Eventually, it seemed, things returned to normal.
As nearly 3,000 delegates filed into Beijing’s Great Hall of the People on Tuesday for the start of China’s annual legislative session, none wore face masks. The dignitaries pressed together to shake hands and pose for photos. Around them, journalists and diplomats from around the world spoke in the cavernous lobby, many invited back for the first time since the outbreak of the coronavirus pandemic four years earlier.
It was one of China’s highest political stages, and the message sent was clear: The country’s prolonged isolation was over, and it was once again open to the world and ready for business.
But normal in today’s China has a different meaning than before. And beneath the veneer of transparency were signs of how much China has changed in the past four years, becoming more insular, more regimented, more closely tied to the one-man rule of its supreme leader, Xi Jinping.
To be allowed into the Great Hall, where China’s most important political meetings are held, attendees had to undergo government-arranged Covid tests. Unlike in previous years, when a report containing the government’s annual economic growth target was released at the start of the opening ceremony, this year it was initially shared only with representatives and diplomats.
In perhaps the biggest departure from previous years, officials announced that China’s premier, the country’s No. 2 official, would no longer take questions at the end of the weekly legislative session. It was the end of a three-decade tradition, one of the few opportunities for journalists to interact with a top leader.
“That’s where the prime minister’s press conference was,” one Chinese man in a suit pointed to another in a low voice as they passed the hall on Tuesday.
Guides with this kind of insider knowledge are important in Chinese political events like these, where proceedings are so tightly choreographed that a casual observer might not know that things weren’t always this way.
At 9 a.m., as a light snow fell outside, dozens of delegates sat in neat rows on the stage, against the backdrop of towering red curtains. In unison with the other delegates sitting below them, they sang the national anthem.
Then, as the premier, Li Qiang, took to the podium to present his summary of the government’s achievements over the past year, they dutifully bent over hard copies of his report. This year reporters were given copies of the report only halfway through Mr Lee’s speech.
Above the stage, the hall’s sweeping balconies were filled with Chinese and foreign journalists setting up cameras, taking notes and peering through binoculars at officials far below.
However, many of the foreign journalists were only allowed to enter the country on temporary visas, as China was slow to issue or refused long-term visas for many Western news organizations. It expelled many American journalists in 2020 and last year, even some foreign journalists with valid long-term visas were not allowed into the legislative session.
In Mr Li’s nearly hour-long speech, he repeatedly paid tribute to Mr Xi, who sat in the center of the second row. Mr. Xi, unlike everyone else on stage, barely touched the copy of his work report. He occasionally drank from one of the two teacups arranged for him. (For most of his early years in power, Mr. Xi had only one cup at the opening ceremony, like the other delegates. But in recent years, Mr. Xi, who has been steadily consolidating power around him, has had two .)
Mr Li acknowledged the challenges facing China, including a debt-ridden property industry and weak consumer demand. All of this is part of why China may be so eager to project openness now, as it seeks to attract foreign investors and reassure domestic entrepreneurs.
“We should communicate policies to the public in a well-targeted way to create a stable, transparent and predictable policy environment,” said Mr Lee.
But one had to step outside the auditorium to see why many are hesitant about such promises. Information about and from the government has become increasingly restricted as China has expanded its definition of espionage and labeled even ordinary interactions with foreigners as potentially dangerous. Restrictions on both the Chinese and foreign press have been tightened.
Days before the opening ceremony, the Foreign Correspondents’ Club of China said a reporter for Dutch broadcaster NOS had been pushed to the ground by police in a city in southwestern China while interviewing people there. the incident was also caught on camera. Across Beijing, in the days leading up to the meetings, police cars with flashing lights were regularly stationed on street corners and volunteers in red armbands kept an eye out for potential rioters.
On Tuesday, officials had organized a series of questions and answers with several pre-selected representatives and government ministers – meetings that, officials said, helped justify the cancellation of the prime minister’s traditional press conference. In the lobby of the Great Hall, these officials fielded carefully worded questions from state media on topics such as how Chinese-made cars could be promoted abroad and how the Chinese people had benefited from government investments in water-saving infrastructure.
One of the representatives chosen was from Henan Province, home to an important archaeological site called Yinxu. Asked to ask a question, a reporter from a Communist Party newspaper asked him: “Recently, Yinxu’s achievements in archeology have attracted a lot of attention. When it comes to the protection of cultural objects, do you have any particular feelings?’
Outside of this carefully curated context, attempts to interview representatives have been much less successful. Several officials, approached as they entered or left the chamber, refused to answer even simple questions, such as whether they had introduced legislation this year or even where they were from.
A typical exchange, with a representative whose name tag identified him as Wang Wenqiang, from Hebei Province, went as follows:
“Excuse me, have you made any proposals this year?”
“Not this year,” Mr. Wang replied as he strode toward the auditorium, never breaking stride.
“Have you proposed before?”
“Yes, last year.”
“What was that about?”
“People’s Livelihoods.”
“Could you be more specific?”
“There is someone waiting for me there. Sorry,” Mr. Wang said. And with that he disappeared.
Siyi Zhao contributed research from Seoul.
