In 1999, as a freshman at Peking University, I lived on the Changping campus together with about eight hundred other social sciences and humanities majors. The campus, located on the outskirts of Beijing, was at least an hour away from the main campus (and from Beijing) by bus. It was rural and isolated, surrounded by wild woods, apple and peach orchards, and cornfields. The isolation was not just geographical. There were no telephones in our dorms, and Internet access in our dorms was an even more remote possibility.1 The entire men’s dorm building shared one phone at the doorkeeper’s office, which only received calls from outside. To dial out, we had to use one of the three phones on the first floor of the women’s dorm building. I cannot remember a single time when I waited for less than an hour to make a call. It was tough: We had high expectations for college life after entering the nation’s most prestigious university after succeeding on the brutal college entrance exam—but virtually none of our expectations was met. In fact, many of us still call that year in Changping our fourth year of high school.
As young adults, we detested our geographical and informational isolation, taking every opportunity to visit the main campus. It was during one of those first visits that I got hooked on the Internet. I still remember that day vividly. I was visiting a high school friend. Majoring in biology, he was lucky enough to live in one of the two newest buildings, which had Internet access. I arrived after dinner, and he and his roommates were playing computer games. I watched, somewhat bored as I was not a fan. Around ten o’clock in the evening, my friend took a break and asked, “Anyone want a Coke?” Everyone replied with a yes. He opened a new browser window, typed something, and then returned to his game. Ten minutes later, someone knocked at the door, handed us five cans of Coke, took the money my friend offered, and left. Seeing my confused face, my friend explained, “Oh, I just went online and ordered the Coke. We’re lucky to be within their free delivery zone.” Apparently, what I had witnessed was one of the earliest business-to-consumer (B2C) e-commerce transactions in China. I was truly amazed.
I have not become another Jack Ma, though this first Internet encounter was about doing business. Rather, my experience with the Internet was soon politicized. In May 2000, a fellow Changping student named Qiu Qingfeng was murdered on her way back from an exam on the main campus. Angered by Peking University’s slow and inappropriate reaction, students marched in protest. Our outcry was fruitless and soon died out, as we were disconnected from the outside world. Later, we learned that mobilization had also taken place on the main campus, and this action had been far more influential, longer lasting, and more effective. We also learned that the Internet, especially the campus bulletin board system (BBS), had played a significant role. Regarding this incident, Guobin Yang said, “Although demonstrations and candle vigils [sic] took place on campus, it was in cyberspace that the protest first started; it then escalated into radical calls for 1989-style demonstrations, and was sustained for about 10 days amid fiery online exchanges.”2 Apparently, had we been connected to the Internet, the protest on Changping campus could have been more successful. After all, we were the closest to Ms. Qiu. Thus, though I did not personally participate in the online mobilization, I was truly inspired by the Internet’s potential for civic engagement and popular protest.
In September 2000, I moved to the main campus and soon became a BBS addict. I spent hours discussing, deliberating, and debating with other users on sites such as Bdwm (Peking University’s then semi-official BBS), Ytht (Peking University’s student-run BBS), and Smth (then Tsinghua University’s official BBS). I was particularly active on Bdwm. I was active on apolitical boards such as “Feeling” and “Yueju”—the former for users to share their emotions, and the latter for a local opera that I enjoyed—for which I even served as a manager. As someone interested in rural development, I also frequently visited the “RuralChina” board, on which I made friends with like-minded people, including Dr. Xu Zhiyong, the founder of the Open Constitution Initiative and the New Citizen Movement, who was also a regular BBS user at the time.3 After several long online conversations in late 2001, we decided to go offline, and we founded the Rural China Association at Peking University. I was so into this endeavor that I served both as an administrator of the discussion board and as an executive committee member of the association. To me, the Internet was empowering. In particular, the combination of online forum and offline civic organization gave us special strengths in connecting, mobilizing, and reaching out. We organized and participated in a number of activities on and beyond the campus.
Thanks to my active involvement in board managing, I was appointed one of the first few Three-Star board administrators of Bdwm in 2002. The recognition made me happy. But I did not know then that I was experiencing what was to be the very short heyday of campus forums and my personal BBS life. On January 1, 2003, Peking University staged an official takeover of Bdwm, primarily by moving its server from the computer center to an office under the Communist Youth League. The purpose of the coup, as we called it, was to allow the authorities to unplug the server whenever they felt it was necessary. Though some administrators cooperated, many remonstrated. I, together with hundreds of fellow board administrators, resigned in protest. Soon after, I graduated and left for Singapore to purse my first graduate degree. During this period, China tightened its control over the Internet, particularly over campus forums: In September 2014, Ytht was forced down; in March 2005, Smth was taken over by Tsinghua University;4 and Bdwm, which had already been taken over by the authorities in 2003, started to restrict off-campus access. In short, the state flexed its muscle, putting online expression under much tighter constraints. This was difficult for me, as I was gradually being deprived of an important part of my life. The pain accompanied me to the University of California, Berkeley, where I finally decided to examine and reflect on my Internet experience not only from an academic perspective but also as an effort of self-redemption.
