Murong Xuecun
The New York Times
November 21, 2014
Last month, President Xi Jinping of China addressed a forum of prominent artists and writers in Beijing to enlighten us with his views on the arts. In a talk liberally seasoned with cultural allusions, Mr. Xi made a show of his literary knowledge and explained how he sees the role of art in today’s China.
According to the Xinhua news agency, Mr. Xi said the emphasis by artists on “quantity over quality” has led to a one-size-fits-all approach to the production of art. Culture is derivative, plagiaristic and stereotyped, he said; it produces “mechanized fast food” that is full of “vulgarity” and “lust.”
He instructed artists on how and what to create: “Use a realistic spirit and romantic feelings to illuminate real life, deploy light to dispel darkness, and goodness to defeat ugliness. Let people see the good, feel hope, have dreams.”
And he made clear where artists stand in his China: Artists should implement “the party’s policies on the arts.” Artists should not “lose themselves in the tide of market economy nor go astray while answering the question of ‘whom to serve.”’
“The arts must serve the people and serve socialism.”
The recent gathering reminded many people of the Yan’an Talks on Literature and Art in 1942, where Chairman Mao, Mr. Xi’s idol, established the principles of “party literature,” bringing Chinese literature into the stable of Communist propaganda. Since then, all of China’s writers’ organizations have been government entities, all literary prizes have been bestowed by the state, and all published works must endure rigorous censorship. Writers and artists cannot criticize: their role is to chirp about a golden age of China, or suffer the consequences of being banned or arrested.
Following the president’s speech, a “Learn from Xi Jinping” campaign swept across the country. Artists and writers piped up, one after another on social media, to congratulate Mr. Xi for being well-read or to praise his remarks. Many artists said they found his words inspiring.
In a country like China, even casual remarks by the top leaders have an unsurpassable authority. Mr. Xi’s enthusiasm can spark new trends in Chinese letters, his criticism can mold the entire field of literature.
Few people question whether Mr. Xi has the credentials to tell writers what to do. In the past few months, he has become the best-selling author in China, perhaps even in the world. His book “New Sayings From Zhijiang,” a collection of newspaper columns based on Communist Party dogma that he wrote in the early 2000s when he was secretary of Zhejiang Province, shot to the top of the charts after his elevation to the presidency in 2012. Two follow-up books have done even better.
Ever since Chairman Mao, every party leader has been a best-selling author. Indeed, we have been blessed with a series of all-around geniuses. Mao, the revolutionary, government leader and military strategist, was also a poet, calligrapher and prodigious swimmer. Deng Xiaoping was a bridge master. Xi Jinping has been celebrated not only for his writing talent but also for his soccer skills.
Censorship is the greatest obstruction to the flourishing of writing and the creative arts. Rather than engaging the Chinese people about creative expression, Mr. Xi is just laying down the law: “Your writing must be patriotic;” “you must honor our glorious cultural traditions;” literature and art must not be contaminated by “the stench of money.”
Although these words have no legal significance, they are far more effective than any edict because, through a national campaign to “Learn from Papa Xi,” they will inevitably give birth to new guidelines for the publishing and film industries and set the standard for all kinds of prizes and awards. In the coming years, even if Chinese writing and the arts can purge itself of the so-called stench of money, after this speech, the foul smell of Mr. Xi’s words will linger
The most dangerous aspect of Mr. Xi’s speech could be his negative appraisal of the arts. Phrases like “vulgarity,” “lust” and “sensual entertainment” could well become the slogans of a future party campaign to “rectify” the arts.
Only five days after the Beijing symposium, the Guangming Daily newspaper published an opinion article saying that writers and artists in thrall to “Western theories” need to resist “unhealthy thoughts, low tastes and mistaken ideas,” and indeed dare to “publicly and unequivocally criticize them.”
The crux of Mr. Xi’s much touted “China dream” is a peace that is intolerant of dissent. A teacher who doesn’t obey the party (like the legal scholars Zhang Xuezhong and Chen Hongguo) will be pressured to leave his university post; a publication that doesn’t obey the party (like Southern Weekend and China Through the Ages) will be punished; an individual who crosses the party (like the lawyer Pu Zhiqiang and the rights activist Guo Yushan) will be locked up. Now the government has fixed its sights on literature and the arts. We can imagine that the government’s list of forbidden films, broadcasts and publications will swell with additional categories of banned work. Even though many of Mr. Xi’s boosters are proclaiming a new spring in the arts, I think that before that spring arrives, we will endure a long winter.
The tragedy of the early 20th century journalist and literary writer Wang Shiwei is a disturbing point of reference for many artists who value free expression. The one-time Mao supporter wrote an essay critical of the chairman and the party elite in 1942 before the infamous Yan’an forum on literature and art. He was then criticized, beaten and imprisoned for several years before being hacked to death, his remains reportedly dropped in a well.
In his fateful essay, Wang said that he had done his best “to strive for the light.” Seventy-two years later, as today’s artists face a similar situation, how many could stand up and say, like Wang, that they’ve done everything they could to see the light?
Murong Xuecun is a novelist and blogger and the author of “Leave Me Alone: A Novel of Chengdu.” This article was translated by Harvey Thomlinson from the Chinese.
