blocked. Google has withdrawn from China in protest of censorship, while YouTube, Facebook, and Blogspot, among other widely used sites, are extensively blocked or obstructed. Chinese companies that provide search and networking services agree to even tighter self-censorship than do international companies. When protests erupt (as they did over Ti- bet in 2008, for instance) or other sensitive political moments approach, authorities preemptively close data centers and online forums. Now the party-state is also trying to eliminate anonymous communication and net- working, by requiring registration of real names to blog or comment and by tightly controlling and monitoring cybercafés. Fifty-thousand Internet police prowl cyberspace removing “harmful content”—usually within 24 to 48 hours. Students are recruited to spy on their fellows. And the regime pays a quarter of a million online hacks (called “50-centers” because of the low piece rate they get) to post favorable comments about the party- state and report negative comments. Such quasi-Orwellian control of cyberspace is only part of the story, however. There is simply too much communication and networking on- line (and via mobile phones) for the state to monitor and censor it all. Moreover, Chinese “netizens”—particularly the young who are growing up immersed in this technology—are inventive, determined, and cynical about official orthodoxy. Many constantly search for better techniques to circumvent cyber-censorship, and they quickly share what they learn. If most of China’s young Internet users are apolitical and cautious, they are also alienated from political authority and eagerly embrace modest forms of defiance, often turning on wordplay. Recently, young Chinese bloggers have invented and extensively lauded a cartoon creature they call the “grass mud horse” (the name in Chinese is an obscene pun) as a vehicle for protest. This mythical equine, so the narrative goes, is a brave and intelligent animal whose habitat is threatened by encroaching “river crabs.” In Chinese, the name for these freshwater crustaceans (hexie) sounds very much like the word for Hu Jintao’s official governing philosophy of “harmony”—a label that critics see as little more than a euphemism for censorship and the suppression of criticism. Xiao Qiang, editor of China Digital Times, argues that the grass mud horse
has become an icon of resistance to censorship. The expression and cartoon videos may seem like a juvenile response to unreasonable rule. But the fact that the vast online population has joined the chorus, from serious schol- ars to usually politically apathetic urban white-collar workers, shows how strongly this expression resonates.9
In order to spread defiance, Chinese have a growing array of digital tools. Twitter has become one of the most potent means for political and social networking and the rapid dissemination of news, views, and with- ering satire. On April 22 at People’s University in Beijing, three human-
rights activists protested a speech by a well-known CCP propaganda of- ficial, Wu Hao. Showering him with small bills, they declared, “Wu Hao, wumao!” (“Wu Hao is a fifty-center!”). Twitter flashed photographs of the episode across China, delighting millions of students who revel in mocking the outmoded substance, tortured logic, and painfully crude style of regime propagandists. When Google announced in late March 2010 it was withdrawing its online search services from mainland China (after failing to resolve its conflict with the government over censorship and cyber-attacks), the Chinese Twitter-sphere lit up. Many Chinese were upset that Google would abandon them to the more pervasive censorship of the Chinese search-engine alternatives (such as Baidu), and they worried that the Great Firewall would block other services such as Google Scholar and Google Maps. Others suspected Google of doing the U.S. government’s bidding. But the