainstream ideas/opinions, the audience must permit its content. The permission is granted by laughter. The laughter indicates to the comedian that it is safe to proceed further. When there is none, this is also a cue, a cue for the comedian to adjust, if possible; if the situation is not rectified, it can turn into a disaster. One extreme example can be found during a performance by Michael Richards (who played Cosmo Kramer on the hit TV show ‘Seinfeld’) in 2006 at the Laugh Factory in West Hollywood. When being heckled, Richards verbally bullied the heckler with racial slurs. The situation esca‑ lated. Richards went into a rage. Ultimately some audience members walked out of the show.4 It was mentioned in the Guardian post that ‘the audience became confused, uncertain whether the extreme language was part of Richards’ act. Some laughed at the comments, but, as the attacks from the stage continued, there were gasps and some voices could be heard expressing disbelief’. The incident is interesting in two different ways. The most obvious take is that, even in a comedy setting, where social norms are less strictly upheld, not everything is passable. It is also interest‑ ing to see that some audience members were laughing at the racial slurs in the beginning, thinking they were part of the performance, but once it was clear that these outbursts were not part of the show, the atmosphere became tense. This shows that, at least for some audience members, the line of acceptability shifts depending on whether a certain comment is embedded in a ‘comedy performance’ setting or not.

Do Comics Consciously Use Stand‑Up as a Platform to Influence Others’ Opinions? In the 2015 Atlantic article ‘How Comedians Became Public Intellectuals’, Megan Garber men‑ tioned that, for some performers (she focuses specifically on Amy Schumer), their jokes do not treat humor as an end in itself but as a vehicle for making a point.5 In our survey, when asked the question of whether SUC can be used as a tool to influence others’ opinions, 30 (out of 36) comedians think it can. When asked whether they make conscious use of SUC to influence other people’s views on issues that are important to them, however, only 14 of them replied yes. A fe‑ male comedian from Malaysia replied that she uses her comedy to promote the image of a happy single woman and normalize healthy sex talks, something that is taboo in the region. Radu Isaac (a Romanian comedian living in the UK) mentioned that ‘I think it is used in that direction. It’s probably mainstream enough now that most stand‑up is just piling on to whatever the mainstream direction might be’, suggesting that some comedians are simply riding the tide rather than present‑ ing new views. Others replied, e.g., ‘No. It’s not a TED talk.’; ‘No. I just want people to have fun at the shows!’, and interestingly, Jack Holmes (a British comedian living in Austria) replied, ‘Not really, I’ve tried doing opinion pieces in the past and they have never really landed the way I want them to, so I tend to stick to real life stories’. This echoes the point made in Chattoo (2019:18), ‘[Comedy’s] influential muscle comes from its ability to entertain and absorb us into the humor itself – it won’t work for audiences who know they are being “messaged to” through only mildly funny material’. This suggests that, where mind‑engineering is concerned, if the audience believes it is being manipulated, the trust could be broken. Vivek Mahbubani is a stand‑up comedian from Hong Kong. As an Indian growing up in Hong Kong, he is fluent in Cantonese but ‘was’ often treated as an outsider despite being 100% local. He insisted on using ‘was’, as he thinks, due to his comedy work and increased publicity, most people

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now recognize him and treat him as a local. When asked whether he used SUC as a platform to raise awareness of minorities or on diversity issues in Hong Kong, he said his materials are based on his life experience and he doesn’t try to ‘preach’. His job is a comedian, and he focuses on being funny. Mahbubani has a joke which depicts an encounter between him, and a Hong Kong police officer. In the story, the policeman read his Hong Kong identity card, saw his beard and his brown skin, and misaddressed him as ‘Mohammad’ (instead of Mahbubani), with a stress on the [‑d] at the end of the word, making it sound like the past tense of a verb. It is possible that his audience would interpret his joke as promoting different opinions (e.g., stereotyping of Middle Eastern–looking people, low English proficiency of the Hong Kong Police force), but that would not be his intention. All he did was recount a single experience that he found funny. However, he added that even though he didn’t do it consciously to spread and promote certain opinions, he does reflect on his content very often and realizes there are certain mindsets that he embraces which are often present in his SUC routine. Similarly, many comedians have jokes that touch on social issues, but they might not always have the conscious intention to ‘preach’. Jim Jefferies has a bit on ‘gun control’ in his 2014 show Bare, where he said (transcription taken from his interview for the Malaysian magazine, The Vibe): There is one argument and one argument alone for having a gun, and this is the argument … ‘F**k off. I like guns’. It’s not the best argument, but it’s all you’ve got. And there’s nothing wrong with it. There’s nothing wrong with saying, ‘I like something. Don’t take it away from me’. But don’t give me this other bulls**t. The main one is, ‘I need it for protection. I need to protect me. I need to protect my family’. Really? Is that why they’re called assault rifles? Is it? I’ve never heard of these ‘protection rifles’ you speak of. In a recent interview with the Malaysian magazine The Vibes, Jim Jefferies was asked about this particular joke. After the success of the ‘gun control’ joke, some people accused Jefferies of turn‑ ing into the kind of comedian who aims to get social justice messages across in their performances. In the interview, Jim Jefferies dismissed the claim and emphasized his view that ‘a comedian’s job is, ultimately, to entertain’.6 Australian Hannah Gadsby released her comedy special ‘Nanette’ in 2018, where she shares personal stories about being a lesbian. She also discusses how she thinks using deprecating humor to present important issues would ultimately trivialize these issues. She mentions that comedy relies on building up tension and then releases such tension by ending with a punchline. In the second half of her show, she tells the true version of one of her stories presented earlier, but she doesn’t release the tension by ending it with a punchline, to illustrate the tension that the LGBTQ community faces every day. The show was wildly successful, but it has also drawn discussion as to whether the show was indeed a comedy show (given that there are quite a few uncomfortable moments in the show which are not funny at all and are meant to invite the audience to reflect on the seriousness of different social issues), or it should have been billed as performance art or a lecture.7 Steve Lee is a stand‑up comedian currently based in Hong Kong (having previously performed in the US). His SUC is centered on his experiences on both continents dealing with racism and liv‑ ing with disabilities (he suffers from amyoplasia congenita). He thinks that joking about disability is a way to exert control over the way people think about disability. It is a way of empowerment for him, which he didn’t expect in the beginning, a form of healing for himself. He thinks the bot‑ tom line is still that he is a joker; he needs to be funny. Whether he can change people’s minds is

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beyond his control. He also mentions that trying too hard is not funny. This is echoed in Cline and Kellaris (1999), who wrote that, for comedy to be a successful vehicle for persuasion in service of a serious social issue, it can’t be seen as trying too hard to explicitly persuade. Sam See is a stand‑up comedian from Singapore. He is the only openly gay comedian in Sin‑ gapore. Homosexuality for males and females had only been officially legalized in 2022. Prior to that, same‑sex sexual activities between males were de jure illegal. See admits that, in his comedy, albeit only occasionally, he tries to promote equality for the LGBTQ community. When he is do‑ ing his LGBTQ material, he tries to keep it light‑hearted, genuine, and not immune to criticism (in the sense that he would also make fun of LGBTQ people. For example, he has a bit on how gay people are not nice to trans people). He thinks that, by talking about LGBTQ issues, he is bring‑ ing the public more understanding of the LGBTQ community. It has been shown that exposure to positive, humorous entertainment portrayals of minority groups can decrease individuals’ levels of prejudice toward those groups (Schiappa et al. 2005). See also believes that, to be successful in SUC, it is important not just to be funny but also to have opinions on important social issues, so as to stay ‘relevant’. He thinks it has the consequence that some comedians are holding strong opinions for the sake of having strong opinions, as a mar‑ keting strategy rather than a genuine interest and it is not easy to tell the difference. In our survey, when asked about Jimmy Carr commenting that he probably has already told the joke that would end his career, six of the comedians had the opinion that it is all just very clever marketing. When asked whether SUC may trivialize social issues, Mahbubanhi, Lee and See all think that even though using humor to present social issues might lose some of the nuance, the payoff is more exposure/accessibility of such issues and new perspectives. People who normally aren’t interested in/aware of these issues will be lured to the show by the promise of laughter. Vivek further com‑ mented, concerning his joke about being stopped by the police that ‘in a way it opens people up to discuss the issue of racial profiling’. He also mentioned another joke that he has: I joke about how it’s ‘illegal’ to use the terms ‘Ah Cha’ [a Cantonese derogatory term to describe an Indian person] and even ‘Gwailo’ [a Cantonese derogatory term to describe a Caucasian] because of the racial discrimination ordinance … and how it’s a shame because so many expats may have spent a long time perfecting the tone of ‘Gwailo’ and now they can’t say it anymore. He was not inviting people to trivialize the issues. He was just presenting his point of view and what he found interesting. He only opens the box; the audience is welcome to dig deeper if they wish. To sum up, the nature/format of SUC has made it an excellent mind‑engineering tool. Humor has a normalizing effect, reducing taboos, shaping new narratives, and opening conversations. The intimate setting in a stand‑up environment (live shows) where the comedians talk directly to the audience creates an illusion of authenticity. Stand‑up comedians from minority groups (be it racial, physical, or sexual) use the platform to articulate their identities and (re‑)shape narratives that are either unavailable or different from mainstream media (Gilbert 2017). On the contrary, in addition to that, not all stand‑up comedians might have an agenda to pursue, many comedians think the goal of SUC is to entertain and the content (be it on social issues/slapstick/pun, etc.) is simply the tool. On the other end of the spectrum, there are comedians like Hannah Gadsby who have messages to pass. Hannah Gadsby’s Nanette (on being a woman, on being gay, on homophobia, and on mi‑ sogyny) and the subsequent Douglas (on autism, on chauvinism) are considered by some as a com‑ edy game changer. Similar to entertainment news shows, humor is used as a means to an end: the message is the key. To complicate the issue, some stand‑up comedians might also have alternative 160

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reasons (e.g., establishing an intellectual/edgy persona, virtue signaling, staying ‘relevant’ by adopt‑ ing mainstream views, or doing the exact opposite for marketing) for expressing strong opinions in their set. Changing people’s minds, if it is successful, is for some simply a by‑product.

Online Clips vs. Live Performances In our survey, 32 of the 36 comedians admit that they have put their own stand‑up clips on online platforms. With physical shows, SUC is limited to a physical audience at a particular time and space; with online presence, all time/space restrictions are off. Comedians often post online old material that they consider good, and they no longer use in shows, material that they are ready to ‘burn’. One comedian mentions that ‘I think we live in an age where we have no choice but to build an online presence if we are hoping to work as comedians’. Singapore stand‑up comedian Sam See thinks it is just the nature of the games. In addition to live shows, there have always been other ways to expand the audience bases via recordings, from audio comedy albums, clips on You‑ Tube, shows on Netflix/Amazon Prime, short clips on TikTok videos/Instagram videos/YouTube shorts, etc. It is the call of the era. One anonymous comedian commented that ‘unfortunately it seems like it’s the only way to get noticed these days, which leads to a lot of bad comedy being uploaded’. It is important to get publicity via these online channels and the exposure can attract the attention of bookers, who rely on the number of views, among other things, when deciding which comedians to book. If the video garners a large number of views, it will also garner comments. Some comedians also put clips where they discussed controversial issues online, because the more comments a video gets (be it positive or negative), the more likely it would be recommended by the platforms’ algorithm to other users. All online stand‑up clips are recordings from live stand‑up shows, rather than just recordings of a comedian telling jokes in front of the camera. This is because SUC requires audience participa‑ tion (as discussed in the section ‘The Role of the Audience’). On platforms like Netflix or Amazon Prime, whole comedy shows are commercially filmed/produced. Short clips from these shows are also available either as promotional material or by fans posting online. Comedians also upload short clips themselves to various online platforms (e.g., YouTube, TikTok, Instagram). We will focus mainly on shorter stand‑up clips (up to a few minutes in length). A major difference between live shows and online video clips is the lack of ‘context’ within which the clip was performed, and that might lead to misunderstanding of the clip. First, how receptive an audience is toward a joke depends substantially on how much the audience likes the comedian. Comedians cultivate that liking right from the beginning of the show; the leeway/trust they have gotten from the live audience would be missing in the online audience from the online clip. During a live show, the comedian is talking to the audience; when it’s online, the online audi‑ ence watches the comedian talking to the live audience. In a full comedy set, the bits are arranged in such a way that there can be a gradual build‑up from the milder to the more edgy in terms of material. The live audience has time to adjust and shift their boundaries. Furthermore, a specific joke can refer to previous content that was not included in the clip (a call‑back), which would also affect the full understanding of the joke. Two anonymous comedians made the following com‑ ments in our survey: Well‑crafted long sets developed a language of common understanding with the audience, which empowers jokes later in the set. Additionally, the comedian’s character and values become more and more established and breaking with that continuity can make powerful jokes in long sets that are lost when reduced to clips. 161

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You can very easily lose the context of the persona of a comedian. Irony or sarcasm can be built up over a longer set, to the point where a comedian could almost be talking exclu‑ sively in the opposites of what they really mean, and the crowd gets it, but take a 15 second clip of that and put it on TikTok, and all the context is gone. The build‑up of rapport between the audience and the comic can mean the audience’s baseline (on what is acceptable and what is not) can shift. In addition to not being able to access what happens prior, online audiences can’t access what happens later. It is possible that a comedian would say something outrageous, and then explain/justify the point later in the set, which is outside the clip. The comedy audience in a live performance is an ad‑hoc group. Whether a certain joke works or not also depends on the composition of the audience. Below is a quote from the stand‑up come‑ dian Dwayne Perkins (taken from Scarpetta and Spagnolli 2009): Some jokes don’t work for mixed crowds, you know? Say … I used to have a joke like when I talked about the slavery world: it works with black people, it works with all‑white people, but when they are together it’s uncomfortable ‘cause black people think you don’t say that before whites and white people are like, can you laugh at that? You know what I mean. So, sometimes some jokes will work all‑Black/all‑White but not all together. A Canadian comedian shared the following experience with us in the survey: Many times I have related personal experiences with trauma or my partner’s experiences and used them for illustrative benefits to coping, but the challenge can be that they need a long setup, and the positive message will be revealed in the surprise. […] I often joke about suicide, something very close to me and something I am passionate about reducing, particu‑ larly in groups with very high incidences. I have had a majority of positive shows with this, however once I had a show where someone brought to the show a 14‑year‑old girl whose dad killed himself, and when I talked about my own experiences I was cut off by shouts and interruptions. While I fully understand their reaction, it stopped me from getting to the positive revelation. And wrecked the show. I don’t blame myself for this, or them. It’s just an unfortunate event. And had I seen the child I wouldn’t have used such complex material, but I don’t ever expect children in a comedy room. The above shows that, even with the same joke, it might elicit different results depending on the composition of the audience. In online platforms, it is inevitable that some jokes will be interpreted in a way that is not intended, as the jokes are now open to all. Stand‑up comedians can adjust their content in live shows depending on the audience’s reaction and composition. In a line‑up show (where there are multiple performers), there is a compere. The compere has multiple functions such as warming up the audience, so they are ready for the show, talking to the audience and gathering information about the audience (which is for the benefit of the comedians in the line‑up), and doing jokes to see what preferences of the audience has (which is also for the benefit of the comedians in the line‑up): the compere’s interaction with the audience can inform the comedians of the preference and limit of the ‘crowd’. Compared to live performances, online clips are subject to a lot more scrutiny. In addition to the possibility of multiple viewing of the clips, depending on the platform, there is the possibility of

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discussion among online audiences in the comment section. In a live show, things move on and get forgotten. Online clips could be analyzed and criticized in ways that would not happen in live shows. Online clips provide exposure to a much bigger audience that transcends time and space. This is good news for comedians who use SUC to propagate certain views with respect to the scope of reach. However, the lack of context, opportunities for subsequent justification, and the exposure of the clips to the audience outside the show setting (who have not interacted with the comedian, thus the lack of rapport) might lead to misinterpretation of the intended messages of the comedians. Comedians, especially those who hope to use SUC as a tool for mind‑engineering, would need to pay attention to these differences and select their clips carefully to avoid misunderstanding.

Off‑Limit Topics in SUC Since there is the possibility of jokes being misconstrued in the online context, and nowadays most comedians post their clips online for promotion purposes (or posted by their audience members), individual comedians’ stance toward a certain social‑political issue can, by extension, also be mis‑ construed. In view of this, can comedians still approach any topic freely? Should there be a limit as to what one can joke about? In a live show, we need to worry whether the audience is receptive to the content; as an online clip, one needs to worry whether it is offensive to the public and has repercussions. In some cases, it might also be a legal offense or a diplomatic issue. In July 2022, at Crack House Comedy Club in Malaysia Kuala Lumpur, an open‑mic per‑ former, Siti Nuramira Abdullah, 26, claimed that she had memorized 15 chapters of the Quran and proceeded to unwrap her headscarf and baju kurung (a traditional costume of Malays) to reveal a low‑cut top and a mini skirt underneath. She continued to use profanity in her set. The set was filmed and was later posted (by the performer and her boyfriend) online. Kuala Lumpur City Hall subsequently suspended the operation of the club because the video was considered an insult to Is‑ lam. In stand‑up open‑mic nights, anyone who is interested in performing can ask for a spot. There is no pre‑screening of material. Thus, until the point the act is performed, no one knows what the content would be like. The open‑mic live performance of Siti Nuramira Abdullah didn’t cause any problems on the spot; it is the posting of the clip online that caused problems. Jocelyn Chia, a comedian in New York City (with Singaporean parents), joked about the safety of Malaysian planes in June 2023 at Manhattan’s Comedy Cellar, commenting that, since the sepa‑ ration in 1965, Singapore had become a first‑world country while Malaysia allegedly remained a ‘developing’ one. She also made reference to the missing Malaysia Airlines flight MH370. Con‑ troversy erupted (in both Singapore and Malaysia) after she posted the short clip online, includ‑ ing a protest at the US embassy in Kuala Lumpur. Singapore’s High Commissioner to Malaysia commented in a tweet, ‘Chia certainly does not speak for Singaporeans’ and he was ‘appalled by her horrendous statements’. The Minister of Foreign Affairs of Malaysia also commented on the comedian’s lack of sensitivity and empathy toward Malaysians and the families of the victims. Chia told CNN that she had done the routine many times, and there were no problems. Malaysian audience members often told her how much they loved her performance, showing that they didn’t take offense. When posted online, the clip was interpreted by online viewers as offensive.8 These two instances reflect the danger of doing sensitive material in SUC and posting it online. When asked, as a principle, whether SUC has a limit and if there are topics that should not be joked about (regardless of whether they will put the material online), 7 (out of 36) comedians said yes, while most comedians stated that they believe there shouldn’t be any limit regarding topics. However, when asked if they personally avoid certain topics in their performances, 25 of them said

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yes. Some of the topics they avoid include LGBTQ issues, politics, and religion. Some comedians are not interested in such issues, and some find them difficult to make funny. A few comedians mentioned the general guideline they uphold, which is to punch up and never punch down: to make fun of the rich and powerful but never of the less fortunate. Some comedians adopt a more flexible approach; instead of avoiding topics/groups, they think one can joke about anything as long as it is funny and done in a thoughtful way and with positive intent.

Conclusion In many previous studies, it has been established that humor, in particular, SUC, is a good tool for introducing new/marginal views and influencing people’s opinion, and such is within our broad definition of ‘mind‑engineering’ (a sophisticated attempt, drawing on knowledge, skills, or ex‑ pertise, to manipulate the subjects’ perceptions/opinions/beliefs). This chapter looks at SUC as a mind‑engineering tool from the perspective of practicing comedians with different levels of experience and in different places. Our results from the survey suggested that, even though most comedians agree that SUC is a good tool, only some comedians in our survey use it actively to push ideas. It is also not always easy to make social issues funny, and it shouldn’t be seen as trying too hard to persuade. For comedians who do not use SUC as a mind‑engineering tool, they believe that the goal of SUC is to make people laugh. We interviewed three comedians who belong to a certain minority group (racial minority, dis‑ ability, LGBTQ). They talk about social issues in their comedy and agree that SUC provides a way for them to steer the narratives of minority groups and provide exposure to such issues, but their goal, as comedians, is ultimately to entertain. It is up to the audience to dig deeper into the new narrative. As entertainment news programs continue their dominance as media agenda‑setters and sources of viral commentary on social issues in the news (Chattoo 2019), and with the success of comedy shows like Hannah Gadsby’s Nanette and Douglas, more comedians might incorporate social issues in their performances, be it a genuine interest, or to remain ‘relevant’, or for publicity/ marketing purposes. In the digital era, SUC as a tool (or as a weapon) can be even more powerful due to the expo‑ nential increase in viewership, but it also increases the chance of misfiring, where the intended message embedded in humor is misinterpreted. In a live show, the live audience forms a group together with the comedian in one physical space. Watching stand‑up clips online, one remains an outsider watching a conversation, rather than being part of it. Furthermore, online audiences are only privy to part of the conversation, missing the part where the live audience was charmed to like the comedians/persuaded to be open to new ideas/shift their boundaries and information conveyed earlier, which could affect the interpretation of the clip. They are also missing the subsequent part where more justification for a certain view might be given. The chance of misunderstanding increases with online bite‑size SUC clips. The same joke might work for one audience and might not work for others. Online clips are also subject to a higher level of scrutiny with the possibility of repeated viewing and exchanges in the comment section. Messages that were more palatable in live shows might become unpalatable in online clips. Given that SUC is such a great tool, can comedians make fun of anything? The general conclu‑ sion from the survey is that, in principle, there shouldn’t be a firm limit – it depends on the skills of the comedian. Even for professionals, there are many sensitive topics that might be offensive

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to some, especially when it is subjected to all when posted online. In general, the unwritten rule is that comedians should punch up but not punch down. When done skillfully (punching up), it can swing opinions.

Acknowledgments We would like to thank all the comedians who have volunteered their time by either filling out our survey or talking to us. The research described here is supported by the European Regional Development Fund – Project ‘Sinophone Borderlands – Interaction at the Edges’ CZ.02.1.01/0.0/ 0.0/16_019/0000791.

Notes 1 https://www.timeout.com/newyork/comedy/joke‑of‑the‑week‑ted‑alexandro 2 https://time.com/6105951/dave‑chappelle‑netflix‑controversy/ 3 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yiHWGW6a5cQ 4 https://www.theguardian.com/world/2006/nov/22/usa.danglaister 5 https://www.theatlantic.com/entertainment/archive/2015/05/how‑comedians‑became‑public‑intellectu‑ als/394277/ 6 https://www.thevibes.com/articles/culture/79138/jim‑jefferies‑on‑Crackhouse‑Comedy‑Club‑free‑ dom‑of‑speech‑and‑comedy‑today 7 https://www.theguardian.com/stage/2020/may/31/hannah‑gadsby‑you‑dont‑do‑a‑show‑like‑nanette‑ without‑a‑tough‑shell 8 https://edition.cnn.com/2023/06/11/asia/jocelyn‑chia‑mh370‑joke‑singapore‑apologizes‑intl‑hnk/index. html

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Joanna Ut-Seong Sio and Luis Morgado da Costa Schiappa, E., Gregg, P.B. and Hewes, D.E. (2005). The parasocial contact hypothesis, Communication Mono‑ graphs 72(1): 92–115. Taylor, K. (2006). Brainwashing: The science of thought control, Oxford University Press. Terrion, J.L. and Ashforth, B.E.. (2002). From ‘I’ to ‘we’: The role of putdown humor and identity in the development of a temporary group, Human Relations 55(1): 55–88. Wertheim, W.F. (1964). East‑west parallels: Sociological approaches to modern Asia, W. Van Hoeve. Yeo, S.K., Su, L.Y.F., Cacciatore, M.A., McKasy, M. and Qian, S. (2020). Predicting intentions to engage with scientific messages on Twitter: The roles of mirth and need for humor, Science Communication 42(4): 481–507. Zijderveld, A.C. (1968). Jokes and their relation to social reality, Social Research 35(2): 286–311.

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PART III

Media, Culture, and Mind Engineering

11 CORPORATE COLONIZATION, GEOPOLITICAL POWER STRUGGLES, AND HYPERNUDGE – HOW SOCIAL MEDIA ENGINEERS MINDS Till Neuhaus and Lee J. Curley Introduction Emerging media technology has often, at times, been suspected to have a corrosive effect on ­society and especially the youth. While such concerns could, at least historically speaking, be pushed aside as hysteria or unreasonable fears, new technologies and (social media) networks – powered by artificial intelligence (AI) and almost omni‑available via smartphones – may actually be a game changer in that regard. While these technological novelties and the associated platforms have been suspected to be the root cause for a range of undesirable dynamics, one commonly articulated concern is that, through exposure to the minds of specific applications, human behav‑ ior1 may be altered in predictable ways – a process which could be labeled as mind engineering. Such mind engineering is suspected to be conducted by extremist groups in attempts to recruit new followers (cf. Weimann and Masri 2020), by the platforms themselves to prolong usage time or, as the Cambridge Analytica scandal (cf. Berghel 2018) and the suspected election meddling in the 2016 presidential election (cf. Gavra and Slutskiy 2021) has shown, by domestic and foreign po‑ litical actors. Such a perspective is supported by the fact that India has banned the Chinese‑based application TikTok and then‑president Trump threatened to do the same for the USA (cf. Kuhn 2020) – a threat which is, as of 2023, negotiated at the federal and state‑level judicial realms, however, without a conclusive result yet. Tentatively summarizing, it can be argued that there is something angst‑inducing in the way social media and the employed technologies are suspected to change user behavior and thought, such as in overconsumption of certain apps (cf. Fasoli 2021), addictive potential, and the personal and societal side effects2 thereof (cf. Worsley et al. 2018). Due to the fact that the algorithms employed by Facebook, TikTok, and others can be considered black boxes (cf. Rahwan et al. 2019) and due to the novelty of the phenomena as such, this field is not just underregulated legally but also underinvestigated scientifically. This chapter wants to address the topic of mind engineering via social media applications by presenting two cases in which applications employed techniques which could qualify as mind en‑ gineering (section “The Application of Hypernudges – The Cases of Facebook and TikTok”), yet



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with alternative motifs. The first one is Facebook and its attempts to prolong screen time for eco‑ nomically motivated reasons (section “The Attentional Merchants at Facebook”), and the other is TikTok which operates with similar mechanisms, yet also with a potentially geopolitical notion (section “TikTok and the Educational Cold War, Revisited”). Taken together, these cases provide a relatively clear picture of what social media applications are able to do regarding minds and behav‑ iors. Yet, before discussing these cases in‑depth, this chapter will lay out its theoretical presupposi‑ tions (section “From Nudge to Hypernudge”) by illustrating the school of thought known as nudge (Thaler and Sunstein 2017) (section “A Very Short Introduction to Nudging”). Nudges can be considered consciously made changes in decision architectures – all aspects relevant in a decision context – which contribute to a predictable change in behavior (cf. ibid.: 15), a fact which makes nudging potentially compatible with the field of mind engineering. These psychologically informed interventions have already been employed by governments globally (cf. Neuhaus and Curley 2022) to nudge citizens into the “right” direction and, as Brodmerkel (2019) showed, are also regularly employed by the private sector. This chapter aims at systemically connecting insights from the field of nudging with the decision architectures set up by social media companies. Therefore, the proposed nudge lens needs to be expanded by the concept of hypernudge (Yeung 2017), which combines nudging’s psychological insights with big data and AI3 (section “Big Data, Psychologi‑ cal Insights, and Hypernudging”). The chapter ends with a summary and reflection of key insights.

From Nudge to Hypernudge In the following, the theoretical assumptions and axiomatic presuppositions of nudging will be outlined. Also, certain branches of criticism and suspected abuse of these psychological insights will exemplarily be illustrated. In a second step, the concept of nudging will then be expanded by the possibilities of big data, algorithmic analysis of data, AI, and tailor‑made responses in the digital realm – all of these aspects will be subsumed under the label of hypernudging.

A Very Short Introduction to Nudging Based on the insights of the cognitive‑psychological school of thought4 known as Prospect Theory (cf. Tversky and Kahneman 1974; Kahneman 2012), nudging primarily focuses on the surround‑ ing factors – conceptualized as the “decision architecture” (Thaler, Sunstein and Balz 2014: 429) – of decision scenarios. Further, nudging assumes that human beings can consult two decision sys‑ tems, namely the fast, intuitive, and highly associative system 1 and the slower, more analytical, and reflective system 2 (Kahneman 2011). Thaler and Sunstein (2017) re‑labeled system 1 and 2 as Human (system 1) and Econ (system 2) (cf.: 34). While Prospect Theory was and still is primar‑ ily interested in identifying predictable errors regarding judgment under uncertainty – ­questions requiring a system 2 decision but, due to the presentational circumstances and the cognitive ca‑ pacity of the decision maker, being decided upon by system 1, -nudging utilizes these insights and attempts to create decision architectures which alter people’s behavior in predictable ways. Thaler and Sunstein (2017: 15) suggest that nudging is centered on providing appropriate deci‑ sion architectures to prompt the “correct” choice, while not removing or limiting the options of the decision maker. Such interventions mostly operate by providing selected comparison groups (Cialdini and Schultz 2004), framing information in specific ways (cf. McNeil et al. 1982; Tversky and Kahneman 1979: 3/4), setting strategic defaults (cf. Johnson and Goldstein 2003), or exploit‑ ing the tendency of humans to orient themselves in relationship to the majority (Sunstein and Vermeule 2008). To separate nudging from its alternatives – laissez‑faire economics or strict state 170

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interventions – and to promote nudging as the third way, Thaler and Sunstein (2017: 15) broke the concept down into two very simple sentences: “Draping the fruit in the canteen at eye level counts as a nudge. Removing junk food from the menu, on the other hand, does not”. As such nudging, as well as its supplementary philosophy, adhering to the name of “liberal paternalism” (Sunstein and Thaler 2003) promises foreseeable and controllable results while keeping freedom of choice intact; however, a significant degree of ambiguity regarding nudging’s utilization can be observed in practice (cf. Neuhaus 2022). This ambiguity can in part be explained by the fact that nudges appear to be undefined (cf. Selinger and Whyte 2011: 926–928) and thereby invite abuse of the concept (cf. Farrell and Shalizi 2011). Nudge advocates often cite the enhancement of public welfare as the key incentive to alter given decision architectures, yet welfare appears to be a difficult concept at times (cf. Neuhaus 2022) depending on the applied level of analysis. For example tilting decision architectures against the consumption of sweets may result in a healthier population and decreasing insurance costs but also creates a negative economic outlook for the manufacturers of candy which, in turn, could result in fewer jobs in specific areas. Quoting an overall welfare gain is misleading in such in‑ stances as partial problems have been addressed at the expense of other societal areas. However, the endeavor to position nudging as a cheap yet effective policy tool (cf. Doherty and Hallsworth 2017: 560) has been, also due to massive lobbying efforts (cf. Neuhaus and Curley 2022), incred‑ ibly successful as governments all around the world currently rely on behavioral public policy (cf. Lourenço et al. 2016). Taking this observation seriously, it can be argued that nudging implicitly promises to be the savior of the modern world, saving “us” from obesity to global warming (van der Linden 2018: 208). To make nudging an appealing concept to governments, Sunstein and Thaler (2003) developed a, at times, highly contradictory (cf. Neuhaus and Großjohann 2022), supplementary philosophy which should guide the altercation of decision architectures. Simulta‑ neously, this supplementary philosophy, coined “liberal paternalism” (Sunstein and Thaler 2003), also rendered the concept of actual preferences ineffective as o]ur emphasis is on the fact that in many domains, people lack clear, stable, or well‑ordered preferences. What they choose is strongly influenced by details of the context in which they make their choice, for example default rules, framing effects (that is, the wording of pos‑ sible options), and starting points. These contextual influences render the very meaning of the term “preferences” unclear. (ibid.: 1161) Additionally, to the premises of liberal paternalism, nudges should also be passive, positive, avoid‑ able, and voluntary5 (cf. French 2011: 157). Often being reduced to putting fruit at eye level in the canteen statement while being simultaneously highly successful regarding global roll‑out, nudg‑ ing is not only an ambiguous term but its key principles are simplistic, thus meaning non‑benign actors could utilize its principles for non‑positive outcomes (Neuhaus 2022: 6). Furthermore, nudging has been criticized on multiple grounds and many scholars suspect subtle, yet potent, governmental overreach (cf. Rebonato 2012; Mitchell 2004).

