Walking the tightrope in China

Sandeep Dikshit

The first glimpse of Beijing for a traveller from New Delhi is always groggy. The six-hour airtime interrupted by in-flight catering is inadequate for a straight long nap. Runway congestion in Delhi this time added another hour of bolt-upright sitting in the tightly arranged economy section of Air China.

For chaperoned tours of Beijing, as this one was, there is a set pattern. Beijing is a compulsory destination. The second city is added according to the priorities of the Government-of-day. During the days of Jiang Zemin, aligned with the Shanghai faction of the Chinese Communist Party, Pudong, China's city of a thousand skyscrapers was a must-see destination. When the populist leader Hu Jintao became President, it was common practice to pencil-in a town-on-the make — usually in the interiors, such as Luoyang, the city of Longmen grettos and the White Horse Temple on its outskirts — or model village houses in which befuddled residents were as yet unused to the modern toilet. Even when the Shanghai was on the ropes, the Chinese can't resist showcasing Shanghai's dazzling, giant saucer-shaped high-speed train terminal or the superfast Maglev to the airport, with a top speed of 430 kmph.

Brimming hostility

But this tour was different. Official China has never been as angry. The previous face-offs between Indian and Chinese soldiers never ever made it to the Chinese media. Now column after column brims with hostility, homilies and invectives. One day a China Daily editorial meticulously lists all the red lines crossed by Indian soldiers and their strategists in Doklam; the next day the Global Times picks up the cue. 

We are the chosen medium for Chinese messaging on Doklam. At each interaction, the message is the same but delivered differently: army officials prefer the in-your-face approach. The run-up of the diplomats is artful, the detailing meticulous and the warning wrapped in a soft tone that hardly registers.

The message

Because the times are tense and the message should not be diluted by other sights and sounds, the curtain draws with a trip to the 3rd Garrison Division of the People Liberation Army. It is these men and women who would man Tiananmen Square should China again face a call to democracy. At 35 degrees, the heat bounces from concrete pave walks in the city. But the Garrison is set between green rolling hills. Sitting in an air-conditioned room, a sweeping glass panel separates the amassed soldiers as they assault targets and hit bull's eye with every volley. Some among us four may be overreacting when they feel the terrain is similar to Doklam. This is one of the designated spots for interaction with foreign military delegates. This is established by a bank of wall-mounted photo frames. The Pakistani delegations take up several slots but there is a solitary Indian delegation as well which visited the Garrison two months before Doklam unfolded. The message about Chinese army preparedness was reinforced with a drive across the town to an imposing multistoried building with the usual electronic access control systems. The army headquarters is much bigger, our permanent minder from the All China Journalists Association informs us. This is merely their information office. The tenor of the reception everywhere in official China is uniform. Steel gates slide away to admit the vehicle; the way to the lift and then the meeting hall is lined by beauties attired in the velvety-red Cheongsam or the two-piece Pein Fu. One of them is always in attendance at the interaction; gliding up softly to fill the cup of green tea by the elbow.  

As compared to the Indian media presence in non-western countries such as Russia or Tokyo, the contingent here is sizeable. Most were not informed about the rare roll-out of Chinese officials, some of whom they have never sighted in their decades-long postings. It falls on us to battle the patchy free WiFi available in hotels (comparatively free WiFi connectivity in India is a dream) and on the streets to pass on some juicy bits to keep the kitchen fires of Beijing-posted Indian scribes going. 

State of non-communication

Government-focused reporting invariably produces news driblets every day in India but it is risky business in China for its government will only speak when it wants to. And sometimes this state of non-communication can last months. Currently, the roles are reversed. The Indian embassy shows no inclination to reach out except for the Intelligence boys who are curious. The rumour is the Indian envoy is reticent for fear of media misreporting tripping up his promotion chances.

The army men rarely pull their punches. "We have the determination. If India continues going down the wrong path, we have the right to protect the lives of our troops. We have had several face-offs but we never had to issue a position paper." The Chinese are taking their paper missiles seriously. The army, like all its counterparts, has a think tank and all its expert hands seem to be exploring the implications of the Doklam standoff.

