Life as a foreign journalist in China: Harassment and intimidation are part of the job

Tense times are to be expected whenever a foreign journalist is summoned to Beijing’s ministry of foreign affairs but on this freezing day in January 2020 there was a particular edge in the air.

On that morning the Communist Party mouthpiece the Global Times ran an unsigned article headlined: "Irish Times report smears China through fabricated news about Xinjiang. "

Three officials ushered me into a small meeting room. There was a moment’s silence before the shouting began.

They were “outraged”, I was livid. Fingers were pointed and neck veins bulged. My main “handler”, the official assigned by the ministry to monitor me and my reporting, led the charge.

Tone of embassy tweets about journalist ‘aimed’ at Beijing

---

One police officer and suspect dead following US Capitol vehicle attack

---

China manoeuvres near Taiwan fuel concerns of potential attack

---

At issue on that particular day was my latest in a series of stories on developments in the northwestern province of Xinjiang.

I had written about the expansive re-education camp network where well over a million Uighurs and other minorities had been interned, and in a latest report I had looked at how China was ramping up its "Become Family" programme, under which more than a million party cadres were assigned families of Xinjiang's ethnic minorities that they must visit and stay with in their homes regularly.

The Communist Party refers to this policy as “an affectionate cultural exchange aimed at fostering harmony”, but it is one many in the region see as a deeply invasive effort by the Han authorities to monitor, control and indoctrinate the Muslim community.

The article said I had written a "false report" and had "no professional ethics". In Beijing, as our heated discussion ensued, my handler demanded the identity of some of my Xinjiang sources, which of course I would not give, and accused me of "distorting the facts", even though state media boasts about this programme.

The discussion then evolved into a wider argument on Xinjiang, with the handler trying to defend the government’s policy’s in the region and criticising all my coverage.

Having spent nearly two decades living and working in China, I felt sure of my ground and was angered this state-run tabloid would publicly call my integrity into question – although I was very aware this was a common party tactic to try to undermine unwelcome reporting.

After an intense half an hour or so we both took a breath. He had done his job and imparted the party line – that box was ticked – and we could now move on.

Freely and critically

Unlike domestic journalists, foreign correspondents in China can write freely and critically, but they do face occasional harassment and intimidation, are followed and monitored when in sensitive areas, encounter barriers to accessing information, and are only given 12-month visas, at most. For each renewal they have to endure a protracted reapplication process to stay in the country.

That process includes another interview with your handler, where they flick through a stack of your clippings published over the past year – generally deep-sighing and tut-tutting all the while.

“The government has taken Tibet out of poverty and developed its economy, the Tibetans should be grateful. The Dalai Lama is a wolf in sheep’s clothing,” was a comment an official made about one of my pieces that spoke about how the atheist Communist Party was intent on appointing Tibet’s next spiritual leader when the Dalai Lama dies.

"Hong Kong protesters are organised and funded by the US as Washington wants to undermine China and stop our economic growth," one official said in response to some reports on the recent turmoil in that city. "And Taiwan is a province of China. It is as simple as that!"

The ritual continues – and business stories and odd reports that don’t counter the party’s narrative can get the thumbs up – and in the end there are usually strained smiles and handshakes, visas tend to be issued and things continue as was.

On the morning of my stand-up row, as I prepared to leave the meeting room I turned and asked if my upcoming visa application might be approved.

My handler seemed offended I would even ask. “But of course, why ever not?”

There were grounds for concern. More than 20 American and Australian journalists have been forced to leave China in the past year. And BBC's John Sudworth fled from Beijing to Taiwan this week with his wife, RTÉ's Yvonne Murray, and their three children following a prolonged period of intense harassment in response to his critical reporting on Xinjiang, in particular.

Home visit

As I left the foreign ministry meeting that morning I got a call from my wife, who is Chinese, to say that three members of the public security bureau had come knocking on our apartment door, yet again. She was well used to the visits and the phone calls from the security services, asking where I was and what I was doing.

Ostensibly just “updating records”, during the regular visits they made it clear they were keeping tabs on me, and would also drop comments to show they knew where her extended family lived and worked.

Whether this was all just friendly chit-chat or a none-too-subtle form of intimidation was a matter for debate in our household, but it certainly left some in the family feeling uneasy.

The harassment would come in different forms. A few weeks after that episode the Chinese embassy in Dublin used the occasion of Ireland beating Wales in a Six Nations rugby match to simultaneously congratulate the Irish team and bash my coverage of its early handling of the coronavirus outbreak.

In one report on the virus, I had cited an expert who said “This epidemic was allowed to spread for a period of more than forty days [in China] before any cities were closed off or any decisive action was taken”, and the Chinese leadership was “focused mostly not on the containment of the epidemic itself, but on the containment and suppression of information about the disease”.

In social media posts the Chinese embassy in Dublin congratulated our rugby team on their battle and then went on to say: "Peter Goff published an article on the Irish Times in which he groaned on the sidelines and tried to tell the fighters on the frontline they should have done better in the battle . . . this is the time we stand together in solidarity and compassion, not for complaining."

‘Out of proportion’

In a meeting with a provincial party official around that time, weeks before the first positive coronavirus case had been identified in Ireland, I was also accused of “complaining” about China’s handling of the virus and “blowing the whole thing out of proportion”. Suggestions were made during that discussion that I may not be always welcome in China.

These episodes are commonplace for many in the foreign press corps in China, and are often much worse for journalists from bigger countries when bilateral relations turn sour.

And of course the difficulties the foreign press face are minuscule compared to those faced by local journalists, many of whom quietly take major risks on a daily basis just attempting to nudge back the parameters of freedom of expression under rigid controls.

A few months ago my wife and I decided to move home to Ireland – not because of the job or any harassment but simply for family reasons and a desire to be back in Dublin for a while.

My time in China was an experience I shall treasure. The people, the language, the culture, the cuisine, the landscape, the staggering scale and astounding vibrancy – watching China develop and thrive in so many respects has been a privilege and I will always consider it my home-from-home.

Politically things there have been on a fraught and somewhat paranoid footing in recent years, but the emergence of modern China is one of the most consequential developments of our time, and one I feel we should continue to engage with on every level and at any opportunity.

I certainly hope to get back over there in the not-too-distant future – visa willing, of course.