Big Data, Psychological Insights, and Hypernudging As it could be shown, classic nudges or, more formalized, behavioral public policy can be consid‑ ered a one‑size‑fits‑all model (cf. Mills 2020: 1) as the fruit in the canteen is put at eye level, yet it is the same arrangement for all customers in the canteen. Experience has shown that nudges can 171

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also produce unintended consequences. For example, nudges which encourage weight loss may have a negative effect on those who undereat, while having little effect on those who overconsume calories (cf. Mills 2019: 4). Further, individual differences exist in the population across a wide range of variables (personality, intelligence, risk taking), to assume that a one‑size‑fits‑all tool works the same on everyone is, potentially, reductionist (Mills 2020: 1). This problem has also been identified by nudge founding father, Sunstein, who suggests that the rather general princi‑ ples of nudging could and should be combined with more specific, demographic insights into the nudged group and/or individual (cf. Sunstein 2013: 1871). Referring back to the canteen exam‑ ple, a combination of psychological insights and an emerging degree of personalization has been sketched out by Risdon (2017: n.p.): But there’s a lot of data to collect and analyze in order to improve the cafeteria architecture. Now imagine that Amazon’s prototype of a check-out free convenience store has become a widespread reality. We can apply this combination of computer vision, data collection, and machine learning to our cafeteria. Our “choice architecture machine” can then make and update its own predictions about what is effective. It could even alter the arrangement of the cafeteria – change labels and placement of choices – and optimize itself, all under the aegis of increasing the probability of the desired outcome: healthier choices. What is described here by Risdon is a combination of individual data, big data,6 and psychological insights. By comparing current individual behavior with patterns derived from large numbers of prior users or customers, such a system can predict the likeliest response of a given individual to a variety of potential stimuli and can thereby statistically predict – and potentially influence – future behavior (cf. Pasquale 2015). Such designs have been branded as a hypernudge environment by Yeung (2017: 119) who defines the concept and its potential as following: By configuring and thereby personalising the user’s informational choice context, typically through algorithmic analysis of data streams from multiple sources claiming to offer predic‑ tive insights concerning the habits, preferences and interests of targeted individuals (such as those used by online consumer product recommendation engines), these nudges channel user choices in directions preferred by the choice architect through processes that are subtle, unobtrusive, yet extraordinarily powerful. And, while standard regulation differentiates between the three phases of information gather‑ ing, standard setting, and behavior modification (cf. Hood, Rothstein & Baldwin 2001), such “­design‑based regulation” combines the three phases in its architecture, thereby allowing instant and highly personalized intervention at the most basic level (Yeung 2017: 120). As sketched out by Yeung (2017), hypernudging combines the potency of big data with psycho‑ logical insights to create algorithms that scaffold the decision maker to make decisions deemed as optimal by the decision architect (i.e. the producer of content) (Selinger and Seager 2012). What remains unclear and underspecified in such settings is the knowledge on the basis of which the choice architect operates, also the intentions of the choice architect remain unknown (cf. Bröck‑ ling 2017: 195); in fact, the very notion of the choice architect – who, by definition, has a specific aim in mind – is questionable as the algorithms underlying large digital settings may be a product of a human craft, yet these algorithms also develop a life on their own. Due to the scope and complexity of the code, even the programmers, may not fully grasp the workings of a specific site (cf. Fasoli 2021). As argued earlier, algorithms and the underlying code remain a black box, 172

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thereby the intentions of a given digital decision architecture cannot ultimately be proven but only, as circumstantial evidence, observed and argued for. Generally speaking, digitally enhanced nudging or, adopting Yeung’s lingua, hypernudging suffers similar problems as traditional nudging as the choice architect’s intentions are not com‑ municated transparently, a (hyper)nudge remains underdefined, and altered decision architectures often have a touch of a coercive setting. Mills (cf. 2022: 1) suggests a specification of hypernudges by introducing them as a collection of nudges which change, adapt and reconfigure to individual decision makers based on live data and feedback. While a traditional nudge consists of a single intervention in a given setting, hypernudges can and should be understood as eco‑systems of dif‑ ferent psychological interventions which dynamically change according to the prior and current choices of the addressed individual (or group) and, over time, improve in their predictive accuracy (cf. Schreyer 2022: 133). The ecosystem trait of hypernudges has also been described by Lanz‑ ing (2019: 55) who notes that hypernudging cannot be opted out of unless the entire service (i.e. website or social media package) is quit. Summarizing, Morozovaite (2021: 117) concludes that hypernudging is the most complex and sophisticated method of digital nudging, as it allows for personalized decision architectures based on the individual differences of the consumer. Here, the decision architect hopes to use the correct nudge for the right decision maker at the right time (cf. Morozovaite 2021: 117). And, while traditional nudging has been suspected to be a “bag of tricks” (Gigerenzer 2015: 362) employed by coercive decision architects (cf. Waldron 2014) to influence decision makers to choose outcomes which society deems optimal (Basham 2010), such concerns multiply regarding hypernudging as only a limited amount of companies have the capital and expertise to set up such processes to manipulate decision makers (Leander and Burriss 2020: 1263), meaning the optimal outcome is no longer chosen by state actors, who at least theoretically should adhere to ethical standards, but rather by tech companies and their stakeholders. Thus, the “correct” outcome may be what increases profits or stock value for said companies.

The Application of Hypernudges – The Cases of Facebook and TikTok In the following section, two examples of (hyper)nudge settings will be provided, namely on the social media applications Facebook and TikTok. As illustrated earlier, hypernudging combines data, analysis, and psychological insights, yet certain scholars define it as a complex and entangled ecosystem of different nudges. Following this definition, a hypernudge could be discussed only when fully analyzing a certain digital decision architecture. Such an analysis will not be conducted in the following section; instead exemplary nudges, which employ patterns derived from big data analyses, will be presented and discussed regarding their workings. Ultimately, the employed al‑ gorithms remain black boxes, thereby intentions regarding a given (digital) decision architecture can be derived only from its outcomes – in other words, the provided analysis will try to system‑ atically connect psychological insights with their (suspected) realization in the digital realm and, on the basis of this, infer the platform’s intentions. Lastly, the presented cases – Facebook and TikTok – have been selected due to their prominence; yet this should not hide the fact that many other platforms and applications operate with similar tactics.

The Attentional Merchants at Facebook Facebook is arguably the largest social media website in the world and – together with further applications owned by the parent company Meta – a powerful player in the realm of social me‑ dia as the company reaches roughly 3.74 billion users on a monthly basis (cf. Statista 2023). 173

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While usage of the platform does not require monetary payments from its users, Facebook’s busi‑ ness model strongly focuses on user‑generated data and thus, may hope to incentivize users for their continued usage (Fasoli 2021: 1418). As shown by Eyal (2014), a plethora of companies exploit insights generated by behavioral sciences, neuroscience, cognitive psychology, social psy‑ chology, and individual differences research to create designs/decision architectures that maxi‑ mize the time which users spend on their platform. The user’s attention – and thereby also the generated data – can be commodified in two ways: “consumers give new media developers their literal attention in exchange for a service (such as a news feed or access to pictures of friends), […] [or] developers auction off consumer attention to advertisers” (Castro and Pham 2020: 2; cf. Neuhaus, Jacobsen and Vogt 2021: 246). Generally speaking, Facebook and other companies oper‑ ate under a neoliberal paradigm which primarily focuses on monetary gain. One notable difference between classic companies and social media services is that their monetary gain can primarily be generated by user data, which can be analyzed, systematized, and ultimately sold off to advertisers. In short, social media services collect data about their users’ interests, habits, traits, attitudes, and desires; synthesize these; and then sell them in the form of highly individualized advertisement opportunities. As such, attention and behavior – in the form of personality profiles – become trad‑ able products (cf. Schreyer 2022: 133) as these pieces of information can be considered real‑time market analyses combined with highly personalized and direct sales‑pitches (cf. Seele and Zapf 2017: 119) – a textbook hypernudge. As already hinted at, such a business model is based on the extensive “datafication” (van Dijck 2014) of the individual and, in accumulated form, society; such a data‑driven permeation of personal and societal structures has the potential to dissolute the borders between the individual/personal, public, and economic spheres. The observations made above have led some scholars to label platforms, such as Facebook, as “attentional merchants” (Wu 2016; Brodmerkel 2018: 3). This section explores the psychological processes Facebook exploits to prolong the time users spend on the platform – as it has been illustrated, longer dura‑ tion on the page results in more data, which, in turn, enhances the corporation’s monetary profit. As argued earlier, hypernudging can be conceptualized as the interplay or ecosystem of dif‑ ferent nudges which, on the basis of data‑driven and algorithmically powered processes, are con‑ sciously presented to alter behavior in predictive ways – in this case, more time being spent on the website. One nudge which may be– among many other mechanisms – exploited on Facebook, as well as other services, is the setting of strategic defaults, which is also known as the status quo bias. The default effect/status quo bias can best be conceptualized as a preselected option which becomes active when the decision maker refuses to make an actual decision. This can be exemplified by Choi et al. (2004: 81) in the case of a pension scheme. Choi et al. (2004) found that when enrolled automatically in their company’s 401(k) scheme, employees were much more likely to engage in the scheme than when they had to opt‑in to the scheme. Following rational choice theory, such changes should not affect the outcome of a given decision, yet empirical data suggests a status quo bias does exist (Jachimowicz et al. 2019: 174); again, providing evidence for the previously discussed Prospect Theory. Another example comes from a study by Johnson and Goldstein (2003; 2004) who showed that defaults – in this case, the change from an opt‑in to an opt‑out scheme – can influence the frequency of people being enlisted as a potential organ donor. Given the lack of organ donors, many countries have changed their default options accordingly (cf. Jachimowicz et al. 2019: 175). The literature on defaults suggests three reasons which speak in favor of default’s potency: The first is effort: choosing the default option requires no physical action and can free one from laborious calculation. The second is implied endorsement: decision‑makers may infer 174

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a default has been preselected due to its merit or the desires of those presenting the choice. Finally, defaults may result from reference dependence: the default option may represent a reference point which colors the evaluation of other options as gains or losses. (Dinner et al. 2011: 332) Given the potency of the default effect, it comes as no surprise that social media companies – in this case Facebook – may also be exploiting the status quo bias and modifying their existing decision architectures accordingly. As shown by Fasoli (2021: 1418/1419), the specific default adjustments which have been made reflect Facebook’s goals, namely prolonging user time and engagement. For example, in the past, Facebook and other platforms have used fixed‑length pages meaning that the most recent content is shown on the current page and users can scroll back to past posts (Fasoli 2021: 1418/1419). As such, a user can reach the point where s/he has covered all new content in a given time span. However, more recently, as the user moves down the page to the end of the visible information, more information is added to the view of the user. During this, the navigation bar is moved to the top of the page again, signaling to the user that they can scroll indefinitely (Fasoli 2021: 1418/1419). Furthermore, this change to the default webpage signals to the user that the content is infinite, thereby attempting to increase usage by said user (Fasoli 2021: 1418/1419). While the classic behavior of most users appears to be to scroll the page to the end, this insight has consciously been used by Facebook to prolong the time spent on the platform. However, just making Facebook appear infinite or bottomless does not qualify as a hypernudge but rather as a traditional one‑size‑fits‑all arrangement. Yet, Facebook was also able to enhance this change in decision architecture by not just making its timeline appear infinite but also by positioning the right posts for the right people to appear in this endless timeline. Based on the al‑ gorithmic processes described above, namely measuring user behavior and responses, comparing this data to prior patterns, and predicting the likeliest content which will result in the continuation of the desired behavior (cf. Luckerson 2015). And, while the general, in this case bottomless, web‑ site structure is a conscious decision by the company and implemented by its programmers, the specific contents being presented are selected by AI, which, in turn, raises the question of who or what is the actual choice architect in such a case. Mills and Sætra (2022) suggest that the AI can be considered the autonomous choice architect as the hypernudge would not have the same power without the tailor‑made impulses selected by the AI. As it could hopefully be shown, Facebook – as an exemplary case for social media sites in ­general – employs cognitive‑psychological insights and embeds these into their website’s ­(decision) architecture. The specific case of the default effect/status quo bias could highlight the interplay between traditional nudges and their data‑driven amplification which turns them into personalized hypernudges. Just like traditional nudges, these interventions primarily work through directing attention to certain, in this case attractive, aspects. As it could be shown earlier, Facebook’s main concern is the enhancement of its revenue which, based on the mechanisms and processes outlined above, is tightly correlated with its ability to bind and direct attention. Referencing Stanley Deetz (1992), such an approach could be labeled the “corporate colonization of attention” as most deci‑ sions as well as the associated architectures in these virtual surroundings have been created with an economic motif in mind.

TikTok and the Educational Cold War, Revisited As suggested by Eyal (2014: 9), websites employ decision architectures and AI‑generated content to address human emotion, which is produced by psychobiological processes (Stein 2006: 766). 175

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These psychobiological processes are suspected to create what human beings generally perceive as meaning (Carr 2002: 478; Neuhaus and Vogt 2022). As such, the mechanisms which are sub‑ sumed under the label hypernudging can be suspected to address significantly deep, underlying processes of the human brain pertaining to emotion. Likely, it is this entanglement of cognition, decision architectures, and the dopaminergic system which led some scholars to the conclusion to label social media platforms, which use hypernudging, as “habit forming” products (cf. Eyal 2014). This habit formation quality stems from the fact that, through positive feedback loops, ex‑ ternal impulses can initiate learning processes of behaviors which, through repetition, can become habitual (cf. Osseiran 2019). Due to the inversive nature of such products – in the end, they address the physio‑chemical processes of the human brain-, Smith and de Villiers‑Botha (2021) argue that children and teenagers should not be exposed to hypernudging environments as their cognitive, emotional, and regulatory systems are still developing. Despite the articulated concerns, TikTok has consciously targeted a teenage audience (Mohsin 2022), as it is suspected that the largest share of TikTok users (estimated at 41%) are aged between 16 and 24 (Kennedy 2020). The prevalence of younger users on TikTok may be ascribed to the AI‑powered design and the employed decision architecture of the company (cf. Herrman 2019). Tentative analyses of the app (cf. Kaye, Chen and Zeng 2021) have shown that TikTok employs similar mechanisms as Facebook as consumers can scroll infinitely to content tailored to them due to their personal data. Besides the already‑known status quo bias, this section would like to highlight a second change in the decision architecture, which utilizes the randomization of rewards as first described by Fer‑ ster and Skinner (1957). In their study, pigeons were rewarded with seeds when they showed a cer‑ tain behavior (i.e. pecking a button) and could only receive a second seed once a certain amount of time had passed – behavior and time had to be synchronized. Ferster and Skinner discovered, over trials, that pigeons began to memorize how long it would take for a second seed to be given (say 1 minute) and would peck at the window for the seed after the time they had memorized. How‑ ever, if the time interval was not consistent (always 1 minute) but instead varied in a randomized way (1 minute one time, 30 seconds another, 10 seconds the time after that, etc.), the birds would consistently and compulsively peck at the window (cf. Ferster and Skinner 1957, cited in Fasoli 2021: 1419). While this effect is employed by a plethora of websites, services, and apps, it is also an instance in which an algorithmically powered app addresses the dopaminergic system by pro‑ viding, in a randomized manner, rewarding content. The latter has been identified algorithmically by assessing the user and comparing behaviors to already existing data patterns. Thereby, the ap‑ plication elicits habit formation processes which reflect the inscribed aims, goals, and values of the app. As such, the randomization of rewards qualifies as a hypernudge as behavioral–psychological insights have been employed and amplified by the abilities and scope of AI; the combination of these insights and means manifests itself in the created decision architecture, namely the app itself. As research from alternative settings – i.e. casino gambling – could show (cf. Schüll 2014), human beings appear to be sensitive to such randomization patterns. For example, variability in relation to reward can create excitement regarding the anticipation of the said reward (i.e. “Will I win this time?!”) (Osseiran 2019). As Bucknell, Bossen, and Kottasz (2020) suggested, TikTok appears to employ these insights as it provides gratification7 based on the AI algorithms, which reward certain behaviors and indirectly punish – or, more precisely, refuse to reward – others. Thereby, users of the platform are animated to modify their behavior according to the inscribed reward patterns (Borelli 2021: 298). Apart from the rather obvious neoliberal agenda which aims at profit maximization, it should also be mentioned that the collection, analysis, and usage of large data sets may also help companies and governments alike to not just discipline individuals but also 176

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preemptively predict and control their behavior (cf. Schreyer 2022: 139) – the very definition of a hypernudge. As it could be shown, TikTok can be considered an attention‑binding platform which has the potency to actively alter behavior. While this observation may be valuable in and of itself, the underlying motifs of TikTok have not yet been discussed extensively. In contrast to other plat‑ forms, TikTok has a track record of censoring voices criticizing China, i.e. regarding the Uighur detention camps, as well as protests in Taiwan (cf. Mattheis 2019). Reuter and Köver (2019) even go so far as to claim that TikTok is an essential part of Peking’s media strategy and that China tries to realize its (geo)political aims through TikTok’s supervision and management. Therefore, a (geo)political lens may provide a valuable perspective on the issue. The application of such a lens is further legitimized by the fact that TikTok and Douyin – the Chinese equivalent of TikTok – operate on similar technology, yet the companies remain separated and utilize different networks, allegedly to comply with Chinese censorship restrictions (cf. Mohsin 2022). However, the strict division between the domestic (Chinese) product and the application for international audiences (cf. Abidin 2020: 77) may also suggest that the originators of the application have diverging inten‑ tions for the two audiences. Taken together with the fact that Facebook and multiple other services are actively blocked by China, it could be argued that a struggle for the hearts, minds, behaviors, and attention of the younger generation is currently fought between the competing superpowers of the time, namely China and the USA. Arguably, such a view has its epistemic roots in human capital theory,8 according to which children and young adults should primarily be considered re‑ sources for the economies – the main dimension in which the struggle between China and the USA manifests itself. A well‑educated, qualified, motivated, and capable workforce can be considered a prerequisite for economic growth and supports the associated political system. Vice versa, the workforce of another country is a resource for the rival country and its underlying political system. Following this line of thought, being in control over an application which is not only potentially habit forming but also highly attractive to younger audiences is not just an economically valuable asset but further allows for certain (geo)politically motivated adjustments, which should manifest themselves in the diverging designs of the two apps (TikTok and Douyin), an endeavor which will be discussed in the coming paragraph. When comparing the two versions of the application, one crucial difference becomes obvious, as Douyin (i.e. the Chinese version of TikTok) has an additional second trending tab called “posi‑ tive energy” (Kaye, Chen and Zeng 2021). “Positive energy (zheng nengliang)” is representa‑ tive of Chinese patriotism, closely aligned with the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) and used to represent the value systems, ideologies, and ethos of the party (Kaye, Chen & Zeng 2021). Since the National Propaganda and Ideological Work Conference in 2013, “positive energy” has been utilized by Chinese mainstream media and the propaganda wing of the CCP to attenuate critique and exaggerate praise (Chen 2021: 4); thereby, it can be argued that the concept as well as its dis‑ semination through TikTok serves domestic motifs and supports China’s mainstream ideology. In‑ formation that trends on the positive energy tab has been shown to display patriotism for the CCP (Kaye, Chen and Zeng 2021). Alongside these political motifs as well as the censorship of diverg‑ ing opinions as “negative” (cf. Zhang 2022: 224), TikTok also serves to inspire the younger Chi‑ nese generation by providing (state‑approved) role models as well as positive endeavors, mostly related to self‑improvement, learning, scientifically minded activities, personal development, and physical capabilities (cf. Hizi 2021: 25), arguably aiming at empowering “society to unite and forge ahead” (Chen 2021: 4). These aims are realized by algorithmically providing reward to those users who follow the state doctrine, thereby creating a positive feedback loop as new users pri‑ marily see the positive content and, in the strive for gratification, copy, emulate, and reproduce it. 177

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When looking at the Western version of TikTok, which runs on the same mechanisms, it strikes the eye that there is no equivalent to the positive energy tab (Kaye, Chen and Zeng 2021). ­Instead – again arguing from the observable outcomes as the specific algorithms remain black ­boxes – ­TikTok has been criticized multiple times as it may have, allegedly, promoted ­dysfunctional ­behaviors, such as eating disorders (cf. Redaktionsnetzwerk Deutschland 2019), dangerous ­challenges (cf. Kriegel et al. 2021), and mindless activities (Kennedy 2020). Arguably, these ­potentially habit‑forming activities could have an impact on the users’ future lifepath, educational/vocational activities, and physical and mental well‑being. In accumulated form, these tendencies could manifest themselves as a future advantage for the Chinese state in comparison to Western states. This advantage stems from the fact that TikTok can, through the underlying processes described above, install reward patterns addressed at children and young adults and provide this target group with role models and model behaviors which, in turn, make certain outcomes more likely in comparison to others. Through extensive exposure, these patterns and role models elicit habit formation processes which can, in the long run, manifest themselves in diverging levels of qualification, motivation, and general capability – all of them being factors of future economic stability and growth. If a country (in this case, China) can negatively influence children and young adults abroad while exposing its own youth to more productive content, an economic – and arguably with it, (geo)political – advantage can be generated. Summarizing, it can be argued that TikTok addresses younger audiences by design; is attempt‑ ing to promote different activities, behaviors, and values in diverging regions; and is (by design) highly stimulating which explains the expansive usage time and engagement rate. All of these in‑ dividual observations can be synchronized with a geopolitical motif and, at least in part, explained by the inner workings of a hypernudging environment.

Summary and Outlook This chapter aims to demonstrate the potential of the nudge framework and its digitally enhanced counterpart, hypernudge, as valuable lenses for analyzing and understanding the operations of social media services. We hope to illustrate how these services – powered by psychological in‑ sight, big data, and algorithmically driven analysis of data – can be employed in processes which could be understood as mind engineering as they affect and influence the way users perceive the world, what they deem desirable and valuable and how they modify their behavior accordingly. By having taken a closer look at Facebook and TikTok, it could be shown that the motifs of so‑ cial media companies can vary – ranging from corporate considerations to more political and geopolitical interests – even if the exploited processes and employed mechanisms are similar in nature. This chapter has primarily focused on the decision architecture level as platforms have been looked at and discussed. Therefore, future research should focus on user engagement – i.e. through eye‑tracking studies – and should clarify how users react in response to these decision architectures. More specifically, it could be of interest to compare user behavior depending on whether users have received information on the underlying mechanisms guiding these platforms and whether this alters their responses to the platform and decision architecture.

Notes 1 Generally, it is assumed that perception is organized by value hierarchies which help human beings to differentiate between objects (cf. Peterson and Flanders 2002). Thereby, value hierarchies not just organ‑ ize perception but, as a precursor, also enable human beings to set themselves goals and then act out cor‑ responding behaviors (cf. Peterson 2013). Framing social media as mind engineering tools assumes that

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Corporate Colonization, Geopolitical Power Struggles, Hypernudge the relationship between value hierarchies, perception, and act/behavior is not just unilateral but works in multiple ways, namely here the change of values/value hierarchies and behavior through exposure to (pre)selected information. This process – and this is the key argument of this chapter – can be facilitated through social media applications and their underlying workings, namely the interplay of algorithms and cognitive‑psychological insights which are here referred to as Hypernudge (cf. Yeung 2017). 2 One commonly expressed concern is that the information space is no longer under control by a given nation state (cf. Müller 2011). While this may appear unproblematic at first sight, foreign powers could employ this newly emerging opportunity to erode trust in existing governments. The results of such ef‑ forts often manifest themselves much later, i.e. in times of crisis when citizens suspect malevolent actions perpetuated by their governments, do not follow given arrangements (i.e. evacuation orders) and thereby amplify the scope and impact of a given crisis (cf. Neuhaus and Großjohann 2022). 3 It could be argued that the general dynamics of collecting data and improving given impulses are not new. In fact, they are not as advertisers have employed similar strategies to enhance their commercials ever since. However, the precision, accuracy, potency, and degree of personalization have increased tremen‑ dously with the opportunities of collecting and analyzing larger data sets and using the newly generated insights almost instantaneously. 4 For an historical account on the developments within the disciplines of psychology, economics, and – the newly emerging field of – behavioral economics see Neuhaus (2023) and Heukelom (2014). 5 In this context, positive means that the nudge, if working accordingly, should generate a positive outcome for the nudged person. Passive describes the fact that the realization of the nudge should be minimal inversive in existing structures, avoidable describes the idea that the nudged person can avoid the nudge, and voluntary means that alternative decision option remain intact (cf. French 2011, Neuhaus 2022). 6 boyd and Crawford (2012: 662) define big data and locate its value as following:  Big Data’s value comes from patterns that can be derived from making connections about pieces of data, about an individual, about individuals in relation to others, about groups of people, or simply about the structure of information itself. Big Data is important because it refers to an analytic phenomenon playing out in academia and industry. 7 In the TikTok app, users can upload short video snippets (15 seconds to a minute) in which they film themselves and underscore their movements with music and/or verbal quotations (i.e. from a movie or song). These videos are then circulated inside the community as other users have the possibility to follow appreciated video creators or express their appreciation – both can and should be considered reward. Via the in‑built algorithm, TikTok controls which videos receive more attention from the community and are thereby more likely to be rewarded. Through this connection, TikTok can motivate users to realize certain behaviors (i.e. through rewarded challenges) while neglecting others. 8 Such a view on the younger generation(s) stems from human capital theory, the branch of thinking which has historically as well as currently been carried out by the OECD and manifests itself in multiple edu‑ cational endeavors (cf. Ydesen 2019). Such a perspective is supported by the USA’s response to different PISA rankings, which the USA only started to take seriously once China has advanced to the realms com‑ parable to the USA’s (cf. Martens and Niemann 2013).

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12 RED TOURISM Spirituality, Modernity, and Patriotism in China’s Tibet1 Kamila Hladíková

Introduction For the past hundred years, Tibet has been by many Westerners imagined as a utopian spiritual abode, ‘a peaceful land devoted only to ethereal pursuits’ that has later been invaded by ‘an un‑ differentiated mass of godless Communists’ (Lopez 1998: 7). It has been represented through its unique religion, tantric form of Buddhism, but also through an idyllic peaceful lifestyle character‑ ized by nomadic pastoralism and magnificent landscapes with pristine nature. Starting with the era of reforms and opening (改革开放) in the 1980s, this image of Tibet as a myth‑like ‘Shangri‑la’, influenced by Western and Han Chinese imaginations and stereotypes, has been adopted within the People’s Republic of China (PRC) – often for commercial purposes – through various forms of cultural production, including literature (Hladíková 2013), music, and with rising prominence also tourism. With a significant boom in global tourism development in the 21st century, many Asian countries, including mainland China, witnessed a surge in domestic tourism that has been enabled by the rapid emergence of the middle class (Chang et al. 2009, King and Ploysri 2014). Sharply increasing numbers of Han Chinese tourists visiting Tibet turned tourism into an important source of income for the region, contributing to local employment and infrastructure development, but also a powerful tool for new forms of propaganda aiming to shape the public perception and dis‑ courses on Tibet. Building on the notion of ‘politics of tourism’, first introduced in the Asian context by Richter (1989), this chapter examines the role of tourism as an effective tool of mind engineering promot‑ ing official ideology, narratives of the Chinese Communist Party (CCP), and common identity of the big Chinese nation (中华民族共同体意识), both within the PRC and internationally. Rowen, in his recently published study of Chinese tourism in Taiwan, identified tourism as ‘a mode of territorial socialization and a political technology of state territorialization’ (2023: 10) and recog‑ nized the PRC’s efforts to use tourism ‘to incorporate Taiwan into an undivided “One China”’ (2). Tourism in the PRC’s minority regions works toward a similar, ultimately political, goal – to incite patriotism and strengthen national unity by introduction and re‑confirmation of ideologically cor‑ rect authoritative interpretations of history and social development. Through analyzing personal vlogs focused on tourism promotion in Tibet published on YouTube during the COVID lockdowns



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DOI: 10.4324/9781003289746-16

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between spring 2020 and autumn 2022, this study examines connections between forms of official tourism promotion in Tibet, the PRC’s ethnic policies and ideological narratives used by authori‑ ties to legitimize Chinese rule in Tibet.

