When a Billion Chinese Jump (54 page)

It is difficult to be dispassionate, still harder to claim the truth. Different baselines clearly produce very different expectations. Amid the smog, dust, and algae, I have felt at times that China portends an environmental apocalypse. Yet, more often that not, local people tell me, “Life is getting better.” That is probably the refrain I have heard more than any other during the past seven years, often prompting me to wonder which was coloring perceptions more: my western, liberal, middle-aged prejudices or the communist propaganda of the Chinese government.

Whatever the political label, I sympathize with President Hu and Premier Wen. Environmental triage is particularly difficult in China, which can be afflicted by drought, floods, dust storms, and pollution disasters in a single week. That is not the only reason this is no ordinary developing nation. China is a 3,000-year-old civilization in the body of an industrial teenager; a mega-rich, dirt-poor, overpopulated, underresourced, ethnically diverse mass of humanity that is going through several stages of development simultaneously; a coal-addicted powerhouse attempting to pioneer new energy technologies, and a communist-led, capitalist-funded economic giant traveling at unprecedented speed. If that is not enough of a challenge, environmental pressures have forced the leadership to attempt something unprecedented in the world’s history: to reengineer an economy before it has finished industrializing.

I doubt they have the authority to achieve this. Despite the politburo’s nominally dictatorial powers, it is either reluctant or unwilling to impose any measure that might constrain growth. Indeed, it often punishes those
who try to do so. Environmental activists who expose pollution scandals are sometimes beaten up, locked away, or censored. Religions, unions, journalists, lawyers, universities, NGOs, aristocracies, and other independent sectors of society that resisted untrammeled economic expansion in other nations have either been abolished or kept under tight control.

Power resides not at the top or bottom of society, but in the bulging middle band of local party chiefs, factory owners, foreign investors, and outsourcers who have profited most from the lack of environmental regulations. As I saw in Guangdong and Heilongjiang, these Mini-Maos in regional governments do not take kindly to any measure that curtails their expansion. They are the reason the government, despite its authoritarian reputation, is less able to rein in polluters than dissidents.

To counter this, it is often argued that China needs more democracy and a bigger middle class. But people power alone will not solve all of the country’s environmental problems. A swelling middle class could make things much worse unless beliefs and lifestyles also change. In this case, the West has set a dire example in dealing with the biggest threat of our age: consumption.

Pollution was yesterday’s priority. Climate change is tomorrow’s. Both are symptoms of a bigger, more immediate malaise: the unsustainable consumption pioneered by advanced, wealthy democracies, and now increasingly replicated by rich citizens of developing nations like China.

Having visited almost every province in the country, I am far more concerned about Shanghai’s friendly shoppers than Henan’s snarling polluters. The latter are a recognized problem that can be cleared up with sufficient time, money, and government effort. The former, however, are hailed as potential saviors of the global economy. Nobody wants to stop them. Indeed, businesses spend a fortune encouraging consumers to spend more. Their advertising campaigns have proved devastatingly successful. The energy use of the average person in Shanghai has surpassed that of Tokyo, New York, and London and is now 50 percent higher than the global norm.

The rest of the country has some way to catch up, but that is what the government wants. To provide everyone in China with a Shanghai lifestyle, factories will need to churn out an extra 159 million refrigerators, 213 million televisions, 233 million computers, 166 million microwave ovens, 260 million air conditioners, and 187 million cars. Power plants would have to
more than double their output. The demand for raw materials and fuel will add enormously to global environmental stress and security strains.

The story of China is changing. On one hand, it is still partly the heart-warming tale of a poor nation catching up with the West. But it is also increasingly the threat of wealthy individuals and megacities that are gobbling up resources and producing waste at a rate that is as destructive and unsustainable as almost anyone and anywhere overseas. The cultural and economic line between “them” and “us” has blurred. But our shared environmental reflection could hardly be more clear or less flattering.

Faced by the resource depletion and climate change, the world community needs to shift away from nationalist competition to consume, and toward an internationalist cooperation to conserve. If the planet’s resources were priced properly for their long-term value to future generations, rather than their immediate accessibility, mankind might just be able to avoid a disastrous fight for what’s left. I am not holding my breath. It’s a big “might.” As the Copenhagen climate conference showed us, no government—of whatever political stripe—wants to raise prices or tell citizens to consume fewer resources.

For China, that is particularly difficult. The leadership has no electoral mandate. It relies on economic growth and nationalism for legitimacy. How can Hu or Wen possibly say to their people, “You cannot eat as much or buy as much as citizens in rich nations”? How can consumers in wealthy countries have the temerity to complain if they do?

