Introduction

Someone might ask why, perchance, would a social scientist be interested in the evolution of visual symbols and iconography in the Beijing Review, and more specifically, in their evolution from the years 1970 to 1990? Of what value is the study of 'pictures' (in a specific publication during a very specific time) to the student of politics, economics, sociology, and so on? Well, as I sat in Alderman Library of the University of Virginia for literally hundreds of hours taking well over three hundred pages of notes in three black and white bound notebooks, I had plenty of time to consider this conundrum.

First and foremost, it is essential to the study of any social science to develop an understanding of three different but related concepts: symbolism, iconography, and propaganda. A symbol is merely a gesture, sound, or physical entity (be it two- or three-dimensional) which a human being or a group of human beings has infused with meaning, either intentionally or unintentionally. On the other hand, iconography may be seen as an attempt to define symbols, thereby mapping and describing the particular nature of X or Y symbol, and in particular symbols which were intentionally created. The iconographer seeks to ascertain both the intended meaning of a symbol and its intended effect on the viewer. The creation of an iconography is, in other words, the creation of a formal 'language' of symbols for a specific entity. That said, propaganda may be described as applied symbolism, the utilization of an iconographic language to achieve a particular end or ends of a state.⁽¹⁾

Why, in particular, might the Beijing Review be useful for a study in and of symbolism, iconography and propaganda? Furthermore, what are the advantages to studying it from 1970 to 1990? First, the Beijing Review is one of the most important government publications of one of the most powerful (and largest) states in the world, the People's Republic of China (PRC). Regardless of any other value, an intensive study of this material should yield a considerable amount of information regarding, if not the true condition of China and its people, than at least of the official stances the Chinese government took towards the outside world at which the publication was directed.

Secondly, the society, polity, and economy of the PRC have undergone incredible transformations in recent years, and the period from 1970 to 1990 captures a great deal of this change, from a system in which all human activities in China were the complete and absolute domain of the state well into a period in which the state had begun to 'free up' certain non-political activities, changes which should in some way be reflected in the evolution of the symbolism and iconography of the Beijing Review. Furthermore, this period entails great changes in China's international agenda: situations in which the legitimacy of the PRC is perceived as threatened by one force or several, situations which are often punctuated by a sort of a 'socio-political rash', the Tiananmen protests. These phenomena, theoretically, should leave some sort of measurable mark on the permanent record that is Chinese propaganda as the Chinese propaganda machine goes into motion in an effort to reinforce the system's legitimacy, similar to how a fire, drought, or flood leaves a readable mark on the rings of a tree. It is essential to remember, however, that while a reading of tree rings are made only in direct proportion to actual threat, the reactions of a state will be to perceived threat as colored by previous bias. Therefore this analysis will not be measuring the actual threat to the regime, but rather the regime's perception of threat, or more simply, not reality, but rather the regime's perception of reality.

An analysis of the Beijing Review is of further value in that it allows us to begin constructing a map of the official iconography of the PRC, a set of rules which the PRC propaganda machine created in, of, and for itself. This map will of course have inherent value merely as a set of facts, but it will also provide insight into numerous issues. What were the economic, social, and political values which the PRC was attempting to export to the world and to reinforce among its own populace? What was the nature of the symbolism utilized by the PRC and how did this symbolism evolve with changing circumstances both domestically and internationally? Finally, what sort of identity was the PRC's regime attempting to create for itself and vast citizenry of the PRC, allowing the concept of 'China' to become tangible to the masses despite the incomprehensibility of the geographic size and total population of that entity?

Another question of importance is why undertake a study of visual symbolism and iconography (as opposed to the equally available literary iconography). First, comparatively, the visual side of modern Chinese political symbolism and iconography is gravely understudied academically, and very few serious works exist analyzing it, relative to analyses of modern literary symbolism and iconography or of imperial symbolism and iconography. Secondly and equally important, as both a social scientist and a formally trained artist, I was in a unique position to tackle such a subject. Therefore, seeing a gap in the current literature and having the tools to at least begin the project of filling it, I have taken on the task.

