Malicious Attacks Can't Stop My Research About Xinjiang
— Maureen Huebel, An Australian Scholar | March 23, 2023
Illustration: Liu Rui/Global Times
I first became seriously interested in studying China when I noticed the growing Australian poverty and homelessness. At the same time, my close friends in China (Shanghai, Beijing and Chengdu) were enjoying a higher standard of living which was thriving. The most outstanding GDP growth in the Chinese provinces was identified as Xinjiang. I wanted to learn more as I couldn't reconcile the fact that there was a "genocide" in Xinjiang with evidence that there was a growing population and no refugees. For example, Ukraine has had over eight million people leave the country as refugees, and the bottom has fallen out of the Ukrainian economy with public servants and teachers not being paid.
I joined Twitter to do preliminary research, but I did not expect the outrage that I would receive from Western people. A backlash blew up even before I started the project. The West is convinced that China is bad, so I couldn't be a critical thinker and say anything good about China, despite the fact that I am an established scholar in Australia and Britain with many published papers. Allegations of being a sophisticated Chinese Bot quickly emerged, but this was clearly shown to be false once I proved to the world to be a real person.
The mainstream media in the West is taken to be accurate, with very few questioning its narratives, particularly if it is produced by the ABC or the BBC. Australian mainstream media is one of the most concentrated in the Western world, with the main narrative explained through three groups: NewsCorp Australia, 9Entertainment and 7WestMedia, who control the lion's share of print, news websites and TV. Their influence is significant in shaping the narrative and opinions of the average Australian. The US media, with 90 percent of its media controlled by six corporations - AT&T, CBS, Comcast, Disney, NewsCorp and Viacom, is also highly concentrated and focused on promoting its political interests.
Australia experiences pressure from the US in every aspect of our lives. At this point in history, the US is seriously threatened by the amazing economic growth of China. China's growth trajectory is set to overtake the US economy in a few years. American hegemony, with its international power and control, is now weakening.
This loss of US power is already showing up in the US banking system. It's starting to show cracks, with international trade being transacted less in US dollars. Competing international transfer mechanisms have emerged in local currencies instead of SWIFT, the primary US international transfer mechanism. SWIFT required local currencies to be swapped into US dollars before being converted into a recipient currency. The US felt it was entitled to take a percentage of international trade by transacting in US dollars. This is now changing as international contracts are being written in local currencies rather than in US dollars, permitting economies more control over their own import and export prices.
Since I announced on Twitter that I was planning to go to Xinjiang in 2024 to research poverty alleviation, I have been hounded by trolls and people insulting me on Twitter, sometimes ganging up on me with a Twitter pile-on, these include death threats.
I started by contacting Adrian Zenz, who conducted the original research on Xinjiang and made the claim of "genocide," "forced labor" and "human rights abuses." I asked him for his field research notes and methodology and published peer-reviewed journals. He strangely took offense to this and behaved in a way I have never experienced from other scholars. He blocked me and, together with other Americans, had me indefinitely suspended from Twitter. I had to ask Monash University to write to Twitter to state that I had been associated with the University and had done research there, and my research was published. Twitter then reinstated my account.
I approached the principal of the Australian Centre on China in the World of the Australian National University (ANU) for her to be my mentor and supervisor. At first, she had a favorable approach to what I was studying.
Then, at the Canberra Press Club, the principal had heard from some researchers in Xinjiang that she knew and respected were too afraid to put their names to their research papers. The principal stated through their research that Zenz's claims may not be factually correct. She was immediately stood down on indefinite sick leave, and approved grants to study research grants on China were canceled.
When I visited China in the World at the ANU, I encountered people who were full of fear and afraid to speak to me. They had just concluded a conference on academic freedom of speech and what was happening to it.
The more opposition I got, the more determined I became to forge a path to complete my project. I was blocking trolls that did not contribute to the research, sometimes 10 at a time, who ganged up on me, to what is called a Twitter pile-on.
As poverty alleviation is critical for any economy to improve, I decided to visit Xinjiang myself. We should not leave our most vulnerable behind. I will be exploring how this has happened in China and what learnings can be for Australia. It is good for a country to have its participants be active contributors to it. It becomes a win-win situation. This will be the focus of the not-for-profit foundation which I have started in Australia.
— The Author is an Australian Scholar. She Writes in an Honorary Capacity.
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Just over a decade ago, the late novelist Hilary Mantel (6 July 1952 – 22 September 2022) delivered a lecture to an event at the London Review of Books and triggered national outrage.
