What would it have taken for China to avoid the onslaught of criticism that has rained on its Olympic parade? Just days into the Games that China has spent seven years preparing as a symbol of its rising strength and wealth, concern about Beijing’s iron grip on basic freedoms continues to cast a shadow on the celebration.
What has become a public relations disaster for Beijing might have been stemmed with some key — if ultimately insincere — concessions to its critics. Instead, the Games have again illustrated China’s poor understanding of what makes the free world tick.
Even basic public relations in dealing with the West seem to elude its decision-makers. China never stood to gain from blocking “sensitive” Web sites at its foreign media center, a move that was bound to spark an outcry. The majority of the thousands of international reporters covering the Games come from countries with unfettered Web access. They very likely had no interest in spending their time in Beijing browsing Falun Gong Web sites. Censoring the Web, however, quickly turned Beijing’s fear of international news sites and repression of dissident voices into a top story just a week before the opening ceremony.
The ensuing clash between Beijing and the International Olympic Committee (IOC) — ending in the IOC backing down on uncensored Web access for reporters — only hammered this impression into the minds of a global audience.
With the Games now in full swing, the furor over media restrictions shows no sign of receding. Although Radio Free Asia received permission from the IOC to send two reporters to the Games, Beijing let its Chinese-speaking correspondent into the country, but blocked its Tibetan-speaking reporter. And despite reports of unrest in Xinjiang, journalists are being denied access, while two Japanese reporters were mistreated by police there last week.
China has been equally inept at presenting a positive face to Taiwanese spectators. Where a little respect would have gone a long way in building trust, Beijing instead rolled out the title Zhongguo Taibei in the lead-up to the Games, blocked Taiwanese cheerleaders from entering the country and insisted on referring to Taiwan’s “home team” advantage in Beijing.
From the day China bound itself to human rights pledges in exchange for hosting the 2008 Olympics, a barrage of criticism from activists of its rights record was inevitable. But offering even a few concessions would have helped China convince observers that it is making gradual progress.
The Duihua Foundation, arguably the group that has made the most progress in securing the release of prisoners of conscience in China, suggested Beijing offer a gesture of progress ahead of the Games. An “Olympic pardon” of long-term prisoners — freeing the remaining Tiananmen activists jailed since 1989 — could make a lasting, positive impression, Duihua argued.
Instead, Beijing has stepped up its “war on terrorism” and clamped down even more tightly on dissidents, particularly in the capital, carrying out a series of “clean-up” detentions and arrests to silence domestic critics in time for the Games.
Beijing must now deal with the consequences of its choice: an international community that has only grown more skeptical and is concerned that, rather than improving its record to meet Olympic pledges, China has backtracked on the freedoms that it grants its population.
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