Methodology

The methodology of this work is simultaneously an exercise in qualitative and quantitative analysis. Qualitatively, it was up to me to decide precisely what the symbolic nature of each and every photograph or image was, then to catalogue each of these photographs and images into one of several categories, each of which will be discussed in the text to follow. I include, as an example, this photograph from 1970. Some very broad observations may be made in an analysis of this image. First, since it is merely one aspect of a work of propaganda, it is, at least in part, inherently political. However, were one to merely settle on this as a fact and ignore other aspects, certainly nothing would be gained for analysis. Yet it also is obviously concerned with issues other than the merely political, this being the concept of industry. Here, one sees Chinese men, braving fire with implements of steel, building a new China, a strong China, a China worthy of respect and notable for its power. Therefore the state is actively using images of 'industry' to achieve certain ends (all of which will be described in far greater detail later). The second image, however, carries multiple levels of symbolic meaning. Here we find several Zhou Enlai escorting a foreign leader down a busy street in Beijing, surrounded by an elated populace (an 'entertainment' symbol) and members of the PLA or Police (a 'military' symbol). This image could therefore be categorized as having overtly political symbolism and the legitimizing symbols of an enthusiastic, overjoyed populace and an effective military, therefore a record should be kept that one symbol was found in each category. This 'multi-layered' approach allows for a rough quantitative analysis of symbolism and all the issues of legitimacy, identity, and values that come with more complex imagery.

Yet another method of quantitative analysis which I have undertaken is a basic analysis of 'diplomatic photographs,' those images which portray official diplomatic interactions between the cadres of the PRC and high-ranking officials of other sovereign states. Particularly, I hope to determine the degree to which the official media portrays the shifting tide of Chinese 'leanings' in the international arena as well as the degree to which the Chinese propaganda machine seeks to promote China as an idealist, 'just' state with 'Third-World' ideals, and whether or not the Chinese media adequately illustrates the PRC 'turning inward' during periods of internal crisis. Along similar lines, an analytical analysis of cartoons, political and otherwise, has been constructed in an effort to determine the various trends in art as related to the PRC's contemporaneous internal political dynamics.

A qualitative analysis of the nature of the Beijing Review's iconography and how that iconographic language has evolved with the changing nature of the Chinese polity, economy, and society will also be conducted in this work. In essence, this will involve a discussion of the elements of each individual iconograph and an analysis of the likely psychological and political underpinnings of each.

Diplomatic Photographs

For those individuals and groups in power within a state, there is little doubt that the maintenance of power and position remains a very high priority, if not the highest of all priorities. Therefore, when an internal crisis or crises threaten the stability of a regime, that regime is likely to turn its attention inward, withdrawing to a degree from the outside world.⁽²⁾ Therefore, one theoretically could determine the degree to which a regime considers itself endangered by internal chaos by analyzing its propaganda for measurable signs of such withdrawal.

There are two potential outliers, however: the 1977 upswing in diplomatic photographs and the increase in overall diplomatic photographs in 1990, in the high tension wake of the 1989 Tiananmen incident. Both, however, are explainable in context of the situation. The 1977 upswing is likely a result of what I will call the 'Hua Inundation,' or Hua Guofeng's attempted use of the propaganda machine to consolidate his power using the iconography of the 'cult' of Mao. In an effort to legitimize his rule, Hua sought every available chance to promote himself as supreme leader, and diplomatic relations were no exception.⁽⁵⁾

As for the 1990 outlier, the upswing is almost entirely the result of a dramatic jump in official visits with Third World states, while propaganda-worthy relations with the First and Second world experienced a major downturn. In other words, the PRC was drawing inward, avoiding interaction with states of real power while simultaneously attempting to gain support where it might more likely find it (the Third World) and utilize an earlier iconography, that of benevolent leader of the Non-Aligned states, in an effort to, again, bolster its legitimacy and gain support in international organizations, such as the United Nations, in order to minimize international sanctions.⁽⁶⁾

The iconography of diplomatic imagery may be divided into several basic categories, including 'the airport entry,' 'entering the city,' 'the group photograph,' and 'the greeting.' The airport greeting, as illustrated, is simply a photograph, normally from an angle (which makes the crowd appear larger and more dynamic), showing a given leader from a foreign state either being greeted by Chinese leaders or being escorted from the plane by Chinese leaders, surrounded by a large mass of people. The mass of people is made up of either 'an elated citizenry', a line of PLA troops, normally of a combined corps of air, army, and navy troops, or, more occasionally, a group of happy, apparently delighted children, often waving small flags or red flowers.

