Finally, it appears, things are back to normal.
As nearly 3,000 delegates filed into Beijing’s Great Hall of the People on Tuesday for the opening of China’s annual legislative meeting, none wore face masks. Officers came together to shake hands and take pictures. Around them, journalists and diplomats from around the world crowded about the spacious lobby, many invited back for the first time since the outbreak of the coronavirus pandemic four years ago.
It’s one of the highest levels of politics in China, and the message sent is clear: The country’s long isolation is over, and it’s once again open to the world and ready for business.
But normal in China today has a different meaning than before. And beneath the facade of openness are signs of how much China has changed in the past four years, becoming more insular, more regimented, more tightly bound to the one-man rule of its top leader, Xi Jinping.
To enter the Great Hall, where China’s most important political meetings are held, attendees still have to take a government-mandated Covid test. Unlike in previous years, when a report containing the government’s annual economic growth target was made public at the start of the opening ceremony, this year it was initially shared only with delegates and diplomats.
In perhaps the biggest departure from previous years, officials announced that China’s premier, the No. 2 country officials, will not be questioned at the end of the week-long legislative session. It was the culmination of a three-decade-long tradition, one of the few opportunities for journalists to interact with a top leader.
“The premier’s press conference is over there,” one Chinese man in a suit directed the other in a low voice as they walked down the hall on Tuesday.
Guides with that kind of insider knowledge are essential in Chinese political events like this, where proceedings are so tightly choreographed that a casual observer might not know things aren’t always this way.
At 9 a.m., as the heavy rain fell outside, dozens of delegates sat in neat rows on the stage, behind towering red curtains. Along with other delegates sitting below them, they sang the national anthem.
Then, as the premier, Li Qiang, took to the podium to deliver his summary of the government’s achievements in the past year, they dutifully bent over their paper copies of his report. This year journalists were given copies of the report on only half of Mr. Li’s speech.
Above the stage, the spectacular balcony of the auditorium was filled with Chinese and foreign journalists positioning cameras, taking notes and peering through binoculars at the officials below.
But many of the foreign journalists have been allowed into the country only on temporary visas, as China has been slow to issue or deny long-term visas for many Western news organizations. It expelled many American journalists in 2020, and last year, even some foreign journalists with valid long-term visas were not allowed into the legislative session.
In Mr. Li’s almost hour-long speech, he paid repeated tributes to Mr. Xi, sitting in the middle of the second row. Mr. Xi, unlike everyone else on stage, barely touched his copy of the work report. From time to time he took a sip from one of the two cups arranged in front of him. (For most of his early years in power, Mr. Xi had only one cup at the opening ceremony, like the rest of the delegates. But in recent years, Mr. Xi, who has continued to con- power itself, had two.)
Mr. Li acknowledged the challenges facing China, including a debt-ridden real estate industry and weak demand from buyers. All of that is part of why China may be eager to show openness now, as it seeks to attract foreign investors and reassure domestic entrepreneurs.
“We must communicate policies to the public in a well-targeted way to create a stable, transparent and predictable policy environment,” said Mr. Li.
But one need only step outside the auditorium to see why so many are skeptical of such promises. Information about and from the government has become more limited, as China has expanded its definition of espionage and made routine contacts with foreigners potentially dangerous. Restrictions on both Chinese and foreign press have tightened.
Days before the opening ceremony, the Foreign Correspondents Club of China said a journalist for Dutch broadcaster NOS was pushed to the ground by police officers in a city in southwest China while interviewing people there; the same happened caught on camera. Across Beijing in the days before the meetings, police cars with lights flashing were regularly stationed on street corners, and volunteers wearing red armbands kept a watchful eye for potential rioters.
On Tuesday, officials set up a series of question-and-answer sessions with some preselected delegates and government ministers — sessions that, officials said, helped justify the cancellation of the traditional news conference of the premier. In the lobby of the Great Hall, those officials fielded careful questions from state media outlets on topics such as how to promote Chinese-made cars abroad, and how to profit the Chinese people on government investments in water conservation infrastructure.
One of the selected delegates was from Henan Province, home to a major archaeological site called Yinxu. Called to ask, a reporter from a Communist Party newspaper asked him, “Recently, Yinxu’s achievements in archeology have attracted a lot of attention. When it comes to the protection of cultural artifacts, do you have any special feelings?”
Outside of this carefully curated context, attempts to interview delegates were less successful. Some officials, who approach as they enter or leave the hall, refuse to answer even simple questions, such as whether they have submitted any legislative proposals this year, or even where they are from.
A typical exchange, with a delegate whose name tag identified him as Wang Wenqiang, from Hebei Province, went like this:
“Excuse me, have you raised any proposals this year?”
“Not this year,” replied Mr. Wang as he walked towards the auditorium, his step did not break.
“Have you raised proposals in the past?”
“Yes, last year.”
“What is that about?”
“Livelihood of the people.”
“Could you be more specific?”
“Someone is waiting for me there. Sorry,” said Mr. Wang. And with that, he disappeared.
Siyi Zhao contributed research from Seoul.
