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Abstract

The second decade of the new millennium in China has witnessed official media’s high-profile endeavors to “occupy” online sphere. Existing scholarship has examined, for instance, how the government at both the central and local levels assumes an increasingly proactive role in experimenting with new modes of e-governance. However, little critical attention has been paid to the reinvention of official culture that aims at having a stronger voice online, already a dynamic space occupied by numerous players competing for user attention and market share. This article fills this gap in literature and engages in a close reading of the Leon Dai incident in 2016. A renowned Taiwanese actor and director, Leon Dai’s role in Zhao Wei’s film No Other Love was replaced on July 15, 2016 because of his alleged ideological support of Taiwanese independence. The state media, as represented by the Weibo account of the Communist Youth League of China, played a crucial role in arousing nationalistic sentiments among Internet users and mobilizing collective actions online. Drawing on discourse analysis and online ethnographic work, I argue that official media’s appropriation of fan culture and capitalization on digital populism are some of the key strategies to approach patriotic netizens. In so doing, state media sectors not only experiment with online media logic that focuses on attracting and sustaining user attention, thereby cultivating their own fan base, they also foster an alliance between the nation and its citizens.

Keywords

Digital populism “Little Pinks”nationalism official culture the Communist Youth League of China Weibo

Introduction

The second decade of the new millennium has witnessed official media’s high-profile endeavors to make inroads into the online sphere in China. As of 30 September 2017, the number of official microblogging accounts on Sina Weibo has increased from 60,064 in October 2012 to 171,000 (Renminwang, 2017; Xinlangwang, 2012). Consequently, Sina Weibo, an “event-oriented platform” that has played a prominent role in citizen activism since 2009 (Han, 2016, p. 22; Yang, 2015), constitutes an important site for the state to experiment with new modes of governance and ideological control. Existing scholarship has examined the ways in which government, at both the central and local levels, assumes an increasingly proactive role in soliciting public opinions, interacting with Internet users, and responding to popular sentiments (Balla, 2015; Esarey, 2015; Schlæger & Jiang, 2014). Researchers have also analyzed the endeavors of state media organs to build an online persona that differs from the general perception of these organizations offline (Song & Chang, 2017), as well as the state’s enforcement of regulatory measures to enhance Internet governance (Creemers, 2017). While these studies have addressed the active role that the state plays in e-governance (Noesselt, 2014), the ways in which official culture is being reinvented to boost the effectiveness of persuasion largely remain unexplored. Moreover, with a few notable exceptions (Esarey, 2015; Han, 2015), the extent to which the modification of state governance contributes to consolidating authoritarian rule has yet to be examined.

Without an adequate analysis of the crucial transition of dominant culture in China’s digital era, we will fail to understand the process through which the state media sectors “co-evolve” with commercial corporations and Internet users (Yang, 2009). This article addresses this gap in scholarship and examines the strategies that official media outlets, as represented by the Weibo account of the Communist Youth League of China (CYL) (Gongqingtuan zhongyang), adopt to enhance their visibility online. I examine these strategies in the particular context of the Leon Dai incident, which occurred amid the rising tide of nationalism across the Taiwan Strait in 2016. In this incident, Leon Dai, a renowned Taiwanese actor and director, was removed from his role in Zhao Wei’s film No Other Love (Meiyou biedeai), on 15 July 2016, because of his alleged ideological support of Taiwanese independence. During this process, the Weibo account of the CYL played a crucial role in arousing nationalistic sentiments among Internet users and mobilizing collective actions online. Drawing on content analysis and online ethnographic work, I analyze the key strategies that the CYL employs to project an authoritative voice. I argue that the CYL adopts a discursive style that is more accessible to the younger generation, thereby taking a departure from the “artificiality of the official language” (Link, 2013, p. 237). This changed rhetorical style, along with the new tactics that the CYL employs to engage its audience, largely appropriates popular culture, of which the Internet is a major component. Moreover, this reinvented strategy selectively resonates with public sentiments to rejuvenate propaganda work, and thus differs from the implementation of the top-down propaganda policies of earlier times.

In what follows, this article first analyzes new developments in state propaganda and official culture in China’s digital age, followed by a discussion of how scholarly literature on populism may yield valuable insights regarding popular nationalism in the contemporary era. Then, taking as a case study the Leon Dai incident, this article examines the role that state media, here represented by the Weibo account of the CYL, play in arousing public sentiments and mobilizing collective actions. By analyzing the posts of the CYL and the responses they generated, I argue that the Youth League’s appropriation of fan culture and capitalization on digital populism are the key strategies used to engage patriotic netizens. Then, by examining the moves that the CYL has made since the Leon Dai incident, I demonstrate how this political organization has transformed itself into a pop idol online. By these means, state media sectors not only experiment with an online media logic that focuses on attracting and sustaining user attention (Guo, 2016a), thereby cultivating their own fan base, but they also foster an alliance between the Chinese nation and its citizens, and between themselves and nonofficial actors.

Official culture and propaganda in transition

Broadly defined as embodying “the official ideology of the Chinese state” (Link, Madsen, & Pickowicz, 1989, p. 5), official culture relies heavily on propaganda to disseminate pro-state discourses, while repressing those that are less desirable (Edney, 2014, p. 21). In the aftermath of the Tiananmen protest in 1989, state propaganda faces new challenges brought forth by the decline in appeal of socialist ideologies, the flourishing of entertainment culture, and the diversification of information channels catalyzed by China’s digital revolution. To borrow Shambaugh’s words, the state now is put in a difficult situation, striving to “maintain its ideational influence effectively in society when its guiding ideology is a mish-mash of slogans that few understand or believe, and […] the institutional mechanisms for controlling and disseminating information are growing weaker over time” (Shambaugh, 2007, p. 58). In response to these challenges, the authoritarian regime endeavors to integrate “old methodology such as using entertainment as a vehicle for political thought work, with new methodology and technology such as political PR and the Internet” (Brady, 2008, p. 87). In other words, this reinvented model of propaganda endeavors to persuade the audience in an appealing manner by appropriating up-to-date entertainment culture and newer technological platforms.