The 'entering the city' iconograph (see page five) generally consists of a foreign political leader riding in the back of a convertible, surrounded by the masses of Beijing (reveling, of course), and occasionally by parade dressed troops. The photo is taken either from a slightly raised angle (to take in the Imperial City) or from directly in front of the entourage (emphasizing the diagonals of the road and creating a quite effective triangular design). This type of image largely fell out of favor in the post-Mao period.

'The group' photos are largely reminiscent of bad wedding photography. They involve the combined Chinese and foreign delegations either standing side by side with a simple backdrop from a straight on angle or a smaller group of high officials seated in a semi-circle with translators behind, normally in a library or a parlor.

Cartoons

The Beijing Review did not print cartoons until the beginning of the 1978 reforms. Nearly all of these early cartoons were oriented at international issues, and in particular, against the Soviet Union and its allies, Vietnam and Cuba. The first question to arise, that of why 1978, is answered relatively simply: the PRC had begun its intellectual and cultural reforms, and artists had once more come into favor. The limited nature of subject material may also be explained in reference to time frame: art was again allowed, yet was required to 'serve the people.' Therefore cartoonists found themselves walking a narrow line, trying to balance their need to create distinctly political art on one hand and their fear of offending the state leaders on the other. The field of possible subject matter was, needless to say, thinned dramatically. Domestic issues were obviously not a choice to be actively pursued, since that necessarily requires criticism of Chinese leaders, a troubling path in the wake of the Cultural Revolution. Furthermore, the United States and her allies were probably also considered off-limits, since the PRC was actively 'leaning' towards the Westat the time, and the cartoonist would be hesitant indeed to produce work that might be, again, seen as a critique of the policies of Deng and his peers.⁽⁷⁾ The Soviet Union, Cuba, and Vietnam, on the other hand, were at obvious and complete odds with the PRC, and thus open game.⁽⁸⁾ Their allure to cartoonists was further increased since all three could be portrayed as proponents of 'Social Imperialism' and enemies of the Third World, thus allowing China to exploit its traditional (perceived) role as leader of the non-aligned states.

As time pressed on, the Soviet Union and United States entered a period of stalemate in which a definite lean towards the West was no longer as critical, an increasing numbers of political cartoons critical of America began to appear. However most of these also included the Soviet Union and were directed towards a single issue, that of nuclear disarmament and the Strategic Arms Limitation Talks (SALT), reflecting a lingering reluctancy to criticize the US boundlessly, and by 1984 internationally oriented political cartoons make only occasional appearances.⁽⁹⁾

Why did the international political cartoon fall out of favor? Most likely this is the result of two simultaneous development. First, again, the need to be visibly polarized against the Soviet Union substantially decreased as the 1980s progressed while relations with Vietnam gradually stabilized. At the same time, the PRC was allowing increasing amounts of art for art's sake, and cartoons were certainly no exception. This is well illustrated in the above graph, as non-political cartoons begin to take up an increasing percentage of the overall number of cartoons.

Another visible trend in cartoons in the Beijing Review is the fact that they reached their highpoint not in the late 1980s or 1990, but rather in the early 1980s. The question of why is likely one of fashion. While the cartoon itself would eventually become a mainstay of the Beijing Review, its initial surge in numbers was likely due to its newness, and a willingness by both the artists and the editorial staff to take advantage of the new medium opened up to them. The declining number eventually stabilizes itself, illustrating not so much a crackdown phenomena as much as a sort of artistic Malthusian event, with the number of cartoons reaching a point which better suited the nature of the magazines composition, taking advantage of the medium without detracting from publication as a whole.

A close observation of the quantitative analysis of cartoons will also reveal a slight increase in the number of domestically oriented political cartoons immediately preceding the 1989 Tiananmen incident. This, as will be further illustrated later, is part of a general trend during that time in which the Beijing Review began to criticize problems in the PRC itself, a move that breaks from the entire tradition of modern Chinese propaganda.

