China's rough injustice

Few people will have missed the outcry over China’s decision to execute British national Akmal Shaikh, despite evidence that he had been duped into unknowingly transporting 4kg of heroin into the country. It was argued that Shaikh had bipolar disorder and a delusional personality; he thought he was going to China to record a song about a Little Rabbit which would inspire world peace. On the basis of his mental illness, Britain made 27 ministerial pleas for clemency; Gordon Brown discussed his case with China’s president Hu Jintao several months ago and then with Prime Minister Wen Jiabao when they met in Copenhagen; the British charity Reprieve compiled an Application for Special Pardon including a psychiatric assessment. Witness statements and appeals were being sent to China right up until the final hour. But the pleas were ignored and Akmal Shaikh was executed on schedule on 29th December 2009.

Why did Britain’s appeals fail? “Diminished responsibility” on the grounds of mental illness is a legal concept in China, but the authorities argued that there was no evidence of mental illness at Shaikh’s first trial in December 2007. They did not, however, respond to the documentation provided by Britain, nor would they carry out a medical assessment of Shaikh.

According to a Chinese human rights lawyer who had been eager to assist Shaikh’s defence: “The government didn’t act according to the rule of law on Akmal’s case. China wants to throw its weight around and show it’s a powerful country. They wouldn’t have dared do this before they hosted the Olympics.” Shaikh's trial, which lasted less 30 minutes, took place in December 2007, three months after his arrest, but the judgement was not announced until October 2008, after the Beijing Games were over.

But if China’s treatment of Akmal Shaikh was a show, it seems less likely that it was put on for Britain; it was probably a performance of prowess for a domestic audience. Once his sentence became a “hot topic” on the Chinese internet, it was supported with so much enthusiasm that one Chinese journalist I spoke to felt that no amount of evidence or international pressure could change the verdict. The vast majority of public opinion in China is expressed via the internet—comments at the bottom of news stories, on blogs and in online discussion forums. And China may be a one-party state, but the party listens to public opinion—particularly the opinion that it helps to shape.

From the perspective of the Chinese media, at issue in Akram Shaikh’s case was that Britain, true to its 19th-century form, seemed to be claiming special treatment and interfering in China’s judicial sovereignty. The Chinese reporting downplayed the claims of Shaikh’s mental illness. He didn’t have one, it was decided. Britain didn’t prove it, said the China Daily; “China has its own definition of mental illness and by that he is deemed to be mentally sound,” wrote China’s Global Times. Editorials said that Britain was appealing because it no longer has the death penalty. “How could a criminal be exempted from the death penalty only because he is British?” asked Xinhua, China’s national wire service. Shaikh’s case became a story of the British trying to get away with inflicting drugs on the Chinese, a story that reminded people in China of the opium wars.

These views were echoed by the vast majority of China’s “netizens,” who commented in support of the execution, many making explicit reference to the opium wars. One blogger on the SINA web portal wrote: “China today is not the China of 1840, the British drugs smuggler should be killed.” On the Tianya forum someone wrote: “Better than shouting about it, let’s start the 3rd opium war!” Another went: “Just kill him immediately, that’s equality!!!!!!!!!” By the eve of Akmal Shaikh’s execution, the story was the most read and commented on topic on SINA.

Underlying all of this is the desire among many educated, online, middle-class Chinese professionals to a feel a sense of equality with other people globally. They are desperate for the Chinese not to be seen as the world’s coolies. Each time I meet someone with a strong and active nationalist approach to politics in China, I ask them about how they feel about their lack of rights within China. Most respond by saying that of course they would like to have more rights at home, but it is not possible for them to speak out for this now. Their only outlet as political beings is to rally for higher status internationally. In this case—as with so many others—it was nationalist voices that shouted the loudest, and in unison, on the web. Shaikh was cast as a baddie in China’s nationalist pantomime, to be hissed and booed off stage. Alternative or dissenting voices, like that of the unnamed human rights lawyer quoted above, were inaudible amid the nationalist sway.

The unelected Communist party feels it has to constantly prove its legitimacy, and in these economically precarious times, showing that the party can now stand up to its old oppressors demonstrates to the nation that they are being led in the right direction. It is a bizarre cycle. The government is responsible for stoking up nationalist sentiment, then must respond to it, even when it puts them in embarrassing diplomatic situations, as the Shaikh case surely has. Gordon Brown stated that he was “appalled and disappointed” and the Chinese ambassador was called into the British foreign office.

But the blip in relations will be temporary. Beijing’s hosting of the 2008 Olympics legitimised China as a country. Soon the execution of Akmal Shaikh will be forgotten—perhaps listed on reports of China’s bad behaviour, its imperviousness to western practice, along with its actions in Copenhagen and its imprisonment of Liu Xiaobo. Ivan Lewis, minister for foreign and commonwealth affairs, has argued that engagement with China is “non-negotiable and any alternative strategy is simply not credible.” But, he has added: “By being so clear in our public criticism of China's handling of this case we are demonstrating that it is not business as usual.” Yet business continues, quite as usual.

After what we have seen with Shaikh’s case, will we be able to see through our own mythologies about the story of modern China? Will we continue to imagine that political reform and an independent judiciary will emerge as, if by nature, in the wake of China’s economic development? It’s an idea that we cling to; capitalism rests upon it. In life, as in economic development, we are convinced that once wealth arrives, all else good will fall into place—despite the fact that history tells us no such thing.

Perhaps we need this myth when we want to buy something cheap that has been made in China, or to make an incentivised trade deal there. If images of sweatshops and detention centres shuffle through our minds as we consider what a great deal we are getting, the myth kicks in and we are comforted by our delusions that we are helping make things better, because once people in China are rich, all will be resolved.

But the fact remains that China has given a lethal injection to a vulnerable man. This is what happens in a place where political instability undermines the rule of law. China’s courts are routinely used as a political tool; at times it wears down the innocent or incarcerates the brave; each year for millions of China’s “petitioners,” justice is a mirage; it disappears as soon as they approach it. While Chinese people continue to be let down daily by their judiciary, Akmal Shaikh’s will not be the last prick of injustice in China that is felt by the outside world.

China has indeed performed an economic miracle, but we cannot ignore the fact that it is also a place with a judiciary that is subservient to its problem-laden political system. These two phenomena co-exist in China, and contrary to what we might expect, the success of the former is doing nothing to fix the latter. Rather, China’s “economic miracle” makes a gloss over its political stagnation, and enables its fallout to remain unaddressed.