Both the traditional field of cultural production and the nascent rise of the online sphere illustrate this emerging trend in propaganda work. In the field of cultural production, newer “main melody” (zhu xuanlü) works employ commercial devices to enhance the visual appeal of these cultural products while fulfilling ideological demands at the same time. Proposed in 1987 by Teng Jinxian, the then-director of the Film Bureau, the concept of the “main melody” was first applied to the movie industry and subsequently expanded to a broader scale. Recent cultural works, ranging from television dramas and films to popular music, tone down the didactic style of earlier “main melody” works, as represented by Inauguration of a State (Kaiguo dadian, 1989) and the film series Decisive Engagement (Dajuezhan, 1991–1992). Newer works take a gentler approach, often relying on the narrative to carry their message. For instance, television series about governmental officials adopt the narrative styles of Hollywood to reinforce “ideological persuasion” (Ma, 2014, pp. 523–524). Similarly, several successful “propaganda-infused blockbusters” (Cai, 2016), such as Operation Mekong (Meigonghe xingdong, 2016) and Founding of a Republic (Jianguo daye, 2009), illustrate the effectiveness of incorporating commercial elements of filmmaking to promote nationalistic sentiments. In addition, the state’s promotion of revolutionary songs also contributes to enhancing cultural nationalism for audiences (Wang, 2012). Simply put, all of these new developments in “main melody” works illustrate the state’s initiative to repackage propaganda in the form of “ideotainment,” which incorporates “entertainment-oriented” elements into the dissemination of “subtle ideological constructs and nationalistic messages” (Lagerkvist, 2010, p. 188).

In addition to producing appealing works that accord with official discourses in the realm of legacy media, the state has taken multiple measures to reinvigorate propaganda work online (Cui & Wu, 2016; Yang, 2017). Internet commentators such as the “fifty-cent army,” for instance, actively steer online discussion to promote pro-regime messages (Han, 2015; Hung, 2010). Another example of state propaganda work online is the flourishing of official microblogging accounts that are operated to build positive images of the government (Balla, 2015; Esarey, 2015; Schlæger & Jiang, 2014). The studies that address these examples attend to the formal measures by which the state endeavors to reinvent “propaganda, public opinion and social control work” (Creemers, 2017). By contrast, little critical attention has been devoted to the emerging form of soft propaganda, in particular the ways in which state media organizations begin to appropriate the offerings of popular culture to attract the Internet audience. However, this aspect deserves our critical scrutiny for two reasons. First, this recent move illustrates the Party-state’s initiatives to make inroads into commercial websites in order to make the centralized media message more accessible to the general public. In this case, the delivery method is not enforced from the top-down, nor is the information formally packaged as propaganda. Instead, the material selectively resonates with public sentiments. In so doing, this reinvented form of propaganda showcases a process of co-optation with commercial portals and Internet users. Second, the state media’s renewed strategy of adapting commercial mechanisms signals the reinvention of official culture that was earmarked, since the Mao years, by a “notoriously formalistic, ritualistic, and ideological” style (Huang, 2015, p. 420; Link, 2013). For example, the daily, 7 o’clock evening news broadcast of the China Central Television Station illustrates the rigid language style and stale content of official discourse, which often becomes the public target of mockery. Consequently, while much has been written about how “unofficial culture” appropriates official rhetoric as a form of resistance, “depoliticization,” or “repoliticization” (Lago, 1999; Link, 2013; Nordin & Richaud, 2014), we know little about how the flip side of the story works, particularly the ways in which the state media appropriate popular culture to enhance persuasive power.

This article expands the current understanding of propaganda in transition by delving into the reinvention of official discourse and the reinvigoration of “mass mobilization” online, an essential component of the propaganda mechanism (Shambaugh, 2007, p. 26). I investigate the means by which the state media, as represented by the CYL, strategically appropriate digital populism to resonate with a domestic audience. Populism, a contested concept, has inspired many scholarly debates in the field of political theory, ranging from its definition or its relationship to democracy, to the divide between the elites and the people (Moffitt, 2016; Müller, 2016). Delving into the ways in which politicians use social media to promote populism, Engesser, Ernst, Esser, and Büchel (2017) outline five dimensions of populism: “emphasizing the sovereignty of the people, advocating for the people, attacking the elite, ostracizing others, and invoking the ‘heartland’” (p. 1109). Similarly, Albertazzi and McDonnell (2008) conceptualize populism as “an ideology” that excludes “others” who are different from “us” (p. 3). More importantly, the predominance of new media technologies in everyday life highlights the role that style plays in enabling politicians to promote populism and to obtain support (Block & Negrine, 2017; Moffitt, 2016). In the context of authoritarian regimes, style is equally important in allowing activists to strategically contest discursive boundaries (Guo, 2016b; Yang & Wang, 2016). A case in point is the increasing number of instances in which digital populism has led to mass collaboration and collective actions against the wrongdoings of authorities (Tai, 2015).

