http://www.latimes.com/news/printedition/la-fg-communists14mar14,1,3768149.story
By Mark Magnier
Times Staff Writer
March 14, 2005
CHONGQING, China — Tian Liang, 25, is handsome, tall and was, until recently,
the pride of China. When he returned from the 2004 Athens Olympics with a gold
medal for synchronized diving, his star appeal skyrocketed and advertisers
banged on his door. Tian decided to take a breather, grab some endorsements and
enjoy the payoff after endless hours in the pool.
Not so fast, said the government-controlled athletic association, which kicked
him off the national team in January, denouncing him for taking part in
unauthorized business activities, turning up late for training and tarnishing
the sport's image.
Advertisers wary of offending China's overarching Communist Party quickly
dropped his television spots for health food and stopped hiring him for
celebrity appearances. News stories detailing his past glory were expunged from
websites.
"He has failed to reflect on his errant behavior and conduct a 'deep
self-criticism,' " a swimming association official said.
Tian, a national symbol of tremendous propaganda value, is swimming against a
new political tide as he is made an example of for a policy on full display at
the National People's Congress, which ends today.
Under the slogan "A Harmonious Society," President Hu Jintao and Premier Wen
Jiabao have laid out a two-part vision for their administration: to bring the
ruling Communist Party back to its core values of discipline, virtue and
collective effort; and to focus resources and political will on the have-nots,
including the rural poor, migrants and urban laborers left behind by two decades
of growth.
Tian was just one beneficiary of the economic changes that have created
opportunities for millions of Chinese, and brought modern architecture,
Starbucks and wireless networks to China's big cities. In the face of such
enormous change, however, the Communist Party remains vigilant, willing to
sacrifice the individual for what leaders see as the collective good.
"The Chinese have a saying, 'Kill one to scare 100,' " said Zhao Jian, a
57-year-old businessman, waiting for his grandson in front of Tian's former
primary school. "They're making an example of Tian, and I think it's a shame.
They're being very hard on him."
Singling out a high-profile figure to make a point is "the old China peeking
through," said Andrew Mertha of Washington University. But the mores set forth
by Hu and Wen have several tangible goals: By championing the underclass and
shunning immodest behavior, they are drawing sharp contrasts to the imperious
style of former President Jiang Zemin, who focused on the urban elite, snazzy
technology and splashy architecture.
More fundamentally, the leaders hope to defuse the growing instability and
discontent fueled by China's yawning wealth gap, potentially a huge challenge to
their rule. There were 58,000 protests and riots across the country in 2003, or
160 a day, many over perceived abuses by local authorities, according to
government statistics, which could be underreporting the problem.
Hoping to reduce the pressure, China's leadership has eliminated taxes for
farmers, increased subsidies and vowed to act against unjust land seizures.
The focus on social harmony and internal party discipline also dovetails with
the personal style of Wen and Hu. Both men are seen as careful officials not
known for bold moves or gestures of the sort that spurred Jiang to sing "Love Me
Tender" on overseas trips. Both spent most of their careers in poor rural areas
and understand grass-roots concerns.
"They bring that sensibility, what economic success looks like to those not
enjoying the upside," said Kenneth G. Lieberthal, a China scholar at the
University of Michigan.
Many analysts welcome their focus on alleviating poverty for such a large swath
of China's, and the world's, population.
But Hu and Wen's emphasis on greater virtue, old-style Communist study sessions
and renewed party discipline worries some. They see in this a willingness to
keep the party above the law, able to act as it sees fit rather than establish
modern institutions with checks and balances to curb malfeasance and
inefficiency.
"They're calculating that if they pump more money into the countryside, they
won't have to reform," said Richard Baum, director of the Center for Chinese
Studies at UCLA. "They're de-emphasizing good institutions and stressing
perfection of the individual."
Hu and Wen sit atop a party structure riddled by corruption and struggling to
modernize. In the process, they are shepherding one of history's great
experiments: whether an authoritarian state can hold on to power over a society
increasingly capitalist in all but name.
China's Communist Party maintains its monopoly on political power by delivering
benefits to its 1.3 billion people, in line with governments worldwide. It also
guards its turf jealously by ensuring that watchful party officials sit in every
corner of society deemed a potential threat to that monopoly. This entails
everything from "officially sanctioned" religious organizations and political
parties to sports groups, chambers of commerce, university departments and farm
collectives.
Groups viewed as a threat are quickly batted down, as seen with official
crackdowns on Tibetan monks, Falun Gong practitioners, separatist Muslims in the
country's west and Internet essayists. A recently published list of banned
gatherings, which included an amateur singing club, a pigeon lovers group and a
dozen people holding a ceremony to bless a new building, shows how jittery the
party can be.