In the course of a talk on “Royal Bodies,” which ranged widely across royal women from Anne Boleyn to Marie Antoinette and Princess Diana, she had made what many perceived as disparaging remarks about Kate Middleton, then the Duchess of Cambridge.
The Duchess, she said, appeared to have been “designed by a committee and built by craftsmen, with a perfect plastic smile and the spindles of her limbs hand-turned and gloss-varnished."
Indeed, Mantel said, Kate “seems to have been selected for her role of princess because she was irreproachable: as painfully thin as anyone could wish, without quirks, without oddities, without the risk of the emergence of character.”
At this, the newspapers were soon in uproar.
The prime minister David Cameron called the comments “completely misguided and completely wrong” and the Labour leader Ed Miliband agreed they were “pretty offensive.”
Mantel doggedly refused to back down, saying that her remarks had been twisted out of context, and that she was in fact writing with sympathy about the perceptions that are forcefully projected on to royal women, the cage in which they are held to be goggled at.
That was true but also perhaps not the entire truth, for there was still a perceptible trace of authorial vinegar in the portrait:
Which of us would be happy to learn, even in sympathy, that we were held at low risk for “the emergence of character”?
Royals are public as well as private figures, of course, and authors are free to hang intellectual ideas on them to try out, as designers do with clothes.
Yet while much of the lecture was sharply perceptive, I didn’t agree with the portrait of Kate.
That word “selected” had rendered her passive, when in fact her behaviour thus far had suggested both an active intelligence and an unusual degree of self-discipline.
The context of her entry into “The Firm” was different from that of other royal brides.
Unlike Diana, who had barely emerged from the fractured chrysalis of her troubled aristocratic family when she first met the much older, more worldly Prince Charles, Kate was a contemporary of Prince William’s at the University of St Andrews.
Her family background, which appeared warm and supportive, was comfortably middle-class.
She seemed generally cheerful and unruffled, even when the press was at the barbed peak of its “Waity Katie” hysteria, trying to goad Prince William into a proposal or abandonment.
After the wedding, in her approach to royal duties, she clearly took the role she had inherited with marriage seriously.
The royal whose attitude her own most resembled was the late Queen Elizabeth II, who had long understood the essential nature of the job:
To turn up to public events looking the part, intuit precisely what was needed — gravitas, fun, consolation or reassurance — and deliver it while keeping one’s personal emotions on the back burner.
This is what a monarchy demands, and the ability to act as an impeccable interpreter of the public mood, year after year, is a particular and testing art.
A few have a natural aptitude for it, but most of us do not, and would quickly find its scrutiny and restrictions intolerable.
Grace under consistent pressure is an admirable quality.
Were a ballet dancer to execute a string of flawless performances, or a pilot to conduct numerous flights without incident, it would not be deemed evidence of an absence of character: quite the opposite.
Yet in Kate — especially for those who increasingly conduct their lives online — serene self-possession seems to drive a proportion of onlookers insane: what lurks behind it, what dark secret is waiting to destroy it, how best might it be disrupted?
The uncomfortable truth is that what many people deeply crave in a young and beautiful royal wife and mother is not competence, but crack-up.
The increasingly bizarre treatment of Kate, or the idea of Kate, is connected to the most dominant phenomenon of our age: a cultural prioritising of drama over duty.
The supply of drama has spilled beyond the confines of the novel, theatre, cinema, or television to become a commodity on which our public figures are judged.
When Mantel spoke of Kate’s apparent absence of emerging “character,” she was assessing her primarily through the hungry eyes of a novelist.
In books, central female characters often generate dramatic tension by chafing against their circumstances, by the intensifying dazzle of their discontents, something that Kate refused to transmit.
In contrast, Mantel described Diana as a “carrier of myth”: Diana, publicly trapped in the disappointments of her marriage, certainly carried more plot twists than any author had a right to expect.
Unfortunately for her, the final one was her shockingly premature death.
Set against this artistic conception of “character” — distinctive qualities or flaws that, one way or another, deliver drama — is the societal judgement “of good character,” meaning someone who is broadly reliable and respected in relation to their behaviour to others.
In recent years, the electorate, in line with Neil Postman’s warning in his 1985 book, Amusing Ourselves To Death, has proved increasingly ready to select the former over the latter, even to the marked detriment of our civic health.
The former prime minister Boris Johnson instinctively understood it as his job not to deliver the detail of workable policy but to satisfy the public’s appetite for story:
“People live by narrative,” he once told UnHerd’s Tom McTague.