Why am I telling you, dear readers, the personal story of my online experience in such detail? Because my story explains the origin of my academic interest in the topic. Indeed, it was my deep involvement in BBS life that led me to question how online expression has, or has not, changed political life in China and its likelihood of bringing about democracy. But my primary purpose is to convey the idea that the Internet, and online expression more specifically, are living experiences to me and to many other Chinese citizens. Such experiences, though sometimes seemingly trivial, are highly complicated, interactive, nuanced, and most importantly alive, as they have undeniably transformed our lives as individuals and as a citizenry collective. I feel lucky as a researcher to be part of this great transformation. We experienced good times when relatively free expression was first made possible by the Internet, when the state still learning how to deal with it. We also experienced bad times when the state attempted to tighten its control and manipulate the Internet to its advantage. As individuals, we are both political and apolitical online. On one hand, we, at least some of us, are political in that we deliberate, debate, and mobilize online, with the hope of having an impact on political processes in China and throughout the world. We demonstrate diverse values, beliefs, and identities in our online interactions. Specifically, in terms of political orientation, some of us have constantly resisted authoritarian rule and contested state control over the Internet, whereas others support the Party-state as true believers or nationalists, or because they disagree with those criticizing the regime. Some of us are indifferent, neutral, or fluctuate among different stances at different times on different issues. On the other hand, many Chinese are online primarily for apolitical purposes. The majority of Chinese netizens surf the Internet to conduct business, search for information, communicate with friends and relatives, play games, watch videos, share life experiences, discuss lifestyle or entertainment topics, and so forth. But these activities are by no means without political implications, as they are deeply embedded in the sociopolitical context of authoritarian rule. Moreover, these apolitical citizens can quickly become politicized, even if just temporarily, when drawn into cyber-events with political significance, such as popular protests against the government, nationalist mobilization, or simply a debate with other netizens on political topics. In this sense, cyberpolitics is highly fluid in both its content and format.
This book was informed by my personal experiences and observations. I sincerely believe that a holistic and balanced view is critical to explain the coexistence of the liberalizing Internet and authoritarianism in China. This is why I have examined not only the struggle over censorship in which the state, service providers, and netizens together negotiate the limits of online expression, but also the discourse competition that demonstrates a pluralization of online norms, identities, and discourses. My analysis shows that there is not a simple answer to why China has not succumbed to the power of the Internet. Yes, the state, with its formidable capacity, has made serious efforts to tame the Internet. But its control is far from perfect. The Internet has proved empowering in many aspects. But its impact has been controlled, mediated, and neutralized by the state, and through daily online interactions. Thus, the Internet has proved far less threatening than many had anticipated. In other words, the Chinese Party-state is not as strong as it seems, and the regime challengers are not as threatening as may have been expected with the advance of freer online expression; thus, the digital era in China has resulted in the maintenance of the status quo. It appears that the empowering effects of the Internet are much more complicated than many would originally have thought.
This project has been an intellectual “long march” of sorts and could not have been accomplished without the immense intellectual, financial, and emotional support of many individuals and institutions.
My academic career can be traced back to Peking University and the National University of Singapore where professors provided me with solid disciplinary training while allowing me to freely develop my interests. I am especially grateful to Dr. Ran Mei, Dr. An Chen, Dr. Yongshun Cai, and Dr. Yusaku Horiuchi for their very helpful courses and mentoring. I am also thankful to these two institutions for the lasting friends who have supported my research continuously.
At the University of California, Berkeley, I was lucky enough to have Professors Tom Gold, Chris Ansell, David Collier, Rachel Stern, and Kevin O’Brien as my mentors. It was under their supervision that I started this project. Tom helped me tremendously by referring me to sources and connections in the field. Chris provided intellectual guidance when I needed it and showed extreme patience when I was working slowly. David, a crystal-sharp thinker, shaped the project in critical ways from beginning to end. Rachel read and commented on all chapters. Her critical comments and suggestions are now indispensable parts of this book. Kevin has been an all-time and all-weather mentor from the very beginning of the project. He saw me through the whole process from picking up the idea, through drafting the dissertation, to finishing the book. He has offered me encouragement, advice, and guidance in his office, via email, over the phone, and out the hiking trails of Mount Diablo. I also received invaluable input and support from many other Berkeley faculty members, particularly Professors You-Tien Hsing, Qiang Xiao, Peter Lorentzen, Steve Weber, and Lowell Dittmer. I cannot fully express my gratitude to them.
