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Finally, things seem to be back to normal.
Nearly 3,000 delegates lined up at Beijing’s Great Hall of the People on Tuesday for the opening of China’s annual Legislative Conference, but none wore masks. Those involved shook hands and posed for photos. Around them, reporters and diplomats from around the world milled around the cavernous lobby, many of whom had been invited for the first time since the coronavirus pandemic began four years ago.
This was one of the most high-profile political scenes in China, and the message sent was clear. China’s long isolation is over and it is once again open to the world and ready for business.
However, the meaning of “normal” in China today is different than before. And beneath the surface openness, there are signs of how much China has changed over the past four years, becoming more closed, more rigid, and more tied to supreme leader Xi Jinping’s dictatorship. became.
Attendees still had to undergo government-arranged coronavirus tests to be allowed entry to the Great Wall, where China’s most important political conference is being held. Unlike previous years, when the report containing the government’s annual economic growth targets was released at the beginning of the opening ceremony, this year it was initially shared only with delegations and diplomats.
Perhaps the biggest change from previous years was when officials announced at the end of a week-long session that China’s prime minister and the country’s No. 2 official would no longer take questions. This ended a 30-year tradition in which journalists had one of the few opportunities to interact with top leaders.
As we walked through the halls on Tuesday, one Chinese man in a suit pointed to another in a low voice and said, “That’s where the prime minister’s press conference was being held.”
Guides with this kind of inside knowledge are important in Chinese political events like this. The proceedings there are so carefully planned that the casual observer may not realize that things were not always this way.
At 9 a.m., with a light drizzle falling outside, dozens of participants lined up and sat on stage against a backdrop of towering red curtains. They sang the national anthem in unison with other delegates sitting below.
And when Premier Li Qiang took to the stage to summarize the government’s accomplishments over the past year, they dutifully bent over paper copies of his report. This year, reporters were only given copies of the report until midway through Lee’s speech.
Above the stage, the auditorium’s spacious balcony was filled with Chinese and foreign journalists, setting up cameras, jotting down notes and peering through binoculars at officials far below.
However, many foreign journalists were only allowed into the country on temporary visas, as China delays or denies long-term visas to many Western news organizations. In 2020, it expelled many American journalists, and last year even some foreign journalists with valid long-term visas were not allowed to attend Congress.
During his nearly hour-long speech, Mr. Li repeatedly paid tribute to Mr. Xi, who was seated in the center of the second row. Unlike others on stage, Mr. Xi barely touched the copy of the work report. He occasionally drank from one of the two teacups set out in front of him. (During his first years in power, Mr. Xi, like other delegates, only held one glass at the opening ceremony. But in recent years, Mr. Xi, who has steadily consolidated his power, drank two glasses. )
Li acknowledged the challenges facing China, including a debt-laden real estate industry and weak demand from consumers. All of this may be part of the reason why China is so keen to project openness at a time when it is trying to attract foreign investors and reassure domestic entrepreneurs.
“Policies should be communicated to the public in a targeted manner to create a stable, transparent and predictable policy environment,” Lee said.
But just stepping outside the auditorium made it clear why so many are skeptical of such promises. Information about and from the government has become increasingly restricted as China expands its definition of espionage and considers even routine interactions with foreigners potentially dangerous. Restrictions on Chinese and foreign media outlets have been tightened.
Days before the opening ceremony, the China Foreign Correspondents Association announced that a reporter for Dutch broadcaster NOS was pushed to the ground by a police officer while interviewing people in a city in southwestern China. The incident was also caught on camera. In the days before the rally, police cars with flashing lights were regularly stationed on street corners across Beijing, and volunteers in red armbands watched for potential troublemakers.
On Tuesday, officials set up a series of question-and-answer sessions with a number of pre-selected representatives and government ministers, which officials said would lead to the cancellation of the prime minister’s traditional press conference. It helped justify it. In the lobby of the Great Hall, these officials listened to stories from state media on topics such as how Chinese-made cars can be promoted abroad and how the Chinese people have benefited from government investments in water infrastructure. Answered questions in polite language.
One of the chosen representatives was from Henan province, which has a major archaeological site called Yinxiu. When asked a question, a Communist Party newspaper reporter asked him: “Recently, Inshu’s achievements in archeology have been attracting a lot of attention. Do you have any special feelings about protecting cultural properties?”
Outside of that carefully curated setting, attempts to interview representatives were not very successful. Several officials approached him as he entered and exited the hall, but he refused to answer simple questions, such as whether he had introduced any legislation this year or even where he was from.
A typical exchange with a representative from Hebei Province who carried a name tag named Wang Wenqiang went something like this:
“Excuse me, do you have any suggestions for this year?”
“Not this year,” Wang replied, never breaking his stride as he strode toward the auditorium.
“Have you made any suggestions in the past?”
“Yes, last year.”
“What do you mean?”
“People’s lives”.
“Could you be more specific?”
“There’s someone waiting for me over there. I’m sorry,” Wang said. And with that, he disappeared.
Qiao Shiyi Contributed to research from Seoul.
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