Overtly Political Symbols

In understanding Chinese propaganda there are few issues more singularly important than that of overtly political symbolism. Overtly political symbols are simply those symbols which are specifically using political events as a means of legitimization, rather than using symbolism that is not specifically political to achieve the same effect.

For instance, the entirety of the diplomatic imagery already discussed may be considered one aspect of overtly political symbolism, in that each portrays a particular distinctly political event specifically to legitimize the regime. Considerable information may be gleaned from an informed analysis of overtly political symbols in the Beijing Review. First, and most obviously, the percentage of visual symbols in the Beijing Review that are overtly political has decreased significantly. This indicates, if nothing else, an increasingly mature and complex symbolic language in the period from 1970 to 1990. This, in essence, is a quantitative measure of the PRC's changing perception of its source of legitimacy and, as later analyses will show, of the official portrayal of the nature of the Chinese social, political, and economic system.

A quantitative analysis of overtly political images yields some interesting results, some of which appear to run counter to traditional thinking. This is to say that someone not familiar with the political iconography of the Beijing Review might instinctively theorize that regardless of the time, the number of overtly political images should rise in direct proportion to the level of perceived threat to the regime as an effort to bolster legitimacy. However in the wake of the Lin Piao incident there is an immediate drop in the number of overtly political images. Then, after the initial Hua Inundation the overall number of political images tends to drop during the post-Mao power struggle (increasing again only once Deng's position was fully and visibly secure), while yet another drop occurs during the troubles of 1985. Only the 1989 incident seems to have resulted in the 'logical' outcome. There are, however, reasons for each occurrence, and an explanation as to why the 1989 incident bucks the trend (assuming the Hua Inundation as an obvious explanation for the brief explosion of overtly political images upon the death of Mao).

An essential aspect to remember is that the Beijing Review is aimed specifically at non-Chinese audiences, audiences who will supposedly be deeply interested in China as an entity in the international sense. Therefore, a very high percentage of the Beijing Review's overtly political images are, as already mentioned, simultaneously diplomatic photographs. And, as has already been illustrated, images in this particular category tend to increase or decrease in number according to the perceived level of internal threat to the regime. Thus, in the case of all the incidents listed here, the dramatic sink in overtly political images is likely to be directly linked to the diplomatic photograph phenomena.

Furthermore, speaking directly to the issue of the 1971-1972 drop-off, there is another aggravation to be considered. Lin Piao was an avid supporter of the cult of Mao and actively promoted the use of political symbolism (and particularly the use of Mao's image) to a degree that even Mao himself was uncomfortable with.⁽¹⁰⁾ With the ouster of Lin Piao and the gradual waning of the Cultural Revolution the use of overtly political symbolism lost the majority of its shine, at least temporarily.⁽¹¹⁾

Another consideration to make, in reference to the post-Mao decline in particular, is that the individual members of the PRC's propaganda staff have, to quote my grandfather, 'their own hides to look after.' In other words, it is quite likely that the members of the propaganda establishment likely did not want to throw their support to any particular faction (an act that would essentially qualify them as backing X or Y faction's claim to power and legitimacy) when they were unsure as to which faction would ultimately be victorious. After the experience of the Cultural Revolution they would be more than familiar with the possible results of supporting the wrong faction, idea, or individual at the wrong time. Therefore, the individuals creating the propaganda may have considered silence preferable to error, adding to the downturn. This was further aggravated by a realization that, with the Cultural Revolution, the center had largely lost its ability to "use ideology as a resource."⁽¹²⁾

With regards to the 1989 Tiananmen incident and the increase in overtly political symbols, there are probably several contributing factors, not the least of which is the Beijing Review's brief support of the incident (as they provided considerable coverage of the event) and, immediately following the use of force, a media explosion by Deng and his supporters to legitimize the incident and downplay its importance.⁽¹³⁾