Methodology The official Chinese discourse legitimizing the CCP’s rule in Tibet on a strongly ideological basis has its roots in the 1950s and after the 1959 Tibetan uprising was decisively formulated in the ­English‑language volume Concerning the Question of Tibet published by the Foreign Language Press in Beijing (Anonymous 1959). It reframes the military invasion of Tibetan territory as ‘peace‑ ful liberation’ (和平解放) in the name of ‘emancipation of serfs’ (农奴解放) by the abolishment of the old feudal regime through enforcing social changes labeled as ‘democratic reforms’ (民主改革). Since the 1980s, derived ideologically based narratives have evolved into a systematic ­counter‑discourse against the criticism voiced repeatedly by the Tibetan exile government – the Central Tibetan Administration (CTA) in Dharamsala, Tibet support groups, and international ­organizations including the United Nations, Human Rights Watch, Amnesty International, and others. The critics raised the questions of occupation and colonization of Tibetan territory, ­constant human rights infringement, and ‘cultural genocide’ (CTA 2018: 107), pointing out that, since 2009, over 150 Tibetans self‑immolated inside the PRC in an act of ‘counter‑securitization’ (Topgyal 2016: 166), after the Chinese government implemented heavy securitization measures in the ­region following the 2008 protests (Zenz and Leibold 2017). The presented study examines the role of tourism within the complex government propaganda network promoting social stability (社会稳定) and national unity (民族团结) in Tibet as a means to fully integrate Tibetans into the Chinese state after the last large‑scale protests. The aim of this research is to show that, in the case of Tibet, the government tourism development strategies and tourism promotion are designed to help spread official Chinese narratives on Tibet’s past and pre‑ sent. The main research objective of the presented qualitative content analysis of the PRC‑based Tibet‑related personal vlogs on one of the most influential global social media platforms, YouTube, is to show how this kind of media targeting international audience reflects the described official narratives and strategies, thus potentially serving as new external propaganda tools of the Chinese government. Following the analysis, the official strategies implemented during the past decade in tourism promotion in the Tibetan Autonomous Region (TAR) will be examined to identify key narratives and related mass manipulation techniques employed in Tibetan tourism development. The first part provides a qualitative media analysis of the representation of Tibet by PRC‑based ethnic Tibetan YouTubers active during the COVID lockdowns between 2020 and 2022 with an aim to define their role in the state‑run mind engineering project shaping global public opinions about Tibet. During the research period from May 2020 to November 2022, several channels on YouTube, newly created or repurposed, started to regularly publish personal vlogs specifically fo‑ cusing on Tibet. Among dozens of Tibet‑related videos that appeared on YouTube during this time, some were published by either Han Chinese or foreigners (American or European), but, notably, many of them were made by ethnic Tibetans. The channels publishing these videos either claimed to be run by local tour operators or individual vloggers introducing themselves as ‘ordinary Ti‑ betans’. The research covered several hundreds of short‑ to medium‑length vlogs in English or Chinese, introducing Tibetan culture, customs, and style of living, as well as officially promoting new travel destinations. The collected data clearly show that the number of Tibet‑related travel vlogs uploaded to YouTube sharply increased starting around mid‑2020 up until the end of 2022, which marked a notable slowdown in the second half. As this chapter argues, these videos share 184

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some features indicating that they might be a part of a government‑orchestrated mind‑engineering campaign aimed to shape public perceptions and opinions on Tibet. Recent research by scholars focusing on Xinjiang and Uighurs (Ryan et al. 2022, Steenberg 2022) described a new type of ‘personalized propaganda’ by Uighur influencers that started to ap‑ pear after the international backlash against the CCP’s policy toward Uighurs and other Muslim minorities in Xinjiang. Steenberg coined the term ‘personalized propaganda’ in reference to the Chinese notion of ‘personal media’ (自媒体) to stress the individualized and subjective character of media content serving as propaganda, but presented through a personal channel, in the form of a personal output, as opposed to institutional channels and output. Uighur influencers’ videos published on Chinese social media and for a certain period of time also on YouTube were identi‑ fied as a part of ‘war of information and representation’ over the ‘state violence [against Muslim populations in the region]’ (Steenberg 2022: 178). Such personalized propaganda, defined as ‘a synthesis of state propaganda, social media, the gig economy, and the commercialization of per‑ sonal space’ and including ‘explicit political content and close alignment with CCP narratives’, has been observed in other minority regions in the PRC as well, including Inner Mongolia and Tibet (Ryan et al. 2022). The Tibet‑related vlogs analyzed in this chapter started to appear slightly later than the Xinjiang influencers’ videos but serve a similar purpose in a different context. In comparison to Xinjiang videos, Tibetan influencers present a more subtle form of mind engineering that aims to gradu‑ ally shift global public opinion on Tibet in favor of the official Chinese narratives of ‘peaceful liberation’, socialist development, and national unity, helping to reconstruct the image of Tibet according to the needs of the state ideological apparatus. On the surface, they serve primarily to promote tourism. Nevertheless, the fact that they started to appear with increased intensity during the COVID‑19 pandemic and on a global platform blocked in the PRC, poses justifiable questions about the influence aspect of these videos that sometimes overtly support government agendas. Therefore, the second part examines this social media content in the context of local development campaigns and newly promoted tourism development strategies, which highlight three topics: ‘red tourism’ (红色旅游), ‘ecological tourism’ (生态旅游), and ‘Tibetans travel [in] Tibet’ (西藏人游 西藏) (Xizang 2021).

The Power of Eyewitness Even before the start of the COVID‑19 pandemic, the TAR was a place with strictly limited acces‑ sibility. Foreign passport holders needed a special travel permit and could visit only on organized trips accompanied by a local tour guide, and since 2015 by a local police supervisor. Access for foreign journalists and diplomats was restricted and impossible after the last major protests in 2008.2 The whole region was regularly closed for foreign tourists around the March anniversary of the Lhasa uprising in 1959 as well as around other important anniversaries or Party meetings. After the COVID‑19 outbreak, Tibet remained closed to visitors from outside of the PRC until January 2023. During the three years, when Tibet, as well as the rest of the PRC, remained virtu‑ ally inaccessible, numerous channels on YouTube, a platform blocked by the PRC government, started to upload videos about Tibet, including travel vlogs and various content about Tibetan culture and life. Under such paradoxical circumstances, some of the influencers repeatedly pro‑ claimed their intention to show ‘the real Tibet’ (真实的西藏) to those who are not able to see it for themselves. In summer 2020, a well‑known PRC‑based and CCP‑supportive entrepreneur and influencer, Daniel Dumbrill, visited Tibet, accompanied by the female journalist Li Jingjing (李菁菁), a 185

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reporter for the state China Global Television Network (CGTN). In the videos she explains official CCP narratives of Tibetan history and presents a Sinicized perspective interpreting Tibetan culture and religion to her ‘foreign friend’, while communicating in Mandarin with locals. The propa‑ ganda function is not always obvious to viewers not familiar with the terminology of ideologically based narratives that underline the content of Dumbrill’s videos. It is explained more clearly in a vlog documenting their visit to one of the recently opened small museums of Tibet’s feudal past, the Pala Manor (帕拉庄园). The former feudal estate of Phalha Tashi Wangchug (pha lha bkra shis dbang phyug, 1912–1982) who escaped to India with the Dalai Lama after the 1959 uprising hosts an exhibition of the ‘decadent’ lifestyle of old Tibetan nobility juxtaposed with the miserable conditions of the family’s serfs (Dumbrill 2020). Such videos highlighting evils of the ‘old Tibet’, published either through official channels of the PRC state media or pro‑China propagandists like Dumbrill, clearly promote the CCP narratives and government policy on Tibet and are quite eas‑ ily identified as propaganda. This content is produced to directly address criticism of the Chinese regime and its policies and aims at ‘debunking the lies’ (CGTN 2021) of Western ‘anti‑China media’ and scholars, presenting the ‘Chinese perspective’ in an effort to indoctrinate recipients and change their opinion. The openly propagandist content presenting official narratives like ‘liberation of serfs’ and promoting the CCP’s standpoints and policies toward Tibet is different from the ‘personalized propaganda’ videos analyzed later. These take up the form of personal vlogs with only subtle links connecting them to government agendas and narratives. Such links, for example, emphasizing the benefit of government‑led development projects, poverty alleviation, or harmony among nationali‑ ties, can be identified also in travel vlogs of other Chinese‑speaking foreigners with long‑term resi‑ dence in the PRC who visited Tibet or Xinjiang (often both) during the research period. Some of them document obviously organized excursions to non‑tourist places, for example, visiting newly built hospitals or local schools, featuring minority children speaking fluent Chinese and singing patriotic songs. One example is The China Traveller, a channel operated by the PRC‑based British influencer Stuart Wiggin, who uploaded several Tibet travel vlogs promoting massive government investments in the region within the poverty‑alleviation program (The China Traveller 2022a). These vlogs often present strongly Sinicized perspectives of Tibet manifested in the language us‑ ing Chinese names and terms for Tibetan realia and the CCP rhetoric to describe current develop‑ ment in Tibet (The China Traveller 2022b). Before 2020, there were several active Tibet travel channels on YouTube acting like local tour operators. Because the platform is blocked in the PRC, while operating from within Tibet, they were registered abroad using a VPN, either unnoticed or with some kind of consent of the au‑ thorities. In the beginning, these channels featured professional, commercial, non‑personalized tourism promotions with beautiful shots and practical advice (in either English or Chinese) to travelers, including how to obtain a Tibet travel permit or how to deal with altitude sickness (e.g., 卓玛 Zhuoma, registered in 2018). However, in 2020, a new kind of personalized videos started to appear, featuring individual hosts/influencers who gradually built close relationships with sub‑ scribers, adapting to the general trend of commercial social media. The content is presented as an ‘authentic personal account’ of someone who actually lives in Tibet to increase the influence and credibility of the videos. The emergence of Tibetan influencers from within the PRC is sympto‑ matic. Tibet has always been a highly sensitive topic in the PRC’s international relations, and it would involve certain personal risk to publish any individual Tibet‑related content on Western platforms at one’s will.3 The boom of personalized Tibet vlogs on YouTube started with videos uploaded on a channel of one of the local tour operators providing services to foreign visitors, Tibet Vista. The channel 186

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Tibet Travel (Tibet Vista) was registered on YouTube in 2011 with the United States as its indicated location. Initially, only one or two short videos were uploaded per year, all of them related to usual travel procedures and itineraries. The channel started to show more activity in 2019, but the real breakthrough came after June 2020. By October 2022, the channel has been updated regularly, usu‑ ally once a week, and has reached over 170,000 subscribers and over 24 million cumulative views. This new activity surged with a new host who introduced himself as a tour guide, going by the name Jamyang. In his vlogs, he addresses the audience in fluent English, occasionally switching to Ti‑ betan or Chinese when communicating with locals, and most of the videos include English subtitles. Between June 2020 and October 2022, more than 100 professionally edited videos with Jamyang as host were uploaded on various topics. The vlogs combine beautiful shots of Tibetan scenery, including aerial footage from drones, with Jamyang’s monological interactions with the audience taken by a front‑facing or hand‑held camera. He often engages in simple conversations in Tibetan with local people and introduces interesting figures, like a monk or a nun, hardworking nomads, an old man whose job is posing for tourists with his Tibetan mastiff by the Yamdrok Lake, and even a ‘Himalayan Gay’.4 Topics are carefully selected to draw the attention of international audiences and show Tibet as a modern, ecological, open, and at the same time spiritual and mysterious land. The professional quality of videos, the beauty of Tibetan nature and cultural relics, and Jamyang’s friendly smile and respectful behavior combine to raise the popularity of the channel, with several videos gaining well over one million views.5 Not surprisingly, the comments section is full of praise. Closer to the government agenda, several videos highlight recent developments in the ­region – most notably the vlog from a trip on the new bullet train from Lhasa to Nyingthi (林芝) in south‑eastern Tibet (Tibet 2021b). Many such videos include a short commentary on the develop‑ ment of the region or the government’s poverty alleviation campaign. In some vlogs, Jamyang praises new roads and cheap petrol or government‑built houses, in others he highlights that Tibet is ‘safe, developed, and modern’. He never fails to mention the help from the government and the leaders whose portraits he encounters in many households, often imitating the traditional Buddhist images of deities and revered lamas known as thangka. In a video uploaded in May 2022, Jamyang finds a random washing machine standing outside by a well in a remote mountain settlement near Yangpachen and comments that ‘last year the government provided washing machines to every household in Tibet’ (Tibet 2022b). More recent vlog (Tibet 2022c) about a visit to Tibet’s oldest Buddhist monastery Samye includes a similarly absurd scene proving the development in Tibet when Jamyang invites the viewers ‘to enjoy the toilets of the monastery’.6 Other videos praise the Chinese health care system and COVID‑19 management. In one of them a senior villager enjoys the benefits of the government vaccination program at the local Party Members’ and Mass Service and Activity Center and expresses (in Tibetan) his thanks to the authorities who ‘arranged it for us’ (Tibet 2021a). This occurred just as other countries were struggling to get enough vaccines for the massive outbreak of the Delta variant. Almost one year later, a smiling Jamyang after an exhaust‑ ing trek in the snowy mountains shares his happiness, claiming that Tibet is one of the safiest place (sic) on this earth, it thanks to the government and the strong religions that we have (…) both of them protecting this place since the beginning Covid‑19, no one has infected by this disease, so we believe here is one of the holiest and happiest place (sic), come to enjoy all this beautiful view of Tibet. (Tibet 2022a)7 In comparison, another channel run by a Tibetan tour operator is Explore Tibet, which was also registered in 2011. It has just 1,600 subscribers, and videos rarely surpassed 1,000 views. More 187

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personalized videos featuring several male guides started to appear during 2021; between January and May 2022, when the last video was posted, 12 longer vlogs featuring the same host were up‑ loaded introducing less visited Tibetan pilgrimage sites. Tibetan language is much more prominent here than in Tibet travel vlogs, with English explanations or subtitles. The host does not introduce himself by his name, but in one video he mentions he comes from Yushu in Qinghai Province, the southern part of the Tibetan Amdo region. Yet, he never uses Chinese to communicate with Tibetans from different parts of Tibet, always speaking in Lhasa Tibetan. These vlogs put a lot of emphasis on the explanation of religious meanings, often interviewing local lamas or hermits to introduce the history of these places (e.g., Explore 2022). The videos, obviously made with non‑professional equipment, record more natural interactions with Tibetans than sometimes awk‑ wardly staged excursions in Tibetan homes with Jamyang. These videos, reaching only hundreds of views, do not exoticize Tibet as it often happens in mass tourism and do not openly promote the government agendas as described earlier. It can be assumed they were made without government incentives that seem to be at play in videos identified through their content analysis as personal‑ ized propaganda. Direct evidence of government funding is lacking, but the recently published research on Xin‑ jiang influencers argues that Chinese minority vloggers are only able to work on banned West‑ ern platforms thanks to ‘state‑sponsored programs that subsequently help facilitate commercial success’ (Steenberg 2022: 175). The vlogs are not published by individual influencers but are produced ‘with the help of special influencer‑management agencies known as multi‑channel net‑ works (MCNs)’ (Ryan et al. 2022). These agencies enable monetization on platforms not legally accessible from the PRC and work closely with authorities to provide strictly controlled content. Some Tibetan influencers on YouTube appear to be a part of this network. For example, a young Tibetan girl hosting the channel 那曲拉姆 (Lhamo from Nagchu) in one of her videos, which was uploaded on the eve of the Chinese National Holiday (国庆节) on October 1, 2022, praises the recent developments and thanks the government and her motherland for the opportunity to become an influencer. As she explains in the vlog, her career started after she participated in an ‘excursion with leaders from the Tibetan Cyberspace Administration Office (西藏网信办)’ one year earlier (Naqu 2022). It might be assumed that this was one of the ‘state‑sponsored programs’ mentioned by Steenberg that facilitate the ‘personal media’ business as government‑endorsed influencers. Dozens of videos by individual Tibetan vloggers appeared on YouTube during the year 2021, reminiscent of those by Xinjiang minority influencers described by Steenberg and Ryan et al. In contrast to the English‑language Tibet travel channel, these new influencers are young, mostly fe‑ male, Chinese‑speaking Tibetans. Their videos are less focused on the representation of exotic and spiritual elements of life in Tibet, with more emphasis on modernity and development. Specific topics often directly address Han Chinese stereotypes about Tibet, refuting its perceived ‘back‑ wardness’. The above‑mentioned vlogger Naqu Lamu started a Weibo account on May 13, 2021, indicating a location in Xizang and accumulating 1.1 million followers within the first year. The content is regularly uploaded to several Chinese social media platforms and YouTube, where the channel, registered on May 31, 2021, through Hong Kong, quickly reached close to 100,000 fol‑ lowers. At the time of this research, the videos were only in Chinese with no English subtitles and the number of views reached lower than thousands for most videos except for YouTube shorts. The content is mainly commercial, allowing direct monetization on Chinese social media platforms, but not on YouTube, where any kind of remuneration must be processed through an agency. Com‑ pared to the Xinjiang influencers’ videos, there is rarely an obvious government agenda present in Naqu Lamu’s vlogs. They cover attractive topics, like the daily life of Tibetan pastoralists, beauty tips based on natural Tibetan cosmetics, Tibetan cuisine, and Tibetan medicine. Many videos are 188

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related to caterpillar fungus,8 a highly sought‑after supplement in traditional Chinese medicine and an important part of the Tibetan local economy in herding areas, where it grows. The commercial content, which naturally attracts followers, is occasionally interlaced with promotions of specific government projects. For example, one vlog introduces a new high‑tech neighborhood in Lhasa that provides living for senior Tibetans with free social and medical care. During a clearly arranged visit to a newly built medical center, Lhamo conducts short interviews in Tibetan with the staff and an elderly client (Naqu 2021). A brief scan of the comments section shows many positive comments, some of them in traditional Chinese characters, appearing to show support from Taiwan, Hong Kong, or the Chinese diaspora with words appreciating the gov‑ ernment’s efforts to develop and modernize Tibet, the social benefits, and health care, etc. Along with informative vlogs explaining Tibetan rituals, rites, and etiquette (like ‘how to relieve yourself in the pasture’), there are several videos openly inviting Han Chinese to Tibet and encouraging interethnic marriages, indicating either increased interest for Tibetan wives among Chinese men or government’s support for mixed relationships. Other vlogger’s videos even specifically mention the government’s incentives to attract workers from inland China to come to Tibet for employment (Baima 2021b). With these topics, young female Tibetan influencers help to present the govern‑ ment’s agenda of rich, modern, and developed ‘Chinese Tibet’. Another notable Tibetan influencer channel on YouTube is 白玛卓玛, which is a Chinese trans‑ literation of a Tibetan female name, Pema Dolma. Videos under the same name were also uploaded on Bilibili, mostly through a channel called ‘Pema Dolma in Tibet’ (白玛卓玛在西藏), but the same person under this name figured in other social media as well. The protagonist is a ‘real‑life Tibetan girl Dolma’ in reference to the broadly known and very popular Chinese language song by Tibetan singer Yadong (亚东). Interestingly, the YouTube channel with more than 13,000 sub‑ scribers went through a series of changes during the research period. The original channel with this name stopped posting with the last video uploaded on August 9, 2022. After that date it changed its name several times and uploaded other unrelated content (later deleted), but some of Dolma’s videos remained searchable on this channel. However, another channel (as of January 2023 with only 3,700 followers) started to publish under this name since November 2022. Both channels, the original and the new one, were registered in April 2021, just one day apart. It is not known whether the new channel was used with another name and uploaded other content before changing to 白玛卓玛, but as of January 2023 there are no older videos predating November 19, 2022. The use of one personal name for several channels on various media and the changes of users on YouTube may indicate that these channels are managed through a PRC‑based agency as discussed earlier. Dolma’s first video was uploaded on April 13, 2021, and during the next 17 months the original channel published around 215 short videos and accumulated almost 1.8 million views. ‘Tibetan girl Dolma’ in her videos provides explanations for various questions that a Han Chinese viewer might have about Tibet, reacting to people’s curiosity and stereotypes about Tibet and Tibetans. Some vlogs explicitly mention incentives for Han people to come to Tibet, as tourists or even to live and work there, and possibly marry a Tibetan girl like herself. Other videos promote Tibet as a modern and developed region, fully integrated into the PRC society, either promoting Tibet as an attrac‑ tive tourist destination and a place to settle or showing the aspirations of young Tibetans within the PRC’s economy. For example, Dolma answers questions about the high plateau climate or the level of development in Tibet (Baima 2021a) and provides advice for those (Han Chinese) who are considering moving there (2021b). The last video uploaded on the original channel in August 2022 was later deleted from YouTube but remained accessible on Bilibili (Baima 2022). The video titled ‘Why we say that Han and Tibetans have the same origin? Tibetan girl Dolma explains Tibetan culture and thousand‑years 189

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strong blood relationship’ is one of the examples of more overt personalized propaganda. It is based on government narratives providing ‘historical evidence’ that Tibet has been a part of China since ancient times and Tibetans are part of the big Chinese nation (Xizang 2017). There is a clear message emphasizing the common identity of Tibetans and Han as ‘Chinese’ (中国人) and enthu‑ siastic aspirations of young Tibetans to integrate into the Chinese society. The agenda behind such videos clearly reflects the shift in the PRC’s ethnic policy during the past decade, from the notion of ‘autonomy of minority nationalities’ toward the inclusive state identity and ‘mingling’ (Hu & Hu 2011) of ethnic minorities with Han to build the big Chinese nation.

Between Shangri‑la, Red History, and Glorious Modernity As convincingly argued by scholars focusing on Xinjiang, the ‘frontier influencers’ recruiting from among ethnic minorities can be seen as ‘the new face of Chinese propaganda’ (Ryan et al. 2022). Considering the sharply increased presence of Tibet influencers on YouTube starting around the year 2020, some two years later than the Xinjiang influencers appeared, it can be assumed that these videos were created with a certain form of official support or incentive. Being posted on YouTube, a platform legally inaccessible from the PRC, they aim primarily at overseas audi‑ ences, including Westerners and exiled Tibetans, but also people from Taiwan and Chinese living abroad or using VPN to ‘climb the [fire]wall’ (翻墙) blocking forbidden platforms. The situation is more complicated in the case of influencers predominantly active on Chinese social media, es‑ pecially youth‑oriented apps like Douyin or Xiaohongshu, therefore this study has focused only on PRC‑based Tibetan influencers on YouTube. Because many of these channels are travel‑oriented, it is important to see them in the context of tourism development in Tibet and the conditions under which foreign passport holders can visit Tibet. As far back as 1989, Richter argued that ‘tourism is a highly political phenomenon’ (2) and that ‘[socialist and other authoritarian regimes] see in tourism a means of improving their international press notices’ (6). In a chapter, which is the first English‑language study on Chinese tourism, she describes the tourism policy in the PRC in the 1980s as ‘essentially modeled on the assumptions that Chinese governments from the time of Confucious (sic) to the era of Mao Zedong have had about foreigners in general, namely that foreign access to Chinese society should be delimited’ (27). Richter saw the opening of the PRC for (primarily Western) tourists as an important milestone for China’s foreign relations in the post‑Mao era. However, Western inbound tourism was only one part of the evolution of the tourism industry in Asia, including the PRC, as cross‑Asian and domestic tourism started to flourish from the 1990s on. Richter did envision this growing trend, noting that ‘in 1986 there were some 27 million domestic travelers [in the PRC], and that number [was] expected to double in the 1990s’ (41), but in general, English‑language scholarship on Asian tourism only started to address this phenomenon after the year 2000 (Winter 2007, Chang et al. 2009, King and Ploysri 2014). The rapid emergence and growth of ‘domestic’ (i.e., Han Chinese) tourism in Tibet clearly shows that we need to abandon what Winter called ‘outmoded conceptions of globalization as a process of Westernization’ (2007: 29) and rethink the ‘politics of tourism’ from a non‑Western perspective. In the process of ‘decolonization’ of tourism studies, the uneven power relations ‘based upon conceptual binaries between traditional/modern, authentic/inauthentic, hegemony/ resistance, and local/global’ (28) can be observed on multiple layers within Asia. This is evident not only in ‘the encounter[s] between Western, northern‑hemisphere tourists and their Eastern, southern‑hemisphere hosts’, but also on local levels as it is evident from many aspects of Chinese domestic tourism as well, namely in politically contested regions like Tibet, Xinjiang, or Taiwan. 190

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The development of tourism in the TAR differed from the Chinese inland, even though it mostly shadowed the general trends. The TAR opened for foreign visitors during the 1980s for the first time after the political turmoil following the Tibetan resistance in 1958–1959 and the Cultural Revolution in 1966–1976. However, a special permit (入藏函) with a detailed itinerary was still required for entry of foreign passport holders; this policy did not apply to the Tibetan‑inhabited areas outside of the TAR. The number of incoming tourists in the TAR started to rise dramatically after the opening of the Qinghai‑Tibet railway in summer 2006. From the 2.5 million tourist vis‑ its (both domestic and foreign, including Taiwan, Hong Kong, and Macao) that year the number multiplied annually and reached 20 million in 2015, when tourism had already made up 25% of the TAR’s GDP. The sharp growth continued and surpassed 40 million in 2019 (Zhonghua 2020) with only a short pause in the first half of 2020, when the region was closed due to COVID‑19. Nevertheless, despite the ongoing pandemic, in 2021 official sources announced a new high reach‑ ing over 41.5 million tourist visits (Zhonghua 2022). There are no public data quantifying the ratio of foreign visitors to the TAR in the past; however, since the PRC effectively closed its borders after the outbreak of COVID‑19 in Wuhan, only domestic tourists (and a small number of foreign residents) have been able to visit between spring 2020 and autumn 2022. Richter in 1989 remarked laconically that at that time domestic tourism was ‘not seen as a particularly important means of integrating the PRC’s minority groups into the dominant Han culture’ (52). In fact, according to her observation, ‘foreign tourists [had] the greatest likelihood of visiting minority areas’ (53). In other words, tourism in minority areas originally developed with primarily foreign tourists in mind. However, unceasing resistance and recurrent waves of protest, namely in Tibet and Xinjiang, from the late 1980s to the 2000s have radically changed the picture. In the process of securitization of these two regions, the authorities focused on controlling various ‘foreign forces’, including foreign tourists and researchers, but also members of overseas diasporas whose contact with local people was seen as potentially subversive or even erosive from the perspective of the state/regime. Under such circumstances, tourism started to be used as one of the integration strategies aimed at the PRC’s minority groups and a means of achieving state control over minority‑related narratives. Hand in hand with the ‘second generation ethnic policies’ (Hu & Hu 2011) promoting ‘ethnic blending’ (交融) instead of former ‘regional ethnic autonomy and minority preferential policies’ (Leibold 2012), the rapid growth of domestic tourism found a favorable response in both Tibet and Xinjiang. Local authorities started to incentivize Han Chi‑ nese inbound tourism to the TAR, emphasizing the role of ‘Tibetan red culture resources’ included in officially promoted travel itineraries (Xizang 2021) for ‘strengthening of ‘five identifications (五个认同)’9 of all nationalities in Tibet and affirmation of the collective identity of the big Chi‑ nese nation’ (Niu 2020). Western studies (e.g., Schein 2000, Blum 2001) have shown how ethnic minority identities and cultures in the PRC are commercialized and commodified within the mass tourism industry, which is an important source of income for many local communities and whole minority regions. At the same time, tourism, during the past decade namely Han Chinese tourism, contributes to the further incorporation of ethnic minorities into the larger frame of inclusive Zhonghua wenhua (中华文化; Chinese national culture) or ‘collective civic culture and identity’ (Leibold 2012) of the Chinese nation (中华民族). As in other parts of the world, exotic local cultures and customs with colorful ethnic costumes, dancing and singing, became a signature feature of ethnic tour‑ ism in the PRC, appropriating various stereotypes stemming from the uneven power relations between the Han majority and ethnic minorities, the Chinese state and indigenous elites. On the surface, ethnic tourism appears to contribute to the preservation of local minority cultures, but it often changes them according to the taste of the incoming tourists, while fixating on the perceived 191

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inferiority of their culture, which is viewed as primitive and backward compared to the culture of the dominant ethnic group. One of the new trends in Tibetan tourism that started to be officially promoted in 2021 is ‘red tourism’, whose aim is to promote patriotism and can thus be described as ‘patriotic tourism’ (爱国旅游). In 2021, the TAR Tourism Development Office (自治区旅游发展厅) promoted a series of red tourism events under the motto ‘Hundred years of great historical course, seventy glorious leaps’ (百年伟业历程·七十辉煌跨越). This campaign encouraged the regional travel authorities to ‘make good use of red resources, tell red stories, promote red education, and pass on red genes [in order to] develop red tourism’ (Xizang 2021). This kind of tourism either takes tourists on ­‘development‑tours’, showcasing newly built modern living quarters, hospitals, schools, railroads, and train stations, or highlights sites of historical significance that are somehow connected to the ­revolutionary history and heroic endeavors of the CCP in Tibetan areas. Such sites serve as ­Tibet’s ‘pa‑ triotic education bases’, combining the ‘unique natural and cultural resources of Tibet’ (Xizang 2021). The analyzed Tibet travel vlogs often build on those aspects of Tibetan culture and life that are perceived as exotic by many outsiders (e.g., pastoralism, polyandry, monastic life, religious practices), arousing the curiosity of viewers by stressing elements of otherness. Using this basis of popular stereotypes that people interested in Tibet or in general traveling expect from Tibet‑related content, they incorporate elements, aspects, and narratives desired by the authorities, from the ‘lib‑ eration of serfs’ from the oppressive feudal ‘old Tibet’ to clean cities with modern infrastructure and free high‑quality health care. Various strategies are used to link the positive images of Tibet directly with the CCP’s rule as ‘red tourism’ does. The open propaganda narratives of official me‑ dia channels juxtaposing ‘dark old Tibet’ with the ‘bright new Tibet’ are in the influencers’ videos substituted by more subtle forms, ranging from explicit expressions of gratefulness to the govern‑ ment and omnipresence of leaders’ portraits in restaurants and ordinary households to presenting a Sinicized perspective of Tibet, emphasizing the inclusive state identity with strong bonds and ‘natural ethnic mingling’ (Leibold 2012) between Tibetans and Han, etc. This combination of spir‑ ituality, modernity, and patriotism in analyzed videos helps to construct an image of the familiar ‘Shangri‑la’, newly recontextualized between its ‘red past’ and high‑tech future represented by super‑modern infrastructure and ecological ways of life.

Conclusion By the beginning of the 21st century, tourism has become an important part of the economy of many countries and regions. Hand in hand with rising numbers of tourists, the political aspect of tourism becomes more prominent, turning it into an effective tool for shaping the image of a coun‑ try/region with the potential to strengthen national pride and a sense of common identity through emphasizing traditions that are often re‑invented for tourism. In the case of Tibet, tourism has be‑ come one of the main sources of income for the TAR and other Tibetan‑inhabited areas in the PRC. At the same time, as shown in this study, the authorities aim to use Tibetan tourism as an influential means of asserting the common Chinese identity, ‘blended’ together from various local and ethnic minority cultures in a process of ‘natural ethnic mingling and a shared sense of civic belonging’ (Leibold 2012). The actual and virtual tourists learn about Tibet, its culture, and history through official interpretations building upon the ideological representations of the old Tibet as a backward region, stuck in a middle‑age‑like feudal serf system from which ‘millions of serfs’ needed to be ‘liberated’ by the People’s Liberation Army in the 1950s. In the 21st century, development, wealth, and social benefits including allegedly accessible and affordable health care have become the key arguments legitimizing CCP’s rule in Tibet. 192

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This study outlines the Chinese politics of Tibetan tourism, based on an examination of official narratives used in local tourism promotion since 2020 and supported by a qualitative analysis of travel vlogs posted on YouTube by ethnic Tibetan travel agents or individual influencers during the researched period. The analysis confirmed that different forms of promotion of tourism in Tibet are shaped to serve as means of soft mind engineering through which Chinese authorities aim to convince both domestic and foreign audiences, consumers, and visitors to accept the historically based narratives justifying Tibet’s ‘liberation’ that has led to today’s ‘flourishing Tibet’. The recent effort to incorporate ‘red’ tourist sites and related ‘red stories’ into tourist itineraries makes clear that it was the ‘red past’ that enabled the present prosperity of Tibet and Tibetan culture rather than destroying it. Tibetan tourism authorities and private actors, as well as the cyberspace administration offices and young Tibetan influencers, are parts of a broad propagandist and information network, whose main agenda is to legitimize the Chinese rule over Tibet and to subvert the narratives of the Tibetan exile government (CTA 2018) and criticism coming from the Western human rights organizations and governments. The new mind‑engineering strategies used in tourism promotion range from patriotic education through red history to young influencers promoting Tibetan culture as modern and ecological rather than mysteriously spiritual and backward. Compared to traditional propa‑ ganda, mind engineering often goes unnoticed by uninformed audiences and consumers, whose main interest is seeking leisure and enjoyment in both their video‑watching and physical traveling experiences. Even though the long‑term effects of Tibet‑related mind engineering disguised as online leisure and tourism promotion are yet to be assessed by future research, examined vlogs on YouTube, potentially reaching millions of views, demonstrably aim to influence global public perceptions of Tibet through subtle manipulations of opinions, demystifying Tibet by showing its modern, Sinicized face. By recontextualizing Tibet within Chinese ideological narrative frameworks for international audiences, the analyzed vlogs reflecting key government agendas strive to shift nega‑ tive and China‑critical attitudes about the CCP’s rule in Tibet to acceptance and appreciation of the government’s achievements in the region, showcasing that – despite the heavy securitization and restrictions on personal freedom – thanks to the Chinese state, modern Tibetans are living in a present‑day Shangri‑la.