company’s decision provoked a wave of sympathy and mourning, similar to what happened in January when Google first an- nounced that it was considering withdrawing: “Citizen reporters posted constant updates on . . . Twitter, documenting the Chinese netizens who endlessly offered flowers, cards, poems, candles, and even formal bows in front of the big outdoor sign ‘Google’ located outside the company’s offices in Beijing, Shanghai and Guangzhou.”10 Security guards chased the mourners away, declaring the offerings “illegal flower tributes.” The term quickly spread in China’s online forums, symbolizing the suppres- sion of freedom. The public sphere in China involves much more than “tweets,” of course. Those often link to much longer blogs, discussion groups, and news reports. And many thought-provoking sites are harder to block be- cause their critiques of CCP orthodoxy are subtler, elucidating democratic principles and general philosophical concepts, sometimes with reference to Confucianism, Taoism, and other strains of traditional Chinese thought that the CCP dares not ban. Full-scale blog posts (not subject to Twitter’s severe length limits) are far likelier to criticize the government (albeit art- fully and euphemistically). Rebecca MacKinnon finds that China’s blogo- sphere is a “much more freewheeling space than the mainstream media,” with censorship varying widely across the fifteen blog-service providers that she examined. Thus, “a great deal of politically sensitive material survives in the Chinese blogosphere, and chances for survival can likely be improved with knowledge and strategy.”11 Despite the diffuse controls, China’s activists see digital tools such as Twitter, Gmail, and filtration-evading software as enabling levels of com- munication, networking, and publishing that would otherwise be unimag- inable in China today. With the aid of liberation technology, dissident intellectuals have gone from being a loose assortment of individuals with no specific goal or program to forming a vibrant and increasingly visible collaborative force. Their groundbreaking manifesto—Charter 08, a call
for nineteen reforms to achieve “liberties, democracy, and the rule of law” in China—garnered most of its signatures through the aid of blog sites such as bullog.cn. When Charter 08 was released online on 10 December 2008, with the signatures of more than three-hundred Chinese intellectu- als and human-rights activists, the government quickly moved to suppress all mention of it. But then, “something unusual happened. Ordinary peo- ple such as Tang [Xiaozhao] with no history of challenging the govern- ment began to circulate the document and declare themselves supporters,” shedding their previous fear. Within a month, more than five-thousand other Chinese citizens had signed the document. They included not just the usual dissidents but “scholars, journalists, computer technicians, busi- nessmen, teachers and students whose names had not been associated with such movements before, as well as some on the lower rungs of China’s social hierarchy—factory and construction workers and farmers.”12 Officials shut down Tang’s blog soon after she signed the Charter, and did the same to countless other blogs that supported it (including the entire bullog.cn site). But the campaign persists in underground salons, elliptical references, and subversive jokes spread virally through social media and instant messaging. One such joke imagines a testy Chinese president Hu Jintao complaining about the Charter’s democratic concepts such as fed- eralism, opposition parties, and freedom of association. “Where do they all come from?” he demands. His minions run down the sources and bring him the bad news: The troublesome notions can be traced to Mao Zedong, Zhou Enlai, the CCP, the official newspaper (the Xinhua Daily), and the constitution of the People’s Republic itself. A flustered Hu wonders what to do. His staff suggests banning all mention of these names. “You idi- ots!” shouts Hu. “If you ban them, you might as well ban me too!” “Well,” his staff retorts, “People do say that if they ban you, at least the Charter will be left alone.”13