Naturally any description of the iconography of overtly political symbolism in the Beijing Review should include diplomatic images, however as the iconography of these images have already been dealt with earlier, they will not be described again here. Other basic categories of overtly political symbols, however, include official political meetings, "commonfolk" political meetings, mass demonstrations and celebrations, and funerals. Official political meetings, which might include meetings of the National People's Congress or the Central Committee of the Chinese Communist Party, may be divided into three sub-categories: meetings of the whole, 'discussion' meetings, and close-ups of top leaders. The first of these is normally taken from above and often at an angle in order to emphasize the sheer size of the events, no doubt in order to cause the viewer to equate size with actual representation, a tactic of legitimization. They are often multi-page spreads and can often be quite impressive, and tend to catch, somewhere, a representative clad in minority clothes (a subject which will be discussed in more detail later). Discussion meetings, on the other hand, are meetings of particular committees of the body as a whole discussing in either comfortable chairs or around a table (tea in hand) the issues of the meeting. They are always jovial and happy, and almost without fail one such meeting shown includes 'comrades from Taiwan' and other minorities. Speakers in these photos are often extremely melodramatic (and particularly so in the 1970s), cutting dramatic poses worthy of any Hollywood blockbuster. Finally, close-up images of the leaders of any particular meeting portrays them lined up or in clumps either near or in front of whatever locale they are meeting in. The simple act of showing a leader as a special personage at such an event reinforces the obvious simply, tactfully, and artfully: these are the most powerful men in China, and they are the leaders of the Chinese people.

Before the reforms of the post-Mao period, one of the most common images in the Beijing Review was that of political meetings being held by what may be called the 'three pillars' of true Communist propaganda: the soldiers, the workers, and the peasants. As an effort to push forward the 'revolution' the Maoists pushed policies of mass reeducation, utilizing the work group as the basis of this reeducation. In order to legitimize this action and to demonstrate the solidarity of the people and their leadership, the Chinese propaganda machine utilized various images of men and women surrounded by the tools and/or products of their trade, be it heavy equipment, weaponry, or bales of hay, engaged in political discussions, often with the infamous 'Little Red Book' in tow. These images, reminiscent of many of Leonardo and Rembrandt's group paintings, often use pyramidal composition and complex design, integrating the political utterly with the industrial, scientific, agricultural, or military. This iconographic motif is compositionally related to several others in other categories, as will be illustrated shortly.

Mass demonstrations, assemblies, and celebrations are incredibly interesting. They tend to take in huge swaths of territory (often in Tiananmen Square), and are designed specifically to demonstrate the revolutionary and spontaneous zeal of the Chinese people. Naturally, they were in no way, shape, or form spontaneous, but rather reflect the incredible ability of the regime and its propaganda machine to utilize enormous numbers of people in order to create a powerful symbol of legitimacy. The Chinese regime, perhaps better than any other in history, realized the power of the masses. And just as assuredly as the PRC manipulates these mass demonstrations to bolster its own legitimacy and authority, should these masses organize without the consent of the regime, the implication, at least in part, is precisely the opposite of that desired by the regime: these people, these other masses, they are a symbol of everything wrong with the regime, an anti-legitimizer. Perhaps that is why the PRC reacts so dramatically to demonstrations, and why the regime utilizes them far, far rarer in the reform era than in those earlier.

Finally, the idea of a funeral being political is perhaps unusual, but justifiable. In every funeral icon, various individuals of high power are shown either with the body of the deceased lying in state or with another appropriate symbol of the deceased. They generally wear black armbands, and stand in line, heads lowered, almost meditative. This act of deference and mourning is also an act of legitimizing the surviving leaders grip on power. They stand alone, beside the one from whom power has passed, and none interfere. Their orchestration of the funeral ceremonies is an act of claiming power: we act for this person's welfare in death because we are the rightful and proper heirs to his or her place and power.

Mao as a Political Icon

The image of Mao Zedung is one of the most reproduced in all of human history. His face, during the Chinese Cultural Revolution, became a symbol of all that was (officially) Chinese. Mao's face became a point of unification, a symbol of the CCP, of the PRC, and of the Chinese people as a whole. Largely this was a result of machinations by Lin Piao, Mao's wife Qing Jiang, and their supporters, and in the sense that it fully legitimized the system over which Mao towered, it was incredibly effective. Yet soon after the death of Mao, his image, at least in the Beijing Review, was discarded as a major aspect of Chinese political iconography. This is well illustrated when a quantitative analysis of Mao images is compared to a quantitative analysis of all overtly political images (an analysis which includes all images of Mao).