Drawing on these scholarly findings, I argue that the CYL approaches digital populism through the lens of three dimensions: “people-centrism” (Tai, 2015, p. 121), “anti-elitism” (Tai, 2015, p. 121), and style. During the eruption of the Leon Dai incident, the organization selectively allied with the post-1990s and millennial generations, in the name of the “people.” The CYL has acted as the defender of the younger generation and joined them in rebelling against influential opinion leaders, thereby carrying out state-initiated campaigns against public intellectuals since around 2013. Moreover, the CYL has been quick to adopt a rhetorical style that was effective in earlier cases of citizen activism, amplifying their persuasive power. On one hand, these moves initiated by the official media organ align with traditional propaganda practices, such as emphasizing collective mobilization, while on the other hand, they signify a change in the official culture as it attempts to connect with China’s digital generation.

Situating the Leon Dai incident: cyber nationalism in 2016

Since the birth of the Chinese Internet, nationalism has constituted one of the major causes of web-based incidents (Qiu & Chen, 2011, p. 11), particularly with regard to incidents pertaining to Sino-US relations, Sino-Japan relations, and Taiwanese independence. Given that online actions and offline demonstrations often are mutually stimulating, popular nationalism has proven to be a double-edged sword for state authorities (Gries, 2004; Gries, Steiger, & Tao, 2016). Therefore, while the Chinese government capitalizes on popular nationalism for its own benefit, it is also mindful of the possibility that these incidents might threaten the stability of the regime. The series of web-based incidents in 2016, revolving around China’s relationship with Taiwan and America, demonstrate such ideological positioning, and a number of its associated idiosyncrasies. Also, the surge of nationalistic sentiment observed in 2016 showcases new characteristics that illustrate the increasingly converging domains of entertainment and politics. The Chou Tzu-yu incident, Diba Expedition, and the Leon Dai incident all demonstrate the convergence of these domains, and the resultant effect this convergence has on expressions of nationalism.

The Chou Tzu-yu incident began on 15 January 2016, when Taiwanese singer Chou Tzu-yu, a member of the South Korean pop idol group “TWICE,” made a video apology to the public for holding the flag of the Republic of China on South Korean Television in November 2015. However, the real cause of this incident was that JYP Entertainment, Chou’s employer, was perceived as being arrogant toward Chinese fans of “TWICE” (Wang, Li, & Wu, 2017). These Chinese fans reacted to the condescending behavior and began to take issue with Chou’s political stance. Since Chou’s apology video was released the day before Taiwan’s presidential election, her statement that she was “proud of being Chinese” immediately sparked outrage among the Taiwanese. Many who were previously uninterested in participating in the election voted for Tsai Ing-wen, the leader of the Democratic Progressive Party and an advocate of Taiwanese independence from China. Tsai’s election win subsequently inspired the online Diba Expedition in mainland China, in which users on Diba (Emperor Bar), a sub-forum of Baidu Tieba, organized troll-like activities. In this mass online action, on 20 January 2016, Internet users in China circumvented the Great Firewall and left tens of thousands of messages opposing Taiwanese independence on Tsai Ing-wen’s Facebook page, as well as several media websites in Taiwan, including SET News Channel, Apple Daily, and Liberation News. These netizens’ use of massive images, emojis, and playful promotions of mainland China constituted the highlight of this event.

What distinguishes the Leon Dai incident from the aforementioned cases of cyber nationalism is the active role that the state media played in online mobilization. Three months after Diba Expedition, on 25 April 2016, actress-director Zhao Wei announced the names of the leading actors in her new movie No Other Love on Weibo. Among them was Leon Dai, a renowned Taiwanese actor and director. Some Internet users suspected Dai of supporting Taiwanese independence. They also requested that Zhao Wei remove Kiko Mizuhara, a model and actress, who is said to have made derogatory comments about China. Initially, the movie studio did not respond to these requests. Upon the completion of shooting No Other Love, Zhao Wei posted a group picture with Leon Dai on 27 June 2016, inadvertently stirring up another round of controversy. On 30 June, the official Weibo account of No Other Love issued a statement that the studio would sue anyone who disseminated false information about Leon Dai. This was followed by Dai’s denial of the charges against him as a “backer of Taiwanese independence” (Tai du) on his Weibo account.

From April to June 2016, online bickering revolving around Leon Dai’s political stance occurred from time to time, but it was quite scattered. The tipping point happened when the CYL published essays on 6 July that questioned the Leon Dai and Zhao Wei’s political stances. Meanwhile, the territorial disputes between China and its neighboring countries were escalating. On 12 July, The Permanent Court of Arbitration, located at The Hague, announced the United Nations tribunal, which ruled that China’s “sovereignty claims over the South China Sea, and its aggressive attempts to enforce them” were invalid (Perlez, 2016). The Foreign Ministry of China denounced this rule, and official media outlets began a series of publicity campaigns to maintain regime legitimacy. The viral circulation of the poster “Only this can be China, and not one bit less” (Zhongguo yidian dou buneng shao), created by the People’s Daily’s Weibo account, is one example. Against this backdrop, the movie studio announced the removal of Dai from No Other Love on 15 July, just 9 days after the CYL published the initial post. This was followed by the public apologies from Zhao Wei and Leon Dai on their Weibo accounts.

Of particular significance to this 2016 series of web-based incidents is the rise of a new category that describes patriotic netizens, particularly the generation that was born after 1990, as “Little Pinks” (xiao fenhong). Originating from the literature website Jinjiang Literature City, the term “Little Pinks” was first used to refer to romance readers who also engage in discussing political issues on that site. In 2016, the term suddenly gained prominence on social media platforms and has been widely used to define young patriotic netizens (Shi, 2016). Researchers have pointed out that the performative dimension of these web-based incidents enacted by “Little Pinks” is intricately connected with fan activism (Yang, 2016; Zhang, 2016; Zhou & Miao, 2016). For instance, Guobin Yang (2016) argues that “Little Pinks” are nurtured by online communities, such as those formed around gaming and literature. Weiyu Zhang (2016) reveals that these Internet crusaders have their early roots in fan communities, where different fan groups learned to master mobilization tactics to defend their idols. Moreover, “Little Pinks” have evoked rather polarized comments, as various social groups appropriate this “gendered label” differently to fulfill their own sociopolitical agendas (Fang & Repnikova, 2017). For liberal-leaning intellectuals, “Little Pinks” represent the newer generation of online mobs (wangluo baomin) who are naive, ignorant, and brainwashed by the state (Shi, 2016; Yan, 2016). By contrast, conservatives and some official media outlets acclaimed “Little Pinks” for their courage to defend the national interest (Ni, 2016; Renminwang, 2016). Within this context, the intricate dynamics between the CYL and the “Little Pinks” during the eruption of the Leon Dai incident exemplify the state media’s move to ally with younger netizens.

