Western Ignorance: Failure to See China Beyond the Party

1. A Worldview Shaped by Scarcity

Question 1: When we met last year in Beijing, you told me a little about your personal journey—where you come from, your family background and what inspired your interest in international relations. Would you be willing to share some of this with Sinification’s readers?

Mao Keji: My hometown is in the southeast of China, in the county town of Jingning She Autonomous County. It is the poorest county in Zhejiang Province and, for a long time, has had the lowest economic output in the region. Living in a poor county within a wealthy province was a rather unique [奇妙] experience. Some people [of my generation] enjoyed the comforts of modern life [享受现代化生活] from the moment they were born, whereas I experienced dramatic changes in my living conditions as I grew up. This made me realise that modern life cannot be taken for granted [理所当然]. Although economic development may come at a cost [付出代价], the cost of failing to develop is far greater.

Here’s an example that might seem hard to believe. I was studying at Tsinghua University in 2012-3 when Beijing’s smog problem was at its worst. I’m not at all championing air pollution, but I must say, I didn’t find it particularly unpleasant breathing in the smoggy air. Why was that? I had lived most of my childhood in a poor county on the rural-urban fringe, where every day you would smell the [strong smell of] manure used as fertiliser. It was not exactly bucolic [田园牧歌].

At that time, my parents would occasionally take me on business trips to the provincial capital, Hangzhou. One of my most vivid memories there [最深刻的记忆是] was its mixed scent of car fumes and coal smoke—the very smell of smog. So even now, whenever I catch the scent of smog, it brings back those childhood memories: the dazzling displays [琳琅满目] in Hangzhou’s department stores, the taste of KFC and the vibrancy and prosperity of the big city [繁荣的大城市]. This mental association is so powerful that it makes me less averse to the smell of smog. In my mind, it represents a good life, one worth aspiring to [值得向往的美好生活]. Fortunately (or unfortunately for me), it is hard to encounter that smell in Beijing these days. If I wanted to experience it again, I would probably have to go to Karachi or New Delhi to experience it again.

Growing up in a poor county town had a significant impact on me. Now, whenever I encounter controversial issues in society, I always ask myself: is this a problem caused by development or a lack thereof? Only those who have themselves experienced material scarcity [过物质匮乏], sluggish development [发展缓慢], and the pain of being left behind [被遗忘在角落的痛苦] can truly understand this point: problems caused by development can only be solved through further development. If we insist on going backwards [走回头路], we will only prolong that suffering. My experiences have profoundly shaped my worldview, making me focus more on the “economic foundations” of how the world works [世界运行的“经济基础”], rather than on any default set of values imposed from outside of China [外部预设的价值判断]. This is why, at times, I come across as extremely pragmatic [实用主义].

Chinese emerging young scholar Mao Keji

2. Debating China: A Perspective Shaped Abroad

Question 2: As an undergraduate in the early 2010s, you studied international relations at the University of Toronto and were a staunch defender of your country in online debates. You have referred to yourself jokingly as a 50-center “wumao” (五毛)—perhaps as a playful nod to your surname Mao (毛). Could you tell us a bit more about that period in your life? What motivated you to speak up back then?
[Note: A “50-center” (五毛, wumao) refers to an internet commentator reportedly paid by the CCP to promote pro-government narratives and suppress dissent online, allegedly earning 0.50 RMB per post.]

Mao Keji: Actually, I don’t fit the definition of a “wumao” because no one has ever given me 50 cents for my views, haha. In 2009, I went to the University of Toronto for my undergraduate studies. This was just after the 2008 financial crisis and the Beijing Olympics. At that time, there were many academic seminars in Toronto that doubted the West and praised China [质疑西方、吹捧中国]. As an international relations student, I often attended these as an observer. This was a strange and new [新奇] kind of experience for me. Growing up in China, I had always been taught that “the West is advanced, China is backward” [西方先进、中国落后] and that “only by working hard can we change China’s poverty and backwardness” [要努力学习才能改变中国的贫弱落后].

But after arriving in Toronto, I was surprised to find that many people were actually discussing the rise of China, backed up by arguments from economics, political science and international relations. Of course, there were also many proponents of the “China threat theory” too, but that also indirectly reinforced the narrative of China’s powerful ascent. In any case, this was the first time I realised that China was not actually as backward as I had thought. I learnt to be more optimistic about China’s future and to avoid being unduly humble about my country and talking it down too much [妄自菲薄].

At the same time, my academic training at the University of Toronto included development economics, modern global history and the history of American foreign relations, which together gave me a deeper understanding of the world and China. For example, I remember the advice of my economics professor, Michael Hare, from our very first class with him: “Don’t let yourself get bamboozled [迷惑] by all the short-term economic indicators. In the long run, technological progress is the key variable, because that is the driver of productivity growth [生产力发展].” Similarly, in my global modern history class, our teacher explained that the West also faced serious problems in its modern history. Much of what the West now takes pride in was actually the result of historical struggles [历史斗争的结果]. It cannot be taken for granted: the US had its “Gilded Age”; and London was once enveloped in smog.