Notes 1 The research was supported by Czech Science Foundation (GAČR) within the project Representation and Role of Tibetan Buddhism in Narratives about Tibet from 1950s to present (reg. no 23‑06406S). 2 There are no publicly available official directives specifying the access of foreigners to Tibet, but, accord‑ ing to one of the tour operator’s promotional videos on YouTube, foreign journalists and diplomats are among the ‘three kinds of people prohibited from traveling to China’s Tibet’ (Zhuoma 2019). 3 For example, in January 2023, a Tibetan language channel was started by Kardol, a female Tibetan influ‑ encer living in Lhasa. She posted regular vlogs on various topics, reflecting the life of young people in contemporary Lhasa. By June 2023, all personal vlogs were taken down from the channel. 4 The video titled ‘The Himalayan Gay: How Is His Daily Life? How He Deal (sic) with Conflict of Being Gay in Buddhist Society?’ was published on July 9, 2021, and until January 2023 has accumulated almost 500,000 views. The protagonist with a feminine Tibetan name Metok (‘flower’; Ch. 苏鲁梅朵) form Ny‑ ingthi is a successful entrepreneur and internet celebrity (网红) on Douyin, the Chinese version of TikTok, where he has currently 56,000 followers. In the vlog, he is introduced as ‘the first gay in Himalayan re‑ gion, who has found the balance between the society and the religion’ by donating 40% of his earnings on charity. This image of Tibetan society as tolerant and open toward the LGBTQ+ community, connecting this attitude with Buddhist notions of compassion and forgiveness, is one of the topics that help to portray Tibet as a harmonious and modern place with personal freedoms comparable to democratic societies.

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Kamila Hladíková 5 As of January 2023, Polyandry family 3.7  million; Kailash inner kora 2.4  million; Tibetan arranged ­marriage 2 million; Tibetan yak man 1.5 million; Life of Tibetan Buddhist monk 1.2 million. 6 According to Tibetan writer Tsering Woeser Chinese leader Xi Jinping started a ‘toilet revolution’ (厕所革命) in 2015, proposing improvement of public toilets as a means to promote tourism development (Ciren 2020: 162). 7 A wave of COVID hit Tibet in August 2022, and the region was closed for more than 90 days during the writing of this chapter. Traveling was restricted, and many vloggers stopped updating during the lockdown. 8 Ophiocordyceps sinensis, in English also known as cordyceps, in Tibetan yartsa gunbu (དབྱར་རྩྭ་དགུན་འབུ་), in Chinese 冬虫春草is an entonompathogenic fungus parasitizing larvae of moths found on the Tibetan plateau above 3,500 meters. It is considered an aphrodisiac in Tibetan and Chinese folk medicine. As such, it might be considered one of the positive associations connected to Tibet for many people in the PRC, increasing the searchability of the videos and its visibility through algorithms. 9 Five identifications (五个认同) is a campaign launched in 2015 by the United Front Department to ‘ad‑ vance in building of national unity and actively nurture common identity of the big Chinese nation’. It includes identification with ‘the great motherland, big Chinese nation, Chinese culture, Communist Party of China, and socialism with Chinese characteristic’ (Tong zhan bu 2015).

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Red Tourism ——— (2022b). ‘TIBET VLOG6: The streets of LHASA/英国小哥逛拉萨八廓街 误食了牛粪?’ YouTube, undated; https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j‑71poOimBo&t=266s Tibet Travel (Tibet Vista) (2021a). ‘Himalayan man with the most expensive dog in the world: How is their daily life?’ YouTube, May 15; https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lzXyZPC0oCE&t=974s ——— (2021b). ‘Fastest train in Tibet: My awesome Lhasa Nyingchi bullet train experience’. YouTube, Au‑ gust 20; https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UWnmUbsO1C8&t=338s ——— (2022a). ‘Most difficult Himalayan snowy road I ever walked; What is it to live here? How is people’s life?’ YouTube, February 13; https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=22pQO‑Lwwc4 ——— (2022b). ‘I finally finished the trekking and back to my home Lhasa’. YouTube, May 18; https://www. youtube.com/watch?v=4Ehn8X__Peg ——— (2022c). ‘Take you to visit the first and oldest Tibetan Buddhist monastery – Samye monastery’. YouTube, July 19; https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cXYV5U0d03M Topgyal, T. (2016). ‘Tibetan self‑immolations as counter‑securitzation: Interdiscoursivity, identity, and emer‑ gency’. Asian Security 12(3): 166–187. Winter, T. (2007). ‘Rethinking tourism in Asia’. Annals of Tourism Research 34(1): 27–44. Zenz, A. and Leibold, J. (2017). ‘Chen Quanguo: The strongman behind Beijing’s securitization strategy in Tibet and Xinjiang’. China Brief 17(12); https://jamestown.org/program/chen‑quanguo‑the‑strongman‑ behind‑beijings‑securitization‑strategy‑in‑tibet‑and‑xinjiang/ Zhuoma卓玛 (2019). ‘Why not allow foreign guests to travel to Tibet in March each year?’. YouTube, January 13; https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5zOyshy9o‑g

Chinese References Baima Zhuoma 白玛卓玛 (2021a). ‘From one street developed into a town, how much Tibetan small towns flourish?’ 从一条马路发展为城市，西藏的小城有多繁华? YouTube, September 15, 2021; https://www. bilibili.com/video/BV1Tf4y1E7JF/ ——— (2021b). ‘Handsome guy wants to get married and establish family in Tibet, how can Tibetans and Han marry?’ 帅气小伙想在西藏结婚安家，藏族和汉族如何通婚. YouTube, September 12, 2021; https://www.bilibili.com/video/BV1JM4y1g7Yu/ Baima Zhuoma zai Xizang 白玛卓玛在西藏 (2022). ‘Why we say that Han and Tibetans have the same origin? Tibetan girl Dolma explains Tibetan culture and thousand‑years strong blood relationship’ 为啥说 汉藏同源?藏族姑娘卓玛介绍西藏文化，血浓于水千年传承. Bilibili, August 10; https://www.bilibili. com/video/BV1qG41187NG/?from=search Ciren Weise 次仁唯色 (2020). Amnye Machen, Amnye Machen 阿尼玛卿，阿尼玛卿. Taipei: Xueyu chu‑ banshe 台北:雪域出版. Hu Angang; Hu Lianhe 胡鞍钢;胡联合 (2011). ‘Second generation of ethnic policy: Promoting ethnic blend‑ ing into one flourishing whole’ 第二代民族政策:促进民族交融一体和繁荣一体. Xinhua wenzhai 新华 文摘24; https://www.sinoss.net/uploadfile/2011/1229/20111229100022433.pdf Naqu Lamu 那曲拉姆 (2021). ‘How good are Tibetan social benefits? Herders have 90% of their medical costs covered, Tibetan girl wants to bring her grandfather to live in the city too’ 西藏福利待遇多好? 牧民就医报销90%多，藏族姑娘也想带爷爷进城. YouTube, November 6; https://www.youtube.com/ watch?v=JDcZhy3buEY&t=1s ——— (2022). ‘Tibetan girl doing personal media to buy apartment? Not really, but in the new era life brings more and more benefits’ 234. 藏族姑娘做自媒体买房子?其实并没有，但新时代生活越过越慈润! YouTube, September 29; https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zJVwXdLrwzg&t=133s Niu Yanjun 牛燕军 (2020). ‘Using Tibetan red culture resources to develop advanced education toward na‑ tional unity’ 运用西藏红色文化资源开展民族团结进步教育. Xizang minzu daxue xuebao 西藏民族大 学学报 3; https://www.fx361.cc/page/2020/1210/12737597.shtml Tong zhan bu 统战部 (2015). ‘Regulations on the Chinese Communist Party’s United Font work‘ 中国共产 党统一战线工作条例. China University of Political Science and Law 中国政法大学, May 18; https:// tzb.cupl.edu.cn/info/1007/1415.htm Xizang zizhiqu renmin zhengfu 西藏自治区人民政府 (2017). ‘From ancient times, Tibet is a part of the Chi‑ nese territory’ 西藏自古以来就是中国领土的一部分, May 23; http://www.xizang.gov.cn/xwzx_406/ ztzl_416/gdzt/66zn/dsj/201901/t20190117_51816.html

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13 THE TRUTH LIES IN‑BETWEEN Mind Engineering in the 2020–2021 Indian Farmers’ Protest Sony Jalarajan Raj and Adith K. Suresh

Introduction In the 21st century, popular narratives about public issues are strengthened by new forms of ­communication enhanced by the integration of technology and media. Online media platforms are important sites of public engagement where individuals use communicative features such as memes and hashtags to express their political bias (Bennett et al. 2012; DeCook 2018). ­Narratives of propaganda, which appear in multiple modes such as fake news, social media campaigns, and virtue signaling, manipulate the minds of populations by often reinforcing group identities ­(Marwick 2018; Gerbaudo 2022). Political protests in India, the largest democracy in the world, are often influenced by narra‑ tives that are created through the manipulation of public opinion and attitudes through media, propaganda, and other psychological techniques. Tactics of mind engineering are employed by different stakeholders, including the government, political parties, corporate groups, and other external forces and interest groups, to sway public sentiments and mobilize support for specific causes. The underlying grievances and demands of the people often play a significant role in the construction of these narratives. Stories that cater to the group identity of the masses are important in India as the country is highly sensitive to cultural sentiments and traditional social values. India has witnessed a series of protests where mind engineering through technologically assisted media platforms redefined the language of political communication in different ways. The 2020–2021 farmers’ protest is a recent example of this. The 2020–2021 farmers’ protest was started as a response to the central government’s passage of three farm bills that claimed to create a new ecosystem for doing business between farmers and traders by eliminating middlemen participation. Although the government claimed that the bills would empower farmers and reduce external intervention and exploitation, they were met with im‑ mediate public backlash, with many labeling them as ‘anti‑farmer’ and ‘corporate‑friendly’. Con‑ sequently, farmers gathered in the streets of the Indian capital to show their opposition to the ruling government, triggering nationwide debates. These discussions often adopted a divisive ‘support or protest’ narrative, leading to the characterization of individuals with differing opinions as either ‘nationalist’ or ‘anti‑nationalist’. The objective authenticity of such a dichotomy and its impact on the larger population were reflected in social media where the dissemination of misinformation

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DOI: 10.4324/9781003289746-17

Sony Jalarajan Raj and Adith K. Suresh

and biased viewpoints transformed the public platforms into hostile spaces of hate‑mongering. Authoritative power that wields state propaganda as a tool to control the masses frequently uses media as a reliable weapon (Kellner 1992; Boyd‑Barrett 2004). The weaponization of social me‑ dia in political crises involves the use of internet bots to spread fake news and propaganda (Jones 2019). According to Oliver Boyd‑Barrett, creating hostile situations are a strategy of governments where they use ‘media to whip up patriotic fervor, boost support for the authorities, and marginal‑ ize and/or ridicule dissent and dissenters’ (Boyd‑Barrett 2016: 30). He argues that such ‘pretexts’ are ‘frequently wrong, provoked, and even fabricated’ for authorities to choose ‘independent’ (but colluding) mainstream media for the widespread dissemination of their inaccuracies and decep‑ tions’ (2016: 30). The chapter argues that group identity‑inspired political activism only obfuscates fact‑based reality politics and leads to collective action under emotionally activated contexts. In the farmer’s protest, objective debates on the farm laws were minimal because the thought process was shaped by political populism. The international recognition of the protests through slogans and newspaper reports made global icons like Rihanna and Greta Thunberg respond to the event, which the gov‑ ernment declared as an ‘external intervention’, and many Indian celebrities used counter‑hashtags to rebut it in social media. This chapter investigates how such narrative constructions help shape a culture of dichotomized opinion‑making in the public sphere where the truth(s) gets sidelined by collective brainwashing and groupthink.

The 2020 Farm Bills The agriculture sector plays a vital role in shaping India’s socio‑economic structure and cultural life. As one of the world’s largest producers of many agricultural products, it contributes sig‑ nificantly to the country’s gross domestic product (Jethwani et al. 2021). Since the populations in the rural areas largely depend on farming and related activities to sustain their livelihoods, agri‑ cultural development is central to the overall development of the nation (Bhatnagar and Poonia 2019). The farmers as a group constitute a large workforce among India’s massive population. After independence, the issues related to farmers’ quality of life became part of political and so‑ cial debates and political parties have been using these issues to create narratives that favor their agendas. However, the socio‑economic status of the Indian farmer has not improved in a way that grants economic stability and assurance to make agriculture a profitable endeavor. Since India’s economic policies are regulated by a centralized government that plans, invests, and produces in a socialist model, everything is decided in a politically collective manner which is strictly based on strategies and policies that appeal to the sentiments of the farmer’s group whenever they put pressure on governments. This ubiquitous role of the government was reformed after the 1991  liberalization policies, which paved the way for new economic activities operated through major corporate interventions. A competition‑based economic system that emerged out of this globalized scenario was enhanced and integrated by innovations in technology and media, where business models strive to increase their profit margins to the maximum. When the government, political leaders, and administrators worked with corporations to make arrangements that were mutually beneficial to each other, a cor‑ rupt political and economic order started to engulf the public sphere, stripping ordinary people of their free will and preventing them from engaging with the market. The resulting economic crisis was mainly reflected in the agricultural sector in the form of failed small‑scale business endeavors, lack of production, price hikes, scarcity of agricultural products, and farmers’ suicides all over the country. Esha Shah (2012) observes that the farmers’ suicides created an ‘agrarian crisis’ which 198

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resulted from the social and structural transformations that ‘contribute[d] to the hegemonic repro‑ duction of rural–urban and agriculture–industry inequality’ (1160). Farmers’ suicides have been one of the most used topics in election campaigns in India. Politi‑ cians cite them to create an emotional appeal in the public sphere; a strategy of political populism that includes the brainwashing of the masses. The identity of the Indian farmer is often used as a cultural symbol that emphasizes the notion that farmers are essential to the country’s food secu‑ rity. Issues of nutrition deficiency and hunger affect the country’s attempts to achieve self‑reliance as a major development goal (Singh 2016), and farmers’ suicide and low income amplify these problems. Individuals whose livelihoods depend on agriculture often face inadequate support from prevailing economic conditions, leaving ordinary farmers reliant on bank loans, which, in turn, can lead to an accumulation of overwhelming debts. Major political parties like the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) and the Indian National Congress have included solutions to farmers’ conditions in the form of new ‘farm laws’ in their election manifestos (Mukherjee 2019; Verma 2022). In June 2020, the BJP‑led Indian government im‑ plemented three agricultural laws through ordinances. The three farm laws, officially called the Essential Commodities (Amendment) Act, Farmers (Empowerment and Protection) Agreement on Price Assurance and Farm Services Act, and Farmers’ Produce Trade and Commerce (Promotion and Facilitation) Act, attempt to limit the government’s control over the marketing of agricul‑ tural produce in India. The following are the main provisions of the laws according to the Indian government. The new legislation aims to establish an ecosystem that fosters freedom of choice for farmers and traders in the sale and purchase of agricultural produce. This will be achieved by promoting barrier‑free trade within and across state borders, extending beyond the physical premises of mar‑ kets governed by State Agricultural Produce Marketing legislation. Notably, farmers will not incur any cess or levy charges for selling their produce, and their transportation costs will be eliminated. To facilitate seamless trade, the bill proposes the establishment of an electronic trading platform. Moreover, in addition to the traditional mandis (marketplace), farmers will have the freedom to engage in trading at various other locations like farm gates, cold storage facilities, warehouses, and processing units. This move will enable direct marketing and eliminate intermediaries, ensur‑ ing that farmers receive the full value of their produce. By empowering farmers to engage with processors, wholesalers, aggregators, large retailers, and exporters on a level playing field, the legislation provides them with price assurance even before sowing their crops. In cases where the market price exceeds the minimum price, farmers will be entitled to receive the higher price. This shift transfers the risk of market unpredictability from the farmer to the sponsor, providing them with stability and protection from market price fluctuations. Furthermore, the legislation opens doors for farmers to access modern technology, better seeds, and other essential inputs. This move is expected to reduce marketing costs and ultimately improve farmers’ income. To ensure effec‑ tive dispute resolution, the legislation introduces a mechanism with clear timelines for redressal. Additionally, the bill encourages research and the adoption of new technologies in the agriculture sector, promoting its growth and development. Overall, this comprehensive legislation is aimed at empowering farmers, enhancing their income, and fostering a more efficient and dynamic agricul‑ tural trading system (Press Information Bureau 2020). Politicians from the opposition parties argued that the farmer’s laws make the farmers suscep‑ tible to corporate demands while the government assured that these rules will make it easier for farmers to sell their produce directly to large private traders without the involvement of middle‑ men. Critics and protestors argued that the government’s failure to engage in meaningful consulta‑ tions with farmers prior to implementing the laws left them feeling excluded from decisions that 199

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directly impacted their livelihoods. A central worry was the potential erosion of the minimum sup‑ port price (MSP) system, which provides farmers with price guarantees, as the new laws aimed to open up agricultural markets to private sector involvement. Concerns also surrounded the potential loss of traditional mandis, the influence of large corporations, and the inadequacy of legal protec‑ tions for farmers in their dealings with private buyers. Some feared that small farmers might strug‑ gle to compete in a more liberalized market, raising questions about economic viability and access to credit. Moreover, protestors voiced environmental and procedural concerns, emphasizing the need for a broader discussion on the future of agriculture in India. This difference in opinion cre‑ ated a divided space in the public sphere where narratives created two groups of people–those who support the farm laws and those who refuse to accept them. It became evident that building con‑ sensus and addressing these concerns was essential to bridge the gap between the government’s intent to modernize the agricultural sector and the deep‑rooted worries of the farming community. Agricultural unions and organizations played a pivotal role in mobilizing and organizing the protests. Farmers from Punjab and Haryana, in particular, took a lead role in the movement, draw‑ ing on their historical significance in India’s agricultural sector. Labor unions across the country also expressed solidarity with the farmers’ cause, viewing the reforms as a threat to workers’ rights and labor protections in the agricultural domain. The prevailing sentiment was that the reforms could shift power dynamics, potentially disadvantaging both farmers and agricultural laborers. These intensified fears of job insecurity, wage reductions, and the erosion of long‑established labor rights and protections in the agricultural sector. Their participation further bolstered the movement and added to the collective strength of the protests. The opposition political parties, including the Indian National Congress, Aam Aadmi Party, and various regional parties, lent their support to the farmers’ demands. They criticized the government’s handling of the protests and demanded a repeal of the controversial laws. The involvement of opposition parties added a political dimension to the protests and fueled debates in India’s political landscape. In addition to formal political and labor groups, civil society and human rights organizations rallied behind the farmers’ movement. Activists and concerned citizens raised their voices in support of the farmers’ demands, highlight‑ ing the potential ambiguity of the reforms on rural livelihoods and the need to protect the interests of the farming community. It reflected a broader concern for rural development, social justice, and economic stability, emphasizing the need to strike a balance between modernizing the agricultural sector and safeguarding the interests of the farming community. On the other side, the primary pro‑ ponent of the agricultural reforms was the Indian government, led by the BJP and Prime Minister Narendra Modi. The government maintained that the reforms aimed to modernize the agricultural sector, enhance farmers’ income, and attract private investments to the agrarian economy. While the majority of farmers and agricultural unions opposed the reforms, there were some farmers and smaller agricultural organizations that supported the new laws. They saw potential benefits in mar‑ ket liberalization and contract farming and believed that the reforms could bring positive changes to the agricultural landscape.

Narratives of Protest The three agricultural laws immediately became part of the public discourse as the ‘farm laws’ and opinions and discussions were based on this particular popular reference. Mekhala Krishnamurthy (2021) observes that referring to the ‘agricultural produce marketing and trade laws’ as the ‘farm laws’ was ‘strategic’ as it reflected the union government’s intention of creating a ‘pro‑farmer legislation that granted the nation’s small and marginal farmers a long denied ‘freedom’: the free‑ dom to sell their produce wherever, whenever and to whomsoever they chose’ (original emphasis, 200

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2021: 1409–1410). Both the government and the protestors have expressed differing viewpoints regarding the farm laws, with each side presenting their perspectives and raising concerns about the other’s communication strategies (Arora 2020; NDTV 2020). The rhetoric of the ruling gov‑ ernment was that the farm laws were supposed to bring a free market agricultural space for farmers to negotiate product prices on their own terms without the help of middlemen. The government’s narratives emphasized the freedom of choice and liberty these laws assure the farmers, allow‑ ing them to participate in the new and globalized market economy. They claimed that these new reformations will modify the agricultural sector of India in favor of the farmers and increase the farmers’ incomes which will eventually improve their lives. The issues and concerns raised by various stakeholders were rooted in the potential unintended consequences and implementation challenges of these reforms. This is where mind engineering comes into play through the construction of popular narratives that manipulate the collective con‑ sciousness of society. The government’s narrative was widely criticized by the opposition parties and the public for its pro‑capitalist provisions that attempted to reduce state regulation over the agriculture sector. They argued that these provisions heavily favored large corporations at the ex‑ pense of small and marginal farmers, potentially leading to exploitation, reduced income, and loss of traditional market structures. They believed that the laws tilted the balance of power away from the agricultural community and were overly focused on market‑driven outcomes, which raised concerns about the economic viability of smaller farmers and the vulnerability of the sector to mar‑ ket fluctuations. The agitated farmers from northern Indian states like Punjab, Haryana, Rajasthan, and Uttar Pradesh gathered and marched to New Delhi, the national capital of India, to protest (Gettelman, Singh, and Kumar 2020; Trivedi 2020). The large mobilization of farmers in Delhi created political and social unrest that produced tremors throughout the country. The farmers’ model of protest was noted for its sheer will and resilience. For example, the farmers–including ailing old men and women–arrived at the protest site on their tractors and stayed there for months. The government failed to convince the farmers of the benefits of the laws as the discussions be‑ tween the state and the farmers’ union members were not constructive. Both the government and the farmers’ union were unflinching from their respective stands—either the implementation of the laws or its complete withdrawal. These discussions, carried out in a dichotomous manner, there‑ fore, could not find a middle ground for constructive criticisms and dialogues. The popular narrative construction behind the farmer’s protest painted it as a national revolu‑ tionary movement of the marginalized Indian farmer. Many farmers’ unions have termed these measures as ‘anti‑farmer laws’ (Palnitkar 2021). It gained global recognition through media cov‑ erage and social media interactions that centralized the ‘poor farmer’ image to gain emotional support. Although the farmers’ protest was initially started as an independent strike involving the regional mobilization of the farmers, more outside participation was explicitly visible during the course of time. For instance, in the name of supporting the farmers, the left‑wing political parties joined the protest and tried to project it as their own. Campaigns and discussions were conducted across the country to help frame the local protest as a global phenomenon and gained more vis‑ ibility through mass media exposure. Politicians and Parliament members from South Indian states marched in the streets to show solidarity with the farmers. In order to give a global perspective to the strikes, more diasporic protests were conducted internationally in different countries and global celebrities like Rihanna and Greta Thunberg came forward to give their support (Hindustan Times 2021a). The Indian government tried to stop the farmers’ movement using the police and law enforce‑ ment. They used water cannons, tear gas, and batons to suppress the agitations which were in the form of demonstrations, road blocking, gherao (encirclement), and picketing. The altercations 201

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between the farmers and the police resulted in many casualties and infrastructural damage. The farmers’ Republic Day protest on 26 January 2021 turned violent after a group of protestors tried to storm the Red Fort, resulting in the death of a protestor, and the arrest of hundreds of others. Many police officers were injured while stopping the rampage created by the protestors. The protestors hoisted Sikh religious flags from the top of the Red Fort’s domes. The act of flag hoisting was criti‑ cized in the public sphere as a violent anti‑national activity that challenged the sovereignty of the nation‑state. The president of India condemned these acts of dissent and civil unrest as an ‘insult to the national flag and Republic Day’ (Hindustan Times 2021b). Although the government promised some amendments to the rules, the organizations were not ready for anything other than the complete repealing of the acts. From December 12, 2022, farmers’ organizations took over the highway toll plazas in Haryana and allowed vehicles to pass for free. In mid‑December, the Supreme Court received a batch of petitions seeking the removal of blockades created by protestors around Delhi. The court also expressed its interest in holding discussions with various officials of the protesting farmers’ organizations. During this period, the court asked the government to suspend the laws, but the government refused. The farmers col‑ lectively demanded the government repeal the three agricultural laws. The farmers’ opposition reflects the fear that such liberalization may expose them to market forces and corporate exploita‑ tion. They also demanded MSP of 50% above the average cost of production, abolishing the Air Quality Commission (2020) in National Capital Region (NCR) and surrounding areas, implement‑ ing the recommendations of the National Commission for Farmers,1 withdrawing all cases filed against farm union leaders, reducing diesel price by 50% for agricultural activities, and repealing the Electricity (Amendment) Ordinance (2020) (ANI 2020; Ellis‑Petersen 2020; Gaon Connection 2020; Sehgal 2020; The Times of India 2020). The call for legally ensuring the MSP highlights the absence of a guaranteed MSP mechanism in the new laws, raising concerns about market fluctuations and lower income. The demand for set‑ ting the MSP at a rate 50% above the average cost of production underscores the apprehension that the laws may not ensure fair and remunerative prices for their produce. Additionally, the request to abolish the Air Quality Commission in the NCR and surrounding areas points to the opposition against the penalization for stubble‑burning activities of farmers. The demand to withdraw cases against farm union leaders highlights the government’s confrontational approach toward the pro‑ tests. Furthermore, the request to reduce diesel prices by 50% for agricultural activities addresses rising production costs, particularly concerning the market‑driven practices emphasized by the new laws. Lastly, the demand to repeal the Electricity (Amendment) Ordinance (2020) reflects concerns about potential changes in electricity regulations and underscores farmers’ anxieties about essential support systems. These demands collectively embody the farmers’ fears about the perceived inadequacies and risks associated with the new agricultural laws, as they strive to secure legal protections, pricing mechanisms, and safeguards to protect their livelihoods and traditional agricultural structures. The farmers’ protests were characterized by a form of group thinking that revolved around propagating and countering narratives, which tended to oversimplify complex issues into binary extremes, thereby fostering tensions among the public. This means branding the protestor with political labels to degrade the authenticity of the protest with suggestive remarks that associate the protest with hidden agendas. During the Farmer’s protests, supporters of the ruling government called protestors anti‑nationals, proponents of Western conspiracy, and agents of Islamic terrorism. The clash between the pro‑Hindu hyper‑nationalistic ideology of the right‑wing ruling government and the liberal and secularist ideals of India transformed the public sphere into a space where the perpetual exchange of arguments and counter‑arguments regarding the fixation of identities that 202

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fit into the respective narrative agenda of each side occurred. The pro‑farmer and anti‑farmer narratives soon turned into a nationalist and anti‑nationalist angle where both parties (those who support the government and the farm laws and those who oppose it) simultaneously accused each other of being unpatriotic or against the nation’s interests. This marked a significant turning point in the discourse, where the focus shifted from the original debates surrounding the agricultural reforms to accusations of loyalty and intentions. The accusations and counter‑accusations further exacerbated the polarization, making it increasingly challenging to engage in a productive and fact‑based discussion about the existing agricultural issues and their potential solutions (Kaur and Singh 2021).

