[The Chinese Communist Party’s
efforts to hide its missteps have taken on new urgency as the anniversary of
the world’s first Covid-19 lockdown nears.]
By Amy Qin and Javier C. Hernández
No costs appear to have been spared
for the show, which features a hologram of medical staff members moving around
a hospital room, heart-rending letters from frontline health workers and a
replica of a mass quarantine site, complete with beds, miniature Chinese flags
and toothbrush cups.
But the exhibition is also striking
for what is not included. There is no mention of the whistle-blowing role
of Ai Fen, one of the first doctors to sound the alarm in
Wuhan, where the virus is believed to have originated, or the decision by Zhang
Yongzhen, a Shanghai doctor, to share its genome with the world against
official orders.
Visitors are invited to lay a
virtual chrysanthemum at a wall of martyrs that includes Li
Wenliang, the ophthalmologist at a Wuhan hospital whose death from the
virus led to nationwide mourning. But missing from his brief biography is a
crucial fact: that Dr. Li was reprimanded by the government for warning
colleagues about the virus from which he later died.
China has spent much of the past
year trying to spin the narrative of the pandemic as an undisputed victory led
by the ruling Communist Party. The state-run news media has largely ignored the
government’s missteps and portrayed China’s response as proof of the
superiority of its authoritarian system, especially compared to that of the
United States and other democracies, which are still struggling to contain
raging outbreaks.
Those efforts have taken on new
urgency as the Jan. 23 anniversary of Wuhan’s lockdown draws closer. In recent
weeks, the government has deployed an army of censors to scrub the internet of
critical coverage of the Wuhan outbreak. Terms like “first anniversary” and
“whistle blower” have been deleted at times from Chinese sites.
A recent propaganda directive
explicitly banned coverage of the anniversary of the outbreak, according to
journalists at state-run news outlets who were briefed on the order. Instead,
propaganda agencies have pushed feel-good videos and adulatory articles that
depict Wuhan as a city reborn, while playing down residents’ lingering grief
and anger.
The praise for Wuhan’s success is
well deserved. Since the lockdown ended in April, life in the city — long known
as a bustling commercial hub where tourists flock to eat fiery sesame noodles,
listen to punk music and catch a glimpse of the mighty Yangtze River — has
largely returned to normal, as it has in most of China. While many people in
virus-ravaged countries rang in 2021 alone in their homes, images of crowded
New Year’s Eve celebrations in Wuhan were splashed across Chinese state media.
But with nationalism and public
support for the party apparently on the rise, the assertive rebranding campaign
is a sign that China’s leaders have little interest in dwelling on the past or
revisiting their mistakes. Their goal, experts say, is simple: to ensure that
nothing undermines the party’s triumphant narrative.
“China’s response was portrayed as
a huge victory for the Chinese Communist Party,” said David Bandurski,
co-director of the China Media Project, a research program affiliated with the
University of Hong Kong. “For China’s leaders, the story is written.”
Long wary of sensitive
anniversaries, the Chinese authorities have released few details about how they
will mark the somber occasion.
So far, the only event on the
official calendar is the Jan. 22 release of a state-backed documentary, “Days
and Nights in Wuhan.” Billed as a moving tribute to the city’s “ordinary
heroes,” it features a song called “You Are So Kind” by the well-known Chinese
actress Zhou Xun, whose gentle lyrics, in the words of one state
media outlet, are meant to convey “warm power.”
Recent state media coverage of
Wuhan has mostly focused, instead, on the city’s booming tourism and economic
revival. A video produced by C.C.T.V., the state broadcaster,
draws on interviews with workers at one of the city’s railway stations to spin
a tale of courage and sacrifice during the lockdown. Within three days, it had
more than 2.5 million views on Weibo, a popular social media platform.
Another widely circulated video, recently posted by the state-backed Changjiang Daily
newspaper, features business managers from companies like Lenovo and Gree
extolling the city for its rapid recovery. “What doesn’t kill me will only make
me stronger,” the narrator says, as dramatic orchestral music swells in the
background.
Officials, too, are playing up the
themes of revival and rebirth. Wang Zhonglin, the city’s top party
official, spoke loftily of Wuhan’s ambitions at a December forum
promoting economic development along the Yangtze River.
“Do not slow down efforts to work
toward becoming an international metropolis,” he said of Wuhan. “Rise up from
the ashes and achieve glory once again.”
The upswell in propaganda has been
carried out alongside tightened controls on the media. A year ago, Chinese news
outlets — which are sometimes censored less heavily than usual in the first
days of a crisis — published some of the hardest-hitting exposés of the
government’s sluggish response to the virus and failures in the health care
system.
But in recent weeks, Chinese
journalists say, editors have told them to avoid drawing attention to the
lockdown’s anniversary on social media sites. Some said they were also
instructed to abandon plans to interview people who lost relatives in the
earliest stages of the outbreak.
The government underscored its
message to the media last month when it sentenced Zhang
Zhan, a 37-year-old citizen journalist who documented Wuhan’s ordeal, to
four years in prison. She is the first person known to have faced trial for
chronicling China’s outbreak.
The censorship around the
anniversary is part of an ongoing campaign to purge voices that question the
official narrative. Activists
have been detained, and outspoken relatives of people who died from the
virus are routinely
harassed. A study last year by the Citizen Lab at the University
of Toronto found that thousands of keywords related to the pandemic were
censored on WeChat, a popular messaging app; many of the deleted posts were
critical of Chinese officials.
The authorities are particularly
sensitive about efforts to pay homage to Dr. Li, the Wuhan ophthalmologist
whose death prompted rare calls for freedom of speech in China.
Several recent articles recalling
Dr. Li’s actions have been erased from the internet. At the same time, Global
Times, a state-backed nationalist tabloid, has sought to reframe the legacy of
the doctor, who has become a hero to many Chinese.
“Observers said that for Chinese
mainland people, Dr. Li was not a figure representing an opposition or
confrontational force with Chinese authorities as some international
politicians and media have reported,” a recent article read.
“Rather, Dr. Li was an ordinary hero with the courage to speak out the truth,
Chinese observers said.”
The government’s aim is “to create
a state-approved version of the collective memory of the coronavirus pandemic
for the public,” said Lotus Ruan, a researcher at the Citizen Lab.
Within the official narrative of
the pandemic, there are many heroes. But China’s top leader, Xi Jinping, is
undoubtedly the star.
At the cavernous exhibition hall in
Wuhan, visitors are greeted with a large photo of Mr. Xi, looking stern as he
presides over a meeting. A nearly 50-foot-long timeline chronicles the heroic
measures Mr. Xi is said to have taken during the crisis, day by day. Throughout
the show, he is portrayed as having been a resolute leader, in control of the
outbreak almost from the beginning, though there
is limited evidence of that.
“The Chinese people have shown
resilience, diligence and bravery,” the show’s concluding text reads. “And the
Communist Party of China, like always, has put people and their lives first.”
Reporting and research were
contributed by Keith Bradsher, Amy Chang Chien, Albee Zhang, Liu Yi and Amber
Wang.
