[For the second time in a row, I participated in the taping of an English-language television program in mainland China that was never shown. There were two guests (a Chinese professor of comparative literature and myself), and we were asked to discuss the "Spring Festival Gala", the most widely watched TV show in China. Perhaps I said something too "political", or perhaps there were problems with the other guest. In any case, let me write a few thoughts here.]

 

The Spring Festival – chunjie, mistranslated in English as the "Chinese New Year" (it is also celebrated in Korea and Vietnam) – is the mother of all holidays in China. It combines Christmas-style family get-togethers and exchanges of gifts with the countdown and fireworks of New Year's Eve, as well as "superstitions" dating hundreds of years such as putting up red couplets to bring luck and ward off evil spirits. Local schools close for a month, traffic lightens up (except for a few days in Beijing, when local officials from the whole country come to present "gifts" to their superiors), and most restaurants and stores close for a few days. 

 

The highlight of the festival is "New Year's Eve" – the night before the first day of the first month of the lunar calendar – when the whole family (including elderly grandparents) sits down for an extravagant meal. Since 1984, the evening has been enlived by a four-hour variety show on state television that is watched by roughly five hundred million people in mainland China (more than three times the audience of the Superbowl, the most watched television event in the U.S.) . With increased competition, the show's audience share seems to be declining (a survey conducted by a local newspaper in Beijing found that 69 percent of 20-35 year olds don't watch the program), but it is still the most influential TV show of the year (and for China state television, it is a commercial bonanza, generating an annual US$62 million in advertising revenue). Established entertainment stars reappear year after year and it represents the ticket to fame for newcomers. The comedy skits, especially those involving the earthy star Zhao Benshan, can influence linguistic practices and become reference points for jokes throughout the year. It combines the highbrow (the classical pianist Lang Lang appeared last year) and the gaudy (skimpily dressed members of minority groups doing "traditional" songs), and for those trying to understand contemporary Chinese society there may be no better starting point.

          

Not surprisingly, the show also serves a political purpose. It is meant to unify Chinese speakers across the world, including overseas Chinese. The past few years have included skits involving Hong Kong and Taiwan performers, and there are shots of Spring Festival parties in other parts of the globe. It is also meant to solidify support for the Chinese Communist Party. At the end of last year's show – the countdown right before midnight – the screen flashed images of CCP leaders, from Mao Zedong to Hu Jintao. Perhaps the idea is that the love shown to family members during the holiday season should be extended to the "father-figures" in the party. In the TV interview, I suggested that it may send the misleading message that China was invented in 1949, when the CCP took power. Why not start earlier, and why not include shots of cultural figures in the countdown? Confucius himself liked to sing – "When the Master joined a group of people singing well, he would ask them to sing again and then join in their harmony" (7.32) -- shouldn't he be there too? We should be enjoying the party, not learning about it (pardon the pun).

     

But I do not mean to imply that politics should have no role to play in such programs. The Spring Festival Gala also serves an important political purpose by drawing awareness to social problems. Last year, the show had a skit with children of migrant workers attending an illegal school that was about to be closed down by overzealous officials. The children were quite endearing and eventually the officials changed their minds and allowed the school to stay open. The previous year, a skit depicted a migrant worker denied the salary owed to him and the audience cheered loudly on his behalf. Such skits help to generate sympathy for the disadvantaged and can also show ways of dealing with their problems.

     

What about the criticism that the show should not be politicized, if only because it will further turn off audiences that just want a bit of happiness that evening? Well, such skits can be done in humorous ways. Satire in particular can make people laugh and serves partly as entertainment. Lu Xun, China's most famous early twentieth-century writer, was a master of biting satire. In communist China, there is a rich tradition of greedy capitalists and landlords being mercilessly skewered in plays and operas. Perhaps such traditions can be extended to corrupt government officials. Of course, there are limits – I doubt top leaders can be satirized in the present political environment. And the satire should not be too cruel or violent (here I'm entirely in agreement with the government's emphasis on peaceful ways of dealing with social conflict). But more political satire may be the real solution to reviving the popularity of the Spring Festival Gala.