ถูกบล็อค Google มีการหักเงินจากจีนในการประท้วงของเซ็นเซอร์ ในขณะที่ YouTube, Facebook และ Blogspot อื่น ๆ อย่างกว้างขวางใช้ไซต์ อย่างกว้างขวางถูกบล็อก หรือกีดขวาง บริษัทจีนที่ให้บริการค้นหาและระบบเครือข่ายยอมรับแม้สัดเซ็นเซอร์ตัวเองมากกว่าทำบริษัทต่างประเทศ เมื่อการประท้วงปะทุ (เหมือนกับเหนือตี้เดิมพันใน 2008 ตัวอย่าง) หรือวิธีอื่น ๆ ช่วงเวลาทางการเมืองที่สำคัญ หน่วยงาน preemptively ปิดศูนย์ข้อมูลและกระดานข่าวออนไลน์ ตอนนี้ ฝ่ายรัฐเป็นยัง พยายามกำจัดสื่อสารแบบไม่ระบุชื่อและสุทธิทำงาน โดยต้องลงทะเบียนชื่อจริงบล็อกหรือข้อคิดเห็น และการควบคุม และตรวจสอบ cybercafés แน่น สิบ - พันตำรวจอินเทอร์เน็ตเหมียวไซเบอร์สเปซเอา "อันตราย" ซึ่งโดยปกติภายใน 24-48 ชั่วโมง นักเรียนจะพิจารณาการสะกดของ fellows และระบบการปกครองชำระเงินสี่ล้าน hacks ออนไลน์ (เรียกว่า "50-ศูนย์" เพราะอัตราส่วนต่ำจะได้รับ) อันลงความคิดเห็นเกี่ยวกับสถานะบุคคลและรายงานค่าลบข้อคิดเห็น ควบคุมเช่นกึ่ง Orwellian ของไซเบอร์สเปซเป็นเพียงส่วนหนึ่งของเรื่องราว อย่างไรก็ตาม มีเพียงแค่สื่อสารและระบบเครือข่ายมากเกินไปบนบรรทัด (และ ผ่านโทรศัพท์มือถือ) สำหรับรัฐเพื่อตรวจสอบ และ censor มันทั้งหมด นอก จีน "netizens" — โดยเฉพาะอย่างยิ่งเยาวชนที่จะเติบโตขึ้น immersed ในเทคโนโลยีนี้ — ใจประดิษฐ์ กำหนด ลลดเกี่ยวกับ orthodoxy อย่างเป็นทางการ หลายอย่างต่อเนื่องหาเทคนิคดีกว่าเพื่อหลีกเลี่ยงการเซ็นเซอร์ไซเบอร์ และรวดเร็วใช้สิ่งที่พวกเขาเรียนรู้กัน ถ้าส่วนใหญ่ของจีนหนุ่มอินเตอร์เนต apolitical และระมัดระวัง พวกเขายังได้ alienated จากอำนาจทางการเมือง และกระหายโอบกอดสมัย มักเปิด wordplay แบบเจียมเนื้อเจียมตัว ล่าสุด นักเขียนบล็อกที่จีนได้คิดค้น และอย่างกว้างขวาง lauded สัตว์การ์ตูนที่พวกเขาเรียก "หญ้าโคลนม้า" (ชื่อในภาษาจีนคือ การปั่นลามก) เป็นพาหนะสำหรับการปฏิเสธ นี้ตำนาน equine เพื่อเล่าเรื่องไป เป็นความกล้าหาญ และชาญฉลาดสัตว์อยู่อาศัยถูกคุกคาม โดย encroaching "แม่ปู" ในจีน พบปลาเหล่านี้ (hexie) ชื่อของเสียงมากเช่นคำว่าสำหรับปรัชญาของ "ความสามัคคี" ควบคุมทางหูจินเทาของตัวป้ายชื่อที่นักวิจารณ์เห็นน้อยลีลาการเซ็นเซอร์และการปราบปรามการวิจารณ์ เกวียงเสี่ยว บรรณาธิการของจีนเวลาดิจิตอล จนที่ม้ามัดหญ้า ได้กลายเป็นไอคอนของความต้านทานการเซ็นเซอร์ วิดีโอการ์ตูนและนิพจน์อาจเหมือนการตอบสนองต่ออารมณ์ unreasonable กฎ แต่ความจริงที่ว่า ประชากรออนไลน์มากมายได้ร่วมประสานเสียง จากอาอาร์ส schol ร้ายแรงทางการเมืองมักจะเกิดเมือง white-collar คนงาน แสดงว่าขอ resonates.9 นี้นิพจน์เพื่อกระจายสมัย จีนมีหลากหลายเครื่องมือดิจิทัลเติบโต Twitter ได้กลายเป็นหนึ่งหมายถึงมีศักยภาพมากที่สุดสำหรับระบบเครือข่ายทางการเมือง และสังคมและเผยแพร่อย่างรวดเร็วของข่าวสาร มุมมอง และเสียดสีกับ ering ในวันที่ 22 เมษายนที่มหาวิทยาลัยปักกิ่ง สามมนุษย์ - ประชาชนrights activists protested a speech by a well-known CCP propaganda of- ficial, Wu Hao. Showering him with small bills, they declared, “Wu Hao, wumao!” (“Wu Hao is a fifty-center!”). Twitter flashed photographs of the episode across China, delighting millions of students who revel in mocking the outmoded substance, tortured logic, and painfully crude style of regime propagandists. When Google announced in late March 2010 it was withdrawing its online search services from mainland China (after failing to resolve its conflict with the government over censorship and cyber-attacks), the Chinese Twitter-sphere lit up. Many Chinese were upset that Google would abandon them to the more pervasive censorship of the Chinese search-engine alternatives (such as Baidu), and they worried that the Great Firewall would block other services such as Google Scholar and Google Maps. Others suspected Google of doing the U.S. government’s bidding. But the company’s decision provoked a wave of sympathy and mourning, similar to what happened in January when Google first an- nounced that it was considering withdrawing: “Citizen reporters posted constant updates on . . . Twitter, documenting the Chinese netizens who endlessly offered