Mao's Words

Another interesting visual phenomena worth cataloguing is the practice of writing

printing quotes by Mao in bold type. This practice, most common during the Cultural Revolution and the Hua Innundation, mirrors the Western tradition of printing the words of God and/or Jesus in bold or red type to indicate their particular importance and the speaker's particular role in the greater scheme of things. Bolding type, a simple yet effective technique of controlling the observer's attention and his or her qualification of what is important or unimportant, allows the literary medium to take on a very definite visual symbolism. In the case of the Bible, the emboldened written word is intended to serve as a definite symbol of the divine, the truly important, the key to understanding all the rest of the texts included. In the Beijing Review, the goal is little different. Mao's words here, as with the 'Little Red Book' (Quotations from Chairman Mao Tse-Tung) itself, become a visual symbol for the ideology defining the regime as a whole, intended to 'deify' Mao and thereby legitimize the rule of the CCP and its cadre.

The People's Liberation Army/Police (The Soldier)

The Peoples' Liberation Army (PLA) is one of the most essential aspects of Chinese iconography as a whole, occupying a significant role in propaganda posters, movies, literature, and public displays. And indeed, during the Cultural Revolution images of the PLA were quite prevalent in the Beijing Review. However after the Lin Biao crisis of 1971, PLA representation in the Beijing Review experienced a step decline, likely a reaction to Lin Biao and his peers' frequent use of military symbolism in their overall iconographic scheme, and it would never again regain its relative importance, at least in this publication, for while the overall numbers of PLA/Police symbols would eventually recover, they would never again hold such importance in reference to the iconographic language as a whole.⁽¹⁴⁾ Thus the Lin Biao incident at least appears to have been a key event in triggering a shift in the propaganda as a whole away from one of militant revolutionary language towards a system more concerned with stability and 'constructivism' a symbolic shift that would become essential if China was to begin opening to the outside world and thus achieve the contiguous end of off-setting increasing Soviet power and threat.

The slight increase in the following years is likely the result of efforts by the PLA to improve its position and an increased sensitivity to the value of law enforcement, as well as the continual presence of the police at the various highly publicized trials of the Gang of Four. Then, after a slight decline, the troubles of the 1980's spark an increased use of military imagery during crisis periods (specifically during the two Tiananmen periods of the 1980s), though, significantly, the iconography has largely shifted away from that of the older 'Peoples' War' imagery.

Regarding the iconography of the military and police, there are only three readily definable recurring iconographs: the vigilant soldier, the benevolent soldier, and the infrastructure of war. The vigilant soldier is almost always shown from either a side profile or a three-quarters profile to emphasize his wariness and willingness to defend China from her enemies, a profile not entirely unlike that of the American eagle, and while nearly all portrayals of soldiers before the reform period were of this nature, they later become more case sensitive, though still remain in the vocabulary. Benevolent soldiers, on the other hand, are generally happy and smiling and are engaged almost entirely in non-military activities, such as helping at the site of natural disasters or laughing with children, or in group meetings discussing politics. Regardless, all benevolent soldiers are of the same 'happy' vein as the earlier discussion groups.⁽¹⁵⁾

The final category of imagery is that of the military infrastructure. Like the soon to be discussed 'big things' topic of industry, the use of military infrastructure as an icon is essentially one of metaphoric potency. The image of the weapon, be it a rocket, a gun, a tank, a ship, or any other piece of military equipment, is one that evokes power and strength, one that silently testifies that the PRC is real and not to be trifled with.

Industry, Infrastructure, and Science (The Worker)