Digital Media and Mass Protests: Hashtagging and News Making Pavlik (2013) argues that technological development has positively affected the news business. He opines that the innovation strategies in the news media are proving successful in at least three areas. These are (1) creating, delivering, and presenting quality news content; (2) engaging the public in news dissemination and discussion process, both through citizen reporters and social me‑ dia; and (3) employing new methods of reporting optimized for the digital, networked age (Pavlik 2013). It is evident that such technological changes became new vessels for users and ordinary citizens to come up with their own stories. It should also be noted that it allowed people without a professional background in journalism to be involved in the news‑making process, where the only requirement is a smartphone or a computer with internet connectivity. From a global perspective, as Deuze (2009) notes, one can witness the shift from citizen to victim reporting. Saleem Kassim (2012) suggests that ‘social networks have broken the psychological barrier of fear by helping many to connect and share information’ and that ‘the social networks for the first time provided activists with an opportunity to quickly disseminate information while bypassing government re‑ strictions’. This saw the emergence of hashtags as a tool for information mobilization and news dissemination. The social networking websites serving as a platform for hashtags to consolidate collective ideological and personal opinions created a new wave of news reporting. These are short pieces of information (often phrases) meant to be shared among their followers/friends on Twitter, Facebook, and similar social media sites in an attempt to make it viral (Lasorsa, Lewis, and Holton 2012). The hashtags (#) becoming one of the essential tools in recognizing and influencing news is therefore understood in this new context of the modern digital age of news making. Academic research and discourses show that global newsrooms have made various attempts to implement practices inviting audience participation (Paulussen et al. 2007; Domingo et al. 2008; Hermida and Thurman 2008; Lewis, Kaufhold and Lasorsa 2010; Chung and Nah 2013). Further‑ more, studies on social media and new media journalism show an exponential increase, mainly due to the adoption of social media platforms by the journalist as an individual and the organization as a whole. The news travels much faster and reaches a wide audience with social media intervention. Hashtag facilitates a new stage of collaboration where users contribute to a shared virtual space centered around a particular issue through the dissemination of their tweets or postings accom‑ panied by hashtagged phrases. In this process, individuals come together to collectively engage and express their perspectives, fostering a diverse and inclusive online environment. Hashtags like #PeopleAgainstCorruption, and #AntiCorruptionMoment became viral when people began to opine on these issues after following their corresponding hashtags. Here, the spreading of informa‑ tion or misinformation can be in the form of photographs, videos, Geo‑tags, animations, or short written forms. These act as information sources for the public through which particular opinions and perceptions about events, ideas, and people are constructed as the norm. 203

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Social media intensified the voices of regular citizens. The power and rights enjoyed by the press in news dissemination have shifted to laymen. Since this has led to the emergence of citizen journalism, in which the public plays the role of journalists, the grand examples and frameworks for understanding citizen and social journalism will become less relevant in understanding the structure of mass movement and its social media support. The social media response to various In‑ dian mass protests can be observed as support or shared solidarity toward the movement. It can be found in three forms: (1) sharing the news from official social media and web desk pages of main‑ stream media with stressing on the keywords (not only with the hashtags), (2) updating the events, and (3) criticizing or supporting the content of news by sharing the same from other sources. The emergence of new transnational spaces of digital activism influenced the creation of a politically active young population who often exercise their activism, which is often called ‘slacktivism’ for its low‑effort actions, through the process of ‘trending hashtags’ on Twitter and Facebook, or ‘going viral’ on YouTube, TikTok, and Instagram. The Indian digital activism associated with the 2012 Nirbhaya protests, Article 370 abrogation, the 2019 anti‑ Citizenship Amendment Act (CAA) protests, and the 2020–2021 farmers’ protests are important examples of how contemporary pro‑ tests in India are being recognized globally and controlled by the hashtag revolution. The newly emerged digital public sphere in India has provided a platform for hashtag activism, allowing so‑ cially invisible issues in India to gain the political voice and attention (Dey 2020). The student‑led Hok Kolorob Movement in 2014, for example, used the hashtag #hokkolorob (meaning ‘let there be clamour’) to seek justice for a student who survived on‑campus sexual violence at Jadavpur University, Kolkata. The movement drew support from students, faculty, and various sections of society and led to discussions on larger societal problems related to gender‑based violence and the safety of women on college campuses (Chaudhuri 2019). For understanding hashtags as a means of news making, it is important to analyze them be‑ yond the notion of a ‘catchy word’. A hashtag serves as the symbol of a community (Noon and Ulmer 2009; Ebner and Muhlburger 2010; Golovchinsky and Efron 2010; Starbird and Palen 2011). When a hashtag enables users to identify and participate in online chats designated by the tag (Starbird and Palen 2011), it symbolizes a virtual image common to all the participants. The image‑making effect of the hashtag is supported by the use of emojis and gifs giving a visual ef‑ fect in performing its communicative function (Highfield 2018) as narrative resources (Giaxoglou 2018). Yang et al. (2012) call hashtags a ‘virtual community’ of users with the same background. The same background needs to be understood in terms of social behavior. For example, a massive response echoed throughout India when the leader of AAP (Aam Aadmi Party), Arvind Kejri‑ wal, orchestrated a protest against corruption. Twitter and Facebook users extended their support by using hashtags #AAP and by #IStandWithKejriwal when he was arrested (DNA India 2014). Hashtags serve dual purposes, acting as both organizational tools and social catalysts. When these tags go viral on online platforms due to widespread sharing, mainstream media pick them up as lead stories. In the context of mass protests, studying the genesis of a hashtag becomes essential. Typically, it is initiated by new media groups that consistently provide event updates and create official accounts for the event or cause. The responsibility of creating relevant hashtags usually falls on individuals closely associated with the cause. Wolfson (2014) gives a clear historical, empirical, and theoretical framework for the digital revolution. He put forward the argument of the ‘left’ space of digital new media, which is used to resist the right‑wing hegemony. He termed the space as ‘cyber left’ or ‘indymedia’ and noted down its key three features as follows: ‘strategy: utilization of new technologies and other strategies to bind distinctive, diversified transnational social movements; structure: decentralized, multiscalar (local, national, global) network formation; governance: local, national and global application of 204

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direct, participatory democracy’ (Wolfson 2014: 17). The strategy, structure, and governance of digital participatory media can be viewed in every cyber movement. The farmers’ protests, which spanned over 15 months, received global attention and became associated with slogans like ‘No Farmers, No Food’, ‘India Is Killing Its Farmers’, ‘Murderer of Democracy in India’, ‘Recall the Farm Bills’, ‘Dharti Mata Ki Jai (transl. Hail Mother Earth)’, and ‘Narendra Modi Kisan Virodhi (transl. Narendra Modi farmer enemy)’ (Firstpost 2020; DNA India 2021; Lau 2021). Additionally, hashtags like #FarmersProtest, #standwithfarmerschallenge, #SpeakUpForFarmers, #iamwith‑ farmers, #kisanektazindabaad, #tractor2twitter, and #isupportfarmers (The Tribune 2020) became synonymous with the mass protest. When the hashtag becomes viral, it signifies a collaborative effort by users contributing to a mass event virtually, as the hashtags become keywords for protes‑ tors to identify each other and share information on a common platform. Poell et al. (2015) argue that leadership plays a crucial role in guiding popular contention on major social platforms. Social media administrators serve as connective leaders, utilizing market‑ ing strategies and leveraging technological features to mobilize and steer online activism during impactful socio‑political events (Poell et al. 2015). The conventional way of fashioning political protest narratives traditionally relies on mainstream media outlets, rallies, and physical demonstra‑ tions to spread messages to a broad audience. Political activists and leaders often use speeches and press releases to convey their narratives, which may have limited interactivity and real‑time en‑ gagement. In contrast, the digital way of fashioning political protest narratives uses social media, online platforms, and digital tools to mobilize and connect with a diverse and global audience. It allows for instantaneous dissemination of information, encourages two‑way communication, fa‑ cilitates the organization of virtual protests, and enables grassroots movements to gain momentum rapidly. The digital approach empowers individuals to create, share, and amplify protest narratives in a decentralized manner, challenging the centralized control of information prevalent in the con‑ ventional approach.

Conclusion: Agenda‑Setting and Constructed Media Realities The Indian Farmers’ protest was a complex and multifaceted movement that brought together diverse stakeholders with differing perspectives and interests. The protests continued for several months, and rounds of negotiations between the government and farmers took place. Eventually, in January 2021, the government agreed to suspend the implementation of the laws. The move‑ ment demonstrated the power of narrative construction in contexts of collective action and showed how manipulating public perception influences policy decisions. The protest movement and the narratives developed through mind engineering techniques shaped public opinion and put pressure on politicians. Media coverage and international attention also played a role. In response to these influences, the government decided to repeal the laws, reflecting the changing political landscape driven by the protest movement and its carefully crafted narratives. Narrative constructions played a significant role in shaping public perceptions and opinions about the farmer’s protest. For example, social media platforms saw instances of hate speech targeting specific communities as some posts vilified farmers from certain states, using deroga‑ tory language to incite animosity and division among different regional and religious groups. Pro‑farmer groups used emotional stories and videos to highlight the hardships faced by farm‑ ers, evoking sympathy and support for their demands. On the contrary, anti‑protest narratives depicted the movement as being hijacked by extremist elements, portraying the farmers as disrup‑ tive and violent. False images and videos circulated on social media, depicting unrelated incidents as evidence of violence during the protests. Automated bots and coordinated troll accounts were 205

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deployed to amplify certain hashtags and messages in an attempt to manipulate public opinion. This tactic artificially increased the visibility of specific narratives and created the impression of widespread support or opposition to the protests. Some media outlets and individuals presented biased and one‑sided reporting of events. They focused on isolated instances of violence by a small minority of protestors while downplaying the overall peaceful nature of the protests. Social media algorithms tended to show content that reinforced users’ existing beliefs. As a result, supporters and opponents of the protests were exposed to content that reaffirmed their own views, contribut‑ ing to the echo chamber effect and deepening the divisions. For the government’s narrative, mind engineering was used to present the agricultural reforms as essential for modernizing the sector, boosting farmers’ income, and attracting private invest‑ ments. Initiators crafted messaging that emphasized these objectives, often framing the laws as pro‑farmer and pro‑growth. They strategically utilized social media algorithms, content curation, and targeted messaging to amplify these narratives. This engineered narrative aimed to garner support for the government’s stance and create a positive perception of the reforms. On the other side, initiators supporting the protestors utilized mind engineering to frame the laws as detrimental to farmers’ interests. They highlighted concerns related to MSPs, corporate dominance, and the potential loss of traditional agricultural markets. These initiators worked to mobilize public senti‑ ment against the government’s actions. Social media, grassroots campaigns, and protest move‑ ments were leveraged to build a narrative that portrayed the protestors as the defenders of farmers’ rights and traditional agriculture. In both cases, mind engineering techniques involved content curation, selective exposure to information, and targeted messaging to reinforce the desired nar‑ ratives. These efforts were designed to not only shape public opinion but also to deepen the divi‑ sions between supporters and opponents of the protests. The use of these techniques contributed to the creation of echo chambers, where individuals were continually exposed to information that affirmed their pre‑existing beliefs, further polarizing the discourse. The agenda‑setting theory came to journalistic parlance after Maxwell McCombs and Donald Shaw (1972) revisited Lippmann (1922)’s classical idea about the construction of public opinion through the news. They studied the 1968 presidential election in Chapel Hill, North Carolina, and found positive effect evidence of agenda‑setting of media over public opinion. Social media algorithms, surveillance tools, and political bots contribute to the formation of echo chambers, po‑ tentially manipulating public opinion and undermining authentic grassroots movements (Woolley and Howard 2019). Social media platforms, governments, political parties, special interest groups, individuals, technology companies, media outlets, hacker groups, online communities, influen‑ tial individuals, regulatory bodies, and academic researchers can use or manipulate these tools to shape public opinion and create echo chambers. All such characteristics of online activism encap‑ sulate ‘computational propaganda’, a term that refers to ‘digital misinformation and manipulation’ (Woolley and Howard 2019: 4). The process of social media news construction is very crucial to modern democratic discourses, especially when tools like hashtags are effective in causing a mass effect in a less time period. Examples of social media responses on popular topics show that a mass can create a huge upheaval through the internet. Netizens, unrestricted by affiliations with news organizations, play a crucial role in overcoming threats of gatekeeping and censorship, thereby fostering a more open and diverse landscape in professional journalism. When a mass media or‑ ganization tries to neglect the user content or dominate ideas, it becomes more powerful as a form of resistance (Wolfson 2014). Such efforts to dismiss or control user‑generated content often back‑ fire, ultimately bolstering resistance movements. This phenomenon occurs because these actions tend to amplify discontent, foster solidarity among dissatisfied individuals, promote the emergence of alternative platforms, erode the legitimacy of traditional media, raise public awareness, and 206

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encourage legal and ethical challenges. In the digital age, resistance can leverage social media effectively to mobilize against media control, making it increasingly challenging for mass media to maintain its dominant position. The resistance and reaction to particular events are achieved through acts of agenda‑setting and counter‑agenda‑setting. This re‑enactment of agenda‑setting is now carried by hashtags that consolidate information from all parts of the internet to a single platform to reach a single point of consensus. It is no wonder that agenda‑setting is often conflated with propaganda formation because it violates the opposing party’s picturization of a context. Digital media interventions often take online solidarities and traditions out of their borders. For example, in support of the farmers’ protests, pop star Rihanna tweeted a CNN article about the protest with the caption and hashtag: ‘Why aren’t we talking about this?! #FarmersProtest’, which sparked a national controversy after the tweet went viral and supported by more global celebrities like Greta Thunberg (BBC 2021; Times of India 2021). After accusing Rihanna of intervening in India’s internal political affairs, many started a campaign against her. This includes Indian celebrities like film stars and sports icons using hashtags such as #IndiaTogether and #IndiaAgain‑ stPropaganda to show their dissent. The cause and effect of this particular situation showed how agenda‑setting and its counter‑agenda‑setting are processes that become synonymous with modern democratic practices. The sudden outbursts of masses in the news‑making process make this new mass communication significant and spontaneous. To destabilize the farmers’ protests, counter‑protestors in Delhi burned effigies of Greta Thun‑ berg and Rihanna, among other international celebrities, after they tweeted support for India’s protesting farmers. The tweets prompted an investigation by Indian police. The crowds in Delhi expressed anger at what they perceived as ‘international interference’ in Indian affairs and warned against such actions (Ellis‑Petersen 2021). Greta Thunberg got entangled in allegations of an in‑ ternational criminal conspiracy against India when she shared a ‘toolkit’ on Twitter, providing guidance for supporting the farmers’ protests. The document included campaigning tips and sug‑ gestions for hashtags and petitions. While Thunberg was not directly named in the police case, her tweet drew the Delhi police’s attention to the toolkit. Leaders from the ruling BJP party claimed that the toolkit served as ‘evidence of international plans for attacks against India’ (Ellis‑Petersen 2021). As a consequence, the Indian government requested Twitter to block hundreds of accounts related to the farmers’ protests (Iyengar 2021). Twitter initially complied but faced public backlash and later reinstated the accounts. However, the government’s non‑compliance notice and threats of legal consequences have raised concerns about the company’s ability to protect free speech while respecting local laws. Twitter has taken action against some accounts but maintained its stance on defending protected speech and engaging in dialogue with the government. This situa‑ tion underscores the challenges faced by social media companies in navigating content regulation in complex political environments. The international recognition of the farmer’s protests revealed the way social issues are used as a tool to control public perception. The protests and their narrative differences divided Indian soci‑ ety into two groups—those who supported the farmers and those who opposed the farmers, and all other opinions regarding the same were discarded. This psychological division in opinion‑making was further emphasized through accusations of propaganda and agenda‑setting. Reports alleged that the farmers were often represented by powerful union members, rich individuals, and busi‑ nessmen acting as ‘farmers’ to frame their opinion as that of the marginalized farmers (De and Pohit 2020; Singh 2020; Babones 2021). The pro‑government opinions stated that the farm laws were made to support the farmers, and the protestors’ demands did not seek change but rather aimed to preserve the status quo (Mehra 2021). They assert that certain groups exploited the situ‑ ation and acted as information dissemination channels to convince economically disadvantaged 207

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farmers, including those with limited access to education, that the farm acts were detrimental to their interests. The reality as media‑constructed reality (agenda‑setting) and the public perception of the real‑ ity (public agenda) are difficult to classify on the verge of a social media‑led news revolution. The opinion of the user is carried by the news media, and, in turn, the users also depend upon the news media for the conception of reality. In the current context of hashtag revolution and social media activism, the public and its mass movements are the new realities of society, which the media need to be projected, thus itself becoming a part of the same reality. Since the media report it to themselves, it is difficult for the media to construct reality over public opinion. This difficulty is handled by social media through a collective collaboration between the public and the journalists. The opinions emerging from public‑led hashtags and social media are often reflected directly or collaboratively in the mainstream media.

Note 1 The National Commission on Farmers, led by Prof. M. S. Swaminathan, delivered a total of five reports between December 2004 and October 2006. The last of these reports concentrated on identifying the factors contributing to agricultural distress and the increase in farmer suicides. It proposed the imple‑ mentation of a comprehensive national policy for farmers as a solution. The conclusions and suggestions covered matters related to farmers’ access to resources and their entitlements to social security. See Swa‑ minathan (2016).

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14 PATRIOTISM AND NATIONALISM IN CHINESE FANSUBBING Pin‑ling Chang

Introduction Fansubbing, or known as non‑professional subtitling, refers to subtitle translation activity ­conducted voluntarily by fans. Initiated by fans of Japanese anime films in the US in the 1980s, who subtitled and shared Japanese anime films themselves in pursuit of an authentic encounter with ‘otherness’ (Leonard 2005), fansubbing has expanded into various formats of audiovisual content and become one of the most noteworthy grassroots translation practices in recent dec‑ ades. Working on a non‑profit, voluntary, and spontaneous basis, fansubbers around the world are usually not subject to subtitling conventions, prior official censorship, commercial pressure, or translator‑agency/patron relationships, thus making fansubbing a channel of various ideologies. Specifically, in the West, the ideologies behind fansubbing practices may involve resistance to sub‑ titling conventions through aesthetic presentation or performativity of subtitles (Pérez‑González 2014: 258–262), retainment of authentic otherness or foreignness (Leonard 2005), engagement in counter‑institutional activism, or fight against official censorship and manipulation of subtitling (Massidda 2015), in addition to sharpening one’s foreign language skills or seeking belongingness within fansub communities (Barra 2009). In contrast, although fansubbing has been thriving in China since the early 2000s due to ex‑ tremely limited legal access to foreign films and shows and fully censored, often lackluster official subtitling (French 2006), Chinese fansubbers tend to produce more domesticated or manipulated subtitling than their Western counterparts (Chang 2017). The key to the prosperity of Chinese fansubbing lies in its over‑domesticating feature that contributes to the embeddedness of Chi‑ nese elements and ideologies in Chinese fansubs, which is socially accepted and academically acclaimed as a creative way of catering to Chinese audiences (e.g. Tian 2011: 73–74) or of resist‑ ing imperial cultural hegemony while spreading Chinese culture and values (e.g. Shen and Luo 2017). More specifically, Chinese fansubbers have been found to show Chinese nationalism and patriotism, both of which are essential to legitimating and consolidating the ruling of the Chinese Communist Party (CCP), in their fansubs and in their interactions within their fansub groups or with their audience (Tian 2011: 114–118; Chang 2017: 250–252). In this chapter, the significance and prevalence of Chinese nationalism and patriotism will first be briefly explained, followed by a review of previous studies on Chinese fansubbing from ideological perspectives. Then, examples DOI: 10.4324/9781003289746-18

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of how Chinese nationalism and patriotism are practiced or presented in Chinese fansubbing with pseudotranslation or pseudointerpreting will be provided and discussed to indicate the possibility that Chinese fansubbing may have become an arena for demonstrating and reinforcing Chinese nationalism and patriotism in line with the ideology of Chinese authorities.

Chinese Patriotism and Nationalism in Communist China In the wake of the Tiananmen incident in 1989, where pro‑democracy demonstrators claimed to have taken to the streets out of patriotism to demand reform for a better future for the nation, the CCP was keenly aware that patriotism was the key to its survival and prosperity. Soon a well‑­ engineered nationwide patriotic education campaign, dominated by such two themes as ‘Chinese tradition and history’ and ‘national unity and territorial integrity’ (Zhao 1998: 296), was targeted at younger generations to bundle together one’s love for the nation and one’s love for the CCP so that the legitimacy of the CCP’s rule could be maintained or boosted (Zhao 1998). Since then, the CCP has made a great effort to develop a strong sense of patriotic responsibility among students at all levels of education, and patriotism education has been intertwined with almost every school subject, including English (e.g. Liu 2000). Patriotism, in a positive sense, means ‘love for one’s home country or own people’, but it may also negatively involve ‘see[ing] other countries and people as inferior, and one’s own country as most important or superior’ (Blank 2010: 535). For the CCP, both the positive and negative conno‑ tations of patriotism meet its political needs. The CCP advocates that patriotism is a ‘fine tradition of the Chinese nation’ and compares itself to numerous patriotic heroes in (ancient) China’s his‑ tory, justifying the CCP’s ruling of modern China with its heroic and patriotic deeds for securing China’s national independence and prosperity (Zhao 2004: 227). In essence, the CCP’s patriotic education is aimed at cultivating a politically motivated and exclusive form of nationalism that strategically aligns with the interests of the governing power (Zhao 2004: 230). Chinese nationalism under the CCP rule is different from that of the 19th century in the West, the latter seeking the formation of a nation‑state and self‑strengthening. Instead, the implications of Chinese nationalism may involve a more extreme ‘positive‑negative dialectic’ than that of pat‑ riotism: on the one hand promoting people’s loyalty to the nation and people’s unification within the nation and on the other hand cultivating ‘a monocentric, narcissistic concept of the nation’s life‑world, creating a perception of the nation’s history that identifies the “good” with one’s own nation and the “bad” with that of “the other,” particularly of “the enemy other”’ (Anastasiou and Broome 2010: 499; original emphasis). Patriotism is the wrapper of the CCP’s emotive national‑ ism, and patriotism education for China’s younger generations has shown great effects. For exam‑ ple, they display a diminished inclination to criticize the CCP so as not to be perceived as being unpatriotic, and they tend to defend their country and the CCP against criticisms made by foreign‑ ers (Zhao 2004: 243–244). China’s ‘Century of Humiliation’ between the mid‑19th century and the mid‑20th century that fuels public resentment against Western and Japanese imperialism is also an integral part of Chinese nationalism (Gries 2004: 43–53). Contempt for or animosity toward foreigners or foreign countries, particularly those against which China holds a grudge or vendetta, may be easily aroused among the Chinese public if there is a conflict of national interest or if Chinese people’s feelings are hurt. Yet, whether to evoke or contain nationalist sentiments among Chinese people is up to the CCP’s ideology and policy (e.g. Zhao 2004: 273–274). The CCP’s construction and development of Chinese nationalism and patriotism among Chi‑ nese younger generations also evolve with the advancement of technology. In addition to patriot‑ ism education at all levels of educational institutions, the CCP has been keenly aware that the 213

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Internet has become a very important battleground for ideological work. For instance, Chinese authorities have invested heavily in the online gaming industry, promoting games, such as Resist‑ ance War Online, which can remind young Chinese generations of China’s suffering during its resistance to Japan’s invasion in WWII and arouse their nationalist sentiments in fighting against Japan (Nie 2013). The growing trend of cyber nationalism in China is also found to be developing among Chinese fansub communities, and Chinese fansubbers tend to show nationalism or patriot‑ ism in their subtitling and in their community interactions (Tian 2011: 114–118), indicating that Chinese fansubbing may be used as a channel of patriotism and nationalism.

Previous Studies on Ideology of Chinese Fansubbing – a Review Since its inception in 2001, Chinese fansubbing has grown in popularity with Chinese‑speaking audiences and academics (Chang 2017). Most Chinese fansubbing researchers focus on the sub‑ jectivity and creativity of Chinese fansubbers in embedding Chinese elements and culture in their translation and consider this to have improved the quality of the original foreign language subtitles, connected China with the West, entertained Chinese audience or helped defend China from imperial cultural hegemony (e.g. Dong 2009; Shen and Luo 2017). Some others investigate fansub group identity and dynamics through longitudinal participant observation or through netnography (i.e. ethnography employed on the Internet) (e.g. Tian 2011; Li 2017). Specifically, Tian finds that fansub group members tend to be like‑minded and loyal to their own group, and she also discovers that patriotism or nationalism has become ‘one of the dominant values’ within Chinese fansub groups (2011: 97–117). In Tian’s study, despite their affinity for foreign cultures, Chinese fansubbers do not accept situations where China is being disparaged, and practicing pat‑ riotism is ‘politically correct’ within the fansub groups. Therefore, when it comes to the foreign audiovisual content that Chinese fansubbers think attacks, humiliates, or jeopardizes China, they may not translate it or they may make disapproving statements or announcements (Tian 2011: 114–117). A few other ideology studies of Chinese fansubbing provide an analysis of fansubs and link ideology with translation. It is found that, when foreign content concerns China’s territorial in‑ tegrity, Chinese fansubbers may practice patriotism, exert self‑censorship, and manipulate the original, for instance, by adding ‘China’ to ‘Hong Kong’, which becomes ‘zhōng guó xiāng gǎng’ (meaning Hong Kong, China, or China’s Hong Kong) or by deleting a scene that shows Taiwan’s national flag, to ‘filter out’ the idea that Taiwan and Hong Kong are sovereign countries (He 2017: 275–277). Another study of Chinese fansubs of the first eight seasons of the US TV series The Big Bang Theory suggests the over‑domesticating, manipulative, and patriotic tendency of Chinese fansubbing (Chang 2017). Specifically, in the fansub version of episode 7, season 2 of The Big Bang Theory by YYeTs, the largest fansub group in China, the original line ‘No shoes, no shirt, no Sheldon’ was translated into ‘日本人与谢尔顿不准进入’ [back translation: Japanese and Sheldon are forbidden to enter] (Chang 2017: 252). This fansub example, acclaimed in China as a superb translation (Fanyoumaoyu 2011), is deviant from the original, which bears no political sensitivity, to such a great extent that it can be regarded as pseudotranslation. The term ‘pseudotranslation’, first used in 1823 by an anonymous reviewer of a British literary magazine, originally meant ‘a synonym of free translation’ (Rambelli 2020: 442). Having been defined variously with time, pseudotranslations nowadays may refer to (1) texts falsely claimed to be translations which draw inspirations from certain foreign texts and mix translation with original content, (2) translations of nonexistent source texts, or (3) translations that greatly deviate from their existent source texts (Radó 1979: 193; Toury 2005: 5–6; Rizzi 2008). 214

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Based on the findings of the ideology studies in question, the patriotic or nationalist actions taken in the fansub community are voluntary and may not be necessarily reactive to something politically sensitive. Nevertheless, these previous studies provide only a limited number of Chi‑ nese fansub examples that show signs of nationalism or patriotism, and thus this chapter presents more relevant examples to give a clearer picture of how Chinese fansubbers may have shown their nationalism or patriotism in various ways.

Nationalism and Patriotism Shown in Chinese Fansubbing of Full‑Length Foreign Films and Shows The examples demonstrated in this section have been collected over several years by the author’s watching more than a hundred Chinese fansubbed foreign films and more than 60 fansubbed for‑ eign TV series, each with varying numbers of seasons and episodes and diverse topics, or by garnering relevant information from news reports, personal blogs, or online forums. It is found that Chinese fansub groups have shown strong patriotic or nationalistic tendencies by mixing translations with pseudotranslations, adding translator’s notes, or intensifying/mitigating the origi‑ nal tone. Most of the deviant cases occur when the fansubbed foreign content conflicts with the ideologies and policies of Chinese authorities, jeopardizes China’s supposed national unity and territorial integrity, or undermines Chinese national dignity and pride carefully engineered by the ruling party, but a few others where the foreign content bears no political sensitivity indicate Chinese fansubbing is used as a channel or medium for nationalistic statements or propaganda. Chinese fansubs may be manipulated to mitigate the negative portrayal of China or the CCP in a foreign film or show. In episodes 12 and 13, season 5 (the last season) of the US TV show Boston Legal (2004–2008), China, as well as the CCP, is severely criticized for its violation of human rights. Chinese fansub group FRM (风软) first rejected fansubbing these two episodes and then one week later produced a special fansubbed version in which China is referred to as ‘Country C’ and politically sensitive terms are manipulated in an unusual way (Wang 2008). Specifically, in this FRM’s first fansubbed version, the original reference to the tanks in Tiananmen Square becomes ‘比如像是 Tian’an Door 广场上的  tank’ [back translation: like the tank in the square of Tian’an Door] (Tiananmen literally means Sky Peace Door in Chinese) and another one to the monks in Tibet is turned into ‘xi zang 的喇嘛’ [back translation: the monks of Xi Zang] (Tibet pronounced xī záng in Chinese) (MeiJuTT.com 2023). For the audience who know only Mandarin Chinese, the English words mixed into Chinese subtitles are unintelligible. Another more recent example that also involves the 1989 Tiananmen incident is found in the Chinese fansub of episode 5 of the US miniseries Devs (2020). In addition to obscuring which country is referred to, such as ‘mainland China’ translated into ‘一个国家 (a country)’, ‘the Chinese government’ into ‘这个国家的政府 (The government of this country)’, ‘Beijing’ into ‘首都 (the capital)’, and ‘Tiananmen Square’ into ‘the city hall square’, the Chinese fansub group YYeTs chooses to omit politically sensitive source texts (YYeTs 2020). Note that Chinese fansubs are usually presented bilingually on the screen, particularly when the source text is in English, to facilitate English learning purposes (Liu and de Seta 2015: 127), but bilingual subtitling also facilitates the detection of deviant translations, hence probably the omissions of some source texts in this example. Chinese fansubbers may also manipulate their fansubs to show their support for the CCP’s One China policy. For instance, the Fenghuang Tianshi TSKS Korean Fansub group (凤凰天使 TSKS 韩剧社) adds ‘zhōng guó (meaning China)’ to the original term ‘Hong Kong’ in one of their fansub versions of the South Korean variety show Running Man. In response to one Hong 215

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Kong viewer’s online protest, the fansub group explicitly states that the addition is justified and proper and that being patriotic is more important than watching foreign shows, and this statement has been warmly welcomed by many Chinese audiences (hket.com 2015). Another comparable instance is found in the Chinese fansub versions of Japanese YouTuber and competitive eater Yuka Kinoshita’s videos in which she tastes and comments on the food of Taiwan, but the Chinese fansubbers spontaneously add the term ‘China’ to the name of Taiwan, causing an online fight between Taiwanese and Chinese fans (ETtoday 2017). Another even more unusual case concerns a map of China appearing in a foreign video about food around the world. An image of Taiwan is added to the map through post‑production, with a translator’s note on the top of the screen that reads ‘注释: 此中国地图原图缺失台湾地区 字幕组通过后期以补全’’ [Literal translation: Note: Taiwan area was missing in this original map of China; the Chinese fansub group made up for it through post‑production] (ETtoday 2017). In some other cases, Chinese fansubbers may faithfully translate what is against the One China policy but express their disagreement through the translator’s notes. One example is found in Chinese fansub group PPX’s (琵琶行) translation of the Japanese anime A Spirit of the Sun (太陽の黙示録), in which when Taiwan is referred to as a ‘country’, PPX translates the original as it is but provides a translator’s note on the top of the screen to alert the audience to adhere to the One China policy (Youku 2022). In a similar vein, responsive to the 2008 Tibet Unrest, Chinese fansub group FRM inserts a nationalist statement in English in its fansubs of episodes 15 to 22, season 6 of The Simpsons that reads ‘Tibet WAS, IS and ALWAYS WILL BE a part of China’ and another in Chinese in its fansub of episode 16 of the same season that reads ‘小辛一家和中国人 民一起维护国家主权, 反对任何分裂行为’ (literally The Simpsons and Chinese people together safeguard the national sovereignty and oppose any secessionist action), which unilaterally makes the Simpsons stand with Chinese people in opposition to whatever undermines China’s territorial integrity (Xianzheyeshixianzhe 2010; Chang 2017: 241). This example, which involves no deviant translations, clearly shows how Chinese fansubbing serves as a channel or platform for demon‑ strating Chinese nationalistic or patriotic thinking. Another way to demonstrate Chinese patriotic or nationalistic thinking through Chinese fan‑ subs is to adopt the over‑domesticating strategy. Chinese fansubbers are found to have shown a strong preference to replace the original that is not necessarily politically sensitive with something they deem as ‘pride and joy’ in Chinese contexts, such as a ‘smartphone’ replaced by ‘Baidu’ (a Chinese version of Google) (Chang 2017: 243–253). Such cases, which may be seen as pseu‑ dotranslations that mix translation with renditions of nonexistent source texts, seem to echo the Chinese mainstream viewpoint on teaching English in China that Chinese culture needs to be ‘introduced’ and ‘infiltrated’ into English teaching materials to boost Chinese national dignity and pride (e.g. Yang 2008). Whereas praising China is one way to show one’s patriotism, demeaning or debasing other countries that may have feuds or conflicts with China is another way to demonstrate Chinese nationalism. For instance, the US is often derogatorily referred to as ‘美帝 měi dì’ (literally American Imperialism or American Empire) by Chinese people (Baidu Baike 2023). This deroga‑ tory reference is also commonly seen in Chinese fansubs. For instance, in the fansubbed version by Chinese fansub group SCG (圣城家园) of episode 3, season 7 of The Big Bang Theory, when the characters are singing one Neil Diamond’s song, the repeated term ‘America’ is translated into ‘美帝 měi dì’ (SCG 2013). There may be doubts as to whether some deviant fansub examples presented in this chapter might simply be a show of Chinese fansubbers’ fear of government crackdowns (Yao 2021: 498). However, to avoid official punishment, the fansubbers might have just omitted politically sensitive 216

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texts or produced vague or simplified translations, which is legal and more commonly seen in the official subtitling practice in China. The ‘creativeness’ of these deviant fansubs, along with the nationalistic and patriotic statements issued by Chinese fansub communities, also rules out the possibility of using automatic subtitling (machine translation) as the latter is often criticized for its too literal translation tendency to properly deal with the flexible meaning and register in film texts (Varga 2021). Therefore, the deviant fansubs and pseudotranslations in Chinese fansubbing of full‑length foreign films and shows may be largely produced by Chinese fansub groups on a voluntary basis, echoing the findings of previous relevant studies (e.g. Tian 2011) and suggesting that Chinese fansubbing may not be just a fun‑driven and de‑politicized activity (Li 2015) but may serve as a channel for Chinese nationalism and patriotism.

