China has been politically eventful in the last two weeks. A fire in Urumqi, Xinjiang sparked the nationwide white paper revolution protests; then less than a week later, former leader Jiang Zemin passed away. The communist Party made stability its major concern, kept Jiang’s funeral simple, and loosened the COVID-19 restrictions to pacify the angry demonstrators. Yet, to symbolize national unity, it still mobilized the entire country to stage a national memorial service for Jiang.
This memorial service turned out to be a mourning show, and a political mission, as Xi Jinping stated in his eulogy: “At this very moment, everywhere in China, people in the party and government organs, enterprises and public institutions, villages, schools, troops, streets and communities all over the country, the personnel of our diplomatic and consular missions and overseas offices of all kinds, our compatriots in Hong Kong, Macao and Taiwan, and overseas compatriots, all join us in paying deep tribute to the memory of Comrade Jiang Zemin.”
To make this show successful, the memorial service was not accompanied by a bank holiday as happened when Queen Elizabeth II died. Rather, the communists made it compulsory for everyone to watch the live memorial service and observe silence during work and school so that, under mutual monitoring, they could fulfill the mission of showing patriotism. It was reported that a student in a pro-communist school in Hong Kong told reporters that Jiang—who had stepped down years before she was born—was an important part of her childhood memories.
More ridiculous was that many candidates from secondary schools and universities had to stop writing their exams and stand for three minutes of silence. As expected, some teachers shed tears during pre-arranged media interviews.
Is there a reason for Hong Kong residents to mourn Jiang Zemin? Everyone has a reason to mourn for someone, no matter who he or she is. However, as people increasingly regard the Hong Kong government to be similar to that of North Korea, praising a late leader and weeping for him or her are must-haves in a memorial service as long as it is organized by the regime, no matter who the deceased is. Their emotional outcry, as similarly observed in North Korea whenever the people meet their “great leader” Kim Jong-un, is no longer a reliable indicator of true mourning.
Those who cried in front of the camera should know that Xi does not want the nation to sincerely remember Jiang. Let’s look at the timeline: Jiang died on Nov. 30, his body was cremated on Dec. 5, and only the next day was the national memorial service held. Then, on the very day of the memorial service, it was announced that PCR testing is no longer required to enter supermarkets, commercial buildings, and other public places. In other words, on the day after Jiang’s cremation, China suddenly had public health conditions that favored the mass’s observance of Jiang’s life, only his body had already been turned into ashes. This can hardly be a coincidence.
When Xi exclaimed, “Immortality to Comrade Jiang Zemin!” in his eulogy, what he meant may be his delight that Jiang had finally become history.
Hong Kong politician Frederick Fung Kin-kee said that Jiang “tolerated some opposition voices” and the China government still wished to hear different views of Hong Kongers, indicating that the “one country, two systems” idea functioned the best during Jiang’s reign. This argument is valid in light of today’s draconian administration in the ex-colony, but if we consider how the Hong Kongers really felt at that time, it was quite impossible for them to love him like Jiang’s mourners say they do today: a sense of mistrust and insecurity lingered, and the fear of communist rule prompted a massive wave of emigration, coupled by political issues such as all lawmakers being forced to “get off the through train” in 1997 and the proposed legislation of Article 23 of the Basic Law in 2003—the very year of Jiang’s retirement as state leader—triggering a march of half a million in protest.
Moreover, those who believe that Jiang was behind the success of “one country, two systems” seem to forget the communists’ claim that “one country” always comes before “two systems.” From this perspective, Jiang caused more national humiliation than glory in Hong Kong: while he restored Chinese sovereignty over Hong Kong and Macao, he confirmed that Russia would continue to own the 1.6 million square kilometers (617,763.5 square miles) of northeastern Chinese territory ceded in the Qing Dynasty through unequal treaties. Many accused him of being a national traitor who made China lose the vast territory for a second time.
Deng Xiaoping stressed the importance of “never be another Li Hongzhang” (a Qing diplomat who signed some humiliating treaties causing the loss of territory), and it is legitimate to ask whether the mourning for Jiang was akin to mourning a second Li Hongzhang.
It is unlikely that those who regularly attended the June 4 candlelight vigils will mourn Jiang, who, as an opportunistic politician, rose to power in the blood of the Tiananmen Square massacre. No wonder some suggested that if one were to observe silence for Jiang involuntarily, one might instead be thinking about Japan’s loss of the World Cup in Round 16, a country favoured by many Hong Kongers.
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