Strictly in terms of equality, China should have the same scope to damage the planet in the future as rich nations have done in the past. It should also have the same right to consume. This would be completely fair and utterly calamitous. It would allow China to increase its emissions beyond 2050. By that time, the atmosphere will increasingly resemble an Inner Mongolian stew, presuming nations have not gone to war before that over scarce energy supplies or the right to shop for luxuries.

A better environment needs better values. It is unreasonable to ask China to save the world, but the country forces mankind to recognize we are all going in the wrong direction. Technological progress is essential, but it is not enough. Before we retool our economies, we need to rethink our fundamental beliefs. In this regard, China has much to contribute.

The country’s environmental and philosophical history should be more deeply mined. The world’s longest-enduring civilization offers lessons in
how to sustain, such as the Taoist appreciation of “useless trees” or the growing academic skepticism toward “foolish old men who move mountains.”

Ethnic, social, and cultural diversity is likely to be another source of new ideas. Antidotes to materialism can be found in the nature worship of Tibetan and Mongolian Buddhism. There are traces of sustainability in the day of rest practiced by the country’s Muslims and Christians. Temples nationwide have some of the best-protected wildlife.

China’s ideological mixing pot may also throw up more sustainable practices. As resources dwindle, a new generation of market devotees will look for greater efficiency through pricing mechanisms, while old-school state interventionists will press for tax and feed-in-tariff incentives to manage demand. Communes and work units should join a wider discussion with companies, NGOs, and netizens about how to share wealth, food, and materials.

Individuals—those ones in a billion—can also provide inspiration, whether it be the dogged survival instinct of the Meng Brothers, the innovation of Dalian’s scientists, the courage of environmental activists,
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the preference of Beijing taxi drivers for flasks of tea over cans of Coke, the experience of intellectuals sent down to the countryside, or the self-sacrifice of migrant workers everywhere.

A new outlook is essential. This is not a matter for one country or one generation. Mankind has climbed to a peak in China, but our position is precarious and the view from the summit is appalling. Here, more than anywhere, the world has been unbalanced by superlatives, by billionfold multiplication, by earth-changing jumps. Here, more than anywhere, the current path of human progress looks certain to lead to destruction. Here, more than anywhere, we all need to look forward and step back.

Two types of journey are reflected in this book: the physical hauls across China and the mental slog of writing. Neither would have been possible without those who provided guidance, shelter, love, and encouragement along the way.

Setting off on these travels would not have been possible without the
Guardian,
which assigned me to China and later granted six months’ book leave for research and writing. The newspaper’s independence and commitment to environmental issues have shaped much of the reporting in these pages.

My agent, David Fugate, put me on the path of book writing and made sure I stayed the course with patience and professionalism. I would have dawdled far longer on the early stages of that road were it not for supportive prods by Yang Ailun, Xie Yan, and Lisa Foreman.

The route was determined by a confluence of influences. Tracy McVeigh of the
Observer
commissioned the original journey from Shangri-La to Xanadu in search of China’s ideals. Lu Jie, curator of the Long March art project—a neighbor in Beijing’s Dashanzi district—inspired the travel-narrative approach. Colin Robertson, formerly of Scribner’s, encouraged me to venture further into green territory. Photographers Mathias Braschler and Monika Fischer set the bar for ambitious on-the-road reportage.

During this writing expedition I was grateful for the accommodation and tranquillity provided by Michiko Fukui, Philip Lote, Mary Hennock, and Miwa Okubo. Thanks too to Yoyo Gill for giving up her bed on more than one occasion during my stays at her parents’ home in Shanghai.

Along the road, guidance came in many forms. Advice on how to survive a book project was generously shared by Jasper Becker, Jason Burke, Paul French, Rob Gifford, John Gittings, Alexandra Harney, James Kynge, Jo Lusby, Richard
McGregor, Philip Pan, Ilaria Maria Salsa, Catherine Sampson, and Zhang Lijia. During the difficult early months of compilation I was kept on track by Paul Jackson, Dominic Al-Badri, Mary Kay Magistad, Nick Bridge, and Jes Randrup Nielsen, all of whom put in a yeoman’s work critiquing the garbled first drafts.

At the editing stage, Henry Volans at Faber was a font of sage suggestions while Trevor Horwood cleaned and polished the manuscript with perspicacity and good humor. Chapters were improved with thoughtful feedback from Sharmilla Beezmohun, Chris Gill, Duan Xiaoli, Tim Johnson, Lauren Johnston, Rupert Wingfield-Hayes, and Yang Ailun, who read some or all of the book despite the busy schedules of people at the top of their game.