Nationalism and Patriotism Shown in Chinese Fansubbing of Short, Edited Foreign Films and Shows It is observed by the author that, over the past five years, a large number of short, edited foreign films and shows or edited documentaries that introduce foreign cultures, all of which are targeted at Chinese‑speaking audiences, have been uploaded onto social networking media, such as Fa‑ cebook, with embedded Chinese nationalistic thinking that is aimed at boosting China’s status and image by praising China or by debasing other countries. Simply exploring Facebook Watch on mobile smart devices with such Chinese keywords as ‘diàn yǐng jiè shào 電影介紹’ (movie introduction or recommendation), ‘wài guó jiè shào 外國介紹’ (foreign country introduction or recommendation), or ‘shuāng yǔ zì mù 雙語字幕’ (bilingual subtitling) results in an endless list of individually uploaded fast movies and short edited video clips that come with Chinese voice‑overs and/or bilingual subtitling. In this research, nearly 1,000 fast movies or short edited video clips of foreign content have been watched, and at least more than 50% of them are found to show signs of Chinese nationalistic or patriotic ideologies. In fact, the more such ideological clips one watches on his/her smart devices, the more clips of similar genres and content automatically appear for the same user because the built‑in recommendation systems or algorithms predict the preference of the user, causing the percentage of Chinese nationalism or patriotism‑involved fast foreign movies and edited clips of foreign content to get higher and higher. This chapter presents only those fast movies and edited clips that show Chinese nationalism or patriotism and come with voice‑over narration, categorized as Chinese fansubbing with pseudoin‑ terpreting by the author. Here, pseudointerpreting is defined similarly to pseudotranslation since both interpreting and translation involve converting a source text from one language to another, except that interpreting is to ‘orally’ translate messages that may be in speaking or in writing (the latter is known as sight translation or sight interpreting). The system of benshi (also known as the ‘lecturer’ or ‘narrator’ of films) that emerged in countries such as Japan in the early 20th century (Baron and Carnicke 2008: 140) may serve as a very representative example of pseudointerpreting and is strikingly similar to what has been found in this research. At the turn of the 19th century and the 20th century, when silent films were shown to audiences, the benshi would explain the plot and interpret or create dialogue for such films while standing or sitting next to the screen on the stage, giving the audience a better understanding of the presented foreign cultures. The benshi could be said to provide pseudointerpreting, as no original soundtrack or dialogue could be heard, thus giving the benshi much more leeway than expected to produce whatever renditions in the name of bridging the gap between the target audience and silent films. Japanese labor activist Toyojiro Takamatsu (1872–1952) took advantage of this opportunity and acted as a benshi to spread his radical ideas on the pretext of explaining the films to Japanese audiences (Lee 2017: 132–133). 217

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Soon with Japan’s colonization of Korea and Taiwan, the benshi system was introduced to those colonies. The Japanese colonizers wished to promote Japanese national identity in the colonies by showing films to the general public, only to find some of the colonized local benshi spread‑ ing an ideology of resistance against the Japanese colonizers through pseudointerpreting (Hong 2011: 21–23). Now edited and condensed versions of films or documentaries with foreign content allow view‑ ers to take in the main plot points through edited scenes, with Chinese narration in the background and without original sounds or subtitling. This means viewers rely solely on what is being narrated to understand the scenes and plots. It can be said that the Chinese narrators function as interpreters between the video edits and the viewers, just like what the benshi did in the silent film era, hence the deviant edits in this research referred to as Chinese fansubbing with pseudointerpreting. The following selected examples show that the edited content has been infused with nationalistic ideas that promote China’s status and image by praising China or by denigrating other countries, particu‑ larly those that have vendetta or conflict with China, such as Japan and India. Example 1 is extracted from a Chinese fansub edit of the 2015 Italian superhero film They Call Me Jeeg. It seems that the Japanese anime Koutetsushin Jeeg is a source of inspiration for this Italian film, hence the mention of the Japanese anime in the film. Note that the bad blood between China and Japan for centuries has made it prevalent to see Chinese referring to Japan and its people in a derogatory manner as ‘little Japan’ and ‘little Japanese’ (Baidu Baike 2021). In Mandarin Chi‑ nese, ‘little Japan’ is written and pronounced as 小日本 xiǎo rì běn. In Example 1, the underlined term 小日子 xiǎo rì zǐ (literally little days) functions as 小日本 xiǎo rì běn since both terms are very similar in writing and pronunciation. The former derived from a TV news interview with a Chinese rowing athlete, in which he was just about to say his next opponent was xiǎo rì běn but stopped short with a sudden realization that it was not appropriate to say the derogatory term on TV. As he had already uttered the first two Chinese characters xiǎo rì, he paused very briefly and then said ‘xiǎo rì zǐ guò dé bù cuò de rì běn xuǎn shǒu’ (literally a Japanese player who lives good little days). Since then, xiǎo rì zǐ and xiǎo rì běn have been used interchangeably in China (www.111com.net 2021). Example 1 (Cinema Sharing Area [电影分享区] 2022) 2.35–2.42 Chinese narration: 虽然救Sara断了一根脚趾头，但他却不图回报，反而在得知 Sara喜欢小日子动画《钢铁吉客》后，他买来投影仪和光盘和她一起看。 (Literal translation: Although saving Sara broke one of his toes, he asked for nothing in return. Instead, after he learned that Sara liked little days’ anime Koutetsushin Jeeg, he bought a projector and a DVD and watched it with her.) Example 2 is taken from the Chinese fansub of one episode of 世にも奇妙な物語 (literally strange stories in the world), one of the longest‑running TV series in Japan. This episode de‑ scribes how a female Japanese student bumps into a strange Shinto shrine (a place of gods) and obtains magic power to turn her fabricated answers on exam papers into reality. As shown in the underlined parts of Example 2, Japan is derogatorily referred to as xiǎo guǐ zǐ (literally little devil), an offensive term for a Japanese person in Chinese, which is similar to the word ‘Jap’ in English (Baidu Baike 2021). Example 2 (Viral Town 2022) 0.51–1.11 218

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Chinese narration: 从这一刻开始, 金莲仿佛有了魔力! 请问小鬼子的现任首相是谁？ 金莲绞尽脑汁想了半天，始终没想到!抬头看到男友正在打哈欠，她瞬间有了主意， 于是，金莲把三郎的名字填了上去，万万没想到啊，匪夷所思的事情发生了!新闻播 报，小鬼子的首相换人了，而新任总统竟然是他的男友三郎! (Literal translation: From this moment, Jinlian seems to have magic power! Question: Who is the incumbent prime minister of xiǎo guǐ zǐ? Jinlian racks her brains in vain! She raises her head and sees her boyfriend yawning. She suddenly gets an idea. Then, Jinlian fills in the blank with Saburo’s name. Unexpectedly, an unbelievable thing happens! The news reports that the prime minister of xiǎo guǐ zǐ has changed and the new president is her boyfriend Saburo!) Example 3 is extracted from a Chinese fansub video clip entitled ‘How do Japanese tell who is a Chinese; Japanese Internet users point out this and everyone suddenly realizes it’, which contains scenic scenes and street views of Japan and two women separately interviewed in front of the camera without any original soundtrack heard. The video is presented as a documentary in which the Chinese narrator says the Japanese admit the superiority of the Chinese over the Japanese in built, temperament, and dressing. The false claims in the clip evidently meant to boost the image of Chinese people while belittling the Japanese. Example 3 (Travel 旅行的意义 2022) 0.23–0.34 Chinese narration: 日本人是如何区分谁是中国人的呢，后来经过了解后，终于知 道了，绝大多数的日本人认为两者之间还是有很大的不同中国人的身高普遍比日本 人都要高，周身气质也比较端正 (Literal translation: How do Japanese people tell who is a Chinese? Finally know [how] after reaching an understanding. The great majority of Japanese consider the two to be very different. Chinese people are generally taller than Japanese people and have a better temperament.) In addition to Japan, other countries, such as India, are found to have been targeted in Chinese fansubbing with nationalistic pseudointerpreting. The relations between China and India have for decades experienced ups and downs due to border disputes and economic competition (Bha‑ dauriya 2023). This is probably why India is negatively portrayed in many Chinese fansubbed documentaries that involve Indian food, culture, and products. Example 4 is extracted from one Chinese fansubbed documentary that shows how Indian food is processed in unhygienic condi‑ tions. Judging from the comments left by the viewers, the ironic tone and negative descriptions in the Chinese narration, such as using tetanus and cholera as adjectives to modify the cooking utensils, have made viewers extremely uncomfortable and dampened their enthusiasm for In‑ dian food. Example 5 is observed in a short Chinese fansubbed foreign video, in which a man, claimed to be an Indian by the Chinese narrator, conducts a test to compare the durability of helmets made in India and China. The voice‑over is vivid, with some created dialogue between the man and the narrator. The initially proud Indian man becomes embarrassed when he discov‑ ers that the helmets made in China exhibit much greater durability than those made in India. No original sound track can be heard to verify the authenticity of the Chinese narration, but what is narrated does not seem to be a very likely scenario where an Indian person concedes China’s victory over India. In fact, a search of Facebook Watch with the keyword ‘印度 yìn dù (India)’ in addition to ‘wài guó jiè shào 外國介紹’ (foreign country introduction/recommendation) reveals 219

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hundreds of such clips that either negatively portray India or exaggeratedly favor China over India. Example 4 (Li Da Pu 梨大影视剧 2022) 1.06–1.38 Chinese narration: 他们的烹饪方式也很特别，一个破伤风井字架，一个霍乱漏勺， 加上老板的无情铁手，光看这个组合就知道不简单了，漏勺往热腾腾的油锅上一 架，老板用自带咸味的右手，掏出一坨鹰嘴豆糊糊，接着用无情铁手直接摁进锅 里，这操作，还真是有够勇的，不仅如此，老板更是连鞋都不穿，直接把脚放在油 锅前，要我说老板肯定有金刚不坏之身 (Literal translation: Their cooking way is also very special. One tetanus cross bar, one cholera flat plate strainer, and the vendor’s ruthless iron hands. Simply looking at this com‑ bination, one knows it’s not simple. [The vendor] places the strainer on the top of the hot oil pot. He uses his right hand that comes with a flavour of salt to scoop out one scoop of smashed chickpeas, places it on the strainer and presses it into the pot with his ruthless iron hand. This operation is brave enough. Moreover, the vendor wears no shoes and puts his feet in front of the oil pot. I would say that the vendor must have an indestructible body.) Example 5 (Wolfgangd 2022) 01:10–01:45 Chinese narration: 他大言不惭地说，印度头盔都不能承受拖拉机的重压，那中国制 造的头盔只会表现更差，大猛赶紧将中国头盔放在了轮胎下，随后如猴一般，跳上 了拖拉机。下一秒。漂亮，中国头盔特别坚硬，车轮碾上去时，头盔只是发生了轻 微的变形，三秒不到就复原了。看见这一幕后，大猛有些不淡定了，红着小脸蛋， 尴尬的说，头盔的作用是抗摔打，而不是在拖拉机下辗压的。既然你想测试抗摔打 的性能，那就来吧，我们奉陪到底。 (Literal translation: He brags shamelessly that since the made‑in‑India helmet cannot bear the rolling of the tractor, then the made‑in‑China helmet can only perform worse. Da‑ meng hurriedly puts the made‑in‑China helmet under the tire and then jumps onto the tractor like a monkey. Next second. Wonderful, the China helmet is particularly hard. When the tire rolls onto it, the helmet only changes its shape slightly and recovers within three seconds. Seeing this scene, Dameng is a little restless, and his face turns red. He says with embar‑ rassment that the purpose of a helmet is to withstand a fall or a hit instead of being rolled by a tractor. Since you want to test [the helmet] for withstanding a fall or a hit, then come. We will see [the experiment] through.) There are too many clips on Facebook Watch like these to list here, but the examples presented in this section shall give a general picture of how Chinese nationalistic or patriotic thinking is being embedded in Chinese fansubs or edited foreign content.

Conclusion Chinese fansubs have enjoyed their popularity in the Chinese language world for the past two decades, and with the advancement of information and communication technologies, Chinese fansubs could reach as many viewers as possible. As Chinese fansubbing is generally not subject to prior official censorship or commercial pressure, this research that reveals how Chinese fan‑ subbers, who are mostly China’s young intellectuals or talent, have their Chinese nationalism and 220

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patriotism embedded or represented in their fansubs or in their edited foreign videos may help give us a clear idea of the effectiveness of the CCP’s patriotism education that has been given to the younger generations since the Tiananmen incident in 1989. The fast‑growing number of Chinese fansubbed or edited foreign content with pseudointerpreting on Facebook Watch aimed at boosting China’s image while demeaning or debasing foreign countries may be attributed to the Chinese Tankie, or known as Chinese Little Pink, a term for young Chinese nationalists that are mind engineered by the CCP’s nationalism and patriotism and notorious for their rampant brag‑ ging, distortion, or hostility of varying degrees in the cyberworld. Yet, the sheer quantity of such exquisitely made Chinese fansubbed and edited foreign content appearing mostly over the past few years on Facebook, which is banned within China, makes it hard not to connect those Chi‑ nese nationalistic clips with Xi Jinping’s emphasis on innovating the CCP’s external propaganda work through new media (People’s Daily 2016). Cleverly disguised as a form of entertainment, Chinese fansubbing could be a tool of not only demonstrating and spreading Chinese nationalism and patriotism but also, judging from the level of contempt and maliciousness toward specific foreign countries carried through Chinese fansubbing, engaging in cyberwarfare, and extending Chinese hegemony.

Acknowledgments This research is partially funded by Taiwan’s National Science and Technology Council under grant no. NSTC 112‑2914‑I‑033‑020‑A1.

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Pin‑ling Chang Li, D. (2017). ‘A Netnographic Approach to Amateur Subtitling Networks’. In D. Orrego‑Carmona and Y. Lee (Eds.), Non‑Professional Subtitling (pp. 37–62). Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars. Li, W. (2015). ‘Crowdsourcing Translation in China: Features and Implications’. In Y. Sun (Ed.), Translation and Academic Journals: The Evolving Landscape of Scholarly Publishing (pp. 149–164). Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Liu, X. and de Seta, G. (2015). ‘Chinese Fansub Groups as Communities of Practice: An Ethnography of On‑ line Language Learning’. In P. Marolt and D. K. Herold (Eds.), China Online: Locating Society in Online Spaces (pp. 125–140). London: Routledge. Massidda, S. (2015). Audiovisual Translation in the Digital Age: The Italian Fansubbing Phenomenon. Bas‑ ingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Nie, H. A. (2013). ‘Gaming, nationalism, and ideological work in contemporary China: online games based on the War of Resistance against Japan’. Journal of Contemporary China. 22(81): 499–517. Pérez‑González, L. (2014). Audiovisual Translation: Theories, Methods and Issues. London: Routledge. Radó, G. (1979). ‘Outline of a systematic translatology’. Babel. 25(4): 187–196. Rambelli, P. (2020). ‘Pseudotranslation’. In M. Baker and G. Saldanha (Eds.), Routledge Encyclopedia of Translation Studies (pp. 441–445), 3rd ed. London: Routledge. Rizzi, A. (2008). ‘When a Text Is Both a Pseudotranslation and a Translation’. In A. Pym, M. Shlesinger and D. Simeoni (Eds.), Beyond Descriptive Translation Studies: Investigations in Homage to Gideon Toury (pp. 153–162). Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Tian, Y. (2011). Fansub Cyber Culture in China. Master Thesis. Georgetown University. Toury, G. (2005). ‘Enhancing Cultural Changes by Means of Fictitious Translations’. In E. Hung (Ed.), Trans‑ lation and Cultural Change: Studies in History, Norms, and Image Projection (pp. 3–17). Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Varga, C. (2021). ‘Online automatic subtitling platforms and machine translation. An analysis of quality in AVT’. Scientific Bulletin of the Politehnica University of Timişoara: Transactions on Modern Languages. 20(1): 37–49. Yao, S. (2021). ‘Love my House, love my bird: an intercultural communication perspective on Chinese fansub practices’. Journal of Intercultural Communication Research. 50(5): 481–505. Zhao, S. (1998). ‘A State‑led nationalism: the patriotic education campaign in post‑Tiananmen China’. Com‑ munist and Post‑Communist Studies. 31(3): 287–302. Zhao, S. (2004). A Nation‑State by Construction: Dynamics of Modern Chinese Nationalism. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press.

Chinese References Baidu Baike 百度百科 (2021, July 8). ‘Little Japan’ 小日本. Retrieved May 31, 2023 from https://baike. baidu.com/item/%E5%B0%8F%E6%97%A5%E6%9C%AC/111599. Baidu Baike百度百科 (2023, February 10). ‘American Empire’ 美利坚帝国. Retrieved June 1, 2023 from https://baike.baidu.com/item/%E7%BE%8E%E5%88%A9%E5%9D%9A%E5%B8%9D%E5%9B %BD/1310323. Cinema Sharing Area 电影分享区 (2022, April 17). ‘Young man drank nuclear wastewater; The body had terrible changes’ 小伙喝了核废水，身体产生恐怖变化. [Facebook Video]. Retrieved December 30, 2022 from https://www.facebook.com/watch/?ref=saved&v=676969263573111. Dong, Shujing 董淑静 (2009). ‘On translator’s subjectivity embodied in Chinese fansubbing of US TV shows’ 论译者主体性在美剧字幕非官方中译中的体现. The Science Education Article Collects 科教 文汇(下旬刊). 2009(3): 231. ETtoday (2017). ‘Yuka Kinoshita ate Taiwanese instant noodles; Chinese fansubs used ‘Taiwan, China’ and caused fight!’ 木下佑香大嚐台灣泡麵　陸字幕組改「中國台灣」引戰!. ETtoday. Retrieved Decem‑ ber 22, 2022 from https://www.ettoday.net/news/20170531/935127.htm. Fanyoumaoyu 反游猫鱼 (2011). ‘Those divine translations in The Big Bang Theory’ 生活大爆炸里那些神 乎其神的翻译. Retrieved January 22, 2024 from https://site.douban.com/120100/widget/notes/3671907/ note/174853313/ hket.com (2015). ‘HK netizens urged no ‘China Hong Kong’ in Running Man fansubs, causing fight between China and Hong Kong’ 港網民籲 RM 字幕勿用「中國香港」 掀中港罵戰. Hong Kong Economic Times. Retrieved December 12, 2022 from https://reurl.cc/yMRGXD.

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Patriotism and Nationalism in Chinese Fansubbing Li Da Pu 梨大影视剧 (2022, April 15). ‘Indian‑style deep‑fried dough sticks; Owner must have an in‑ destructible body, or he wouldn’t stand it’ 印度版油条，老板必须有金刚不坏之身，不然扛不住. [Facebook Video]. Retrieved December 30, 2022 from https://www.facebook.com/watch/?ref=save d&v=1143981736415332. Liu, Yanlin 刘艳林 (2000). ‘Brief discussion on education of loving our motherland through English course’ 浅论英语教学中的爱国主义教育. Journal of Shijiazhuang University 石家庄职业技术学院学报. 12(4): 54–55. MeiJuTT.com 美剧天堂 (2023). ‘US TV series: Boston Legal season 5 (2008)’【美国剧】波士顿法律第 五季(2008). Retrieved July 2, 2023 from https://www.meijutt.cc/meijutt/7909.html. People’s Daily 人民日报 (2016). ‘Xi Jinping emphasized in the meeting of the Party work on news and pub‑ lic opinion: insisting on right directions and innovating ways and means; increasing the communication and leading power of news and public opinion’ 习近平在党的新闻舆论工作座谈会上强调：坚持正确 方向创新方法手段 提高新闻舆论传播力引导力. Retrieved July 31, 2023 from http://jhsjk.people.cn/ article/28136289. SCG 圣城家园字幕组 (2013). ‘The Big Bang Theory, episode 3, season 7, SCG bilingual subtitles’ 生活大 爆炸/The Big Bang Theory S07E03/第七季第 3 集/圣城家园双语字幕. Retrieved July 14, 2023 from https://assrt.net/xml/sub/243/243668.xml. Shen, Chen 沈忱 and Zhenglin Luo 骆正林 (2017). ‘Participatory text creation: Chinese fansubbing’s “di‑ vine translations”’ 参与式文本创作: 字幕组 “神翻译”. Journal of Zhejiang University of Media & Com‑ munications 浙江传媒学院学报. 24(3): 63–69. Travel 旅行的意义 (Travel’s Meaning) (2022, April 30). ‘How do Japanese tell who is a Chinese; Japanese internet users point out this and everyone suddenly realizes it’ 日本人如何分辨谁是中国人，日本网友 说出这一点，众人恍然大悟. [Facebook Video]. Retrieved July 10, 2022 from https://www.facebook. com/watch/?ref=saved&v=1052456622043830. Viral Town (2022, June 5). ‘Female student takes exams; She makes blind guesses but gets a mark of 100!’ 女学生考试，闭上眼睛瞎蒙，竟然也能得 100 分！《世界奇妙物语》. [Facebook Video]. Retrieved July 10, 2022 from https://www.facebook.com/watch/?ref=saved&v=365177052158484. Wang, Xiaoxiao 王潇潇 (2008). ‘Newly broadcast US TV show said to have distorted China’s image; In‑ ternet fansub group protested against it’ 新播美剧被指扭曲中国形象 网络字幕组提抗议. Legal Evening News 法制晚报. Retrieved January 26, 2023 from https://www.chinanews.com.cn/yl/kong/ news/2008/12‑25/1503081.shtml. Wolfgangd (2022, April 19). ‘Indian young man challenged Chinese helmets by rolling them with a trac‑ tor. The results are so embarrassing!’ 印度小伙挑战中国头盔，用拖拉机碾压测试，结果好尴尬呀!. [Facebook Video]. Retrieved December 30, 2022 from https://www.facebook.com/watch/?ref=save d&v=362413915844656. www.111com.net (2021). ‘What’s the punchline of saying Japanese people live good little days; What does it mean by saying Japanese people who live good little days’ 小日子过得不错的日本人是什么梗 小日子过得不错的日本人是什么意思. Retrieved December 30, 2022 from https://www.111com.net/ xinxianshi/201682.htm. Xianzheyeshixianzhe 闲着也是闲着 (2010). ‘Being moved: “FRM” fansub group’s patriotic subtitles’ 一种感 动: “风软” 字幕组的爱国字幕. Retrieved June 15, 2016 from http://i.mtime.com/751199/blog/4662766/. Yang, Hongying 杨红英 (2008). ‘Emphasizing the introduction and infiltration of Chinese culture; enhancing students’ cross‑cultural communication competence’ 注重中国文化导入与渗透 提升学生跨文化交际 能力. Forum on Contemporary Education当代教育论坛(学科教育研究). 2008(5): 117–119. Youku 优酷 (2022). ‘A Spirit of the Sun 01’ 太阳默示录 01. Retrieved September 22, 2022 from v.youku.com/ v_show/id_XMTlxMtM4MTY0.html?spm=a2hbt.13141534.1_2.d_1_3&f=3774136&scm=20140719. apircmd.46307.video_XMTlxMTM4MTY0. YYeTS 人人影视字幕组 (2020). ‘Devs Episode 5, Season 1’ 开拓者 第一季第五集/Devs.S01E05’. ­Retrieved June 2, 2023 from https://assrt.net/xml/sub/675/675339.xml.

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15 POP CULTURAL MEDIA AS A RESOURCE FOR FOSTERING RESPONSIBLE WORLD CITIZENS Valentin Werner and Theresa Summer Introduction ‘How much TV is educational?’ – ‘All of it! It just depends on what it’s teaching’1 As we live in a media‑saturated world, language learners are constantly exposed to2 and strongly influenced by pop cultural media such as songs, video games, memes, podcasts, films, and TV/ streaming series, among others. While relevant artifacts have been usefully employed in language education for various purposes (see, e.g., Werner and Tegge 2021), this form of media influence has alternatively been associated with ‘cultural pedagogy’, defined as ‘process[es] of teaching and learn‑ ing through social sites, often outside of sanctioned educational institutions’ (Tavin and ­Anderson 2003: 23). In this context, it has been found that pop cultural media as sites of (normative) ­social evaluation are not merely ‘benign forms of entertainment’ (Duff and Zappa‑Hollman 2012: 3). Rather, they act as power instruments (Currie and Kelly 2022). This means that their visual ele‑ ments and content, such as the under‑ and misrepresentation of ethnic minority groups (see, e.g., Klein and Shiffman 2006; Greenberg and Mastro 2011),3 but particularly the language varieties used, can transport certain identities, power structures, stereotypes, and ideologies that perpetuate discriminatory practices (Joyce et al. 2020). Thus, pertinent artifacts and their cultural pedagogy can be viewed as a form of mind engineering by scriptwriters and media producers. Accordingly, pop media artifacts and the characters represented therein are one of the main ways language learners encounter ‘a version of the world regarding ─ among other things ─ how dif‑ ferent groups of people speak’ (Stamou et al. 2015: 216). Language education thus plays a crucial role in multiple respects. While promoting communicative competence as an overarching goal, it can also initiate critical reflection on media artifacts encountered inside and outside the classroom by examining ‘how characters and contexts are discursively constructed, marginalized, commodi‑ fied, or mocked, based on their social or linguistic characteristics’ (Duff and Zappa‑­Hollman 2012: 2). This encompasses, especially on the part of educators, an understanding of language teach‑ ing as a political activity that can tackle social injustices, based on theoretical concepts such as critical language education (Crookes 2021) and intercultural citizenship education (Byram 2008). Against this background, the present chapter aims to illustrate the potential of analyzing linguistic DOI: 10.4324/9781003289746-19 This chapter has been made available under a Creative Commons Attribution (CC BY) license.

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usage and concurrent social attributions in pop cultural media for advocating critical consumers and eventually responsible world citizens who value freedom of speech and independent thinking while countering any form of discrimination. By focusing specifically on cultural and linguistic stereotyping (i.e., bias in the form of an association of a particular, often non‑standard language use with unfavorable social traits of a character) in narrative telecinematic children’s media,4 it discusses their relevance for language learning.

Theoretical Foundations The following passages summarize insights from several disciplines considered relevant for broader contextualization at the intersection of media studies, psychology, sociolinguistics, and language education.

Social Psychology, Media Effects, and Socialization The issue of media effects on the socialization of children and adolescents has been a long‑­ standing concern in social psychology. Research from this domain converges in viewing broadcast media, and especially animated films and series, as an important socializing agent, given that even children at an early age ‘form their expectations for a variety of behaviors and social roles by watching animated films’ (Bloomquist 2015: 751; see also Klein and Shiffman 2006: 167; Barrett et al. 2022: 259). This has been related to social essentialism as ‘the propensity to see social differ‑ ences as being real, immutable, and highly predictive of people’s attributes and behaviors’ (Kinzler 2021: 252) and resulting social categorization (i.e., the tendency to categorize all kinds of input one receives) as general psychological processes. While such mechanisms may foster cognitive efficiency, it has also been observed that there is a risk of emerging social biases when ‘stereotypes about groups of people [are] erroneously applied to specific individuals’ (Kinzler 2021: 242). Such cultural or cognitive stereotypes, formally defined as ‘set of beliefs, mental models, or schemas relating to a specific social group or category’ (Joyce et al. 2020: 59), can be reinforced through the media and are especially salient when linguistic traits of people (particularly accent features) are essentialized and related to their social identity, leading to negative evaluation of the social group affected (known as prejudice) and eventually to stigmatization and discriminating behavior (Kinzler 2021; Ward and Bridgewater 2023). In this context, it has been found that media artifacts in general are prone to represent stereo‑ types relating to gender (e.g., González Vera 2012) and race/ethnicity (e.g., Mastro 2009: 377), as selectively illustrated in Table 15.1 for racial stereotypes in the US‑American context, pertaining to random characteristics and roles from various domains. It emerges that while not all stereotypes are necessarily negative, non‑white groups are generally represented less favorably (Klein and Shiffman 2006: 167). Notably, however, linguistic features are rarely discussed in relevant publi‑ cations (see sections ‘Indexicality and Language Ideologies’ and ‘Language Ideologies in Narra‑ tive Pop Media: Insights from Sociolinguistics’). The central importance of media in establishing and reinforcing stereotypes is underlined by the fact that, while they may be an important channel for encountering a wider range of people than would be possible through personal contact alone, they are often the only channel through which people receive formative information about other social groups (Sanborn and Harris 2022: 113; Ward and Bridgewater 2023: 87),5 and thus also about linguistic variation (Stamou et al. 2015: 217). Such observations (with an explicit reference to telecinematic content) are grounded in

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Traits/roles

Table 15.1  Common racial stereotypes African American

Asian American

Latinx

Native American

Athletic Criminal Poor Rhythmical and musical Unintelligent Aggressive

Compliant Humble Model minority Smart

Drug dealer Illegal immigrant Low‑status jobs Uneducated

Alcoholic Brave Lazy Spiritual

Wealthy Sidekick (martial artist, nerd)

Very religious Hypersexual

Wild

American with Middle Eastern/North African background Muslim Terrorist

Source: Synthesized from Kirsh 2010: 105; Ward and Bridgewater 2023: 83

approaches such as cultivation theory, whose central claim is that ‘exposure to the themes in televi‑ sion content shifts viewers’ social perceptions toward the television version of reality, regardless of the accuracy or precision of that content’ (Gerbner et al. 2002; cited in Greenberg and Mastro 2011: 76). Empirical research in this area (including the analysis of animated shows) has further shown that consumers with repeated and long‑standing media exposure are indeed susceptible to adapting to conceptions of telecinematic reality, including mediatized stereotypes (Mastro 2009: 379; Dragojevic et al. 2016: 63). Proponents of Bandurian social cognitive theory (which recog‑ nizes interaction between environment, behavior, and individual factors, such as affect, cognition, and biological factors) claim that even irregular consumers are susceptible to media effects, po‑ tentially building on the enactment of already learned models (Pila et al. 2018: 40). In any case, there is strong evidence that media, as outlined above, act as socializing agent, influencing values and attitudes of the audience in the ‘realm of pleasure’ (Tavin and Anderson 2003: 23), that is, in an environment in which affect may be raised through mediatized emotions.6 On a positive note, studies have shown a longitudinal trend of increased diversity. This applies to the sets of characters in animated TV and movies and the disappearance of overt racism since the late 1990s (Klein and Shiffman 2006: 173; Pila et  al. 2018: 35). Furthermore, exposure to counterstereotypical content with pro‑social and pro‑diversity messages can have positive effects, especially on non‑minority adolescents (Mastro 2009: 380; Ward and Bridgewater 2023: 85). In this regard, it has been argued that media are not merely a mirror of society but may also serve as a catalyst for change with substantial positive effects on social attitudes and ultimately behavior (Kearney and Levine 2020: 83; Sanborn and Harris 2022: 402).7 In other words, media should be viewed not only as a risk factor but also as potentially beneficial (Kirsh 2010: 239), since stereo‑ typing is learned and can therefore be changed. Relating to the use of language specifically, it has been argued that the presence of media characters with non‑native and non‑standard accents por‑ trayed as competent and devoid of stereotypical traits (see Table 15.1) tentatively leads to a reduc‑ tion in negative affect toward speakers of such varieties and more openness to linguistic variation (Griva et al. 2018: 34; Roessel et al. 2020: 99). To consider the role language plays in purporting stereotypes and ideologies, the sociolinguistic concepts of language ideology and indexicality will be introduced in the section ‘Language Variation in Current Animated Series for Children’. This is done with a focus on their relevance in media contexts before assessing the representation of varieties of English in an animated children’s series to gauge current media practice. 226

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Indexicality and Language Ideologies As already mentioned in the section ‘Social Psychology, Media Effects, and Socialization’, lan‑ guage usage as an overtly audible feature is an important carrier of social information, enabling people to categorize others through it. A general tendency observed in this regard in both psycho‑ linguistic and sociolinguistic language attitude studies is that non‑native or non‑standard language varieties are commonly stigmatized (Kinzler 2021: 243). This bias has been termed ‘standard lan‑ guage ideology’ (SLI), loosely defined as any kind of hegemonic effort to highlight the supremacy of a language variety and to systematically devalue linguistic diversity (Stamou et al. 2015: 216; see also Woolard 1998). SLIs have been found to be prevalent in narrative media, and particularly in telecinematic me‑ dia directed at children, through the portrayal of linguistic stereotypes (Barrett et al. 2022: 259). Concretely, there are persistently strong correlations between likable main protagonists and speak‑ ing a standard variety (most probably standard American English), while minor or evil characters, as well as those portrayed with low education, from lower classes, or belonging to an ethnic minority, are much more likely to use non‑standard varieties (Stamou 2014; see further section ‘Language Ideologies in Narrative Pop Media: Insights from Sociolinguistics’). Sometimes, such non‑standard varieties are ignored altogether (Degener 2017: 2). Importantly, linguistic stereotyp‑ ing (i) varies according to concrete sociohistorical and political circumstances (e.g., with Russian accents prevailing for evil characters during the Cold War, while Middle Eastern accents have fea‑ tured more prominently for them since the 1990s; Barrett et al. 2022: 266), and (ii) has also been traced for non‑human (yet anthropomorphic) characters in telecinematic representations (see, e.g., Tavin and Anderson 2003: 24; Bloomquist 2015). Given the abovementioned function of language as a key carrier of social meaning, the socio‑ linguistic notion of ‘second order indexicality’ (see, e.g., Silverstein 2003), relating to the connec‑ tion between linguistic variables and social and character traits of the speaker (rather than the mere association of a speaker with a stereotyped group alone, which would be related to first‑order in‑ dexicality), appears relevant. Scriptwriters may therefore deliberately exploit language varieties as a shortcut to characterization (i.e., individual distinctiveness of a character; see Queen 2015: 155) through styling language use of characters after (stereotypical) social traits associated with them (Hodson 2014: 66–67). This has been criticized as a ‘particularly easy trick […] to play into the stereotypes and prejudices that exist in the society within which the story is to be told’ (Barrett et al. 2022: 258; see also Dragojevic et al. 2016: 67). Therefore, it is argued here that usage of varieties in media should not be viewed as given reality or even a reflection of actual use but rather as strategic (or, at best, unconscious) choices made by producers that potentially foster SLIs and both form and maintain linguistic stereotypes (Dragojevic et al. 2016: 64). This is particularly important from a language education perspec‑ tive, as learners should be made aware that their knowledge of languages and varieties is largely ‘socially constructed and culturally mediated’ (Abe and Shapiro 2021: 359; see also the section ‘Critical Language Education and Awareness’). Further, a critical assessment of language usage in media artifacts among learners may help overturn SLIs (Coupland 2014: 78).