Many friends and colleagues at Berkeley also helped me with the project in various ways. I benefited from intellectually rich conversations on the project with Nicholas Bartlett, Margaret Boittin, Alexsia Chan, Crystal Chang, Zongshi Chen, Jennifer Choo, Emily Chua, Julia Chuang, John Givens, Kristi Govella, Paulina Hartono, Jonathan Hassid, Lina Hu, Shih-Yang Kao, Xiaohui Lin, Xiao Liu, Sara Newland, Seung-Youn Oh, Ivo Plsek, Suzanne Scoggins, Li Shao, Chris Sullivan, Chung-min Tsai, Carsten Vala, Gang Wang, Albert Wu, Suowei Xiao, John Yasuda, and many others. I am especially grateful to Alexsia, Julia, Paulina, Sara, and Suzanne, who helped edit and polish my chapters.
I am fortunate to have the privilege to work as a faculty member in the Department of International Affairs at the University of Georgia, where I receive tremendous support from the department, all my colleagues, and the students. My gratitude goes to all of them. In particular, I thank Cas Mudde, Lihi Ben Shitrit, Markus Crepaz, Bob Grafstein, Loch Johnson, and Han Park. Cas, as my faculty mentor, helped edit the book proposal, referred me to new sources, and suggested many improvements. He is also the one who constantly pushed me to think beyond China. Lihi not only generously shared with me her experience of publishing a book, but also helped polish the ideas in this book. Markus, Bob, Loch, and Han have all spent quite some time with me on the project and offered critical comments and suggestions. I am also grateful to Austin Doctor, Juan Du, Linan Jia, Paul Oshinski, and Yuan Wang for their enthusiastic and diligent research assistance.
I have presented my research at various conferences and workshops at which I have been able to interact with and be inspired by many excellent scholars in the field. I am grateful to the organizers as well as the participants, especially Jason Abbott, Bilal Baloch, David Bandurski, Elizabeth Brunner, Christopher Cairns, Chujie Chen, Kevin Deluca, Ashley Esarey, Kecheng Fang, Hualing Fu, Jason Gainous, Mary Gallagher, John Givens, Shaohua Guo, Navid Hassanpour, Yong Hu, Calvin Hui, Min Jiang, Jackie Kerr, Hongmei Li, Jinying Li, Tony Zhiyang Lin, Yawei Liu, Gabriella Lukacs, Andrew MacDonald, Melanie Manion, Bingchun Meng, Penny Prime, Chris Primiano, Xiaoyu Pu, Jack Qiu, Christopher Rea, Maria Repnikova, Elina Rodina, Lotus Ruan, Kris Ruijgrok, Jan Rydzak, Ping Shum, Christoph Steinhardt, Daniela Stockmann, Jonathan Sullivan, Marcella Szablewicz, Yunchao Wen, Fan Yang, Guobin Yang, Hong Zhang, Weiyu Zhang, and Jing Zhao.
I had the privilege to work with two editors, Anne Routon and Caelyn Cobb, at Columbia University Press. I wish to sincerely thank them for their encouragement and kind support. They are absolutely charming, wonderful, and helpful. I am also deeply indebted to Miriam Grossman for her assistance in preparing the book.
This project received financial support from the Graduate School, Department of Political Science, Institute of East Asian Studies, and Center for Chinese Studies at the University of California, Berkeley, as well as the Elvera Kwang Siam Lim Fellowship in Chinese Studies.
Chapter 7 incorporates my article “Defending the Authoritarian Regime Online: China’s ‘Voluntary Fifty-Cent Army,’ ” which was published in The China Quarterly in 2015. I thank Cambridge University Press for permission to use it.
I am most grateful to many Chinese friends and netizens who have helped me with data collection. I must preserve their anonymity to avoid causing them any trouble, but I cannot stress their contributions enough. They are the heroes, and I owe them my deepest gratitude.
I owe a huge apology to my family members—my parents, parents-in-law, my wife, Yi Fu, and my daughter, Zhiyan, for their huge sacrifices in the process of my academic pursuits and book writing. I am truly blessed to have their full-hearted support. Without their care, understanding, and encouragement, finishing this book would have been mission impossible. Therefore, I dedicate this book to all of you.