The Case of the Golden Cigarettes

The end of last week finds Time and Newsweek simultaneously picking up on a corruption case that has been doing the rounds in the mainstream and alternative media in the People’s Republic since mid-December. Both report the case of a ‘corrupt’ local official laid low by the moral fervour of the Chinese online community. A district real estate bureau head, Zhou Jiugeng was removed from office by his superiors on 28th December after a two-week “human flesh search” waged against him by internet users. This phenomenon has become an increasingly powerful weapon in the hands of people frustrated by their state’s perceived inability to handle the endemic corruption riddling China’s bureaucracy, and as such has been flagged as A Good Thing by both local and Western media. However, the facts of this particular case are somewhat more unsettling than they first appear. In addition to the tenuous nature of the ‘evidence’ levelled against him, Zhou’s initial crime was not his apparently extravagant lifestyle, but comments he made that jarred with the sentiments of largely middle-class house-buyers.

The dramatic direction Zhou’s case was to take caught the mainstream media napping. The official first appeared on the media radar the centre of a controversy over soaring house prices, some days before he was being flayed alive on Chinese blogs and major BBS (Bulletin Board System) websites such as Tianya. In an interview on December 10th, he had threatened to punish real estate developers for dumping property below cost in the face of slumping demand in the last quarter of 2009 as the nation’s economy began to flag. This, he reasoned, would prevent the possibility of buildings being sold to buyers in a half-finished state, as well as safeguarding the incomes of thousands of migrant construction labourers. His comments sparked immediate debate in certain sections of the press; in a climate where real estate is perceived by the buying public as grossly overpriced, many commentators were outraged, with some questioning the legality of his proposals. But he was not without supporters: “unless we regard the wages of migrant labourers as a secondary concern these days, I’m not sure I see what’s wrong with this proposal,” read a blog post hosted on state news agency Xinhua’s website.

But less than a week after his comments, debate was all but stifled as events taking place online began to break through into the real world. Incensed by Zhou’s comments, Chinese web users had begun furiously digging for any dirt they could find on the official. Soon, pictures were circulating the web in which Zhou sported what was claimed to be a bespoke luxury watch. In another photo, he was seen to be smoking cigarettes from golden packets that apparently sold for over a hundred pounds apiece (a figure later revised down to fifteen by mainstream sources). How, it was asked, could Zhou possibly afford to live such a lavish lifestyle on an official’s salary? Overnight, the heated but localized exchanges over real estate management had given way to national coverage of an online witch-hunt in progress. By December 18th, Zhou was reported to be so intimidated by the intensity of public and media interest in his case that he was too scared to come into work. District officials soon declared him under investigation for corruption charges. Ten days later, he was fired. Apparently, no-one thought to question the assertion that the white watch with a brown strap Zhou was spotted wearing in a thumbnail-quality photo was necessarily a $25,000 Vacheron Constantin.

Soon after its initial conclusion, the “Zhou incident” (or ‘cigarettegate’ as others have labelled it) was already being singled out by experts as an important representative case in understanding how popular sentiment in China is now coming to manifest itself. According to a January report published by the Public Opinion Research Institute of Beijing’s People’s University, the event marked “the increasing speed with which topics originating online become social and political talking points.” In its analysis, it went on to conclude that “the current popularity of ‘human flesh searches,’ and unparalleled attention paid to web-based issues have become the distinguishing characteristics that mark China’s netizens out from those in other countries. Furthermore, the importance ascribed by the government to these activities is rising, which means that online public opinion is breaking through into the mainstream with increasing ease.”

Continued state restrictions on the media mean that it remains at a perpetual disadvantage in its ability to serve as a barometer for public opinion in such matters. Ironically, the recent successes of online activism have made things even more difficult for the press, since local officials are now more inclined to impose immediate ‘media blockades’ should something sensitive happen on their watch. With its hands tied by close accountability to central and local government, conventional media is perceived by many as being of little use in this, to the extent of being ‘in on the act.’ Fully aware of this, it is rarely to the op-eds of the major dailies that the central government turns when it wants to be seen to be listening, preferring instead to go straight to the horse’s mouth.

The worrying thing is, the media’s perceived inability to speak for the people means that the role it might otherwise play as a mediating or rationalizing influence on raw public sentiment has also fallen by the wayside. Commentators and humorists in the west have noted that the casual, anonymous nature of online dialogue has an alarming tendency to reduce exchanges to boorish outpourings of ill-directed aggression, or the perpetuation of half-truths and fantasies. Nowhere is this more apparent than in the case of ‘cigarettegate.’ The sheer volume and level of abuse directed at a man who until his comments had been an unknown district official is astonishing. In a rare example of a slightly more innovative kind of mud-slinging, a website asked users to come up with a Chinese proverb they felt best described his actions. “Enemy to his country and to his people,” was one of the few that were fit to be repeated in mixed company. In many instances, the comments seem not so much to be specifically directed at Zhou as expressions of disgust and contempt for Chinese officialdom in general. In his serious misreading of the public mood, Zhou quickly became a lightning rod through which a diffuse sense of anger and frustration at the nation’s administrative problems could be focused.

For the moment, the Chinese state seems content to play along, since such scapegoating means attention remains directed away from the central government. Commenting on Zhou’s case officials praised the diligence of the online community in helping the government battle corruption. Such attitudes are symptomatic of the more conciliatory approach towards public opinion that has been adopted by the state in recent years. However, attempting to control the fearsome forces behind an online rumour mill that is becoming more aggressive as it becomes aware just how real an impact it can have could prove to be a dangerous gamble. While previous ‘human flesh searches’ have ensnared officials taking massive bribes or even molesting under-aged children, there is, as we have seen, very little in the way of concrete evidence suggest that Zhou actually did anything wrong.

In some respects, his downfall bears more than a passing resemblance to the official handling of the all-too-real witch hunts that cropped up sporadically during the last few centuries of imperial rule. Wandering travellers would find themselves unexpectedly hauled before magistrates’ courts by angry mobs of townspeople crying sorcery. With a district administration spread painfully thin, the imperial authorities had to play off the actual facts of the case against the real danger posed by ignoring demands of an outraged and frightened populace. More often than not, the result was a fatal miscarriage of justice for someone who had happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Zhou was eventually fired on charges of “misappropriation of government funds to purchase expensive cigarettes and indulge in a luxurious lifestyle, and the issuing of inappropriate statements to the media, producing negative social consequences.” In a country where social stability is prized above all else, the message to officials considering breaking ranks is chillingly clear: fall out of step with the popular mood, and we will throw you to the bloggers.