The CYL in the Xi Jinping era

Founded in 1922, the CYL is a nationwide organization for youth between the ages of 14 and 28. Historically, the Youth League has played a pivotal role in recruiting youth volunteers for mass mobilization and political movements (Funnell, 1970; Pringsheim, 1962). In the contemporary era, the Youth League (Zhongguo Gongqingtuanwang, 2013) serves as an “assistance [to] and reservoir of the Chinese Communist Party.” The organization mostly provides “ideological and political training,” promotes volunteering activities, and runs legacy media outlets as well as several official websites (Li, 2016a, p. 282; Xu, 2012). More importantly, the Youth League faction, or “tuanpai,” has constituted an essential component of the “populist coalition” that competes and collaborates with the “elitist coalition” for power (Lai, 2012; Li, 2016a). Officials belonging to the “populist coalition” often come from humble backgrounds and gradually climb through the power structure. Thus, strengths of the “populist coalition” originate from these officials’ experience of working in the less developed areas, as well as their expertise “in propaganda and party organizational work” (Li, 2016a, p. 297). By contrast, the “elitist coalition” refers to those princelings who grow up in a family of high-ranking Communist Party officials. The interactions, competition, and collaboration between these two coalitions are important for the collective leadership in China, as this bifurcation demonstrates “a new dynamic of interdependence and power sharing through checks and balances in Chinese politics” (Li, 2016a, p. 255).

The factional struggles between these two coalitions continue on as China enters the Xi Jinping era. Some of the notable examples are the purge of powerful tuanpai leaders, and the Communist Party’s decision to enforce an overhaul of the Youth League in 2016. This major reorganization is designed to “shrink the Youth League’s central leadership, put it under firmer party control and return it to its grass roots to try to win over the country’s young people” (Buckley, 2016). Then, in 2017, President Xi Jinping announced measures to reform the China Youth University of Political Studies, an institution co-managed by the Ministry of Education and the Youth League, to reinforce political training “to provide talent support for the Party’s work on youth” (Xinhuawang, 2017). While these moves may be interpreted as Xi’s endeavors to consolidate power, scholars of elite politics argue that the fundamentals of the “populist coalition” are not affected, given its unprecedentedly high representation on the Central Committee (Li, 2016a; Payette, 2016). Against this backdrop, the Youth League’s actions during the Leon Dai incident could be read as the organization’s experimental endeavor to win popular support and thereby sustain its political legitimacy.

To begin, the launching of the CYL’s Weibo account reflects the larger trend of enhancing ideological control in all aspects since President Xi took office. According to Suisheng Zhao, the ideological campaign that Xi launched is unprecedented in the post-Mao era: “Xi’s ideology is a mixture of communism, nationalism, and Leninism that is meant to strengthen and discipline the CCP, reinforce its grip on power, maintain political stability, and […] achieve the ‘China Dream’ of national rejuvenation” (Zhao, 2016, p. 83). Relatedly, the digital media sphere constitutes the new battlefield for state media sectors to conquer (Zhou, 2017), as exemplified by the newly formed Central Leading Group for Cyberspace Affairs in 2014. Nevertheless, by this time, China’s new media scene has already become far more sophisticated than it was 20 years prior. Multifarious players—ranging from dotcom corporations and ambitious individuals, to various content providers in the realms of gaming, literature, discussion forums, and video streaming—engage in an unprecedented level of fierce competition for user attention and market share. Therefore, it comes as no surprise that the CYL’s Weibo account, which was launched on December 27, 2013, inspired rather mediocre responses. Between 2013 and 2015, the CYL posted on average 10–20 entries per day. Most of these posts reposted what was already made available by official media outlets. The topics ranged from civic issues and patriotic education, to inspirational stories and life tips. On average, each CYL post generated hundreds of comments at most, and was only shared around a hundred times. Considering the lukewarm response that the CYL had received, it is remarkable that the CYL’s followers on Weibo, together with followers of its local branches “Chengdu Gongqingtuan” and “Gongqing Hunan,” miraculously increased by 29.6 million in 2016 (Renminwang, 2016). As of December 18, 2017, the CYL has more than 528 million followers, while in December, 2013, the CYL only had 4000 followers (Hulianwangfenxishalong, 2017). The increased popularity of the CYL is attributed to its gradual mastery of online media logic to attract user attention, cultivate a fan base, and create sensation. In so adapting, the CYL has not only changed rhetorical styles and networking strategies to appropriate nationalistic sentiments among the younger generation of Internet users; it has also transformed itself into an organization to be idolized.