Soft power

If Day One belonged to the military, the next day was dedicated to soft diplomacy. It was early and the traffic in Beijing was yet to get into gear. A man leaned on the bonnet of his Toyota as he supervised ill-dressed rural migrants positioning flowerpots around the two-block-long Ministry of Foreign Affairs. This was not the usual run-of-the-mill media briefing at the hi-tech hall that so often features on TV news. Petite but steely, Wang Wenji had opted to meet at one of the tasteful low-ceilinged cubicle framed by paper and silk guóhuà paintings, alternating with shui-mo variants of strong black lines and dotted brushstrokes. This time the message will be camouflaged. Her sofa framed by a delicate silk-and-walnut folding screen, Wang details China's considerable experience in settling its land borders and wonders why India, with Bhutan tagging along, is the only exception. But the message from the diplomat who has details about all of China's frontiers on her fingertips is stern: no substantial talks till the Indians stop interfering in Chinese territory.  There was more of soft diplomacy to the afternoon, intended to show that China was not closed to winds and ideas from overseas. At China Radio International (CRI), again in a sprawling behemoth of a building, located off Beijing's Fifth Ring Road, teems with foreigners. The Hindi division has quite a few Indians while the adjoining Bengali news service has denizens from Kolkata and Dhaka. A Mauritian along with a Sri Lankan slurps milky tea in the canteen. The glass ceiling is evident though. Foreigners can only aspire to be worker bees but there is scope for creativity and experimentation for CRI has embraced all the three mediums.

Warnings in smiles

The next day was again devoted to tough love messaging. At the China Institute of International Studies, the Chief is a former diplomat who again wraps warnings in smiles and dulcet tones. But his number two is of an excitable age. Hackles on the Indian side go up as he fulminates against the "invasion", the "biased" Indian media and the hazards of turning a deaf ear to Chinese protestations. "Calm down," an Indian journalist advises while others smile uncomfortably. It was the same room where Gorbachev and Deng Xiaoping had once initiated border talks that lasted for two decades. A similar sense of déjà vu would have been in evidence then. 

In the evening, three Colonels spearhead a full-scale assault. Billed as an “India-China media seminar”, the local media was actually the audience. Once the Colonels realised the Indian side, though not speaking for their government, was not inclined to absorb recriminations and was prepared to give back as good as it got, the proceedings became interesting, and heated. Accusations of India at odds with all its neigbours were met by a listing of China's troubles in the oceans around its periphery, while the Chinese journalists fidgeted. A hastily-passed note from one regretted the "unfriendly" attitude of the army colonels. But the grins returned when the meeting broke up. The officers were meant to semaphore and once the task was over, there were no hard feelings. One who had served in Doklan confessed that "you are stronger there." The hard feelings sought to be tempered with the Kung Fu Show, a lavishly-mounted fusion of the modern with the traditional. The good cop returned into play again the next day. A pre-dawn flight to Zhanjiang, roughly the distance between Chandigarh and Kochi, brought about a complete change of scenery. The stiffness of Beijing devolved into an informal atmosphere. More locals packed its restaurants, the vegetation was wild and abundant compared to Beijing's carefully manicured lawns and familiar vegetables like bitter gourd and pumpkin shared gastronomic space with scallops and oysters harvested from the famed South China Sea. 

Propositioning galore

Zhanjiang was a relief from the constant propositioning outside hotels in Beijing and Shanghai. The routine in Beijing is a one-two approach. An older woman will gingerly approach the foreigner. In flawless English, she will claim to have arrived from another city while her younger accomplice, smiling demurely all the time, is positioned as a city resident who wants to have "fun" but is too shy to make the offer. In contrast, Shanghai is a la carte: from offers to facilitate beer for a dollar to a "good time" with a woman, or even a boy. But the end result is the same, as an undocumented Bengali who stitched footballs during the day and solicited in the evening, had confessed. The victim ends up in a Hutong, one of the city's narrow lanes, where roughnecks set to work on him. An Intelligence operation is slightly different, it is said, but journalists are very low-value targets. avy men have travelled the world and have learnt to talk the language of reasonableness. The headquarters of the South China Sea is sprawling but as was the case at the 3rd Garrison Division, a ship smelling of fresh paint but now obsolete as compared to its newer peers is the designated showpiece for foreigners. If the two armies are facing off some distance away, China's sailors gave no indication. Their brief was to point out the difference between US naval forays in South China Sea — within 12 nautical miles of claimed Chinese territory — and Chinese ships in the Indian Ocean where they steer clear of the waters of other countries. Having opened its first foreign base in Africa, the Chinese naval men had the option to swagger. But they were sticking to Paramount Leader Deng Xiaoping's dictum: "Hide your strengths, bide your time." Chinese airlines have expanded at breakneck speed and in the process overextended themselves. They had a valid reason for the next day's meltdown: a freak hail storm in Beijing. The flight for Zhanjiang landed after six hours. But the enforced stay at the airport was pleasant even for a relatively small city. Chic-looking restaurants, especially at hotels and in malls, are yet to become expensive rip-offs. 

Back in Beijing, another two-hour confinement in the aircraft was in store. The next day it was time to leave. The healthy routine of breakfast at 7 am, supper at 6 pm and unsweetened tea at all times had to be reluctantly given up. And what about shopping, did you say? The flight delays meant there were just two hours on the last day. But with skills honed by bargaining in bazaars here, this was more than adequate. 

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