Critical Language Education and Awareness Given the potential of pop cultural media to spread biases through SLIs, the field of critical lan‑ guage education with its aim to develop learners’ critical literacies is highly relevant. Rooted in Paolo Freire’s work, critical language education seeks to eliminate oppression and promote

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transformation through a problem‑posing approach that focuses on critical thinking, learner‑driven content, and active participation (Crawford 1978: 112–113). This perspective has also entered linguistic research within the field of critical language awareness (CLA), in which Fairclough (1992) posits that language awareness does not only include descriptive linguistic knowledge but also a critical awareness of how language practices relate to social and political power dimen‑ sions. He notes that CLA is ‘coming to be a prerequisite for effective democratic citizenship and should therefore be seen as an entitlement for citizens, especially children developing toward citizenship in the educational system’ (Fairclough 1992: 3). CLA approaches should therefore be incorporated into teacher education courses for future teachers to gain insights into the relationship between language and culture (Abe and Shapiro 2021: 356). A crucial argument is that ‘awareness of implicit bias (linguistic or otherwise) is the starting point for resistance and change’ (Abe and Shapiro 2021: 363). As concerns the visibility of stereotyped varieties in telecinematic artifacts, ‘[r]epresenting real varieties that do not emerge solely as part of stereotyped character‑building shortcuts can offer visibility and increase linguistic knowledge’ (Darder 2022: 3). In more general terms, CLA pedagogy encourages learners to think about the following question: ‘Who gains and how from the production of particular texts, genres and their accompanying discourses?’ (Wallace 2017: 132). The pedagogy of multiliteracies (Kalantzis et al. 2016), which accounts for the increasing mul‑ timodality of texts, also emphasizes critical literacy, a term defined as ‘[a]pproaches to literacy that focus on texts that communicate student interests and experiences and address challenging social issues, such as discrimination and disadvantage’ (Kalantzis et al. 2016: 176). Crucially, therefore, discrimination affects social justice because those affected may internalize stigmata, leading to poor health and low self‑esteem. A central aim of critical language education is to foster social justice (Crookes 2021: 249). Problematic, however, is the fact that the concept of social justice is highly complex and lacks an objective definition. While classrooms are described as ‘sites of social justice work’ (Randolph and Johnson 2017: 102), social justice is considered to be a journey and the equitable sharing of social power and benefits in a society (Osborn 2006). Randolph and Johnson (2017: 102) have suggested a framework consisting of three components that impact social justice learning outcomes in world language education: (1) standards (cultures and communities); (2) student‑oriented processes (transformative learning, intercultural communicative competence); and (3) teacher‑oriented processes (critical pedagogy, community‑based instructional design). Student‑oriented processes highlight the importance of learning becoming transformative. This happens when learners de‑ center their own experience and take the perspective of the interlocutor (Randolph and Johnson 2017: 106). Regarding the consumption of pop cultural media, this means uncovering stereotypi‑ cal depictions of certain characters and language varieties and finding ways to promote their di‑ verse and inclusive representation. This understanding of learning complies with Byram’s (1997) model of intercultural communi‑ cative competence and the goal of developing critical cultural awareness (Randolph and Johnson 2017: 104). More specifically, it is the field of intercultural citizenship education that provides another important theoretical base for considering a critical literacies pedagogy that aims to coun‑ teract mind engineering and promote critical engagement with language.

Intercultural Citizenship Education Education is increasingly regarded as a means of combating racism, extremism, and discrimina‑ tion. This is reflected in the Charter on Education for Democratic Citizenship and Human Rights 228

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Education (Council of Europe 2010), advocating the promotion of core values including human rights, democracy, and the rule of law. Represented in the Charter for All (Council of Europe 2012), the points raised provide an important reference point for language education, which plays a key role in valuing diversity and promoting human rights. This understanding of education is the foundation of intercultural citizenship education, which is a major goal of foreign language education today (Byram 2008; Porto et al. 2018). Defined as ‘the ability of individuals and groups to live and dialogue with individuals and groups of other identifications’ (Porto and Byram 2015: 23), citizenship education promotes the integration of pluralism including ethnic and linguistic complexity without promoting division in society (Por‑ tera 2021). Intercultural citizenship education therefore offers an important basis for a critical engagement with pop cultural media that, through their culture‑specific representation of certain characters and language varieties, may implicitly promote a division of society by displaying cer‑ tain characters (and thus social groups) in a negative light (see the section ‘Language Ideologies in Narrative Pop Media: Insights from Sociolinguistics’). In a similar vein, global citizenship ‘acknowledges global interconnectedness and the responsi‑ bility every individual has in preserving planet Earth and in contributing to a fair, just and peaceful world’ (Lütge et al. 2022: 3). In connecting global citizenship with social justice education, Banks (2003: 18) emphasizes that the biggest problem worldwide is not that people cannot read and write but rather their inability to get along and work together to solve problems such as global warm‑ ing, racism, and war. Consequently, he considers it imperative to foster ‘thoughtful and active citizens’ to make the world ‘more just and humane’ (Banks 2003: 19). This highlights the necessity to engage with ‘reflective processes [that] can help us to understand the nature of privilege and inequality and to engage with the world more equitably’ (Abe and Shapiro 2021: 355). Extremist/ stereotypical views, fostered by, for example, inadequate representation of language varieties in pop cultural media must be uncovered so that learners can become intercultural and global citizens committed to a more humane world. Through mediation, defined as ‘a class of intervention strategies that attempt to disrupt the effects of consuming media’ (Kirsh 2010: 241), telecinematic representations can build a bridge to critical literacy. More specifically, this requires active mediation that involves, for example, discussions about media content with learners to help them understand the intent and realism of media products to change their affective responses to them and reduce potentially negative media effects (Kirsh 2010: 244). Such effects related to SLIs and linguistic stereotyping are outlined in the subsequent passages.

Language Ideologies in Narrative Pop Media: Insights from Sociolinguistics While the study of pop cultural media had long been sidelined in sociolinguistics due to the alleged ‘inauthenticity’ of the data (see Werner 2022: section 3), there has been an increasing acceptance of the importance of mediatization as a ‘historical process through which more and more aspects of social lives and socio‑cultural understandings are achieved through technologically‑mediated sys‑ tems’ (Coupland 2014: 78). Consequently, there has been considerable engagement with scripted narrative forms, and specifically language use in telecinematic artifacts, and this work has usefully employed the notions of indexicality and language ideology (see the section ‘Indexicality and Language Ideologies’), as a selective review of relevant studies that focus on animated children’s series and movies shows.8 The choice of animated (and specifically fantasy) telecinematic artifacts is deliberate, as they provide an ‘ontological rupture that allows some distance between voice and image [and] allows non‑mainstream varieties to be decontextualized and recontextualized in 229

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mediated relocations of speech communities’ (Darder 2022: 3). Further, previous work has found that animated productions may lag in the more diverse representation of ethnic groups increasingly found in traditional, non‑animated movies and series (Bloomquist 2015: 751; cf. Clouse 2022). A landmark effort in this respect is Dobrow and Gidney (1998), who manually coded 323 characters from 12 animated US TV series to determine whether ethnicity and gender are used to convey stereotypes and how linguistic variation is employed in the series studied. While they fail to find evidence of a specific ‘genderlect’,9 their overall results imply that standard American English (AmE) is the default variety for heroes and that linguistic variation is used to stereotype characters, especially in the role of villains, who are found to use German‑ and Slavic‑accented, but interestingly also standard British English (BrE), which alternatively features as a variety associated with refined characters. The representation of these varieties indeed relies on several indexical phonological features, such as final devoicing for German‑accented English. The study identifies additional noteworthy tendencies, among them the use of a stylized New York/‘Italian’ accent for criminals, regional AmE accents for comic characters, and only rare use of African American English (AAE), working‑class speech, or foreign‑accented English for hero characters. The results of several related studies are summarized in Table 15.2. In sum, the aforementioned findings indicate a general potential of telecinematic artifacts di‑ rected at younger audiences to use varieties to deliberately conceptualize ‘good and evil in ways that strongly correlate to race and ethnicity’ (Barrett et al. 2022: 273) and therefore to establish a rigid ‘status hierarchy’ (Dragojevic et al. 2016: 75) of varieties. Thus, they may foster SLIs (and residual racism) by way of stereotyping speakers of different varieties as either desirable or infe‑ rior through processes of second‑order indexicalities. Such insights are highly relevant from a language‑educational perspective, as, due to the pro‑ duction circumstances of animated telecinematic artifacts, it can be assumed that scriptwriters and producers deliberately select varieties and their use for various purposes of characterization. Observers have called such practices an implicit political choice and have criticized producers of animated formats in particular for associating language varieties that may in fact be part of a person’s identity with stereotypical character representations (especially in anthropomorphic char‑ acters such as animals, robots, cars, etc.), ascertaining an institutionalized status hierarchy in the mediasphere (see, e.g., Degener 2017: 13 on AAE and African American identity). This is particularly relevant as studies have found that an awareness of varieties is already ob‑ servable among children (Maroniti et al. 2013: 60–61; Griva et al. 2018: 42), who may internalize the attitudes purported in such media representations, which may be the first and only encounter with a particular variety (see the section ‘Social Psychology, Media Effects, and Socialization’). To unearth language ideologies and to put such representations into perspective, there have been repeated calls for active engagement with telecinematic artifacts and their language representation in connection with stilted roles (Degener 2017: 13; Abe and Shapiro 2021: 363). That is why we address the potential of pop cultural media for mind engineering in a critical literacies’ pedagogy (see the section ‘Building a Bridge to Language Education’). At the same time, we highlight that such media can also be characterized by inclusive practices fostering tolerance. While most of the studies presented considered commercially successful movies, children and adolescents have even greater exposure to the media through streaming and video‑on‑demand services (see the section ‘Introduction’). The ensuing case study (the section ‘Language Variation in Current Animated Series for Children’) therefore complements extant work in two ways: First, it provides an updated picture of animated series vs. movies, and, second, it gauges whether media practice as to the use and representation of language varieties has been subject to change in recent productions, reflecting an increased awareness of the role that language may play as a carrier of 230

Pop Cultural Media for Fostering Responsible World Citizens Table 15.2  Sociolinguistic studies on animated telecinematic artifacts for children Study

Film/series

Non‑standard variety/varieties

Main results

Meek (2006)

Peter Pan

‘Hollywood Injun English’ (stylized non‑standard variety of English to depict the speech of Native Americans)

Bloomquist (2015)

Various

AAE

Degener (2017)

The Secret Life of Pets

AAE

Valleriani (2020)

Zootopia

AAE, Southern AmE

Darder (2022)

Various

AAE, Southern AmE, Jamaican English/Creole

Barrett et al. (2022)

Various

AAE, Spanish‑accented English, non‑native accents

Indexical markers (e.g., lack of tense and aspect and usage of specific lexical items) that work in collaboration with the representation of negative character traits to signify the ‘otherness’ of Native Americans • Both older and contemporary animated children’s movies following ‘Black stock characters’ stereotypes emerging from minstrel shows (e.g., Baloo the Bear in the Jungle Book as an ‘Uncle Tom’ or Marty in the Madagascar franchise as ‘Coon’) • Indexicality: AAE associated with minor and comical roles and unfavorable traits (laziness, superstition, childlikeness, cowardice, stupidity, being thuggish) • Distorted depiction of African American realities • Lack of positive Black characters • AAE as ‘deviant’ variety • Indexicality: AAE associated with (male) streetwiseness and low socio‑economic status Indexicality: selected phonological, grammatical, and lexical features index characters as rural, low‑class, unintelligent, or criminal Indexicality: selected grammatical and lexical features index characters as low‑class, uneducated, or thuggish • Negative portrayal of non‑native accents • Indexicality: AAE and Spanish‑accented English for dangerous or mentally insane characters

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social information. This increased awareness may, in turn, result in positive media effects on the audience (see the section ‘Social Psychology, Media Effects, and Socialization’).

Language Variation in Current Animated Series for Children While the view of stereotyped language use in telecinematic media for children as an ‘inescapable trait’ (Darder 2022: 3) seems justified given the review of previous work (see the section ‘Lan‑ guage Ideologies in Narrative Pop Media: Insights from Sociolinguistics’), and there is persistent skepticism about whether growing social diversity is also represented medially (Kirsh 2010: 123; Degener 2017: 3); there has also been some recognition of positive messages that can be conveyed through children’s media in general (e.g., Sanborn and Harris 2022: 372) and animated films in particular (e.g., Bloomquist 2015: 751). Regarding the latter, it has been suggested that animated fantasy is, in principle, a site of creativity and almost endless possibilities to conjure up an ‘equita‑ ble universe’ (Pila et al. 2018: 35). The looming question that remains is whether and to which ex‑ tent current scriptwriters and producers make use of these opportunities (in the sense of practices that foster tolerance and inclusivity), especially in series with an educational and/or pro‑social concern.10 To address this issue, patterns in a commercially highly successful,11 award‑winning, and critically acclaimed12 educational series distributed via the BBC13 in the UK, and, globally via Netflix, the Octonauts (www.theoctonauts.com; 2010–2021; UK/Ireland – US version available) is qualitatively explored with a view to the representation of language varieties. The cast of Octonauts is a team of eight anthropomorphic animals that embark on undersea ad‑ ventures using various vehicles (‘gups’) during which they encounter real marine ecosystems and animals. The role of the speech used by the characters has been highlighted before in the context of the formation of national identity in children by means of ‘accents imagined to belong to people’s [sic] of differing nations’ and an inherent potential for the audience in ‘developing knowledge of and attitudes toward nations’ (Barraclough‑Brady 2023: 3–4). The connection to the function of animated media as agents of socialization (see the section ‘Social Psychology, Media Effects, and Socialization’) is evident. Table 15.3 presents an overview of the main protagonists, featuring six male and two female characters. As shown in Table 15.3, the Octonauts’ main cast represents a mixture of characters using both standard and non‑standard varieties. This in itself is a noteworthy finding because traditionally non‑standard varieties were sometimes ignored in animated telecinematic representations for (pos‑ itive) main characters (see the section ‘Language Ideologies in Narrative Pop Media: Insights from Sociolinguistics’). Remarkably, the protagonists using non‑standard accents (including non‑AmE/ BrE) are represented as equally competent in the story world and fulfill important specialist and/ or leader functions that require high professional qualifications. Noteworthy in this context is the fact that some main characters use varieties that are widely stigmatized, such as Cockney, South‑ ern AmE, and AmE with a Spanish accent. These generic observations are striking in light of the results of other sociolinguistic analyses (see the section ‘Language Ideologies in Narrative Pop Media: Insights from Sociolinguistics’) and show an alternative practice of how the diversity of varieties/accents can be represented medially. At the same time, it has to be acknowledged that, despite the wide range of varieties in Octo‑ nauts, the focus on the main protagonists is a limitation of the present analysis because, as other work has shown, the use of varieties by minor characters may still at times be associated with ste‑ reotyped behavior and traits (Barraclough‑Brady 2023: 11). Further, given the large amount of re‑ search on the role of AAE (see the section ‘Language Ideologies in Narrative Pop Media: Insights

232

Pop Cultural Media for Fostering Responsible World Citizens Table 15.3  Octonauts main characters overview Character name (and species, gender)

Variety

Roles/traits

Barnacles (polar bear, male)

Standard BrE

Kwazii (cat, male)

Cockney/Estuary English

Peso (penguin, male)

Standard BrE/AmE with Spanish accent (US version)

Shellington (otter, male)

Standard BrE with Scottish accent Standard BrE with hyper‑RP accent Australian/AmE (US version)

Group leader/captain, operating vehicles, physically strong, brave, claustrophobic Second in command (lieutenant), (crypto)zoologist, operating vehicles, daring, arachnophobic Medical officer, sometimes easily scared, brave in the face of danger Biologist, researcher

Inkling (octopus, male) Dashi (dog, female) Tweak (rabbit, female) Tunip (‘vegimal’ = hybrid between plant and animal)

Southern AmE N/A

Oceanographer, professor, founder of the Octonauts IT specialist, technician, photographer, surfer Engineer, inventor Chef, gardener, leader of the vegimals

from Sociolinguistics’), it could be argued that Octonauts misses the chance to present this widely stigmatized variety in a positive light. Furthermore, we have focused solely on linguistic diversity in general and have omitted gender or class, for instance. Overall, however, the – necessarily brief – analysis of the series’ protagonists shows that, un‑ like the practices traced in most telecinematic artifacts (see the section ‘Language Ideologies in Narrative Pop Media: Insights from Sociolinguistics’), it is by no means ‘inescapable’ to employ non‑standard and less widely used varieties to index positive character traits. Rather, Octonauts could be viewed as an example challenging stereotypical associations between social attributions and linguistic usage, illustrating paradigmatic ‘new ways of embedding and disembedding voices into/from social contexts, and new normativities for self‑presentation and for social relations’ (Coupland 2014: 78) fostered by mediatized representation. Thus, animated telecinematic artifacts might, in fact, epitomize desirable practice in the sense of showing the value of linguistic diversity or at least presenting linguistic diversity as a given and natural state of societies.

Building a Bridge to Language Education Over the past six decades, critical language education (see the section ‘Critical Language Educa‑ tion and Awareness’) has recognized the fact that language is neither a neutral object of study nor a neutral medium of communication. Rather, it is an instrument for maintaining power hierar‑ chies and promoting certain values (see the section ‘Introduction’) so that ‘language teaching and learning are not ideologically neutral practices; they are located within complex webs of political and historical contexts and sociolinguistic practices’ (Curdt‑Christiansen and Weninger 2015: 1). Importantly, the use of pop cultural media in language education as a mere cultural resource that

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promotes media literacy is insufficient and rather requires ‘[an analysis of] its production within historically specific social relations’ (Currie and Kelly 2022: 415). Fostering responsible world citizens capable of critiquing pop cultural media and promoting social justice requires practice‑oriented suggestions, which are discussed in the following sections. Since critical foreign language pedagogies, including intercultural citizenship education (see the section ‘Intercultural Citizenship Education’), are generally compatible with curricula based on a democratic understanding of education, no new method is required but rather the creation of spaces for discourses that advance social justice (Osborn 2006). This complies with Randolph and Johnson’s (2017: 109) argument that social justice themes can enhance the communication goals of curricular guidelines. Hence, we will discuss practical implications in two parts: A sketch of some basic requirements for engaging with critical literacy practices is presented, followed by an outline of some more specific ways to integrate pop cultural media into the classroom with the aim of developing responsible world citizens.

Basic Requirements Critical literacy practices aim to uncover language (and other) ideologies. The assumed context in this section is a foreign language classroom, although the requirements equally apply to language learning in general. We argue that three basic requirements (see Figure 15.1) provide the founda‑ tion for potentially fruitful critical literacy practices and pave the way for more specific sugges‑ tions related to the variety of texts in the subsequent section. The first requirement is the creation of a safe learning environment. This safe space includes the establishment of a trustworthy atmosphere in the classroom that allows learners to raise their voices, ask questions, and possibly share their stories – yet without encouraging or even forcing

Safe space

Hello!

¡Hola!

㟮޹

Use of L1s

Variety of texts

Figure 15.1  Basic requirements for critical literacies pedagogies focusing on language ideologies

234

Pop Cultural Media for Fostering Responsible World Citizens

them to share any potentially traumatizing experiences (Ludwig and Summer 2023: 14). Freedom of speech, democracy, pluralism, and fairness set the basis for this safe space in which basic hu‑ man rights provide the foundation for educational practices. Importantly, a critical investigation of pop cultural media by learners in a safe environment can empower them and enhance their agency (Yol and Yoon 2020: 12). A second requirement for critical literacy practices is openness toward learners’ language re‑ sources and their individual cultural experiences. This means that the use of learners’ first and other languages (L1s) is not tabooed but included in foreign language teaching – albeit not as a medium of instruction but rather as a ‘teaching aid’ (Akbari 2008: 280). Engaging learners’ lin‑ guistic diversity aims to make them aware that educators appreciate diversity in all its forms, for instance by raising language awareness through a comparison of linguistic features across differ‑ ent languages or by increasing awareness of their own unique linguistic variety. A third aspect central to critical literacy practices is the use of a variety of thought‑provoking and valuable texts (i.e., in a broad sense, including songs, films, etc.) that showcase voices be‑ yond the classroom and invite multicultural perspectives. According to Yol and Yoon, ‘instruction should challenge the ideologies praising norms and encouraging cultural assimilation’ (2020: 12). As such, language educators play a key role in raising learners’ awareness of stereotypical, poten‑ tially problematic, and racist representations of linguistic varieties through telecinematic media by initiating classroom discourse that counters stigmatization and promotes critical literacy. The movies and series explored in sociolinguistic work (the section ‘Language Ideologies in Narra‑ tive Pop Media: Insights from Sociolinguistics’) and the series analyzed above (see the section ‘Language Variation in Current Animated Series for Children’) offer examples illustrating how linguistic varieties in series can be critically investigated while showcasing some positive develop‑ ments and fostering learners’ CLA.

Specific Ways Specific ways through which critical literacies with a focus on pop cultural media can be imple‑ mented at different levels of language proficiency emerge from our theoretical groundwork see (the section ‘Theoretical Foundation’). At a general level, a distinction between a simple and a more complex way of putting critical language pedagogies into practice can be drawn: A sim‑ ple approach would be to include supplementary content that is more diverse; a more complex way would be to negotiate the syllabus with learners (Crookes 2021: 252). This could include a comparison of animated films and series with different degrees of linguistic diversity or a critical inspection of text suggestions in syllabuses or textbooks by investigating how (non‑dominant) linguistic varieties are perceived and valued. According to Chang (2018: 4–5), three broad themes are effective in promoting social justice in English language education: (1) recognition, (2) collaboration, and (3) solidarity. These themes are described by highlighting the importance of (1) recognizing different types of linguistic and cultural practices while also recognizing learners’ own identities. Collaboration (2) refers to all forms of collaborative learning among learners, parents, administrators, and stakeholders, for in‑ stance through action research projects. Solidarity (3) involves striving toward collective goals to develop a sense of community among learners. As such, integrating social justice perspectives into foreign language education by recognizing learners’ own (linguistic, among other) identities, en‑ couraging them to work together with others, and envisioning collective goals provides important impulses for the journey toward social justice (Osborn 2006).

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Critically reflecting on the representation of linguistic diversity in telecinematic representa‑ tions can provide an ideal starting point for social justice work in the classroom, as our case study has shown. In addition, a great variety of text formats offers relevant materials for a critical en‑ gagement with language. Another interesting way of approaching the representation of language ideology is, for instance, to examine Disney films. As analyses like Barrett et  al. (2022) and Currie and Kelly (2022) reveal and criticize, certain portrayals of characters (and their language) perpetuate specific racial, cultural, and gender stereotypes, thus contributing to the formation of social injustice. These include characters like princesses (often white and symbolizing good‑ ness and beauty) and voices of primates in Tarzan (with Black voices encouraging associations with apes). Indeed, these sexist and racist representations call for a thorough critical engage‑ ment with such texts, especially when we consider their worldwide popularity. In addition, lyrical texts such as poems (e.g., ‘All American Girl’ by Julia Alvarez) offer opportunities to examine resistance toward dominant language ideologies, as suggested by Abe and Shapiro (2021: 363). They also recommend the TED talk ‘3 Ways to Speak English’ by Jamila Lyiscott as it includes code‑switching and thus offers opportunities for analyzing linguistic codes and creative writing. The idea behind using such texts is that ‘[t]hrough media engagement, students can exercise their power to resist, challenge and transform media culture promoting exclusion and marginalization of social groups, while also recognizing extra‑textual processes that sustain this culture’ (Currie and Kelly 2022: 406). Importantly, however, in line with Crawford’s recommendations (1978), language educators are well advised to include texts from learners’ lives, which might be popular series offered by streaming services or videos by influencers on social media platforms. In that way, learners may learn to critically reflect on processes of mind engineering in texts with which they personally engage. As criticality has shown to play a key role in all of the theoretical frameworks discussed in this chapter, it should take center stage in pedagogical endeavors. Based on Barnett’s (1997) work, critical language education can be approached by focusing on three domains of criticality: (1) knowledge, (2) self, and (3) world (Porto and Byram 2015: 18; in reference to Barnett 1997: 103). Referring to a project for lower proficiency learners (Porto and Byram 2015: 20–21), we suggest the following steps when working with pop cultural media and focusing on the representation of language ideologies: 1 Knowledge: Students learn about different linguistic varieties of English in pop cultural me‑ dia and stereotypes associated with these as well as the SLI and how this relates to social justice. 2 Self: Students reflect on their own beliefs and biases with regard to linguistic varieties, gaining conscious awareness of and relating them to their perception of pop cultural media. 3 World: Beyond critical thinking and reflexivity, learners take critical action by evaluating the representation of linguistic varieties in pop cultural media (e.g., through digital posters dis‑ played in the school or podcasts shared with a (local) community). Overall, a variety of pop cultural media, possibly suggested by learners, can provide a basis for these three domains of criticality. In line with Currie and Kelly (2022: 412), we reject treating seemingly authentic cultural resources such as pop cultural media ‘as “natural resources” for meaning making […] rather than the product of human activities orchestrated by social relations and vested interests’ (see the section ‘Introduction’). We advocate a differentiated discussion of the concept of text authenticity and a consideration of critical literacy in language education that accounts for the potential effects of mind engineering through pop cultural media. This is crucial 236

Pop Cultural Media for Fostering Responsible World Citizens

in today’s world as mediatized ‘global flows of language and culture’ (Pennycook 2010: 65) of internationally distributed pop culture have an impact on learners, which needs to be considered by language education.

Conclusion Learning languages in the 21st century requires the development of critical literacies. This can pave the way for a tolerant society and eliminate impacts of mind engineering (aka ‘brainwash‑ ing’) through pop cultural media, which are an important factor in the socialization of youth. That is why Fairclough’s statement that ‘a language education focused upon training in language skills, without a critical component, would seem to be failing in its responsibility to learners’ (1992: 6) holds true today more than ever. As children and adolescents face potentially biased representa‑ tions through linguistic stereotypes in animated telecinematic content, for instance, language edu‑ cation plays a key role in uncovering such representations and fostering responsible world citizens. This can be achieved by integrating critical literacy practices into today’s language classrooms, and, more specifically, by taking the dangers involved in the creation of stigmata through the me‑ diatized representation of certain language varieties seriously. The present chapter related critical language pedagogies/awareness and intercultural citizenship education to the concept of mind engineering and discussed findings from sociolinguistics. This discipline has found evidence for mind engineering in the sense of a long‑standing tradition of stereo‑ typical depictions of characters (and thus social groups, often minorities) in pop cultural media with the help of linguistic processes related to second‑order indexicality. To gauge whether such represen‑ tations are inevitable in media practice, this chapter developed a case study on the current (educa‑ tional and pro‑social) animated children’s series Octonauts, focusing on the usage of varieties. It was found that Octonauts represents, to some degree, a positive example of a diverse representation of standard and non‑standard varieties and avoids falling into the trap of using linguistic stereotyping as a means for characterization conveying SLIs. While the series in the case study exemplified desirable practice in the sense of avoiding linguistic stereotyping, it concentrated on linguistic variation as one domain of diversity, so that additional broader domains such as class, race/ethnicity, gender, ableism, and age, among others, were not considered explicitly and are issues open to further exploration. On a general note, pedagogical endeavors that take the dangers of mind engineering seriously, as postulated in this chapter, should aim to make injustices and inclusive practices across different domains evident to learners. This is important because typically subconscious thinking processes need to be made visible to learners (Currie and Kelly 2022: 408). Basic requirements, such as cre‑ ating a safe space, using L1s as teaching aids, and integrating a variety of texts, provide a founda‑ tion for reflexive educational practices. Crucially, a critical engagement with the effects of mind engineering through pop cultural me‑ dia (but also with how they employ practices that emphasize tolerance and inclusivity) can be beneficial for both formal (in the classroom) and informal language learning (outside the class‑ room). As Degener highlights, ‘[c]hildren’s media can serve to help educators guide students to view media critically, understand stereotyped representations to be a (conscious or subconscious) political decision, and work to dismantle linguistic supremacy inside and outside of the classroom’ (2017: 14). Such endeavors require a fundamental ‘stance of tolerance and generosity toward dif‑ ference and nuance [as regards] the messy, complex realities of language use’ (Abe and Shapiro 2021: 365). We therefore suggest that relevant media should be exploited in language education to promote the development of responsible world citizens in which human rights and democratic values set the basis for independent thinking and anti‑discriminatory practices. 237

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Acknowledgments We acknowledge support by the Open Access Publication Fund of the University of Bamberg. We further would like to thank Berit Ellies, Claudia Schnellbögl, Verena Zipperer, and the editors for constructive criticism on the manuscript.

