We Can See Each Other On WeChat

By Carol Yinghua Lu

On the evening of 26 September, I was invited to speak in the Rockbund Art Museum in Shanghai as part of their lecture series on the relationship between art and society. Focusing on the historic origin and development of participatory practices and social intervention in the field of contemporary art in China, in my hour-long talk, I tried to provide an account of Chinese contemporary art that is informed by the ideology of Socialist Realism that has emerged since 1949. I discussed how such a discourse has structured our perception of the past as well as the present events and the future. I cited the example of the exhibition earlier this year, ‘Hans van Dijk: 5000 Names’, at UCCA, Beijing, in which the exercise of self-censorship on the part of the institution to downplay the relevance of Ai Weiwei to the history of Hans van Dijk, and to leave the Chinese artist’s name out in the press release, drove Ai Weiwei to withdraw from the exhibition. Unsurprisingly, Ai became a target of criticism for many of the artists involved with the institution, who blamed him for making a scene, yet few addressed the problem of self-censorship and the deliberate omission of historic details.

I went on to ponder the fact that many members of the Chinese art world have become indifferent to such fundamental issues as institutional and state power, justice, equality, individual rights and so on. All they could talk about was how Ai is always trying to turn things into political events so that his career might benefit. I also discussed the recent event in Songzhuang in Beijing where police closed down an independent film festival on the opening day – 23 August – and two of the main organizers were taken to the police station and released on the same evening. Although many people sympathized with the festival’s organizers, there were also voices which warned the art world not to stress the political nature of the event and to ask people to turn their attention to art and not to politics – some pointing out the film programme was not so great after all. Before long, everything died out and people returned to their everyday WeChat messages of exhibition announcements and personal anecdotes.

Working and living in one of the most politically loaded countries in the world during one of the most explosive periods of history, I have become increasingly perplexed by the political unresponsiveness of many of my colleagues. I often sense a tendency to resist politics on the grounds of ‘what use is it’, or ‘it’s not like we can change anything’ or ‘if we address politics in our line of work, aren’t we leaving art out and following the same logic as the communist party to instrumentalize art as politics’ or ‘let’s forget about politics and focus on art’. There is also a prevalent scepticism about hidden motivations and personal gain that makes some people feel that they should remove themselves from making judgments or taking sides. Curiously enough though, in such a general sense of distrust, it would seem that everyone is suspect, except for the state.

Tiananmen Square, Beijing, 30 September, 2014

Two days after my talk at the Rockbund Art Museum, news broke via WeChat messages and Facebook: pro-democracy activists, scholars, students and citizens had taken to the streets of Hong Kong and launched a peaceful and determined protest outside the government headquarters, occupying several major city intersections and demanding the central government in Beijing to recognize the right of Hong Kong to choose its own Chief Executive and requesting the current one to step down. The direct trigger of this movement was the decision of the Standing Committee of the National People’s Congress (NPCSC) in August on proposed electoral reform for Hong Kong. As was widely reported, ‘instead of allowing civil nominations, the NPCSC made it clear that a 1200-member nominating committee, which would remain nominated by the business factions and strictly controlled by Beijing, would elect two to three electoral candidates with more than half of the votes before the general public can vote upon, which is seen as effectively screening out any pro-democracy candidate.’ Two days into the protests, demonstrators and un-armed citizens, mostly young students, were met with tear gas from the local police force in pouring rain, which led supporters to distribute umbrellas to those who were in the square. Thus ‘Umbrella’ became a name and symbol for this civic movement.

In mainland China you could feel the tension this unrest in Hong Kong was generating. There was a heightened sense of fear over impending recriminations from Beijing. After all, this was the last week leading to the celebration of the National Day on 1 October. In Beijing, most people were preparing to leave town for an extended week-long holiday. I visited Tiananmen Square on 30 September and saw a new portrait of Mao on the gate, and on the opposite side, a large flower statue was newly installed on the square. Mao’s Mausoleum was closed to the public and would remain closed the next day. There was a great sense of tension in the air.

