The Goebbelsian Confucius

How China Is Invading Western Universities With Communist Propaganda
By Benedict Rogers 

Fifteen years ago, I travelled to Qufu, the birthplace of China’s most famous philosopher, Confucius, who lived from 551-479 BC. 

I had lived in and travelled around China, including Hong Kong, for much of the previous decade and wanted to learn more about the source of so much of Chinese culture’s ancient wisdom before returning to Britain.
I had been given a copy of The Analects of Confucius, a collection of his thoughts, by a Chinese friend. 

I smiled when I read that “while his parents are alive, the son should not go abroad to a great distance. If he does go on a long journey, he must tell his parents the definite place he is going to.” 

I was 18 when I first went to China, to spend six months teaching English in Qingdao before going to university. 

Confucius would be relieved to know that at least my parents knew.
“Neglect of moral culture, disregard for learning, reluctance to stand forward before a just cause, and failure in correcting what is wrong -- these are the things which are troubling me,” Confucius said. And today, they are troubling me too. 

In particular, in China and among those in the West who kowtow to China’s rulers.
China today is a bully, severely violating the human rights of its own people but also increasingly spreading its corrupt net around the world to silence dissent and extend its influence. 

It has done this through business, internet trolling, diplomacy and, at its most extreme, by kidnapping critics from other countries. 

But one of the most sophisticated and dangerous tools it has is the misuse of Confucius’ name.
According to an official Chinese government website, there are now 500 “Confucius Institutes” around the world - with the aim of 1,000 by 2020. 

In 2015, their budget was $310 million, and from 2006-2015 China spent $1.85 billion on Confucius Institutes. 

On the surface, these institutes exist to teach Chinese language and promote Chinese culture -- a Chinese equivalent of the British Council, American Centres or the Alliance Francaise. 

Unlike their western counterparts, however, Confucius Institutes are directly funded and controlled by the Chinese government, but embedded within universities around the world, giving China influence over the curriculum. 

Moreover, while the western equivalents, to varying degrees, exist to promote democratic values, concepts of an open society, critical thinking, the rule of law and to strengthen the capacity of civil society, Confucius Institutes are the antithesis, working to spread the Chinese Communist Party’s propaganda and silence any dissenting voices.

This has now been exposed in a new documentary film, In the Name of Confucius, written and directed by Chinese-born Canadian film maker Doris Liu. 

The 52-minute film features a Chinese teacher called Sonia Zhao, who left China to take up a post with a Confucius Institute in Canada. 

“I thought the Confucius Institute was a cultural organisation,” she says. 

She quickly discovered, however, that as an employee, even in a western democratic country, she felt nervous “all the time”, worrying about whether what she might say would cause trouble. 

“I had to think twice before I said anything.”
At the heart of Sonia Zhao’s story was the fact that she is a practitioner of Falun Gong, a Buddha-school spiritual belief that emphasises truthfulness, compassion and forbearance. 

Since 1999 Falun Gong has been very severely persecuted by the Chinese regime, because it became so popular that it was practised by an estimated 70 million people -- and for a regime nervous about any large gathering of people, this felt threatening. 

Even though Falun Gong is a peaceful spiritual movement, it was met with brutal repression, resulting in hundreds of thousands of practitioners jailed and many dying as a result of torture or as victims of China’s barbaric practice of forced organ harvesting.
“I had been hiding my belief for many years,” says Zhao on camera. 

“But I didn’t expect that going abroad, a place I thought would be free, that I’d still be restricted”. 

In a reconstruction of the moment she went through her employment contract, Zhao -- played by Chinese-born Canadian actress and prominent campaigner for human rights, Miss World Canada Anastasia Lin - discovers that the Confucius Institute prohibits teachers from being Falun Gong practitioners -- or from associating with them. 

Topics such as Tibet and Taiwan must also be avoided. 

“The Confucius Institutes have exported China’s persecution against Falun Gong to foreign countries in a hidden way,” argues Zhao.
The documentary then exposes the blatant Communist propaganda that exists in Confucius Institute literature used in schools and universities in western democracies. 

Texts promoting the teachings of Chairman Mao are being taught to children in Toronto, for example. As one parent put it, “something like this should not exist in a democratic country, pretty plain and simple”.
Yet the list continues. 

An American singer studying at the University of Michigan happily performs a Chinese song at a Confucius Institute function, with these words: “They sing about their new life, they sing about the great party. Ah, Chairman Mao! Ah, the Party! You nurture the people on this land”.
Officials in Beijing don’t make much attempt to hide the real purpose of Confucius Institutes. 

Largely independent from their host universities, these institutes are controlled from Beijing, with a constitution and bylaws drawn up by the Chinese regime with little transparency. 