This professor also recommended two historians to me: the American scholar Howard Zinn and the British historian Eric Hobsbawm. They were the two intellectuals who had the greatest influence on me, and their works laid the foundation of my worldview [奠定了我的认知基础]. If you’re familiar with them, you’ll understand the roots of how I look at the world [思想底色]. What was particularly ironic was that when I returned to Tsinghua University as an exchange student, many of my classmates had taken compulsory ideological and political courses like “The Theory and Practice of Socialism with Chinese Characteristics” and “Introduction to Mao, Deng, the Three Represents and the Scientific Outlook on Development”. But to my surprise, they had not learnt anywhere near as much as I had in my classes at the University of Toronto. The contrast was really quite striking [强烈].

When it comes to online debates [论战], I’ve always been against labelling others as “pro-American shills [美分]”, “public intellectuals [公知; in the pejorative sense]”, or “50-centers [五毛]”. I believe that any argument that holds water can be discussed. Many issues are inherently complicated [内在逻辑是非常复杂的]. You should actually engage with the complexity of the issue, rather than just sticking to your ideological position [搞立场先行]. Looking back at the online debates [论战] from that time, most of what I did was just use the new knowledge I had learned in class to engage in these discussions. It was pretty much just revising what I had studied.

For example, many people at the time criticised Beijing’s smog and argued that in order to reduce pollution, economic growth should be slowed down. In response, I introduced them to the concept of the Environmental Kuznets Curve—the idea that up to a certain threshold, economic development leads to worse environmental conditions, but after that point, further economic growth can actually improve them. Therefore, I argued that the only way to solve Beijing’s smog problem was to accelerate development.

Similarly, many people at the time claimed that “state-owned enterprises distort China’s economy” and believed that China must sell off its state-owned enterprises to increase its economic competitiveness. To me, this view seemed overly simplistic, so I used French state-owned enterprises as a counterexample. After all, some of the most globally competitive products the French economy produces (like nuclear power, high-speed rail and aviation) come from state-owned companies.

Additionally, for many years, I have consistently criticised China’s one-child policy in online discussions, because historical data clearly shows that industrialisation and urbanisation inevitably lead to lower birth rates. Given China’s stage of industrialisation, adding a strict birth control policy on top of this was an excessive intervention bound to have negative consequences.

3. Chinese Nationalism: Disillusionment with the West

Question 3: How do today’s “50-centers” (五毛), “little pinks” (小粉红) and “angry youths” (愤青) differ from those of a decade or two ago? How do you feel that nationalism among China’s younger generations has been evolving in recent years?

Mao Keji: This is a difficult question to answer as I have not participated in online discussions for many years, so I can only share what I have observed as an outsider. Before delving into this, I must point out that grouping “50-centers”, “little pinks” and “angry youths” together may not be appropriate.
A large portion of 50-centers are actually [faux-patriotic] “low-level reds [低级红]”, who blindly offer indiscriminate praise [for China] [不分青红皂白瞎吹捧] and are not a group to be taken seriously. Therefore, if a classification must be made, we should perhaps make the comparison with [the self-funded] “ziganwu” (自干五), as they are 50-centers who “bring their own rations” [自带干粮; i.e. they do not need to be paid to express their support for the Chinese government, contrary to the 50-centers who do get paid]. They are likely the main force that defends [Beijing] spontaneously whenever necessary [自发辩护].

Additionally, there are definitional issues with using the term “angry youths”. These ultra-nationalists may well be intensely hostile towards Japan and the United States. But at the same time, they might well hate the Chinese authorities even more, viewing them as weak, ineffective [软弱无力] and detrimental to China’s national interests. As such, these three groups [the 50-centers, little pinks and angry youths] may not be aligned at all [可能完全不是一路人] and should not be discussed as a single category.

The biggest difference in today’s online discussions compared with the past is that [Chinese] netizens as a whole [网民整体] have become disillusioned with the West. Back then, a self-reflective mindset [反思情绪] dominated public discourse, where people instinctively criticised China first, believing that solutions to China’s problems could be found in the West. I have a vivid memory of one incident when all someone did was voice opposition to the US invasion of Afghanistan and he was immediately criticised for “opposing the progressive forces of the United States in liberating Afghanistan from terrorist rule.” This illustrates how, back then, many people genuinely believed that Western criticism of the Chinese government and China’s political system [体制] was to some extent speaking [and made out of concern] for the Chinese people [为中国人民说话]. They saw [these voices] as well-intentioned “progressive forces” spurring on a “backward country”.

However, nowadays, far fewer people hold such views in online discussions. On the one hand, this is because China has grown stronger. China has caught up with and surpassed [完成赶超] other countries in terms of industrial and economic development. As a result, more people now regard the West with a level-headed attitude rather than expecting “foreigners to speak on their behalf”. On the other hand, the United States has waged an intense trade and tech war against China since Trump’s first term, which has significantly affected the everyday lives [日常生活] of many Chinese people. It has been a harsh reality check [被现实教育] for those who once placed their hopes in the US. It has made them realise that American criticism is purely about suppressing China rather than an expression of genuine goodwill.

