【中文标题】中国的阶级战争
【原文标题】Class Warfare In China
【登载媒体】新闻周刊
【原文作者】Melinda Liu
【原文链接】http://www.newsweek.com/2010/07/29/class-warfare-in-china.html
当《智族》把它的中文杂志从报摊上撤下的时候，并不是因为遭遇了新闻审查，而是因为它不想激怒中国的富人阶层。
中文版《智族》被突然下架。
其实不应当把这个事件归类为中国审查制度的最新案例。中文版《智族》在本月初上市销售仅1天之后，就突然被全部下架。原因显然是其中一篇文章，详细记叙了一群20多岁的年轻人过分奢侈、豪华的饮食和生活。他们都是超级跑车俱乐部的会员，沉迷于风火轮跑车和时髦的服饰，他们的父亲们有大把的现金供他们挥霍。官方的消息是，这期杂志被收回是因为故事背后的记者录制并披露了一些对俱乐部成员采访过程中的原话，而这些东西本不应当记录在案的。这引发了有权势的俱乐部主席的怒气，据说他威胁要起诉《智族》。
但是真正原因或许不具有官方报道的那种戏剧性色彩，更不是众多人叫嚣的政府审查制度。实际上，《智族》的出版方主动把杂志撤下了。在一个贫富矛盾不断加剧的国家，杂志中描绘出一副不招人喜欢的、批判性的特权阶级嘴脸，而这个阶层的人可以轻松地集结政府和执政党的力量来保卫自己的福祉。
在西方，这个故事会演化成一个固定模式的法庭对峙情形。诽谤案实际上就是有钱、有势、有关系的人威胁那些讨厌的、爱揭短的狗仔队媒体，没错吧？但是在中国不是这样。首先，根本没有真正独立的媒体去追究富裕和权力阶层的责任。其次，受无时无刻不警惕、敏感的官方审查所限，所有传统的报道都被国家级、省级和地方级的政府机构所监察和控制。而且，最有影响力的新闻机构——比如共产党的喉舌《人民日报》和政府运营的中央电视台——首要的作用是宣传。《智族》并不是按这种模式运作，但是问题在于，对很多中国人来说，媒体和政府通常是一体的。
因此，诽谤其实是个比较复杂的问题。很多草根阶层想要起诉新闻机构，比如为了避免失实报道给自己造成的经济损失和虚担的罪名，但是纷纷被当局压制，转而采取庭外和解的方式，（诽谤法认定散布虚构或捏造的事实为有罪，就像世界上其它地方一样，该法律的执行并不公平。）甚至他们会发现法庭干脆不受理。(驾驭中国的司法系统是另一大难题，这就是为什么像现在在狱中的山东盲人活动家、被称作“赤脚”律师的陈光诚的自学农民律师越来越多的原因。)
（译者注：有关陈光诚的介绍，可参照此链接：http://tieba.baidu.com/f?kz=196630390）
但是，现在普通老百姓有时会找到一些愿意受理他们的诽谤案的法庭，因为一些法庭在逐渐独立于政府做出判决，他们通常在这里会赢得官司。这意味着，与传统的观念不同，没有党内和政府关系的普通居民可以用法庭作为武器去挑战当局。《哈佛国际法律杂志》曾经援引一个案例，农民宋殿文在2000年起诉《黑龙江日报》——黑龙江省党委的官方报纸，原因是该报报道宋在一次农村地区的骚乱中杀死了两个人。宋最终赢得了官司，得到了大约430美元作为精神补偿。这也是一种类型的诽谤案例。
我们会更经常遇到另一种类型的案子，就是当地政府官员、党内干部或者与官方有关系的有钱人因其人格被诽谤而起诉。如果《智族》事件被诉诸法庭，就可以被算作这种类型的案件。但是，这种案子不仅仅是单纯的有钱有势一方与讨厌的狗仔队媒体之间的对峙，而且，根据《哈佛国际法律杂志》中的描述，“法庭作为一个当地的执法机关，与中央作对，对媒体进行限制和报复，并封锁中央（政府）的监控。”
换句话说，如果当地干部提起诽谤诉讼，阴谋破坏中央政府的监控，那么记者和中央政府官员对当地政府以及他们有钱的赞助人的恶行进行遏制或者曝光的企图，有可能被当地法庭所阻止。一个标志性的案例出自安徽省党委秘书张西德，他曾经组织实施了一次针对农民抗议非法税费和强迫流产的野蛮镇压。两名记者陈桂棣和吴春桃发表了一篇针对此事的报道，他们写的一本书《中国农民调查》在国际上赢得了赞誉。张在2004年起诉他们诽谤自己的名誉，而审理此案的法官是张的儿子。
在法院的交叉质询过程中，张和他的爪牙甚至当众吹嘘自己的非法勾当，这让中央政府相当尴尬。北京面临一个两难选择。试图向国际评论界人士解释张的胜利会是件棘手的事，但是当地政府和党组织明显在偏袒他。如果他输掉官司，他的镇压行为必然会给中国的国际形象抹黑，证据明确地摆在那里，基层党组织是实施这些暴行的人。
法庭一直在推迟此案的判决，两位记者拒绝以庭外和解的方式承认败诉。最终，中央政府把宝押在出版方——人民文学出版社，据《南华早报》报道，它在2006年秘密命令出版社向张支付了大约7000美元。闻讯后，两位记者非常“震惊”，并且异常愤怒，因为这表示他们输掉了官司。他们的书目前在大陆依然被禁，而张则拿着全额养老金退休了。案子在法庭上依然没有结论，但是张无疑取得了全面胜利。而输掉的一方是记者的出版社、中央政府（必定是丢脸的结果，无论判决如何），以及最重要的法律的权威。
原文：
When GQ pulled its Chinese-language magazine from newsstands, it wasn’t because of censorship. It just didn’t want to anger rich Chinese.