The CYL prior to the Leon Dai incident

The CYL’s Weibo account first received public attention for the organization’s involvement with two online disputes in 2015, revolving around the issues of communism and communist heroes. On 17 April 2015, the CYL criticized Jiaduobao, a herbal tea company, because it joked about the communist martyr Qiu Shaoyun to publicize its product. A war hero acclaimed by the Chinese government, Qiu died in the Korean War when he stayed motionless during a fire to avoid revealing the position of his fellow soldiers. In 2013, Sun Jie, known as “Workbook” (Zuoyeben) on Weibo, mocked Qiu as “one-side grilled meat” to his more than six million followers. Jiaduobao responded to this post on 16 April 2015, and invited Sun to open up a barbecue shop, offering 100,000 cans of free herbal tea in support. The next day, the CYL published an online survey to solicit the opinions of netizens about whether Jiaduobao should apologize to the public for this action. The CYL’s post generated 9157 comments, and was shared 9388 times. Although the number of comments generated by this post was unprecedented, the majority of the posters nevertheless sided with Jiaduobao and Zuoyeben. Another incident occurred on 21 September 2015, when the CYL published a message that stated “[we should] unwaveringly uphold the banner of communism” (lizhiqizhuang de gaoyang gongchanzhuyi qizhi). Ren Zhiqiang, an influential opinion leader, responded: “I was fooled by this slogan for over ten years!” The CYL immediately engaged in several rounds of bickering with Ren. As in the case of Jiaduobao, the formalistic style of the CYL’s posts, which accorded with political indoctrination campaigns, did not attract a great Internet audience, while Ren Zhiqiang received far more support for his personalized narrative style and well-established fan base (Botongbiji, 2017).

The role of the CYL in these two incidents contrasts strikingly with the position that the CYL took during the Diba Expedition, and this transformation showcases the experimental nature of state media online. The series of posts that the CYL published during the Diba Expedition illustrate how the state media quickly learned to adopt the popular tactics prevalent in citizen activism to get their message across (Yang, 2009). These tactics include making use of cultural references and word play. One example was the CYL’s post on 16 January 2016, 4 days before the Diba Expedition, that explained the function of a traditional Chinese medicinal herb, Angelica sinensis (danggui). “Danggui” may also be interpreted as “it is time to return,” and below the text of the post was an image of Angelica sinensis that looked similar to the shape of Taiwan. This second interpretation of “danggui” conveyed the CYL’s message that Taiwan should return. Two days later, on 18 January, the CYL published another post that stated, “The seventh doll is only temporarily mesmerized by the monsters. He is always your compatriot.” This line refers to a popular animation series titled Calabash Brothers (Hulu xiongdi, 1986) and defines the relationship between Taiwan and mainland China as brotherhood. Then, on the morning of 20 January, the CYL published images of gourmet food, and stated that “even if it is just Takoyaki, we would never allow it to be separated from our great Chinese cuisine!” This post playfully implied the CYL’s objection to Taiwanese independence. Subsequently, 10 minutes before the start of the Diba Expedition, the CYL published a famous poem by Mao, titled “Long March” (Qilü Changzheng). Next to the poem was an image showing the People’s Liberation Army crossing the Yangtze River and conquering Nanjing, the capital of the Republic of China. Since the “zheng” in “Long March” is the same character as the “zheng” in the Diba Expedition, this post has widely been read as the CYL’s implied support of patriotic netizens. Given the ambivalent stance state authorities officially hold on cyber nationalism (Han, in press), the CYL’s posts focused on implying its support of netizens by innovatively appropriating the offerings of Internet culture.

These early examples illustrate how the CYL gradually changed its rhetorical style and narrative strategies to better approach the Internet audience, thereby departing from the rigidity of official rhetoric. This strategy proved to be effective, as the number of followers of the CYL increased by 100,000 after the Diba Expedition (Duiershuangsheng, 2016). Indeed, the CYL even earned a nickname, “tuantuan,” from Internet users, highlighting the sense of intimacy that had arisen between an official youth organization and the younger generation. As we will see, these effective communication measures served to prepare the CYL to play a more active role during the Leon Dai incident.

The Leon Dai incident: “accidental” censorship, online uproar

The CYL’s direct involvement with the Leon Dai incident began on 6 July, when it reposted an essay written by Zhao Liangchen, titled “Zhao Wei, Leon Dai, and No Other Love are widely boycotted and denounced by netizens” (Zhao Wei, Dai Liren ji Meiyou biedeai weishenme zao wangyou pubian qianze dizhi). The CYL rephrased the title as “One article tells you: Why Zhao Wei, Leon Dai, and No Other Love are widely boycotted and denounced by netizens” (Yipian wen gaosu ni: Zhao Wei, Dai Liren ji Meiyou biedeai weishenme zao wangyou pubian qianze dizhi), to make the essay more enticing to readers. Zhao’s essay first summarized the controversy No Other Love had provoked since April, and cited netizens’ comments to demonstrate that Leon Dai’s political stance was questionable. Then, the essay listed 10 points to imply that Leon Dai supported Taiwanese independence. Photos, news reports, interviews, and screenshots of online comments were used to support each point. In particular, Dai’s involvement in the Sunflower Movement in Taiwan, his support of the Umbrella Movement in Hong Kong, and his comments on the performance of the Falun Gong group made up the majority of the evidence against him. More importantly, the essay repeatedly quoted the opinions of “the majority of netizens” (guangda wangyou) to demonstrate strength in numbers. For instance, a frequently repeated statement was that “commentaries that win over 500 likes all are those that question, resist against, and condemn” Leon Dai, Zhao Wei, and Guan Hu (the director who extended support to Leon Dai). At the end, in a statement directed at Zhao Wei, the author suggested that “It is OK to make a mistake, but it is important to realize the mistake and fix it. Be mindful about the mistake you have made when you were young and the words you said then.” This line referred to an incident in 2001, when Zhao Wei had to make multiple public apologies for wearing a dress that looked like a Japanese military flag. This incident led Zhao to hit a roadblock in her career, and it took quite a few years for her to become popular again.

