China is often like an elephant, whether or not in the room, with everyone else groping around it

THE rapid changes happening in China today often produce unexpected outcomes. And understanding the implications behind them usually takes some effort.

As always, despite the eventual ferreting of information amid the intrigue, the drama of events outplays the substance of the issues. Routine official denials and evasion aid further speculation, not real understanding.

One such recent event involves the furore over press censorship between journalists on Guang­zhou’s Southern Weekly newspaper and provincial officials.

It began with a front-page editorial for the New Year’s Day edition calling for reform. It was a new year, a new government under incoming president Xi Jinping, and editors thought a call for new policies would be timely.

However, the political authorities baulked. But this was about more than just another clash between the media and the state.

For more than a decade, Southern Weekly had developed a reputation for independence. Yet the relationship between the paper and the authorities also grew close.

What kept its distance was the relationship between the paper’s more liberal journalists and its more conservative management. The divide was as much within the newspaper as outside it.

Such a disparity is known elsewhere, occurring in other newspapers including New York’s Wall Street Journal. But in today’s China, it tends to acquire some interesting characteristics.

When the New Year’s editorial commented on reforms, provincial propaganda chief Tuo Zhen took it upon himself to rewrite it in praise of the ruling Communist Party. Worse, he did it without the usual prior consultation with editors.

His action, based on a lack of action (consultation), was immediately taken as flagrant interference. It did not help that Tuo Zhen was a relatively new appointee.

The issue of reform quickly translated into one of censorship. Staff protested and stopped work, bloggers fumed, academics swung in with support and street protests gathered.

The sense of indignation soon outgrew Guangzhou, spilling into other provinces and headed for Beijing. As an issue, it became a call for nationwide reforms.

Journalists even called for Tuo’s dismissal. For a while, it looked like the protests were snowballing.

To complicate things further, there were official denials that the original editorial had been tampered with. Then there was a follow-up piece for several publications blaming the fracas on unidentified “activists outside the media industry”.

Normally that would have been a useful diversion for minimising the impact of the censorship without blaming anybody in particular. But by then, newsroom tempers had already flared beyond mitigation.

It spread to another publication, Beijing News, whose chief editor Dai Zigeng verbally tendered his resignation over having to publish the follow-up piece. But Dai’s offer of resignation had yet to be accepted by the authorities, so he remained in his post. This in itself reveals certain important issues.

For a resignation to require official approval before it can be effective is clearly a throwback. It does not accord with the rapid changes occurring around China.

Secondly, the authorities themselves have shown reluctance in accepting the departure of disgruntled staff. This shows Beijing’s keenness to limit its public relations damage.

At Southern Weekly, the authorities also scrambled into damage control mode. Staff who stop work in protest would now no longer be disciplined, and propaganda officials would no longer intervene without prior consultation.

The general practice of party control over the press would remain, but some markers had also shifted. To conservatives, the authorities had backslided on what could be a slippery slope. To others, it was a makeshift compromise and not a long-term solution.

Western liberals believe that China’s economic reform would inevitably lead to more political reforms. A steady democratisation of society would therefore be only a matter of time.

But some would argue that what happens in the economic sphere need not produce an equivalent change in the political sphere. China’s economic reforms are self-evident, but its political system is still weathering the pressure for change quite ably.

How do the authorities themselves regard the situation? In their actions so far, they seem to agree on some linkage between the economic and the political.

They are anxious to limit the spread of dissent and even perceptions of dissent. Clearly, they want better public relations all round.

One reason is that China’s economy is rapidly being globalised. And in becoming a more complete and active international player, China in other ways has to be seen as abiding by international norms rather than merely languishing in a cocoon.

This attention to a new sense of self acquires greater urgency with the new leadership of Xi Jinping. To do nothing new is to be seen as offering nothing better, while regression cannot be an option.

On a larger scale, the official tempo for change is visible in the removal of former party “princeling” Bo Xilai on charges of corruption and abuse of power. The same goes for Maoist revisionism that Bo represented.

Dengist China had made a leap of faith onto the reform path. Then from Jiang Zemin onwards, it was a steady progression through Hu Jintao to Xi.

Each tended to leave his mark, upon departure, in a set of national edicts or political principles. The party’s general secretary took on the title of President, and the cult of the great leader was over.

The party and the state, through the offices of the president and the prime minister, understand the need for phased reform. But lesser state functionaries and provincial officials tend to go by the older book, often producing clashes to various degrees.

Last year, some of Prime Minister Wen Jiabao’s speeches calling for reform were censored as well. Some parts of the behemoth that is China, like its economy and top leadership, are moving faster than other parts such as its bureaucracy.

This confuses observers and frustrates dissidents. But loud, open dissent like artist Ai Weiwei’s cannot officially be accepted by anyone, so it produces a backlash that retards the already slower official rate of reform.

At least since 1989’s Tiananmen protests, reformist leaders have had to tread a careful path between the space open to them and the party’s conservative bloc. It is not only the media but also the top leaders who have had to walk a tightrope.

> Bunn Nagara can be reached at sunday@thestar.com.my

• Cyclone takes the heat for hot weather
• If you want to go far work early and hard on personal branding
• AirAsia X offers free tickets to any destination for initial public offering to retail investors
• Doc held for posing as cop to extort businessman
• Allianz aims for RM150mil in new premiums
• Couple upset over baby’s death
• Malaysia's I-Bhd and Thailand's CPN in mall joint venture with GDV of RM580mil
• From tomorrow, city cabbies can pick up passengers from KLIA
• Najib wants Chinese in Cabinet
• Todd was under treatment for depression, public inquiry told