Blasting the Communist Party line in rural China

Calum MacLeod, USA TODAY June 21, 2014

MIYUN COUNTY, China — In Pingchang village, a small farming community two hours' drive fromBeijing, no one can sleep through the Communist Party's 7 a.m. wake-up call.

"Building socialist core values is everyone's common responsibility," barks a radio broadcast from public loudspeakers installed this spring for a nationwide campaign to blast the party's voice into every rural home.

The broadcast — three times a day — consists of an hour of deafening propaganda and news, sprinkled with songs and often curious advice. Adopt the "correct walking posture", the broadcaster explains, with feet neither splayed nor pigeon-toed.

And always remember to be "civilized, polite Beijingers," the woman's voice says at an ear-splitting volume.

Some farmers say the daily programs — at 7 a.m., 11:30 a.m. and 6 p.m. — mark an unwelcome return to the days of Chairman Mao Zedong.

"Sometimes society does go backward," complains Cai Zhishen, 48, who remembers similar, quieter broadcasts that ended more than three decades ago. "It's extremely annoying, but this is government policy, so there's nowhere for us to hide."

The ongoing campaign highlights the stark contrasts between urban and rural China. Half of China's 1.3 billion people now live in cities, where authorities increasingly respond to citizens' growing concerns over noise pollution. This month, anxious parents in a Chongqing high-rise managed to halt the elevators so the sound wouldn't disturb their teenagers before taking college entrance exams.

In the countryside, farmers are treated differently, in multiple ways, including the revival of this old-fashioned propaganda method. The ruling party uses its new network to relay familiar messages about harmony and dedicated, effective officials, while the government says it helps handle "emergency incidents" — which likely include protests as well as natural disasters and extreme weather.

Official details remain sparse about the project called "Every Village Loud," but the business website hc360.com reported last year that its broadcast coverage remains below 30% in most provinces, far below goals set in the Communist Party's latest five-year-plan.

In Miyun County, northeast of Beijing, the government-run radio and television center claims it has complete rural coverage, after spending $6 million to set it up, and says its programs receive a warm welcome.

The campaign delivers "an abundant spiritual and cultural feast," the Miyun center says, yet abuse is never far away in China's graft-laden system. A party secretary in northeastern Jilin province used the broadcast network to instruct villagers to attend his granddaughter's 1-month birthday feast. They felt obliged to leave cash gifts, totaling over $3,000. But after news reports of what happened, he was fired last year.

In southern Hunan province's Sangzhi county, "the party's sound is incessant, the villagers beam with heart-felt joy," the Hunan Daily reported in November. Village elder and party secretary Shang Benwu heard the same broadcast about a party meeting more than 10 times. "The more he listens, the more energy he has," said the state-run newspaper.

Complaints about the campaign only occasionally surface in China's state-run media.

"It's much quieter now," laughs He Fangxia, 49, a farmer and party member, over the din of Pingchang's evening broadcast. When the loudspeakers first sounded this year, complaints to local leaders by He and many other villagers succeeded in lowering the volume, and delaying the day's first broadcast from 6 a.m. to 7 a.m, she says.

"People are too busy to watch TV, but even if you are working in a remote field, you can still listen," says He, who tried her own hand at community broadcasting a few years ago, on an earlier loudspeaker network that still operates sporadically. The new, more powerful system offers useful weather forecasts, plus tips on planting and child-raising, she says.

Older residents in Huayuan, a nearby village, "complain the broadcasts are 'too early and noisy, we want to sleep, and the health advice is boring or hard to follow,'" innkeeper Zhao Haiyang, 26, says. "My baby daughter likes the music, and I like the news best, to find out how to attract more tourists," says Zhao, 26. He admits to being lucky enough not to have a loudspeaker close to his inn, forcing him to walk a few minutes in order to hear it clearly.

"The volume must be cut, you can't keep disturbing the people," says Li Guozhu, a Pingchang restaurant owner and innkeeper, who resents the "compulsory nature" of the broadcasts. "Now we have TV and the Internet, we should have a choice. So if people want to listen they can install a speaker at home, and a switch," says Li, 59, who recalls the loudspeakers that used to shout sayings of Chairman Mao.

"I want Miyun People's Radio to send a reporter to get local feedback," he says. "They may not broadcast the report, but the county leaders would know." Most village residents appear resigned to the new soundscape.

Even critics such as Cai look for positives, such as information on food to help fight diabetes. "All I can do is hope they turn it off one day," Cai says. "And at least I don't need a watch anymore. When it starts, wherever I am, I know what the time is."