Research was greatly helped by several superb blogs and websites. Particular thanks to Isabel Hilton for
China Dialogue,
Xiao Qiang for
China Digital Times,
Roland Soong for ESWN, Jeremy Goldkorn for Danwei, Sam Crane for the Useless Tree, Jeremiah Jenne for Jottings from the Granite Studio, and Rebecca MacKinnon and John Kennedy at Global Voices Online. Covering this much ground would have been difficult without the Internet for reference. Gratitude is also due to those at bricks-and-mortar institutions, such as Kerry Brown at Chatham House, Hugo de Burgh at the University of Westminster’s China Media Centre, Kjetil Haanes of the Norwegian Union of Journalists, and Alex Pearson, Peter Goff, and Jenny Niven at the Bookworm.

Specific advice on where to go and whom to talk to about environmental issues was provided by Marcus Haraldsson, Duncan Hewitt, Calum MacLeod, Richard Stone, and Marga Zambrana. As the bibliography and notes show, I have also followed up on stories and tips by many others in the vibrant foreign-correspondent community in China, including Jonathan Ansfeld, Naoko Aoki, Andrew Batson, Lindsey Beck, Chris Bodeen, Henrik Bork, François Bougon, Tania Branigan, Fred Brown, Chris Buckley, Steve Chao, Chi Yin, Dan Chung, Clifford Coonan, Elizabeth Dalziel, Mure Dickie, Bessie Du, Gady Epstein, Tomas Ezler, Maureen Fan, Jaime FlorCruz, Peter Ford, Peter Foster, Emma Graham Harrison, Lindsey Hilsum, Lucy Hornby, Charles Hutzler, Matt Jasper, Kim Rathcke Jensen, Joe Kahn, Sarah Keenlyside, Jutta Lietsch, Benjamin Lim, Louisa Lim, Melinda Liu, Andreas Lorenz, Barbara Luethi, Jane Macartney, Scott Macdonald, Mark and Karen Magnier, Kathleen McLaughlin, James Miles, Tom Miller, Isolda Morillo, Bernardo de Niz, Brad Olson, Evan Osnos, Peter Parkes, Tom Pattinson, Brice Pedroletti, Ted Plafker, John Ray, Peter Sharp, Craig Simons, Richard Spencer, David Stanway, Eugene Tang, Didi Kirsten Tatlow, Mary-Anne Toy, Alan Wheatley, Holly Williams, Jim Yardley,
and no doubt some others I have omitted. I will be forever grateful to Stephen McDonell, Robert Hill, Yao Liwei, and Jiang Xin of ABC for finding space in their tent for me during the postearthquake thunderstorm in Yingxiu. Particular thanks to Sami Sillanpää, with whom I shared an office, many great assignments, and an awful lot of bad jokes.

Deeper into the subject and the territory, I was helped by the expertise and openness of professors at Beijing’s top universities and the Chinese Academy of Sciences, notably Hu Angang, Li Can, Jiang Gaoming, Song Huailong, Wang Tao, Yao Tandong, Zhou Mingjiang, and Zou Ji. Guidance on specialist issues was also provided by Chimed-Erdene Baatar, Nicholas Bequelin, Arlene Blum, Carter Brandon, William Callahan, Ellen Carberry, Joel Cohen, David Concar, Robin Grayson, Arthur Kroeber, John MacKinnon, Isaac Mao, Charlie McElwee, Todd Meyer, Bob Moseley, Robin Munro, Sidney Rittenberg, Kate Saunders, Andrew Scanlon, Deborah Seligsohn, Vance Wagner, Alex Wang, Wang Fuqiang, Wang Sung, Alex Westlake, Tony Whitten, Matt Whitticase, Julian Wong, Xie Yan, and Nick Young.

On the ground, I have at times been taken on propaganda tours by government officials and on other occasions I have had to use subterfuge to cover sensitive stories with the help of local activists. Many of those who helped have asked to remain anonymous but I can thank the following institutions and groups: Chongqing Green Volunteers League, Friends of Nature, Global Witness, Green Camel Bell, Green Longjiang, Greenpeace, International Rivers, the Nature Conservancy, Traffic, the Wildlife Conservation Society, the World Wide Fund for Nature, the Chongqing and Dalian propaganda departments, The National Development and Reform Commission, and the Institute of Ecological Civilization Research. The International Campaign for Tibet and Free Tibet have also been very helpful.