Xu Lin, the Director-General of the Confucius Institute headquarters, known as ‘Hanban’, says on camera that their work is “an important part of our soft power. We want to expand China’s influence”. 

In a crude exertion of power, she adds: “The foreign universities work for us.”
The most shocking part of Doris Liu’s film is the naivity, and outright, unashamed complicity, of some western academics. 

In a shocking interview, Patricia Gartland, chair of the Coquitlam Confucius Institute, and Melissa Hyndes, chair of the local school district, extol the success of their work and are dismissive of any risks. 

“We never had any concerns of any kind,” Gartland tells Liu. 

Any controversy, she adds, is simply the result of “xenophobia”.
When Liu asks whether western academic organisations should accept funds from governments that disrespect human rights, Gartland simply disagrees with the question’s premise. 

And when a question about religious persecution in China is raised, the two Canadian education officials terminate the interview. 

The then chair of the Toronto District School Board Chris Bolton is similarly dismissive of concerns about human rights -- and when the questioning becomes a bit too uncomfortable, he asks the film maker to leave. 

If I had closed my eyes and tuned out the accents, I would of thought these three were Chinese government representatives.
The Toronto District School Board, however, was not entirely filled with pro-Beijing stooges. Confronted with the evidence, the board ultimately voted to terminate the district’s relationship with the Confucius Institute. 

Others, such as McMaster University, have done the same. 

In the United States, the American Association of University Professors have called for a re-think, citing “unacceptable concessions to the political aims and practices of the government of China“, and two universities, Chicago and Pennsylvania State, cut ties with Confucius Institutes -- as have at least three in Europe.
In the Name of Confucius focuses on Canada, but the problem is worldwide. 

In Britain, there are at least 29 Confucius Institutes, attached to major universities such as Edinburgh, Liverpool, Manchester, Newcastle, Nottingham, Cardiff and University College London. 

There are also 127 Confucius ‘classrooms’ in schools around the United Kingdom -- teaching from texts that promote the Chinese Communist Party.
And yet in an op-ed for the Times Higher Education supplement in 2015, the President of Imperial College, Alice Gast, expressed her wish for the UK’s universities to be “China’s best partners in the West”. 

The UK ranks first among European countries in welcoming this Chinese influence -- a point celebrated in China’s state media as marking a “Confucius revolution”.
Except it is not a ‘Confucius’ revolution, but the exporting of the values of a brutal, corrupt, cruel dictatorship. 

“An oppressive government,” said Confucius, “is to be feared more than a tiger”. 

We need to wake up and stop this collusion, before it is too late. 

In the Name of Confucius is a film everyone involved in China policy and education policy should watch. 

Confucius must be turning in his grave.

How to Stand Up to China? Mongolia’s Got a Playbook

Ulaanbaatar just welcomed the Dalai Lama, despite warnings from Beijing.
BY SERGEY RADCHENKO

The day before the Dalai Lama’s November 18 trip to Mongolia, Beijing issued a “strong demand” to its neighbor to cancel the visit of the “anti-Chinese separatist” or face (unstated) consequences. The Dalai Lama would be making his ninth visit to the sparsely populated nation of 3 million people, just to China’s north. 

Previous visits triggered retaliation from China, including the temporary closure of parts of the Sino-Mongolian border.
Just like in the past, Ulaanbaatar ignored the warnings. 

Befitting a nation where a majority of the population practices a form of Buddhism derived from Tibet, Mongolian officials described the visit as purely religious in nature. 

The Dalai Lama attracted crowds of thousands during his four-day trip. 

He visited monasteries, preached to admiring worshippers at a gigantic sports facility (built with Chinese aid), and made a star appearance at an international conference on “Buddhist science.”
But in a press conference, the Dalai Lama slammed China for interfering with his travels. 

He also announced that the next spiritual leader of Mongolia, the Jebtsundamba Khutuktu, considered the third most important lama, after the Dalai Lama and the Panchen Lama, has been born. 

That controversial move is likely to anger Beijing, which has long sparred with the Dalai Lama over the right to appoint Buddhist reincarnations. 

After the Dalai Lama left on Nov. 23, Beijing indefinitely postponed bilateral meetings between the two nations, casting doubts over Ulaanbaatar’s hopes to obtain badly needed soft loans and economic aid.
Xi Jinping has repeatedly spoke about the win-win nature of China’s rise. 

China’s outreach to its neighbors through its massive One Belt, One Road initiative promises regional economic growth, peace, and stability. 

And Beijing advertises equality and non-interference as hallmarks of its foreign policy: different, it says, from foreign policies of the old great powers. 