Notes 1 Attributed to Nicholas Johnson, member of the US Federal Communications Commission; quoted in Sanborn and Harris 2022: 370. 2 While over time the amount of media contact has grown and direct interaction with peers and family has diminished (Kearney and Levine 2020: 83), current surveys estimate that youth use media between 3.5 and 6.5 hours daily, with telecinematic content covering two to three hours (Ward and Bridgewater 2023: 86; see also European Commission 2023). 3 See also https://sites.tufts.edu/ctvresearch/. 4 While the focus in the present chapter is on telecinematic media, it is evident that (linguistic) stereotyping may occur in other media, such as books for children and adolescents, comics and cartoons, computer software and video games, and TV commercials (see Kirsh 2010: 105–120 and Adukia et al. 2023 for an in‑depth study of race and gender stereotyping in children’s books). 5 In terms of additional social factors, children from low‑income families are more likely to spend time with media input and thus to receive their role models from it (Kearney and Levine 2020: 83). 6 These attitudes may not only emerge towards other groups, but media may also have an effect on the self‑perception of one’s own (often minority) group in terms of what is called social identity threat if this group is stereotypically displayed (for a case study, see Schmader et al. 2015). 7 The cultural context plays a large part, as Moland’s (2020) study on the ineffectiveness of Sesame Street, a se‑ ries widely acclaimed for its diversity and pro‑social messages, as an educational program in Nigeria shows. 8 See also https://shrekthelinguistics.wordpress.com/2017/12/01/the-protagonists-language/ for an analy‑ sis of language varieties used in Shrek or https://latinasandmedia.wordpress.com/term-projects/latinoacharacters-in-childrens-television/ for exemplification of the portrayal of Latina characters in animated TV series. 9 For lack of space, linguistic gender stereotyping is ignored in the present chapter. For relevant work, see González Vera (2012), Pila et al. (2018), or Fought and Eisenhauer (2022). 10 An issue outside of the scope of the present chapter is whether such programs are educationally success‑ ful in terms of content delivery and realism, for instance as regards factual accuracy (see Chlebuch et al. 2023). 11 See https://tv.parrotanalytics.com/US/the-octonauts-cbeebies and https://tv.parrotanalytics.com/UK/theoctonauts-cbeebies. 12 See www.commonsensemedia.org/tv‑reviews/octonauts and www.commonsensemedia.org/tv‑reviews/ ask‑the‑storybots. 13 www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episodes/b00xhyjf/octonauts.

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PART IV

Linguistic and Semiotic Analysis of Mind Engineering

16 NEWSPEAK AND CYBERSPEAK The Haunting Ghosts of the Russian Past Kristina Šekrst and Sandro Skansi

Introduction to Cyberspeak and Newspeak Cybernetics, as a wide field encompassing the study of circular causal systems, had its first wave in the 1940s, led by American scientists such as Norbert Wiener, Arturo Rosenblueth, and Julian Bigelow, and in the United Kingdom by the so‑called Ratio Club, which included young psychia‑ trists, mathematicians, engineers, physiologists, psychologists, and other scientists who discussed issues in cybernetics. In the Soviet Union, cybernetics was at first scrutinized and seen as an American reactionary pseudo‑science but was soon rehabilitated to serve as an umbrella term for various scientific disciplines such as structural linguistics, control theory, or genetics. The second wave became notable from the 1960s onward, grounded in biology and works on self‑organizing systems, especially in the works of Chilean biologists Francisco Varela and Humberto Maturana, while the third wave is a modern one connected with machine learning and, as we can see, with mind engineering as well. One of the best‑known definitions of cybernetics comes from the classic work of Norbert ­Wiener (1961 [1948]), who defines its scope as “control and communication in the animal and the machine.” That is, human behavior and communication are seen as analogous to machine behavior and communication: your mind could be seen as software and your brain as hardware, and there is a constant flux of information being sent. For cyberneticists, control is a form of communica‑ tion and communication is a form of control: there is a purposeful action based on information exchange (Gerovitch 2002a: 2). So, what is cybernetics then? It is a way to study any system in a general way, and that system can be a machine or a biological organism. However, to do that, we need a general language to describe both machines and organisms in the same way. It is no wonder that cyberspeak, the language of cybernetics, or its metalanguage to be more precise, consists of words that both explain and describe human/animal and machine forms of control and communication. By metalanguage, we consider a language that describes another language. Since cybernetics studies control and communication, its terminology and vocabu‑ lary are diverse. Even though different terms are borrowed from different sciences, that does not mean they will retain the same meaning in cybernetics. To illustrate, consider the word or term frame outside cybernetics (denoting a reference frame in cybernetics). The term frame will denote



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DOI: 10.4324/9781003289746-21

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different objects or concepts in different disciplines. In artificial intelligence, it is a formalization of ­concepts; in aircraft engineering, it refers to structural rings, while, in film, it refers to a photo‑ graphic image in a motion picture. Cyberspeak has acquired a set of ideological connotations in the Soviet Union. Echoing ­Orwell, Gerovitch (2002a: 12) has named the ideologically colored language of Soviet scientists newspeak. Newspeak was the “value‑laden ideological language of official Soviet discourse” ­(Gerovitch 2002a: 13). Coined by George Orwell in his dystopian novel Nineteen Eighty‑Four (1949), the term designates a controlled fictional language of a totalitarian superstate, in which both the ­grammar and the lexicon were limiting the ability of an individual to talk about possibly ­“dangerous” con‑ cepts such as free will. Any similar language might be dubbed Orwellian since it mirrors the use of newspeak in Orwell’s novel. However, in Soviet Russia, the skillful use of newspeak allowed a person to manipulate ideology and define what was permitted in a Soviet context at that time: it provided mechanisms for negotiating the truth (Gerovitch 2002a: 12). So, if cyberspeak was aiming to be a universal language to describe both man and machine, what is actually this newspeak? In such a language, words were value‑laden, which means they had strong positive or negative connotations connected to their use. For example, Marxism and Leninism always carried positive connotations, while idealism, metaphysics, or formalism were always labeled negatively (Gerovitch 2002a: 21). The outline of this chapter is as follows. First, it will show how there are still remnants of cyber‑ speak in modern science, pinpointing its cybernetic background and shaping our thoughts without us realizing they had any cybernetic origin whatsoever. The background description for cyber‑ speak and newspeak will be provided with Gerovitch (2002a) as the basis since there is little to no other research on this matter. Second, it will investigate how newspeak, as its counterpart, can be analyzed from the theory of speech acts. Namely, it will be stated that their use is a performa‑ tive one: by using the term, one is also doing something. Third, and a surprising outcome of this chapter not originally planned, the current war in Ukraine allowed us a brief analysis of newspeak present in Russian public communication today (instead of historical examples), which will again be connected to their performative aspect.

Cyberspeak vs. Newspeak This chapter will first rely on Gerovitch’s (2002a) differentiation between cyberspeak and new‑ speak, to then observe their remnants or application in modern science. Regarding a general lan‑ guage to describe different systems in cybernetics, various sources of scientific terminology were taken from different disciplines. Such a language has been named cyberspeak since it combines “diverse mathematical models, explanatory frameworks, and appealing metaphors from various disciplines by means of a common language” (Gerovitch 2002a: 2). For example, a cyberneticist will talk about homeostasis and reflex, borrowing terms from physiology but also about control and feedback, or entropy and order, using terminology from control engineering and thermody‑ namics. Of course, there are also behavior and goal and similar terms from psychology, along with information, signal, and noise from communication engineering. In newspeak, every term carried a philosophical and ideological load. A spy (шпион) is only an American or a foreign secret agent, while a Russian one is, of course, a “patriot” (патриот). The word spy is automatically devoid of positive connotations, and an American person could never be a “patriot” – such a word was reserved for true patriotism in their own lines. So, newspeak in this sense alters the meaning of a word itself by adding connotations. The process of addition is a social one: a connotation gets added to the meaning of a word by associating the word exclusively 246

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in positive or negative social situations, and the added connotations tend to spread like a disease among meanings of the words which are frequently found together. According to Gerovitch (2002a: 155), scientists wanted to deal with “precisely described con‑ cepts and with notions defined through rigorously described operations” and not with vague terms and so‑called ideologemes, words referring to not just ideas but ideas in an ideological sense. Newspeak reduced the explicit assertions such as “striving for peace in this situation is wrong” to the simple term conciliatoriness, which already had negative judgments associated with it (Gero‑ vitch 2002a: 22). That is, such usage can be connected to Orwell’s ideas of “words which had been deliberately constructed for political purposes” or “a sort of verbal shorthand, often packing whole ranges of ideas into a few syllables, and at the same time more accurate and forcible than ordinary language” (Orwell 2003 [1949]: 212). Science in Soviet Russia was full of newspeak before the advent of cyberspeak. For example, Hilbert’s mathematical thought was known as formalism which was at first an objective scientific term that acquired a more ominous meaning during the debate over the interpretation of Marx‑ ist philosophy in 1930: the accusers were talking about “formalistic deviations” or “formalistic perversion.” This was a widespread phenomenon not dealing only with philosophy. For example, soon, editorials in Pravda condemned “formalist perversions” in Shostakovich’s music, which was castigated for its anti‑popular character (Gerovitch 2002a: 32). To analyze the phenomenon more thoroughly, one can start with Muddle Instead of Music: On the Opera Lady Macbeth of the Mtsensk District (Сумбур вместо музыки – Об опере «Леди Макбет Мценского уезда») appearing on January 27, 1936. In this editorial, Shostakovich’s opera Lady Macbeth is accused of being contrary to “popular musical language accessible to all” along with calling it a “left‑ ist confusion” (левацкий сумбур) that is created “instead of natural human music” (вместо естественной, человеческой музыки) and “formalist attempts” (формалистические потуги) to create originality through “cheap clowning” (Pravda 1936). It is no wonder that the advent of the so‑called Russian formalists in linguistics was basically waiting for ideological scrutiny, so their work was often referred to as “bourgeois phonology” or they were just being accused of “a general formalistic approach” (Gerovitch 2002a: 40), which, as we recall, is already a derogatory term. Another term that was often denounced by the Soviet government was idealism, which was often marked as “reactionary and idealistic science.” The Russian translator Sof’ia Ianovskaia faced ideological criticism for her role in the publication of the Russian translation of Hilbert and Ackermann’s Principles of Theoretical Logic and immediately published a repentant letter admit‑ ting to “idealistic confusion” (Gerovitch 2002a: 47). The idea of logic as “idealist” seemed to be rooted in a trivial Platonism, but this did not last since by imputing Platonism everything could be dubbed “idealist.” The need for concrete mathematics while at the same time avoiding “idealist” mathematics seemed to be grounded in the finite infinite divide. Everything finite was “material,” while any logical or mathematical theory dealing with infinity had a strong chance of being re‑ garded as “idealist.” How does this all tie to cyberspeak? Gerovitch (2002a: 166) illustrates a classical newspeak attitude with the Soviet Academy of Sciences in 1940, who published a paper titled “Is It Possible to Prove or Disprove Mendelism by Mathematical and Statistical Methods?”, where Mendelism was a part of the newspeak. The word itself was a derogatory label and the whole of classical ge‑ netics in the background was ridiculed by the usage of the term, contrasted to the Soviets backing Lysenkoist biology. Cybernetics was often the holder of similar derogatory labels such as “a reac‑ tionary pseudo‑science” (Peters 2012: 150), similar to the mentioned etiquette of “formalism.” In 1955, the journal Voprosy filosofii (“Philosophical questions”) published a paper “Who does cyber‑ netics serve? (Кому служит кибернетика?)”, which condemned cybernetics as a “misanthropic 247

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pseudo‑theory” consisting of “mechanicism turning into idealism” (Holloway 1974: 150). The paper mentioned Marx who described the mathematical investigation of the most complex regu‑ larities: social and economic ones. Suddenly, mathematics became a powerful instrument and a methodological guide in the Khrushchev years. Russian cyberneticists such as Lyapunov, Sobolev, and Kitov actually had to “ideologically legitimize cybernetics” (Gerovitch 2002a: 179). It is intriguing how one can change the meaning of the term to be or be not ideologically colored and invoke or not various philosophical and political ideas, just depending on the common knowledge or the “official interpretation” of the term. This is what happened to cybernetics – from a “reaction‑ ary pseudo‑science” to a legitimate discipline that maybe could be reconciliated with Marxism. However, according to Gerovitch (2002a: 179), the first Soviet cyberneticists did not try to reconcile cybernetics with Soviet dialectical materialism: they insisted that questions of philoso‑ phy and ideology were utterly irrelevant, attacking the foundations of the official philosophical discourse. That is, they refused to use the conventional terminology of newspeak and insisted on the validity of cyberspeak, the language of cybernetics (Gerovitch 2002a: 181). Gerovitch (2002b: 354) mentions that Sobolev claimed that “cybernetics is neither mechanistic, nor idealistic” since “it is first and foremost a science of facts” and “there can be no idealistic or materialistic facts: a fact is always a fact.” Sobolev (1963: 82) states that “in cybernetics, one calls a machine a system that is capable of performing actions leading to a specific goal. That means that living beings, man in particular, are in this sense machines.” He claims that since one of the main parts of cybernetics is information theory, which implies the existence of a material carrier, but the information itself is immaterial (Sobolev 1963: 86). By refusing to incorporate cyberspeak terms into newspeak con‑ notations, the use of cyberspeak was here to refer only to scientific ideas in the background, and not ideologies. Soon, the fight for cyberspeak was won but at the cost of cyberspeak becoming politicized as well. Philosophers started adapting their discourse to incorporate cybernetic advancement, and cy‑ bernetics was tamed to go along with dialectic materialism (Gerovitch 2002a: 257–258). Such an attitude peaked with the 1961 symposium Cybernetics—in the Service of Communism, where cy‑ bernetics was described as “one of the major tools of the creation of a communist society” (Peters 2012: 164). In the proceedings (Berg 1962), one can see how various scientists see cybernetics as a general science applicable to various specialized fields. For example, Novik (Berg 1962: 43) sees it as “characterized by the most general and abstract approach to control.” Gnedenko (Berg 1962: 69) calls cybernetics “a particular scientific trend” that deals with “clarification of those regularities to which the processes of efficient control of complex systems are to be subordinated.” Dobrushin and Khurgin (Berg 1962: 93) see information as “one of the basic concepts of cybernetics” since “any controlling system deals with information.” While Arutyunov and Svecharnik (Berg 1962: 105) emphasize the application of cybernetics to biology, Sergeychuk (Berg 1962: 141) sees elec‑ trocommunication as “an inseparable component of cybernetic technique and exerting a great in‑ fluence upon the development of the automatic control theory and the cybernetic machine theory.” Belkin (Berg 1962: 256) concluded that “one of the most important and promising fields of appli‑ cation of cybernetics is economics,” which was also emphasized by Kitov (Berg 1962: 281), who saw cybernetics as “the science of the methods of optimum (the best) control and construction of controlling systems,” along with “development of methods of finding optimal solutions in com‑ plex situations and the study of similar phenomena in living nature” (Berg 1962: 282). As seen above, cybernetics started to include more and more subdisciplines, such as infor‑ mation theory, information systems, bionics, chemistry, psychology, energy systems, transporta‑ tion, and justice, along with semiotics and linguistics, followed by medicine uniting with biology ­(Peters 2012: 167) and soon grew out of the public mainstream view, giving rise to “informatics” 248

Newspeak and Cyberspeak

and nowadays information science and computer science. Its terminology was not emphasized anymore, but we will now observe whether its remnants can be found in modern science and what consequences are there regarding the usage of such terms.

Cyberspeak Then and Now The mentioned Wiener’s 1948 book drew upon parallels between digital computers and the nerve structures in organisms (chapter “Computing Machines and the Nervous System”). “A diverse set of man‑machine metaphors” was used to describe living organisms, control and communication devices, and the whole of human society using the same terms: information, feedback, and control (Gerovitch 2002a: 53). Wiener (1961, xi–xvi and 11–13) argued that the task of cybernetics was to research the analogies of the processes in the animal and the computer and explore its philosophi‑ cal ramifications. As Ashby (1956: 1) points out, cybernetics does not ask what something is, but what it does, that is, how it behaves. One might be tempted to correlate this to behaviorism, but there are two major problems here. First, behaviorism came later than cybernetics. Second, and more important, while behaviorism says that methodologically one should focus on behavior, cy‑ bernetics says that it wants to ontologically focus on behavior: to see what a thing is and consider how it behaves. In this regard, it is similar to pragmaticism, not behaviorism. Ashby (1956: 4) pinpoints that cybernetics “offers a single vocabulary and a single set of con‑ cepts suitable for representing the most diverse types of system.” Let us illustrate this using Wie‑ ner’s (1961: 120) terminology regarding neurons, so we can then easily observe such remnants in modern scientific terminology. Wiener considers human and animal nervous systems to be capable of the work of a computation system and states that neurons are ideally suited to act as relays. In a computer, Wiener describes that relays might be mechanical, electromechanical, or electrical, while in animals, they have an active phase and an inactive phase, i.e., the neuron fires or is in repose. Human memory is described as the ability to preserve the results of past operations for use in the future. Notice how the human mind is now described using words such as result or opera‑ tion. It is no surprise that Wiener (1961: 121) almost immediately states that memory is a function of the nervous system, “equally in demand for computing machines.” Cyberneticists would follow Wiener’s path: they are trying to describe analogous systems, a living one and an artificial one us‑ ing a joint, unified set of terms. Memory is not just a psychological phenomenon anymore; it is a function, for both a human being and a computer. And if we have a function, we can talk about the inputs and outputs for that function. Following the traditional cyberspeak, Warren McCulloch and Walter Pitts (1943) were the first ones to suggest that something resembling the Turing machine might describe the human mind, and mental processes such as reasoning, decision‑making, or problem‑solving are computations analogous to computations executed by a Turing machine (Rescorla 2020). McCulloch was a cyberneticist and a neurophysiologist, while Pitts was a philosopher and psychologist, and their idea was to provide a mathematical description of a neuron. The goal itself has a cybernetic back‑ ground: find a common language to describe both the animal and the machine. Not only were we now describing the mind with notions such as computation, but we were also describing both biological and artificial neurons using the same language involving terms such as function or com‑ putability. So, one is describing the human mind using terms related to machines, but one is also describing the machines using biological or psychological terms such as neuron or memory, which leads us to the modern usage of cybernetic terms. Moving away from theories of the mind, even today one can easily observe how such terminol‑ ogy is present in modern‑day computing. For example, we are talking about machine learning, 249

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applying a psychological term reserved for humans and animals to machines. Machine learning is used to improve a computer’s performance in certain tasks (Skansi 2018). In machine learning, we are also talking about neural networks mimicking the way the human neural network computes and gives rise to mental states. Computer science also uses terms such as mentioned memory, which is used analogously: we are using the term since we believe (or once did believe) they are referring to the same kind of a process. A cyberneticist would be happy with such a definition since both memory as a neurophysiological and psychological process and memory as a computer’s way to “remember” past states could be described using the same language of terms such as function or state. Neural networks can be feed‑forward, with elements passing signals forward, again terms borrowed from control theory, one of the richest sources of cybernetic terminology. Taking the cybernetic stance of process analogies (Skansi and Šekrst 2022), a cyberneticist would use the same language to talk about essentially the same process. Namely, the study of the human mind and machine mind is talking about the same thing since we are using the word mind in both cases. Wiener (1961 [1948]) himself talks about control and communication in both the animal and the machine, using the same terms to describe analogous processes. Today, using terms such as machine learning or artificial intelligence is not just an empty usage of the word. Namely, it states that machine learning is a type of learning and that artificial intelligence is a type of intel‑ ligence. The question of whether the animal mind can be described in computationalist terms or whether the computation can be described in neurophysiological terms is an irrelevant one: we can always use cyberspeak to find a common language, often the one talking about inputs, outputs, communication, and information. Nowadays we often use scientific terms devoid of any meaning, but it seems that quite a number of terms in computer science, cognitive science, philosophy, mathematics, biology, etc. have either their roots in early cybernetics and control theory (exemplified by the mentioned ­Cybernetics—in the Service of Communism conference) or can be seen as connected to such research. One could argue that this does not suffice for a notion of mind engineering since we might be using the term without knowing its background. However, from a philosophical standpoint, using the term, even in a metaphorical way, pinpoints a certain analogy. And if there is an analogy, no matter how big or small might be, between two systems, then it has repercussions on ontology. Our concepts and entities in scientific disciplines will be influenced by the use of words. For example, there are a number of misconceptions regarding machine learning and artificial intelligence (Emmert‑Streib, Yli‑Harja, and Dehmer 2020), thinking that we are already dealing with a certain kind of powerful machine intelligence, leading to various problems of explainability. People are often thinking that artificial intelligence is explaining the brain; i.e., they think that “AI aims to explain how the brain works” (Emmert‑Streib, Yli‑Harja, and Dehmer 2020). We consider such misconceptions easy to explain using language: we are, after all, using the term intelligence, finding an analogy between two processes. It is no wonder that a layman will use the term to create her own idea about a cer‑ tain concept or a term if the scientific community is using a remnant of a cybernetic language that highlights the likeness of different concepts. A cyberneticist would see AI as a type of intelligence overall that could be applied both to animals and machines. The ignorance regarding the back‑ ground of such terms leads to surprising misconceptions about what artificial intelligence really is and common misuses of this and similar terms. The same is valid for terms such as machine learning. Laurent (2018) has shown common misconceptions regarding the terms, including one that AI can learn. According to Laurent (2018), most advanced AI models nowadays all seem to use machine learning, but the term machine learning, according to him, is misleading since iteratively approximating the best parameters for a model can hardly be considered learning in the classical sense. 250

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We have focused here on computer science terms that may lead to misconceptions. However, we will not take that road: we believe that the advent of terms such as artificial intelligence, neural network, or machine learning only leads to a misconception if the cybernetic background is not known. A cyberneticist would not see any contradiction between machine learning as an interac‑ tive process or human learning: in cybernetics, they are both described as the same process using the same vocabulary. That is the main reason why the usage of such terms engineers people to actually see it as a type of learning, intelligence, or a network. Of course, there are various other terms and definitions that might seem innocent at first but carry a huge ontological commitment. For example, in linguistics, Jakobson’s (1960) functions of language include sender, receiver, message, channel, code, and context. This can describe human communication, but there is nothing stopping us from applying it to communication between two computers, and Jakobson himself was under a big influence of cybernetic ideas. For example, consider NASA’s (Astrobiology at NASA 2022) definition of life as a “self‑sustaining chemical system capable of Darwinian evolution.” Such a definition could be applied to a robot (everything is a chemical!) that might use machine learning to modify its development to follow the path of fitness, that is, we might picture a scenario where such a definition would lead to a machine being encompassed by it. Even using the most basic terms such as life and accepting definitions as the mentioned one carries with itself a cybernetic background of the term.

Newspeak as Speech Acts It is easy to see how using newspeak, one commits oneself to a certain ideological background. We have also argued that, by using cyberspeak today, one is actually talking about certain philo‑ sophical ideas that might not be in style anymore but are visible in certain terms or definitions. Talking about machine learning commits us that it is a type of learning, compared to human learning the same way using an ideologically colored word commits us to a certain interpretation of our addressees. A cynic might comment that all language is newspeak and that the only differ‑ ence from true newspeak is that it was fabricated by more sophisticated minds, but the underlying non‑neutrality is an essential property of any language, not an accident. From aspects of the philosophy of language and pragmatics, such usage is actually invoking a certain response in the target audience and it is not only used to transmit a message, it actually does something else: it establishes a background idea. Austin’s (1962) theory of speech acts refers to the fact that when something is expressed by a speaker, he or she might not only present some in‑ formation but perform some action as well. For example, if I say to my friend “it’s cold,” and he’s standing next to an open window, I’m also implying a request to have the window closed. Speech acts can be performative as well meaning that by saying something, we are actually doing some‑ thing. For example, when one says I do in a marriage ceremony, the utterance of these words actu‑ ally performs the act of marriage, and I name this ship Queen Elizabeth establishes the name of the ship immediately (Austin 1962: 5). Similar examples may be found in promises, curses, com‑ mands, wills, and similar occasions, where the sentence uttered does not describe one’s doing and does not describe that one is doing it: it is actually doing it (Austin 1962: 6). For Austin (1962: 6), such sentences are performative sentences or performatives. Let us observe what happens if someone utters Spy! in the Soviet era. We have mentioned that the word was inapplicable to Russian spies: in newspeak used by the government texts and public addresses and papers, they are patriots. It is no wonder that the official newspaper of the Volun‑ teer Society for Cooperation with the Army, Aviation, and Navy was Soviet Patriot (Советский патриот). All those ideologemes have a certain conventional procedure in the background since 251

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there is nothing inherent to the word spy that makes it refer to an American or a Russian agent. If you are an appropriate person under appropriate circumstances, the performative will work. For example, if you utter Spy! today in Croatia, there is not the same effect present as if you had uttered it in Soviet Russia 70 years ago. However, if your target audience is acknowledged with the circumstances and ideology behind it, then the performative fulfills both conditions. You are being declared a spy, but being declared “a spy” also does something else: it establishes an ad‑ ditional ideological narrative. You are not a Russian patriot, you are someone else, most probably an American. You are not a part of materialist dialecticism, and you are against the ideas that are guidelines in the (then) current society. Wierzbiński (2012: 40) observes that enemies were called deviators, traitors, kulaks, wreckers, saboteurs, spies, agents, diversionists, etc. (уклонисты, предатели, кулаки, вредители, саботажники, шпионы, агенты, диверсанты). For example, in his speech in 1961, Khruschev (1961: 100, emphasis added) mentions that “they want us, like traffic police, to safeguard the uninterrupted transportation to West Berlin of their military freights, spies and saboteurs for subversive acts against ourselves and our allies” and that “they were ‘persuaded,’ persuaded by the use of certain methods, that they were either German, or British, or some other spies.” Unlike Austin’s speech acts that mostly deal with utterances on a sentential level, we believe that words themselves can function as speech acts in newspeak and cyberspeak. If you were using the term cybernetics before it was reconciled with the past regime’s ideas, you were also adding an extra layer of ideological meaning. You were not only saying cybernetics, but you were also influencing your speaker by stating an additional layer of utterance, namely, the one that states that it is a reactionary pseudo‑science. In that way, it also functions as a so‑called perlocutionary act, which references the effect of an utterance for an interlocutor. By using that term and agreeing with the usage, you are also performing an action of agreeing with the ideological background of the word and passing the ideologeme to your target audience. In other words, we are seeing words as shortened utterances: the use of connotative terms is actually a shortened propositional attitude, establishing the speaker’s valuation and/or background ideol‑ ogy of such a term.

Cyberspeak as Speech Acts A performative, of course, does not have to be negatively or politically value‑laden; it can also carry a positive or neutral connotation. By using cyberspeak, one is committing oneself to a certain ontological obligation. And this stands in stark contrast to the sociological and political obligations you are committed to by using newspeak. By using newspeak, you are committing to a political position, or in the case of the Soviet times, to a sociological group. And this in fact holds true even today, e.g., in abortion debates in modern Russia: one can use the terms women’s reproduc‑ tive rights or rights of an unborn baby to denote not just the same issue in this debate but also ascertain one’s adherence to a political position and even belonging to a certain social group. But the ontological obligations stay the same. There is no difference in the underlying ontology de‑ pending on the choice between “women’s reproductive rights” or “rights of an unborn baby.” But cyberspeak, as a scientific language, is fundamentally different. In cyberspeak, one does not use word differentiation for political belonging, but the same word for two different phenomena while considering them to be the same fundamental process. If you are using a term like input and output while describing human communication or language, then you are pinpointing the background philosophical idea of a common language or a mathematical description that describes both hu‑ man and machine communication. If you are using a term such as artificial intelligence, you are 252

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committing yourself to the idea that it is a type of intelligence, even though it might differentiate from human intelligence, no matter what the meaning of the term intelligence is. One might argue that terms are just terms and just denote things. We argue differently: even the usage of scientific terms, as we have seen, might lead to “misconceptions.” But those misconcep‑ tions were happening because we were using the terms in a cyberspeak way, accepting the ideas in the background, such as those related to machine learning which is a type of learning, common to both men and machines. The pragmatic use of words has a performative aspect to invoke an idea in the addressee’s mind about the peculiarities and consequences of such terms. There are examples of negatively connotated terms in various scientific disciplines. For ex‑ ample, the use of the word materialism might often be negatively pictured in various discourse communities, even though it might be a philosophical stance with no connection to dialectic ma‑ terialism whatsoever. A recent widespread discussion in computer science was dealing with com‑ monly used terms such as master and slave, for example, master disk and slave disk. Eglash (2022) has recently investigated that usage of such metaphors is fairly recent, dating to the beginning of the 20th century, and the most controversial technical setting is in computing.

Newspeak Today: Performativity We have established that both cyberspeak and newspeak terms might have an extra performative layer connected to them, either a neutral/positive or a negative one, whereas the latter is most often the case with newspeak. It is no wonder that we can find examples like this not only in Soviet Rus‑ sia but in political propaganda today as well, regardless of nationality or ethnicity. One is not going to find a complete language such as newspeak, but some phrases might hint at similar properties even in the United States or similar Western countries as a part of rhetoric devices used in vari‑ ous political speeches and discourses. However, the current situation in the Russian war against Ukraine seems to mimic the pragmatic context and conditions of those in the Cold War area and might serve as a starting point in our analysis. Newspeak has often used a rhetoric device of euphemism, which refers to an expression or another term that replaces a word or a phrase that might be seen as offensive or not suitable in the current context. Euphemisms are often used in bureaucracies, for example, the U.S. Central Intelligence Agency used the term enhanced interrogation to refer to systematic torture (McCoy 2007: 16). Berdy (2022) mentions how in oldspeak, meaning the regular language (use) without background ideology, one might use the word war (Rus. война), but, today, a Russian politician would use a certain euphemism like special military operation (специальная военная операция) or a special op (спецоперация). For example, Kremlin (Putin 2022d) published a federal law on November 11, 2022, regarding “the course of special military operation in the territories of the Ukraine” (в ходе специальной военной операции на территориях Украины). From a performative aspect, when one is using the term war, one is also bringing the whole background knowledge of what war is. By using the term спецоперация or a special op, one is diminishing the current situation. You are not just using the term, you are doing something else: adding an extra pragmatic layer of attitude or stance toward the fact it is referring to. Euphemisms and metaphors such as “special military operation” were not seen here for the first time, it is a part of historical political propaganda continuing to this very day. For example, the term Lebensraum (“living space”) was coined before the advent of Nazism, whose proponents were eager to pro‑ vide more living space for Aryan Germans. In the Holocaust, gas chambers were “showers” and “The Final Solution” or Endlösung is the world’s strongest euphemism referring to genocide (Yad Vashem 2022). 253

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In 1947, Nachman Blumental, who survived the Holocaust, published Slowa niewinne or “­Innocent Words” covering Nazi euphemisms, which might be viewed as the first analysis of newspeak. In his 1947 book, Victor Klemperer (2013) analyzed the Nazi language which might be connected to newspeak in its strong positive or negative