The Mausoleum to Mao Zedong, closed to the public, September, 2014

On the same day, a few more posts about what was happening in Hong Kong showed up on WeChat, with images and information about the protests. There also gradually emerged diaries and commentaries written by individuals participating in the protests in Hong Kong, along with occasional media coverage. It is almost impossible, though, to learn anything about the situation in Hong Kong through the mainstream media in China, as it is under the supervision of the central government. In the national news coverage, protesters are described as being manipulated and brainwashed by Western institutions and powers, and are represented as damaging Hong Kong’s social fabric. The real issue at stake are never clearly addressed. This is the rhetoric that most mainlanders have heard – and believe in. I was not surprised by any of this. Most people have accepted the official idea that social harmony is the pre-condition to personal prosperity and thus any obstruction towards securing a harmonious society in China is a crime committed towards the well-being of the public. In the meantime, there is almost no access for most people to gain information about the situation in Hong Kong in order to form their own opinions. Over the last week, I have had to hold my tongue about Hong Kong over breakfast with my dad, or otherwise our conversation inevitably ends in one of the fights we always have, which tend to go like this: ‘When life is so much better in China now, why do people still want to demand more and cause so much trouble?’

Pro-democracy protest in Hong Kong, September 2014

I have become accustomed to such reactions from family and friends, who never pay much attention to politics and have convinced myself not to judge them too quickly. What I was not prepared for were the reactions of most of my colleagues in the art community in light of recent events in Hong Kong. In the following days, except for occasional re-tweets of facebook posts and media reports, most of the content people circulate within the circle of friends on WeChat is the usual stuff: exhibition announcements, daily activities and remarks on weather, pollution, the clear sky, the red moon, crowded tourist sites, food, re-tweets of didactic readings, certain public notices – you name it. Yet, among the commotion of self-expression and self-promotion, there was a noticeable disregard towards what was happening in Hong Kong, as if there was a consensus not to talk about it. The exercise of staying non-committal appeared so deliberate and ubiquitous this time around, that even those people who tend to offer an opinion on almost all art-related and social events have chosen to remain quiet. The decision to not discuss Hong Kong seems to have been agreed upon by artists across all generations – including the supposedly political artists who had witnessed, or were part of, the protests of the 1980s – as well as those from the younger generation, many of whom have had years of education and exposure in America and Europe.

Also surprising has been the sporadic cynicism towards the motivations of the Hong Kong protesters among people who had once been sympathetic towards the pro-democracy movement. Some artists and critics began to write on WeChat quotes and short sentences, not referring to Hong Kong directly, but implying that those who had joined the protests were just ‘stupid people’. Another young colleague began a WeChat discussion in private with an artist who was circulating information about Hong Kong and asked him why he was not suspicious of the motivations of the protesters. She wrote: ‘I don’t understand how people like you can make a decision to take a stand so quickly because I can’t seem to form my opinion about what is going on in Hong Kong. Let us not forget the people are not always innocent.’ Within a few minutes, an article was circulating that was written by a sociologist who, through years of research and interviews, found that Mao was not the sole mastermind/sinner of the Cultural Revolution, but the masses had contributed significantly to the destruction. In another words, in any social upheaval and revolution, the people can easily turn themselves into trouble-makers and inflict irreparable harm on society. Some also shared the view that Hong Kong suffered economically in recent years, which is the fundamental cause to the current frustration among Hong Kong citizens and the protestors.

Poster for the Hong Kong pro-democracy protests

This silence and denial has shocked me so much that I have been spending days trying to understand it. Such silence does not just happen. I know that my colleagues all read the different international voices you can access in China via subscriptions to expensive VPN services. Compared to most people, my colleagues are well informed. Yet, they still want to look away and not get emotionally involved, for the sake of a supposed critical distance. I feel the pressure of being one of the few people here who is openly expressing an opinion and I can’t stop wondering how the colleagues who I have shared so much time with and have had so many discussions with, can remain so seemingly unconcerned. Perhaps some appear indifferent out of fear of the authorities and I know some have become completely cynical about any kind of political protest. Others think that by removing themselves from taking sides, they can appear critical and wise, as if they’re not swayed by popular opinion.

I shared my disappointment with another colleague who had got himself into several arguments with left-wing intellectuals by showing his support of the protests. We both realize that it has become harder and harder to discuss politics with friends and colleagues. It’s as if the art community is withdrawing from the political and social realm and no one feels apologetic about it. In its absence, there is an unconstrained enthusiasm and willingness to commit oneself to the commercial sector without taking any moral responsibility. In recent days, posts about new auction records in the sales of contemporary Chinese art in Hong Kong were flooding WeChat. There were cheers and celebrations – as if there were no tomorrow.

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