But Beijing’s efforts — and embarrassing inability — to force Mongolia’s compliance with its political demands expose a more sinister face of China’s "friendship".

The history of China’s relations with Mongolia shows that raw pressure and intimidation can backfire in unexpected ways. 

One particularly relevant example concerns Beijing’s efforts to sway Mongolia following the 1962 Sino-Indian conflict. 

In 1959, following the outbreak of an anti-Chinese rebellion in Tibet, the then 23-year-old Dalai Lama fled to India. 

Beijing never forgave him for leaving, nor forgave India for giving him refuge. 

Relations between Beijing and New Delhi, until then hailed as a shining example of peaceful coexistence, tanked. 

Border tensions escalated, and in October 1962, the two neighbors went to war in the Himalayas.
Although China won the battle, the real challenge was to persuade the world that the Indians were the bad guys — a matter complicated by the reality that Beijing attacked India, not the other way around. The task fell to the founding father of Chinese diplomacy, Zhou Enlai, who spent weeks explaining China’s take on the conflict to disconcerted regional players like Indonesia and Sri Lanka. 

In December 1962, Zhou attempted to convince the Mongolians to endorse the Chinese point of view. The records of his dramatic encounter with then Mongolian Prime Minister Yumjaagiin Tsedenbal have recently been declassified by the Mongolian Foreign Ministry, and are now accessible online. They make for sober reading.
Tsedenbal, who came to China to sign a border treaty and to ask for economic aid, seemed surprised when Zhou unexpectedly raised the subject of India. 

Zhou recounted the highlights of the Sino-Indian border confrontation, and condemned the Indians for selling out to U.S. imperialism and for pursuing anti-Chinese policies. 

Tsedenbal reacted by saying meekly that he was sorry that China and India had quarreled. 

“I don’t understand what you mean by being sorry about the Sino-Indian conflict,” Zhou pressed. 

It was a matter of black and white: China was right, India was wrong. 

There could not be neutrality in the question. 

But Tsedenbal would not budge, telling Zhou that quarreling with India over an uninhibited strip of land in the Himalayas would only force the Indians to turn to the West, and that would not help China’s cause. 

Zhou nearly lost it: his face “twisted in anger,” noted the record-taker.
After this inauspicious beginning, the talks rapidly went downhill. 

Tsedenbal asked Zhou to help resolve the problem of Chinese workers in Mongolia. 

These workers had become rebellious and were declaring strikes; would Beijing tell them to behave, and send more workers, which Mongolia badly needed? 

In response, Zhou connected the workers problem and Mongolia’s unwillingness to endorse China’s political positions.
The two continued to argue to the point that, according the Mongolian record, Zhou literally jumped from his chair in anger. 

“You don’t need to get angry,” Tsedenbal pleaded with Zhou, “just speak calmly.” 

Zhou accused the prime minister of trying to “lecture” him. 

The then Mongolian Ambassador to China, Dondogiin Tsevegmid, present at the meeting, recalled that the conversation became so heated that he thought the two men “would come to blows.”

After this unpleasant encounter — the last time the two men saw each other — relations between China and Mongolia worsened. 

China curbed economic aid, and by 1964 had pulled out its workers from the country. 

Mongolia turned to the Soviet Union for protection, and the Russians sent an army, which they did not completely withdraw until after the Soviet Union fell apart in 1991. 

Tsedenbal remained one of the bitterest critics of China. 

It was on his watch that the Dalai Lama first visited Mongolia, in June 1979.
What was behind Zhou’s embarrassingly ineffective performance? 

Yes, the Chinese Premier, generally known for his refinement and tact, was under pressure at home to comply with Mao Zedong’s radical leftist agenda. 

But his brutal effort to impose the Chinese viewpoint on a visiting leader — in this case a leader of a neighboring country, which, he knew all too well, depended on China’s largesse — had the opposite effect from what he probably intended. 

In the early 1960s, some in the Mongolian leadership advocated a softer line on China. 

But Beijing’s pressure made it politically impossible to defend closer ties with China: anyone doing so risked alienation as a sell-out and as an agent of Chinese influence.
The problem was that the leaders of the Chinese Communist Party could not tolerate opposing opinions. 

Mao had brutally crushed domestic dissent. 

He applied the same yardstick internationally: one was either with him or against him; there was no middle ground to accommodate cautious neutrality like Tsedenbal’s. 

At the surface, it was all about equality and non-interference. 

But just below, there was the expectation that others would kowtow to your demands, and anger and retribution when they refused.
Today’s China is vastly more powerful than China of the 1960s. 

But it is hardly more cognizant that bullying others into submission is not a useful method for winning friends, especially among neighboring countries, which are often suspicious of Beijing’s intentions. 