If a nation-state is merely a human being enlarged, then industry and infrastructure are its muscles. And, as anyone who has seen an ad for Atlas bodybuilding books, equipment, and gyms could tell you, 100-pound weaklings are not proud of their bodies. Industrial and technological development are seen essential for any state that hopes to be considered a major player on the world stage, with China being no exception. In fact, in China the psychological importance attached to industrialization as a matter of national dignity may be even greater than in most countries, since one of the most essential national 'myths' is that of the Hundred Years of Humiliation. When combined with the Marxist-Leninist-Stalinist roots of China's particular brand of Communism, the effect is a propaganda machine that has long equated industrialization and modernization with political legitimacy. Industry, in traditional PRC iconography, is the pride of nations.⁽¹⁶⁾ If there was to be any doubt about the symbolic significance of industry, infrastructure, science, and the 'Workers' as essential to Chinese iconography, that doubt is quickly dispelled with a glance at the included quantitative analyses. Of what may be termed the 'mainstays' of Communist iconography (political, military, industrial, and agricultural symbols) only this category not only maintains its relative importance, but actually increases its share of the overall number of symbols throughout the process of reform. Indeed, close examination of the quantitative analysis of industrial symbols reveals a very high level of consistency regardless of political events, with only minor downturns during the post-Mao period, mid-1980s, and 1989 incidents, probably more a result of in increased literary response than of decreased perceived value of industrial symbolism. This is not to say, however, that the iconography of industry did not undergo significant changes that allowed this category to retain a high degree of significance, though neither do reform era- propagandists utilizing industrial symbols abandon the basic principles of the predecessors.

Machinery and the products of industry and science, an assorted collection of 'big' and 'impressive' devices and machines, make-up another essential aspect of the PRC's iconography. The machine stands as a silent testimony of the strength of the PRC, of its success as an entity, success where its predecessors failed. Whether it be dams, high-tension power lines, new apartment buildings, turbines, steel-plants, the steel frame of a newly erected building, the bowels of a coal mine, a rocket in bay, an off-shore oil rig, or a plant for the weaving of textiles, industrial and scientific imagery stands monolithic, like a a modern Stonehenge or Easter Island. And like those monoliths, they are meant to attest to the nature and soul of their creators, true or not, for right or wrong.

Agriculture and the Peasant

This is not, however, to infer that studying agricultural symbols cannot reveal important information about the regime, and in particular, again, the regime's reactions to perceived threats to its legitimacy and survival. Indeed, it would appear that agricultural symbolism does, in fact, become increasingly important as a traditional source of legitimacy during such periods. Of further interest, as reforms increasingly take hold, the total number of agriculturally-related symbols increases noticeably (though their importance on the grand scheme declines dramatically), a phenomena possibly linked to the general shift away from the militant revolutionary rhetoric of the Cultural Revolution as well as the increasing use of minority-related symbolism (to be discussed further later).

Minorities

As a multinational state, the PRC has long had to deal with the complexities of minority relations and the dangers minorities pose to territorial integrity and national unity, a central issue in a country heavily partitioned over the last century. Therefore, while the number of minority-oriented symbols may not appear significant when compared to the whole of imagery, they remain a valuable source of several forms of information. First, they should provide an understanding of what role the center feels minorities (perhaps the most peripheral of the periphery) should play in the greater polity, society, and economy. Secondly, by creating an iconography of these symbols one should be able to better understand how the regime perceives minorities, therefore allowing a deeper understanding of the root of the regime's minority policies.

It is important to note that both the overall number of minority-related symbols and their percentage of all symbols images have increased significantly. In the simplest of terms, this indicates that minority-related symbols became an increasingly important aspect of Chinese official iconography. The question of why has several possible explanations. First, it is possible that this is a phenomena directly related to the audience of the Beijing Review. The regime rarely portrays unhappy minorities, and those almost always are historical images, from before 'liberation.' Minorities are often portrayed involved in cultural activities and equally often are portrayed enjoying the benefits of Chinese modernization. This serves to 'prove' that minorities are receiving all the benefits of Chinese civilization while being not only free to preserve their own particular lifestyles, but in fact live under the auspices of a state dedicated to insuring their preservation. Simultaneously, as international tourism has increased throughout the reform period, the Beijing Review has consciously attempted to promote the industry, and has rightly judged that 'exotic' minorities increase the allure of China, especially as the Han majority and their surroundings become increasingly globalized. As for the declines in minority-related symbols both in the mid-1980s and 1990, it is quite likely that this is related to increased unrest in minority areas during these periods of general disquiet.

Entertainment, Art, Literature, Sports, & Clip-Art

Aristotle claimed that human beings were inherently political animals. This statement, quoted so often by philosophers and social scientists, is one of the most commonly misinterpreted phrases in all of human history. 'Political' for Aristotle is a holistic term, inferring the entire spectrum of human behavior: statecraft, warfare, literacy, art, athleticism, economic activity, social interaction, religion, and so on. None of these activities can ever be fully divided from any other, in Aristotlean thought. The state is bound inherently bound to its society and culture.