The style of this post resembles many online disputes that make full use of one-liners and visual sources to demonstrate a simplistic point that may easily arouse public sentiment. Even more dramatically, Sina removed the post at 17:55 p.m., 10 minutes after it first appeared on the CYL’s Weibo. After the CYL publicized this post removal, Sina soon responded that the post deletion was an “accident.” Because the post contained such sensitive words as “Falong Gong,” a religious group in exile, it was automatically filtered and censored by the system.¹ Although the post was recovered at 18:15 p.m., 20 minutes after its removal, the CYL’s self-positioning as a victim of censorship, implemented by a commercial website, immediately created a nationwide sensation. Furthermore, the reactions of several of the CYL’s allies amplified the effect caused by the “accidental” censorship. For instance, the Weibo account of Ziguangge (The Hall of Purple Light), the core journal of the Chinese Communist Party, shared the original post and added a line, “[I am doing this] in case your post is deleted again.” On 14 July, the official Weibo account of People’s Daily reposted the commentary by China National Defense News, which stated that Zhao Wei’s deeds “have challenged the baseline of the masses” (tiaozhan minzhong dixian). Thus, the networked effects activated by the allies of the CYL, including its local branches, other official mouthpieces, and patriotic netizens, enhanced the visibility of official media as represented by the CYL.

Two days after the announcement of the South China Sea Verdict, on 14 July, the CYL published an original post titled “Scholarly observations: The schizophrenia of some mainstream media under the manipulation of capital” (Xueshu guancha: Shou ziben kongzhi, bufen zhuliu meiti renge fenlie). This post started with a statement on the changing connotation of “people” in the age of consumerism (Li, 2016b):

Against the backdrop of media commercialization and industrialization, “people” become media consumers who are exploited by the few to generate big profits. Media are manipulated by capitalistic corporations to self-promote and to maintain their own interests. Under the manipulation of capital, news reports entertain the audience in order to create high ratings and distribution, instead of satisfying the real needs of the people.

The post further argued that capitalist operation, as represented by all kinds of elites and commercial corporations, played a vital role in “manipulating” people’s opinions. Evoking socialist rhetoric about the evils of “capitalism,” the CYL made the “winners” of the capitalist economy, such as powerful corporations like Sina and individuals like Ma Yun and Zhao Wei, the target of the public. The CYL framed these entrepreneurs as “evil capitalists” who conspire with commercial sites like Sina to remove unfavorable posts and manipulate public opinion.

This simplistic rationale immediately resonated with the disadvantaged groups who already felt indignant about the expanding gap between the rich and the poor in contemporary society. Additionally, in line with the state-sponsored attempts to blemish public intellectuals, the post framed public opinion leaders as those “elites” who “control media resources and discursive power.” According to the post, these elites act as the spokespeople of “capital” and possess a greater degree of mobilizing power than official media outlets. Moreover, because of the infiltration of capital into official media organizations, and into their websites and Weibo accounts, those media organizations that advocate “socialism with Chinese characteristics” are marginalized in the microblogosphere. Consequently, “different voices are repressed” (Li, 2016b). Thus, in siding with the “people,” a loaded term that has roots in socialist legacies, the CYL positioned itself as a victim of “capital.” By setting up a binary rhetoric between us, the people, versus them, the “elites” and “capitalists,” the CYL echoed the public indignation about the increasing gap between the rich and poor in contemporary society. In the comments section of the post, slogans such as “capital controls public opinions,” “capital monopolizes the state,” and “capital manipulates politics” were frequently quoted and paraphrased. Since the publication of this post, the public target has shifted from Leon Dai and his political stance to Zhao Wei and Ma Yun, the capitalists who are seen as “public enemies” and “traitors” of China. By contrast, the CYL is perceived as the “hero” who defended the national interest for Chinese citizens. In this regard, the populist stance taken by the CYL, reinforced by the rhetoric revolving around class, capital, and media, effectively steered public discussion.

Following the apologies of Zhao Wei and Leon Dai, and the studio’s decision to remove Dai from No Other Love, the nationalistic fervor seemed to spin out of control, to the extent that protestors took to the streets to boycott foreign brands. In line with Party-mouthpiece Xinhua News Agency’s statement that “upsetting oneself is not patriotism” (zheteng ziji bushi aiguo), the CYL posted two essays discussing patriotic behavior, one on 16 July and the other on 20 July (Lei, 2016a, 2016b). In both essays, the CYL acted as the spokesperson of the younger generations, in particular the post-1990s generation and the millennial generation who were the major participants in these web-based incidents. The CYL argued that the use of memes (biaoqing bao) characterized the “ritual of patriotism” (aiguo yishi) for the younger generation. According to the CYL, this ritual was “serious [in terms of goals] yet frivolous [in terms of style]” (yansu er buzhuangzhong), and those who adopted this ritual differed from the extremists who took to the streets and were only worried that the “world is not chaotic enough.” In addition, the CYL sided with the younger generation in calling those born in the 1950s and 1960s “weird uncles” (guai shushu), an Internet-based slang term, and went on to categorize two types of “weird uncles.” The first type consisted of ordinary Internet users who were inconsistent in terms of speech and actions. By comparing these individuals’ Weibo posts published before and after the South China Sea verdict, the CYL concluded that those who were discontent with their quality of life and the existing system would call for extremist actions. By contrast, the second type of “weird uncles” comprised well-known cultural celebrities who were critical of patriotic netizens, as represented by Zhang Ming, Lian Yue, and Wuyue Sanren. In the 16 July essay, the CYL quoted the posts of Lian Yue and Zhang Ming:

Only two kinds of people talk about patriotism. The first kind are clever liars, usually politicians; the second kind are fools who get excited easily. These two kinds are a perfect match: the former is in charge of harvesting the fruits, and the latter is responsible for participating in all events. I wish them a happy marriage for hundreds of years. (Lian Yue)

In this land, loving one’s country is often indivisible from labeling traitors. Assuming there are no apparent traitors, you still have to identify some. You love your country, but you do not love the people living in the country. You randomly label anyone a “traitor” and impose violence on them in terms of language and actions. For some people, the nicest thing about loving one’s country is to impose violence on one’s compatriots. And these people are only capable of imposing violence on one’s countrymen. (Zhang Ming)

By selecting the posts of these well-known critics as public targets, the CYL spoke on behalf of the younger generation: “Could you [Lian Yue] not impose such silly labels on us? If you have to impose one, we are the ‘gang of memes’ (biaoqingbao dang), OK?” The CYL’s reply to Zhang Ming demonstrated a similar logic: “Teacher, we love our country, but we do not identify traitors. It is your generation’s hobby to identify traitors. What we really love is ‘memes’, understand?” By sarcastically addressing well-established intellectuals as “teachers” and “your generation,” referring to the generation that grew up during the Cultural Revolution, the CYL set up a binary opposition between “you” and “us”—the old, critical intellectuals versus young patriotic netizens. According to the CYL, those in the “you” category seemed to possess authority and yet were hypocritical in essence, in that they distorted the intention of patriotic netizens. For the younger generation, playing with memes was of the utmost importance; thereby this generation differed significantly from the Red Guard generation that took action on the streets. Noticeably, in this post, the CYL employed two sets of discursive systems to enhance their persuasive appeal. The first discursive system appropriated the socialist rhetoric of “people,” “capital,” and class. As my analysis of the post “Scholarly observations” demonstrates, the CYL employed this oft-used style of official rhetoric to criticize the collaboration between capitalist corporations and the media, including some official media outlets. By contrast, the second discursive system was informal and largely drew on Internet-based slang terms, as exemplified by the CYL’s posts on patriotism. In this respect, the CYL defended the “Little Pinks” and attacked public intellectuals who were critical of patriotic netizens. The juxtaposition of these two discursive systems illustrates a change in official rhetoric that adopts a more personalized approach.

The wrap-up essay, published on 20 July 2016, and titled “The right way to love one’s country” (Guanyu aiguo de zhengque dakai fangshi), exemplifies the CYL’s continuous experiment to incorporate popular discourse into the interpretation of patriotism (Jinjidexiongbaba, 2016). In this post, the CYL used popular slang terms such as “rich second generation” (fu erdai) and “the master of study” (xue ba) to interpret stories of well-known patriotic figures like Fang Zhimin and Qian Xuesen. Then the essay listed contemporary figures, ranging from patriotic cartoonists to ordinary, hard-working youth, in order to illustrate various ways of loving one’s country. The article concluded with a statement: “There are so many patriots in this country. There are so many proper ways of loving one’s country. Why would you have to believe in the silliest one?” This rhetorical question reiterated the CYL’s earlier assertion that while playing with memes is a perfect example of patriotism, substantial political actions offline are “silly” and that embracing a dedicated work ethic would be a more productive way to love one’s country.

In summary, between 6 July and 20 July, the eruption of the Leon Dai incident—due in large part to the active role of the CYL—led to a surge of nationalistic sentiments that were soon transferred to offline actions and subsequently cooled down by the state. The Leon Dai incident speaks volumes about the intertwined relationship between entertainment and politics, as well as the increasingly blurred boundary between playfulness and seriousness in collective actions. If patriotic netizens demonstrate their devotion to “serious play” in these incidents by creatively appropriating Internet memes and paraphrasing official ideologies, then the strategies adopted by the CYL illustrate a case of “playful seriousness” (Guo, 2016b), where official media outlets try hard to sustain the legitimacy of the regime, and to test its mobilization power, in an approachable manner.

The making of an idol: the Leon Dai incident and beyond

During the eruption of the Leon Dai incident, supporters of the CYL claimed many times that “there were no idols in the face of the nation” (guojia mianqian wu ouxiang). Interestingly, when patriotic netizens claimed that their idols were incomparable to the significance of the nation, the nation was being turned into the most powerful idol (Yang, 2016; Zhang, 2016).

Moreover, not only has the CYL played an indispensible role in catalyzing this process of idol-making, but the organization itself has also been transformed into another idol. The CYL’s capitalization on digital populism and popular culture has played a prominent role during this process. As has been discussed earlier, the organization deliberately allied with the post-1990s and millennial generations, in the name of the “people.” Acting as the defender of “Little Pinks,” the CYL joined them in rebelling against public opinion leaders, and incorporated popular rhetoric into the paraphrasing of official discourses. Admittedly, in the comments section, posters’ opinions diverged greatly, ranging from support of the CYL or support of Leon Dai and Zhao Wei, to questioning of the CYL’s possible manipulation. Nevertheless, the majority of posters identified with the rationale of the CYL and soon marginalized any dissenting voices. In this way, the CYL’s adoption of populist strategies and an anti-elitist stance quickly took root among young netizens.