The Dalai Lama’s recent visit prompted soul-searching among Mongolian politicians, as the Vice Chairman of the Mongolian Parliament Tsend Nyamdorj, among others, publicly questioned the wisdom of taunting the dragon. 

But, like in the 1960s, Beijing’s heavy-handed threats make it politically difficult to defend closer ties with Beijing.
If China is ever to gain regional trust, it must convince others that its words about equality are more than just words, that it respects others’ right to dissenting opinions, and that it will not issue “strong demands” or apply an economic lever in an angry effort to force compliance. 

Zhou has long been a role model for Chinese diplomats. 

But they could learn a valuable lesson from the Dalai Lama. 

“The true hero,” he once said, “is one who conquers his own anger and hatred.”

Thailand's Despots Kowtow To Beijing

By Mike Gonzalez

HONG KONG – OCTOBER 05: Joshua Wong, the student activist who became a global symbol during Hong Kong’s pro-democracy protests in 2014, was detained in Thailand early Wednesday following a request from China.

Hong Kong’s pro-democracy dissidents have never been fully embraced in many parts of Asia, where China’s shadow can make many politicians forget their principles. 

Burma, Malaysia and others have all kowtowed to Beijing whenever it huffed and puffed.
But no country has been so obsequious to China’s every request as Thailand. 

This week The Wall Street Journal called Thailand “China’s Enforcer” because of the Thai military junta’s increasingly fawning obeisance to China’s wishes.
The catalyst this time was a particularly egregious case in which Hong Kong democracy leader Joshua Wong was barred from entering Thailand to take part in a panel discussion at a university.
Wong posted on Facebook that Thai authorities illegally detained him for “more than a dozen hours,” cutting him off from all contact with the outside world before finally deporting him back to Hong Kong, a former British colony now controlled by China. 

“Really very scary,” the 19-year-old added.
Thai student activists say that the detention and deportation came as a result of a letter from the Chinese government. 

Bangkok insists that no “instruction or order” was given to arrest Wong. 

Human rights groups aren’t buying it, though.
“The detention and deportation of Joshua Wong are yet another indicator that Thailand’s military government will use any available means to stifle political discourse in the country,” said Champa Patel, Amnesty International’s Senior Research Adviser for South East Asia and the Pacific.
At least Wong was returned to Hong Kong. 

Because of its British past, the city’s residents retain some freedoms that are denied on communist Mainland China. 

Not so lucky was Gui Minhai, a Chinese writer living in Thailand and working on a book critical of China’s thin-skinned leader Xi Jinping.
Gui was abducted in Thailand last year and later mysteriously turned up in China, where he appeared as a sobbing mess on TV, confessing to a decade-old drunk driving case and declaring himself “willing to be punished.”
Gui is not even a Chinese national any longer but a naturalized Swedish citizen. 

But these technicalities are never respected by China, which considers ethnic Chinese naturalized in other countries or even born in them as owing loyalty to the Middle Kingdom. 

They were at any rate waved aside by Gui himself in his bizarre TV confession.
“I truly feel that I am still Chinese,” he said, calling on Stockholm to “let me solve my own problems.”
Gui was repatriated to his awful fate with Thai approval, says Reporters Without Borders. 

Nor are Gui and Wong the only example of Thai compliance with Chinese wishes.
Last year, too, Bangkok sent back to China 100 Uighurs who had taken refuge in Thailand but whose extradition Beijing had demanded.
The Uighurs no doubt met unpleasant fates, according to Human Rights Watch and others who decried the expulsion.
“Thailand has cravenly caved to pressure from Beijing and robbed these people of their only protections,” said Sophie Richardson, HRW China director. 

“The risks to Uighurs forcibly returned to China are grim and well established, so it’s urgent to protect anyone in Thailand who the Chinese claims is a Uighur against forced expulsion or return.”
The Uighurs, a Turkic Muslim group living in western China, are harshly persecuted. 

Their region of Xinjiang is under heavy police control, according to a Western businessman who recently visited.
There is a lot at work here. 

China is an important trade partner for Thailand. 

China, moreover, has abstained from criticizing Thailand’s military leaders, who took over that Southeast Asian nation in a May 2014 coup.
Thai diplomats in Washington often complain about getting the cold shoulder from President Obama and Secretary of State John Kerry, even though they are a treaty ally of the United States, a rare instance in which an administration with warm ties with dictators in Havana, Burma and Vietnam has spurned strongmen. 

China on the other hand flatters the Thai generals with high-profile meetings.
It is unfortunate that those who pay the price for such high-stakes games are men like Wong and Gui.