flowers, cards, poems, candles, and even formal bows in front of the big outdoor sign ‘Google’ located outside the company’s offices in Beijing, Shanghai and Guangzhou.”10 Security guards chased the mourners away, declaring the offerings “illegal flower tributes.” The term quickly spread in China’s online forums, symbolizing the suppres- sion of freedom. The public sphere in China involves much more than “tweets,” of course. Those often link to much longer blogs, discussion groups, and news reports. And many thought-provoking sites are harder to block be- cause their critiques of CCP orthodoxy are subtler, elucidating democratic principles and general philosophical concepts, sometimes with reference to Confucianism, Taoism, and other strains of traditional Chinese thought that the CCP dares not ban. Full-scale blog posts (not subject to Twitter’s severe length limits) are far likelier to criticize the government (albeit art- fully and euphemistically). Rebecca MacKinnon finds that China’s blogo- sphere is a “much more freewheeling space than the mainstream media,” with censorship varying widely across the fifteen blog-service providers that she examined. Thus, “a great deal of politically sensitive material survives in the Chinese blogosphere, and chances for survival can likely be improved with knowledge and strategy.”11 Despite the diffuse controls, China’s activists see digital tools such as Twitter, Gmail, and filtration-evading software as enabling levels of com- munication, networking, and publishing that would otherwise be unimag- inable in China today. With the aid of liberation technology, dissident intellectuals have gone from being a loose assortment of individuals with no specific goal or program to forming a vibrant and increasingly visible collaborative force. Their groundbreaking manifesto—Charter 08, a call for nineteen reforms to achieve “liberties, democracy, and the rule of law” in China—garnered most of its signatures through the aid of blog sites such as bullog.cn. When Charter 08 was released online on 10 December 2008, with the signatures of more than three-hundred Chinese intellectu- als and human-rights activists, the government quickly moved to suppress all mention of it. But then, “something unusual happened. Ordinary peo- ple such as Tang [Xiaozhao] with no history of challenging the govern- ment began to circulate the document and declare themselves supporters,” shedding their previous fear. Within a month, more than five-thousand other Chinese citizens had signed the document. They included not just the usual dissidents but “scholars, journalists, computer technicians, busi- nessmen, teachers and students whose names had not been associated with such movements before, as well as some on the lower rungs of China’s social hierarchy—factory and construction workers and farmers.”12 Officials shut down Tang’s blog soon after she signed the Charter, and did the same to countless other blogs that supported it (including the entire bullog.cn site). But the campaign persists in underground salons, elliptical references, and subversive jokes spread virally through social media and instant messaging. One such joke imagines a testy Chinese president Hu Jintao complaining about the Charter’s democratic concepts such as fed- eralism, opposition parties, and freedom of association. “Where do they all come from?” he demands. His minions run down the sources and bring him the bad news: The troublesome notions can be traced to Mao Zedong, Zhou Enlai, the CCP, the official newspaper (the Xinhua Daily), and the constitution of the People’s Republic itself. A flustered Hu wonders what to do. His staff suggests banning all mention of these names. “You idi- ots!” shouts Hu. “If you ban them, you might as well ban me too!” “Well,” his staff retorts, “People do say that if they ban you, at least the Charter will be left alone.”13
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