Tony Manwaring was impressed with the Beijing Olympics and why not? The magnificent show, was, after all, designed to impress. He also poses the uncomfortable question, for many Western readers, that it is China’s model of authoritarian capitalism, with all the aspects that the liberal West criticises, that makes such achievements possible. There is merit in this argument, too, and we might add to China’s list of recent achievements last week’s space walk, another spectacular national goal achieved. But does it therefore follow that the characteristics of the Chinese model that produce these remarkable events will translate into any national ambition – including the profoundly desirable goal of sustainable development? I think the question bears a little further scrutiny.
The Beijing Olympics and the Chinese space walk share a number of characteristics: they both demonstrated the capacity of the Chinese state to mobilise its considerable resources in pursuit of certain kinds of national objective. Both these examples had a high demonstration factor: they were designed to send a message of state power, modernity and achievement that situated China as a rising great power, capable of the feats of strength that great powers must be competent to undertake.
Both represented great effort, large expenditure and impressive technical achievement, only slightly undermined by the fact that in both case the public relations element occasionally trumped the imperative of honesty and authenticity in the story telling: in the Olympics show, the substitution of a photogenic little girl miming to the voice of another with greater musical talent but less appealing teeth, the digital enhancement of firework effects and, in the space walk, the publication on Xinhua of the transcript of an inspiring conversation between the orbiting astronauts and ground control before the rocket had even launched, served as reminders that government propaganda, in China as elsewhere, is not the same as honest reporting.
Even as the astronauts were waving the national flag in space, back on the ground another event was gathering momentum: the spreading scandal of adulterated milk, which has so far killed four babies and sickened 53,000, nearly 13,000 of whom are confirmed to have kidney damage. It has also resulted in brand damage to some of the world’s biggest international food companies, left the reputation of China’s food industry in tatters and resulted in the banning of Chinese dairy products across Europe and Asia.
The contrast between the two events illustrates both the strengths and weaknesses of the Chinese model of authoritarian capitalism: in space, the evidence of the state’s power of mobilisation in pursuit of ambitious goals; on the ground, the equally compelling evidence that the model has still failed to deliver what is required for sustainable development – rule of law, respect for independent scrutiny, a respect for process and good governance.
The milk scandal is not the first such event: last year Chinese pet food, also adulterated with melamine, killed dogs in the United States, Mattel was forced to recall toys painted with lead paint, Chinese tires were accused of being substandard and Chinese toothpaste was found to be contaminated with chemicals. Nor will this scandal be the last, in my view, unless the Chinese government prioritises a real commitment to accountability and transparency over partisan political interests.
As in previous episodes, including SARS, the first instinct was to cover up the problem, earning China an embarrassing public rebuke from the World Health Organisation and ensuring that China’s reputation, far from being saved, was further tarnished. This time, too, the World Health Organisation has been stern. It seems clear that the adulteration was suspected months ago, but Sanlu, the company most implicated, chose to suppress the story, misguidedly as it turned out, in the interests of the company’s reputation and profits – both now severely damaged. When Fonterra, Sanlu’s New Zealand partner, became concerned, Fonterra pushed for a product recall. When Sanlu failed to respond, Fonterra, fearful for its own reputation, put pressure on Beijing through the New Zealand government, finally forcing some action.
None of this slow process of disclosure and action was helped by the timing: the crisis was coming to a head just as the August Olympics approached – a time, in other words, when Beijing was in the business of suppressing bad news, for fear of spoiling the perfect party. The attempt to manage public indignation continues and comparative searches on Chinese search engines and on Google reveal the startling scale of the censorship: in one search, on September 12, Google returned 11,400 results. Baidu, one of China’s biggest search engines, returned 11. Frustrated reporters are leaking their own accounts of the suppression of their stories.
Events since the story crept out of the shadows have followed a pattern familiar to students of earlier episodes: a couple of high level resignations, heavy news management, some intimidation of the victims and their lawyers and some low level arrests. But as in earlier incidents, the problem turned out to be much bigger than was at first acknowledged and now implicates one fifth of China’s dairy industry. The numbers of arrests are growing and the Prime Minister, Wen Jiabao, has been touring hospitals promising that this time things will be fixed. But it will take a long time for China’s reputation as a trusted producer of food to recover and the Chinese internet, meanwhile, seethes with indignation at this latest example of the risks to the Chinese consumer posed by a system that places the political reputation of the leadership above real accountability.
What are the lessons? The main one is that the government continues to prioritise the wrong risk: that of its own unchallengeable right to rule. To sustain that, the government has to be beyond criticism, a tough call in a complex world. The irony is that, if badly managed, the bigger risk – the country’s reputation, the health of the people and the sustainability of China’s development, currently running second in the government’s concerns -- has the power to undermine the Party’s right to rule in the eyes of its people. It is well known that the top leadership protects itself from adulterated food by ensuring its own, exclusive organic food supplies. The rest of the population must play Russian roulette at every meal. In the same spirit, government buildings in earthquake zones are properly built. Schools, as we have discovered, are not. When one child is all you are allowed, you are unlikely to forgive those you suspect of causing its death.
Food adulteration scandals are not exclusive to China: as food production moves from a farm gate to plate system into the industrial zone, adulteration follows, as it did in Britain in the 19th century. Cleaning up a food supply depends on consumer pressure born out of a vigorous civil society, a free press, independent inspection, a robust rule of law, including the ability to bring class action law suits without political interference, transparency and, above all, accountability that extends into the political sphere. What we see in the current milk scandal is a hybrid: what the Chinese press has called a “storm of punishment,” (though unlike any storm in nature, its limits are tightly set by government) coupled with the top down censorship and control that confuses information management with problem solving.
For the foreign companies involved, the episode will give food for thought. That their own reputations are now at risk can hardly come as a surprise: eager for Chinese goods and Chinese business, many foreign firms dealing with Chinese partners have preferred to trust rather than to verify. That is not sustainable either, as they have discovered to their cost.