In the US, Donald Trump — that relentless generator of low mockery and high fury — is now running for a second term as president, after his first one ended in his supporters storming the Capitol building.
Men are often permitted to survive the frantic generation of drama: it is everyone around them who suffers.
Yet women — in art and life — have a greater tendency to be destroyed by it.
There is no strutting female equivalent of the male “hellraiser,” but rather a woman who, soaked in the crocodile tears of the tabloids, is tragically “causing concern” among friends.
Art and its audiences have always relished the restless struggle and disintegration of female characters who are, or become, unmoored from the harbour of marriage and children.
Flaubert’s Emma Bovary — her imagination inflamed by reading novels — is bored with her marriage and disenchanted with motherhood.
She seeks solace in affairs and excessive spending, the consequences of which hasten her suicide.
Zola’s Nana, a courtesan who ruthlessly captivates Parisian society, has her beguiling face eaten away by smallpox.
Janis Joplin and Amy Winehouse, immolated on their blazing talent, are hung posthumously high in the musical hall of fame, next to Sylvia Plath in the poetry section and Marilyn Monroe in cinema.
In Jean Rhys’s Good Morning, Midnight, a middle-aged English woman called Sasha Jansen, mourning an unhappy marriage and a dead child, finds herself in Paris, a vulnerable drifter seeking solace from stray men.
Rhys herself, who died at 88 after a precarious but surprisingly long life, had much in common with her literary creations.
As the writer and editor Diana Athill crisply put it:
“Jean was absolutely incapable of living, life was just hopelessly beyond her.
When she was young, she floated from man to man in a hopeless way… by the time she was old, she floated from kind woman to kind woman.”
In Rhys’s latter years — hard-drinking, irascible and impoverished — Athill and a small group of female friends formed what they called “The Jean Rhys Committee,” which met regularly to ask “what should we do next?”
Rhys’s claim to such loyalty, I suppose, was the weight of her literary talent, her ability to exert an odd kind of fascination, and the fortunate soft-heartedness of her friends.
The dramatic collided with the dutiful and was kept alive by it.
From what I can see, the Princess of Wales exists at the opposite end of the feminine spectrum from Jean Rhys.
Pinned firmly in place by her royal obligations, her wealth, her marriage, and three children, she belongs to the realm of the respectable and dutiful rather than the erratic and dramatic.
She is not a “character” in the artistic sense, nor does she desire to be, but both a survivor and upholder of an institution:
Hers is the territory of the prompt thank-you note, the kept promise, the commitment to public service, the uncomplicated pleasure in children, the stoic endurance of difficult times in the hope that better ones will come along soon.
The public senses an emotional solidity in her, and it is partly why she is held in broad esteem.
In this age of insistent self-definition, duty to others might be an unfashionable concept, but it is nonetheless one that keeps families and institutions from chaos and collapse.
With the advent of the internet, however, anyone with a keyboard can become a form of author, with the freedom to insert a toxic form of drama into real-life situations.
What was extraordinary, during the Princess of Wales’s recent health problems, is how speedily and carelessly such speculations overrode the bounds of decency.
It was already known that she had undergone major abdominal surgery and was taking time to recover.
And yet — egged on by the participation of silly celebrities and malicious US comedians — conspiracy theories about cosmetic surgery and affairs and nervous breakdowns spread like knotweed.
According to social-media researchers, these were also vigorously introduced and amplified by fake accounts set up on Twitter and TikTok, some associated with Russia-linked disinformation eager to spread the termites of mistrust and doubt in Western institutions.
Only the Princess of Wales’s revelation of cancer, which carries a testing drama all its own, served to shut up the majority of them.
Unlike these callous gossips, Mantel recognised her own complicity in dehumanising royalty.
Upon encountering the late Queen, the novelist said: “I passed my eyes over her as a cannibal views his dinner, my gaze sharp enough to pick the meat off her bones.”
The Queen looked back at her, she said, briefly hurt. Mantel warned of the way in which “cheerful curiosity can easily become cruelty” precisely as it has done in recent weeks.
Her talk concluded with a prescient instruction for those who comprehend monarchy mainly as a source of entertainment: “I’m asking us to back off and not be brutes.”
In the midst of treatment and recovery, the most hitherto stable of royal women could be forgiven a keen sense of injustice:
Her job description, it seems, must now include the ability to weather the online public’s fits of brutish mania for drama.
With its contempt for duty, and its savage appetite for story, it is hungry to chew up far more than just the Princess of Wales.
NOTE: Additional photos have been included in this article.
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