Since the Leon Dai incident, the CYL adopts more aggressive measures to cultivate the organization’s fan base, and continues to employ the rhetorical style and networking strategies that have proved effective. Playing on the last character of the organization’s name, “tuan” (league), the CYL calls its followers “groupies” (tuanzi men) and greets them on a daily basis. The CYL also incorporates a wide range of activities in its interactions with Internet users, including encouraging youth to take selfies with the CYL’s badge, organizing youth festivals online, and sending out red packages. In addition, the CYL has begun to ally with grassroots actors to further promote patriotism. Following the popularity of the patriotic animation series Hare Year Affair (Nanian natu naxie shier), the CYL collaborated with the production crew to distribute mascots called “Bunny of the League “ (tuantu) to its members. To resonate with the well-received nationalist narratives in Hare Year Affair, the CYL released two short videos titled “TG is Warm” (TG nuannuan de) and “TG is Sweet” (TG youdian tian) to commemorate the anniversary of the Chinese Communist Party and of the Youth League. TG, an abbreviation of “Tugong,” is a popular reference to the Communist Party, which alludes to its rural origin. Both videos juxtapose the rhythms of popular songs with historical footage, pictures, and snippets of official rhetoric. The fact that the CYL has adopted the popular notion of TG and used popular songs to disseminate propaganda messages illustrates its change in rhetorical style and networking strategies, designed to echo public sentiments.

Moving beyond the Weibo sphere, the CYL has adopted similar strategies to further enhance its visibility online. In December 2016 and January 2017, the CYL made inroads into two of the most popular websites in China: Zhihu, a question-and-answer website that has attracted 17 million registered users, and Bilibili, an interactive video-sharing site. Upon its high-profile launch of accounts on these sites, the CYL made the following statement: “Tuantuan will make its way to meet good Chinese youth, no matter how far away we are from each other.” The wording here again illustrates the CYL’s initiative to connect with the younger generation, instead of waiting to be approached by them. During this process, the CYL has turned itself into an idol by cultivating and sustaining its fan base, in order to disseminate pro-state messages in a more approachable manner.

Conclusion

The year 2016 has witnessed the dominance of populist political actors across the globe, ranging from the United States to Philippines to European countries (Bulut & Yörük, 2017; Curato, 2017; McDevitt, 2017). Despite these politicians’ disparate ideological stances, they nevertheless unanimously appropriate populism as “a strategy to obtain and retain power” (McCoy, 2017; Naím, 2017). Political leaders of the left-wing and right-wing in the United Kingdom, for instance, appeal to the public by deploying a populist communicative style that promotes nationalism and “religious and cultural intolerance” (Block & Negrine, 2017, p. 191). If adopting of a populist stance proves vital for politicians to gain mass support, then the CYL capitalizes on digital populism to ally with Internet users and thereby responds to the urgency of rejuvenating propaganda work. In this respect, an examination of the Leon Dai incident contributes to a broader understanding of how digital populism is appropriated under its particular sociopolitical circumstances.

By addressing the CYL’s role in mobilizing patriotic netizens amid the rising tide of nationalism in 2016, this article reveals the ways in which official media organs experiment with the operational logic of online media. The CYL’s appropriation of digital populism and popular culture, exemplified by its alliance with patriotic netizens, its defamation of cultural elites, and its change in rhetorical style, constitutes the organization’s main strategy for online mobilization. Moreover, the CYL’s strategies are subject to constant readjustment. Around the time of the Diba Expedition, the CYL used word play, such as metaphors and homophones, to imply its support of patriotic netizens. During the Leon Dai incident, the CYL was more outspoken about its political stance, and juxtaposed two discursive systems to legitimize its cause: an official discursive system that drew on the old rhetoric of capitalism, class, and socialism, and a playful linguistic system that was largely based on Internet culture. While the former accorded with the rigidity and seriousness of official discourses, the latter represented a deliberate move to cater to the younger generation of Internet users. Consequently, the CYL’s symbolic “victory” has inspired the organization to make further inroads into the online sphere.

In conclusion, examining the process by which the CYL transformed itself into an idol not only enriches the current understanding of how official microblogging accounts should be conceptualized as a new form of state propaganda (Esarey, 2015, p. 71), it also addresses the scholarly proposition to investigate how “variations of official propaganda rhetoric” are “embedded in the popular media texts” (Cai, 2016, p. 8). Seen in this light, the strategies adopted by the CYL showcase the crucial transition of an official culture that reinvents its language and sociality to resonate with popular sentiments. Thus, an investigation of the Leon Dai incident not only furthers the scholarly understanding of digital populism in the Chinese context, it also reveals the ways in which state-run media organizations are reinventing modes of propaganda via digital media.

Footnotes

1.

There has also been speculation that the removal of this post was not “accidental.” Some China observers argue that the central leadership disagreed with how the Communist Youth League of China (CYL) handled this matter, and ordered the post to be removed. However, the CYL failed to understand the message from the top leadership and made a fuss about the deletion of the post (Focus dialogue, 2016). Since this kind of speculation is difficult to verify unless reliable insider information is provided, this article focuses on analyzing the discourses that are visible in the public domain.

Author biography

Shaohua Guo is an Assistant Professor of Chinese in the Department of Asian Languages and Literatures at Carleton College. Her research interests include cultural studies of new media, visual culture, and literary studies. Her work has appeared in Modern Chinese Literature and Culture; Media, Culture & Society; Journal of Contemporary China; Chinese Literature Today; and International Journal of Cultural Studies, among others.

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(2017, February 26). Tuanzhongyang xinmeiti: Tamen rentong le “tuantuan,” jiuhui gengjia rentong dang [New media sector of the Communist Youth League: If they identify with the youth league, they will resonate with party more]. Zhongguo Xinwen Zhoukan/China Newsweek. Retrieved from https://weibo.com/ttarticle/p/show?id=2309404079459207637212

“Occupying” the Internet: State media and the reinvention of official culture online

Abstract

Keywords

Introduction

Official culture and propaganda in transition

Situating the Leon Dai incident: cyber nationalism in 2016

The CYL in the Xi Jinping era

The CYL prior to the Leon Dai incident

The Leon Dai incident: “accidental” censorship, online uproar

The making of an idol: the Leon Dai incident and beyond

Conclusion

Footnotes

1.

Author biography

References