Police, cybercops and vaguely worded national security laws are among the
bluntest weapons in the party's arsenal. At least as effective are the demotions
and other subtle threats that engender self-censorship.
Communist leaders have read their history and are well aware that as least as
many Chinese dynasties have fallen to internal rot, complacency and corruption
as to barbarian threats beyond the Great Wall.
That's where the Hu and Wen campaign for enhanced discipline comes in. With 68
million members, or an all-time high of 5.2% of China's population, the
Communist Party is bloated and increasingly unfocused.
At the upper reaches, the party has promoted smart, well-educated leaders with
overseas experience, many with degrees from Harvard and Oxford. Further down the
pyramid, things become more wobbly.
A growing stream of scandals involving corrupt mid-level cadres feeding at the
public trough has fueled resentment and mistrust among average Chinese. And at
the bottom levels, membership is dominated by uneducated peasants and laborers,
a far cry from the well-educated elite the party envisions as rulers of the
country.
As the party tries to upgrade its membership, it's trying to recruit more
well-educated professionals like Zhu Li.
The daughter of party officials and granddaughter of a revolutionary who
accompanied Mao Tse-tung on the Long March, she grew up seeing the party as "a
glorious thing with shining circles." She gained membership while still in high
school, a relative rarity, excelled at national exams and went on to Beijing
University, China's equivalent of Harvard.
Now in her mid-20s and working in public relations, some of her idealism has
been tempered and she doesn't go to many study sessions these days, but she's
still willing to give the party the benefit of the doubt. "Many friends think
it's like joining a corrupt group," she said. "I still think some party members
are good, but I wouldn't say most."
As part of its modernization drive, the Communist Party is also reaching out to
entrepreneurs, a strategy Jiang launched years ago. "Given how fast the economy
is moving, if the party didn't recognize them, it would eventually be
sidelined," said Yang Zhaohui, a Communist Party historian.
Although some new members may be attracted by communist ideals, many more see it
as a vast networking opportunity given the party's control over land allocation,
jobs and other earmarks of patronage. "The party is now a party of development,"
said Victor Yuan, chairman of Horizon, a market research firm that contracts
with the party and private companies. "Most people who want to be members are
there for the benefits."
But the party is quick to point out it is embracing the entrepreneurs on its own
terms. "It's given the signal to chief executives that they're welcome to join,"
said Dong Guanpeng, assistant dean of the journalism school at Qinghua
University in Beijing. "At the same time, they must join to support the party."
That principle applies to all members, including sports stars.
Tian Liang, China's "diver prince," got his start at Xin Hua Primary School in
Chongqing, his hometown.
Tian could not be reached for comment, but former classmate Xiao Jing, 33, whose
daughter attends the same school, recalls him as a shy boy who didn't seem
destined for greatness.
"He was very small and rather pale," she said. "I wouldn't call him naughty, but
he caused trouble sometimes. He wasn't that outstanding. I don't know how they
picked him out."
Math teacher Huo Bin, who tutored Tian to ensure he didn't fall behind, said the
boy showed at least one remarkable characteristic in the pool. "While he wasn't
one of the quickest," Huo says, "he was the one who would practice constantly
until he got it."
At age 7, Tian was identified as a promising swimmer under China's rigorous
sports system, and began a punishing regimen that lasted more than a decade. He
was never at the head of the pack, but at 14 he joined the national team. A year
later, he won his first national title, which led to his first world
championship in 1995.
His big break came in the 2000 Sydney Olympics, when he beat Russian favorite
Dmitry Sautin to clinch the gold in the 10-meter platform event, setting an
Olympic record. He followed this up with a gold and a bronze in Athens four
years later.
In what has become known as the "Tian Liang affair," the diver fell afoul of
authorities after he "engaged in 30 business endeavors," explored acting and
singing, and hired an agent, something that is forbidden under China's athletic
rules.
Sports officials defended their hard line, saying that the nation paid for his
years of training, giving them the right to call the shots.
"Part of Tian Liang's value is as an Olympic champion, which was given to him by
the country," Yang Yue, a fellow at China's Sports Research Institute, told the
Beijing Review magazine. "Naturally [decisions on how athletes may profit]
should belong to the country."
At his former schools in Chongqing, Tian remains a source of inspiration for
young students, and many in his hometown hope he will show the contrition,
modesty and team spirit needed to regain his spot on the national team in time
for the 2008 Beijing Olympics.
"We certainly want him to rise again and bring brightness to Chongqing and all
of China," said Ding Xiangpei, principal and head of party activities at Xin Hua
Primary School.
Bu Yang in The Times' Beijing Bureau contributed to
this report.