Chinese-language GQ was yanked off the stand
It wasn’t easy to cast this incident as yet another case of Chinese censorship. A day after it went on sale early this month, the July edition of the Chinese-language GQ was abruptly yanked from newsstands, apparently due to an article chronicling the pampered and hypermaterialistic lives of a bunch of rich 20-somethings; they belonged to the Super Car Club, obsessed over hot wheels and trendy clothes, and had fathers with tons of cash. Officially, the issue was recalled because the reporter behind the story allegedly taped and published quotes from interviews with club members that were supposed to be off the record, drawing ire from the club’s powerful president, who reportedly threatened a lawsuit.
But the real reason probably wasn’t a reporting snafu or even outright government censorship. In fact, GQ’s publisher voluntarily yanked the magazine because, in a country increasingly riven by frictions between rich and poor, it had painted an unflattering and critical portrait of the privileged elite, and that is a group with no problem marshaling the full power of the government and the ruling party in its own defense.
In the West, the subjects of the story would have known what to do in court. Defamation of character cases are how people with wealth, power, and connections curtail and threaten the pesky, whistle-blowing, paparazzi-riddled press, right? But in China, it’s different. For one thing, there’s no such thing as a genuinely independent press that holds the wealthy and powerful to account. In addition to being subjected to ever-vigilant official censors, all traditional reporting is supervised or controlled by government entities at the national, provincial, or local levels. Moreover, the most powerful news organizations—such as the Communist Party mouthpiece People’s Daily, or state-run CCTV—are propaganda organs first and foremost. GQ may not work this way, but the point is that, to many Chinese, the press often is the government.
As a result, defamation is a little more complicated. Many grassroots citizens who hope to sue news organizations—for example, to avoid business losses or criminal charges based on what was written about them—are heavily pressured by authorities to settle out of court. (The defamation law, which criminalizes false or malicious speech, like similar laws elsewhere, is unevenly enforced.) Or they discover that courts simply refuse to accept their cases. (Navigating the Chinese court system is another obstacle, which is why self-educated peasant lawyers, such as the blind Shandong activist and so-called barefoot lawyer Chen Guangcheng, now in prison, are on the rise.)
Yet ordinary folks sometimes do find a court to accept their defamation cases, as some courts increasingly try to assert their autonomy from government, and then they often win. That means, contrary to the conventional wisdom, average citizens without party or government connections can use courts to challenge state authority. One example, cited in the Harvard International Law Journal, is that of farmer Song Dianwen who sued the Heilongjiang Daily—the official paper of the Communist Party in Heilongjiang province—in 2000 for defamation after it reported that Song had killed two people during an eruption of rural unrest. Song won the case, and received about $430 in emotional damages. This is one type of defamation litigation.
Much more familiar are cases that fall into a second category, in which local government officials, party cadres, or wealthy Chinese with official connections sue for libel or defamation of character. If it goes to court, the GQ case could fall in this category. But these cases aren’t just contests pitting the rich and powerful against feisty, muck-raking media. Rather, in these cases “courts serve as state institutions at the local, as opposed to central, level to restrict and retaliate against the media and to block central [government] oversight,” as the Harvard International Law Journal put it.
In other words, reporters and central government officials attempting to rein in or expose errant local authorities or their wealthy patrons can be blocked by courts from doing so, if the local cadres lodge defamation suits that sabotage such central government oversight. An iconic case is that of Zhang Xide, a local party secretary in Anhui province who presided over a violent crackdown on farmers protesting illegal taxes and forced abortions. Two journalists, Chen Guidi and Wu Chuntao, published a bestselling exposé that mentioned the incident; their book, An Investigation Into China’s Peasants, won international acclaim. Zhang sued them for defamation in August 2004—in a court where his son sat as a judge.
On cross-examination, Zhang and his local cohorts even bragged about their illegal tactics, which embarrassed the central government very badly. Here, Beijing faced a dilemma. It would’ve been awkward to try to explain any victory by Zhang to international critics. Yet local government and party sentiment clearly favored him, and if he lost, his crackdown would have blackened China’s international image anyway, serving as proof that violence and thuggery are practiced by grassroots apparatchiks.
As the court procrastinated on its verdict, the authors refused to concede defeat by settling out of court. Ultimately, central government authorities turned to the book’s publisher, the People’s Literature Publishing House, and secretly ordered it to pay some $7,000 to Zhang in 2006, according to the South China Morning Post. The authors were “shocked” to hear of the arrangement, and outraged because it suggested that they’d lost the case. Their book remains banned on the mainland, while Zhang retired with a full pension. The court case itself may have been inconclusive, but Zhang came out the overall winner. On the losing side were the journalists’ publishing house, the central government (which would’ve looked bad regardless of the verdict), and above all the rule of law itself. |
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发表于 2010-8-16 16:38