The [2018] incident involving Meng Wanzhou [i.e. the Huawei executive who was arrested in Canada for fraud and conspiracy to commit fraud] may have been the example that stirred [触动] ordinary Chinese people the most. After this, even people with absolutely no awareness of international politics [对国际政治毫无知觉的人], like my parents, began to wake up to the reality that the US was prepared to resort to totally immoral behaviour, fabricate absurd excuses, and stage underhanded tactics to suppress China. This is actually a major public relations debacle for the US in China. Ever since, even when the US makes constructive and reasonable criticisms [建设性合理批评] of China, it has become difficult for Chinese people to see them as criticisms made in good faith.

Of course, this has also led to a deeply concerning side effect [非常令人担忧的副作用]. It has led to the rise of a large group of anti-Western conspiracy theorists and anti-intellectuals [反智论者]. They tend to interpret Western motives in the worst possible light, discarding any basic critical thinking [认知素养] or scientific reasoning [科学精神]. The most typical examples include the claim that Covid-19 was artificially engineered, the theory that Jews control the world, the belief that GM foods are deliberately made to be toxic, or that the moon landing was faked. Ironically, this group often finds common ground with the far-right in the West, which it copies many of its views from. The whole thing is most unexpected and deeply alarming.

4. Western Ignorance: China Beyond the Party

Question 4: As your recent rebuke of Jude Blanchette and Ryan Hass’s opinion piece for Foreign Affairs shows, you remain critical of the way Western—particularly US—analysts, policymakers, and journalists portray your country. What do you feel the West is getting wrong about China?

Mao Keji: Yes you’re quite right. I do think that a significant number of Western commentators, policymakers and journalists exhibit an astonishing level of ignorance when it comes to issues related to China. Some may be genuinely uninformed, but many others are just feigning ignorance [揣着明白装糊涂]. That being said, I am always happy to engage in discussions whenever I have the opportunity. That is exactly what I am doing now—reducing misunderstandings is always a good thing. I am also particularly grateful to you for providing this platform for dialogue.

To me, the West’s biggest misunderstanding when it comes to China is its overly rigid and shallow [太僵化浅薄] grasp of China’s political and economic system. I have seen far too many people project their understanding of the Soviet Union directly onto China, applying the Western mainstream definition of “totalitarianism” when looking at China. As a result, they tend to overemphasise the Party and state’s all-pervasive authority and control [无所不在的权威和操控].Meanwhile, they largely neglect the role played by Chinese society, businesses and ordinary citizens. Put simply, the West’s biggest misconception about China may be that it ignores the critical role played by its people [忽视人民].

I can actually understand this Western tendency: not enough time elapsed between the collapse of the Soviet Union and China’s rise. The academics, journalists and policymakers who helped the West win the Cold War remain highly influential [还没退出历史舞台]. It is only natural for them to use the same strategies against a new rival as they did against the old one. But this kind of intellectual laziness [认知懒惰] is bound to have serious negative consequences [一定会造成严重的不良后果].

Take the rapid rise of China’s EV industry in recent years as an example. There is already a huge amount of commentary on this, but most discussions overemphasise the role of the Chinese government, attributing the industry’s success to factors such as government subsidies, market distortion [扭曲市场] and organised intellectual property theft. However, few mention the brutal, cut-throat competitiveness [九死一生的惨烈竞争] of the Chinese market, the vast supply chain network built by Chinese companies, Chinese engineers’ higher level of technical skills [更高的专业素质], or workers’ disciplined and tireless drive to work hard [勤奋忍耐的作风].

The main reason that Elon Musk chose to build a gigafactory in Shanghai was not because of government subsidies or policy support—after all, many countries can offer similar incentives [这类优惠]. Rather, it was because of China’s large domestic market, supply chain advantages [供应链优势], large pool of engineering talent [工程师红利], and a highly efficient work force [劳动力效率]. Western business leaders have long recognised these characteristics, yet Western journalists, politicians and commentators often choose to ignore them—perhaps because such an explanation seems rather dull [实在太无聊了] and does not open up any space to criticise China [难以体现批判性]. A technical explanation [技术解释] such as the one I just touched upon might appear in a McKinsey consulting report, but it is unlikely to make the editorial pages of The New York Times.

Whether they are Communist Party cadres, civil servants or PLA officers and soldiers, they are, first and foremost, human beings and, second, a part of the Chinese people [中国人民的组成部分]. They, too, must follow social norms and market rules. They experience pleasure, anger, sorrow and joy [喜怒哀乐] just like everyone else. They are not an abstract ruling group isolated from society[隔绝于社会之外的抽象统治集团].

Many in the West tend to place the [Chinese] state and the people in opposition to one another [对立起来], often only invoking “the people” (as they define them) when emphasising dissatisfaction with the Party or opposition to their government. This tendency to separate the Party and government from [China’s] broader society and then use them to explain all of China’s successes and challenges is bound to lead to serious misconceptions.

（Interview translated by Paddy Stephens）

Editor: Zhongxiaowen