Tea Leaf Nation

Whisper Together

Startling new findings suggest China's social media crackdown is working. But where are the users going?

Findings by East China Normal University (ECNU), a research university in Shanghai, commissioned by U.K. outlet The Telegraph and released Jan. 30, lodge concrete data behind what frequent users and analysts of Chinese social media have felt for months: Sina Weibo, China's version of Twitter, which once provided the closest thing China had ever seen to a public platform for free speech and debate, is losing its mojo.

The ECNU data, which have also been made available to Foreign Policytrack the daily posting habits of 1.6 million Weibo users from the first day of 2011 to the last day of 2013. December 2012 saw a total of 300,394 users making 40 or more posts per day at least 20 times that month. In December 2013, there were only 114,062 such users, 62 percent lower than a year earlier, and a drop of 74 percent from December 2011.

In its heyday, Weibo provided a valuable window into the often-opaque country for foreign journalists, and a steam valve for aggrieved citizens. Like any important media property, it both drove and reflected widespread sentiment. It did this by collecting what had once been isolated dinner-table conversations and agglomerating them into one massive digital space. The effect was exponential, not additive. Once Chinese with minority opinions -- even heterodox ones -- had a way to learn that they were not alone, they felt emboldened to speak further. But after a Chinese government crackdown on China's virtual public square beginning around August 2013 -- which included the detention and arrest of hundreds of microbloggers, as well as new rules that tightened penalties for online speech crime -- Chinese political discussion has retreated into private corners again. That includes social networks like the now-thriving WeChat, a smartphone-based social network that keeps discussions mostly between friends -- and Chinese authorities, who assuredly monitor it. Think of it as a virtual dinner table, albeit one with a microphone strapped to its underside.

In a statement to The Telegraph, a Sina spokesman argued that the study "cannot represent the whole of Weibo," and he's surely right. Weibo in 2014 does not resemble a ghost town; it's more of a digital Disney World, filled with celebrity gossip, thinly veiled ads, and pictures of cute animals. That was always true, but it used to contain a rich vein of political discussion among the quotidian, one that's now much harder to tap. Indeed, the drop-off in chatter shown by ECNU research began to accelerate in September 2013, around the time that Chinese authorities threatened by the growth of an independent platform for opinion-makers began to flash their knives.

During its halcyon period, press would often refer to the "power of Weibo." That may have overstated the case. Platforms like Weibo are ultimately abstractions, ones comprising human beings, with all their attendant flaws and vulnerabilities. Once Chinese authorities got wise to this, they focused on instilling fear in some of the people who made Weibo special. It's a decision that has brought stress and tragedy into the lives of hundreds of human beings. The result is deeply disheartening to Chinese citizens and frustrating to those seeking to make sense of the world's largest country.

But it also offers a reason to hope. If in fact hundreds of millions of Chinese people constituted the heart and soul of Weibo -- and not some serendipitous strings of computer code -- then their collective citizen power remains, even if it's currently a disembodied force in search of a digital or institutional host. Just on Wednesday, Jan. 29, a billionaire activist and once-prolific microblogger named Wang Gongquan appeared to return to the Weibo medium, just seven days after being released from months in prison -- and a possible 60 days in solitary confinement -- for what amounted to speech crimes. The account connected to him was quickly deleted, but the risk Wang took in opening it shows just how hard Chinese authorities must work to keep some citizens silent.

Like everyone else, Chinese people want clean air, reliable institutions, and the chance to voice reasonable demands for a better life. Sooner or later, those complaints will find another home.

AFP/Getty Images

Tea Leaf Nation

Turn On, Tune In, Drop Out

Did a billionaire Chinese microblogger briefly return to the digital public square, just days after his release from confinement?

"One hundred and thirty four days later, I returned home. My wife said I looked thin, and a bit tired." These appear to have been the words of Wang Gongquan, a Chinese venture capitalist turned activist, in a Jan. 29 post on Sina Weibo, China's Twitter, that has since been deleted. If so, it marks a surprising, if brief, re-engagement with social media, the same medium that helped land Wang in Communist Party cross-hairs in the first place. 

The billionaire Wang has been known as an outspoken liberal voice for years, a rarity among wealthy Chinese. In 2005, Wang met and befriended rights activist Xu Zhiyong and later supported the "New Citizens' Movement" that Xu had co-founded, which called for Chinese citizens to "bid farewell to autocracy." Authorities arrested Wang in September 2013 -- on the same charges on which Xu had been detained months earlier -- and released Wang on Jan. 22, declaring that he had confessed to joining Xu in criminal behavior. (Xu was sentenced on Jan. 26 to four years in prison for "gathering crowds to disturb public order," which included "public spaces on the Internet.") Despite enduring what Wang's former lawyer says were 92 separate instances of interrogation, Wang appears to have decided he was not ready to forfeit his public role completely. 

About two hours after its first post, the account shared a photograph of a handkerchief inscribed with a heart and the words, "I love you." The account holder wrote that his wife had given him the cloth while he was in prison. "I could not hold back tears" upon reading it, the post read. The author also wrote that "during the trial" he "decided to give up" on what he called "60 straight days of defiance and games" by choosing to confess. Sharon Hom, executive director of overseas Chinese NGO Human Rights in China, told Foreign Policy that her organization has heard reports of Wang spending 60 days in solitary confinement. The post may have been an oblique attempt for Wang to explain that he did not wish to confess, but was driven to do so.

Although the Weibo account could not be confirmed as Wang's, it appeared authentic. Its handle refers to Yeshe Yungdrung, a Tibetan name that some monks assume, with a profile saying it belonged to "a controversial person." Wang, certainly controversial, also became a Buddhist in 2004, the same year he quit his membership in the ruling Communist Party. The post accompanied a photograph (shown above) of a man who appears to be Wang. Bespectacled and clad in black, the man holds a mug in his right hand; his left appears to show damage or bruising around the upper part of his fingers.

The account had amassed over 10,000 followers within 24 hours of its appearance before it got the ax. (By contrast, Wang's original Weibo account had accumulated over 1.5 million followers before being deleted in September 2012). During the account's brief existence, prominent and knowledgeable Weibo commenters had joined everyday users to flood the account with messages of support. According to the website FreeWeibo, which tracks Weibo censorship, the platform's operator, Sina Corp., promptly deleted many of those messages. Censored posts include a post that simply read, "baptism." Another welcome, also deleted, referred to Wang's re-emergence as a "hero's return." A number of followers mentioned "public rights" in their tweets, a term that's a homonym for Wang's given name. 

Wang's apparent re-entry into social media, and particularly Sina Weibo, comes as something of a surprise. Although Wang's Weibo account had been deleted for about a year when he was arrested, the timing of his incarceration coincided with a crackdown on several liberal "Big Vs," Chinese slang for influential or widely followed microbloggers. Following that clampdown, Weibo has lost much of its power as a virtual public square -- at least for now. That makes Wang's brief return to its fringes all the more daring; he lacked the safety in numbers he may have felt the last time he strode onto that platform. And now he knows firsthand what an angry government can do.

Fair use/Sina Weibo