Taking this to be true, the student of human beings can flip through the pages of his or her history books and find a variety of different blueprints for social-political-cultural interaction. Two of the most prominent of these are the Imperial Chinese and the Imperial Roman. In both systems the center maintained some, though not complete, control over social, cultural, and religious activities, allowing for better management of the system as a whole and drawing political legitimacy from these activities. From this point, however, there is a distinct departure. Rome worked from the prospective that a distracted, entertained people are manageable people. Rome built countless public baths, colosseums, and forums, promoted untold numbers of religious ceremonies, sporting events, holidays, and festivals, essentially promoting a concept of control by satiation, a system that remains very visible in modern Western political regimes. Imperial China, on the other hand, largely limited the role of cultural activities in the lives of common men and women, preferring instead to abide by the maxim that idle hands are the tools of the devil. Labor was the basis of the Chinese center's social control policy. By insuring that commoners had little spare time (through labor in the fields, in military service, and in corvee service), the center achieved the same goal that the Roman center had achieved by providing a wealth of extracurricular activities to its people: stability. People who don't have time to think about their lives or politics are far less likely to revolt than people who do.

With the dawn of the Cultural Revolution, the PRC went a step further than traditional China by taking steps to control every and all social and cultural activities and overtly direct them to the service of the state. If an activity could not be twisted to serve the state, it was actively suppressed.⁽²⁰⁾ After the death of Mao, however, the repression of culture was lifted significantly, and the state began what may be considered the Romanization (or perhaps more properly the Westernization/Americanization) of culture and society.

The explosion of the relative role of social and cultural activities and works portrayed in the Beijing Review reflects one of the most significant trends in modern history, Chinese or otherwise. It is not so much that during this period was lacking in social and cultural activities, but rather that the regime did not perceive adequate benefit from such activities towards achieving its goals of legitimacy building, power balancing, and world revolution. As reforms progressed, however, these goals were somewhat altered. The goal of world revolution was essentially set aside, and joining the ends of legitimization and power balance came goal of drawing in extranational capital. Thus while the regime was actually loosening its grip on social and cultural activities, the regime's propaganda machine simultaneously began to develop a sophisticated method of utilizing these activities to serve the state that was freeing them. Legitimacy could now be built from artistic nationalism (distinctly 'Chinese' art, music, architecture, opera, dance, and drama) and from participation in international sporting events, while the emphasis of cultural and social traits could be utilized to increase tourism, an important source of liquid capital.

A discussion of the iconography of such a broad subject that, in a sense, is part of an active movement away from true standardized political iconography, is a trying one. Therefore, broad inferences will have to suffice for the most part, interspersed with true iconography when possible.

With regards to the portrayal of the visual arts, in early works nearly all of the fine arts were specifically linked with political, agricultural, military, and/or industrial imagery. While the former faded soon into the reform era, images of high-tensile power lines crossing the peaks of traditional Chinese paintings lingered on well into the 1980s. But, while neither category ever completely disappeared from the fine arts, eventually art for the sake of art again became par for the course. Similar situations existed in the other fine arts, including calligraphy, traditional Chinese opera, drama, and dance. Celebrations before the reform era are almost all in some way, shape, or form political, while after the reforms these again came to be held in a more traditional manner, minus the Communist propaganda. Even sports and clip-art were dedicated to the service of the polity. Before the reform era the actual performance of the athletes seems to have largely been obscured by the highly politicized ceremonies that surrounded them, while all clip-art of the same period was infused with symbols of the PLA, workers, peasants, or the state. After the reforms, however, both came into their own, exerting their own right to existence in, of, and for themselves. These changes both parallel and legitimize the drastic divergence of society, culture, and polity during the reform period.

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Conclusions

This analysis of the Beijing Review has thus yielded a few valuable morsels of information and insight. First, it has allowed a deeper understanding of the iconographic language utilized by the People's Republic of China. Furthermore, it has highlighted the propaganda machine's place in the ranks of the Chinese system, that of an entity, seeking its own benefit and that of its constituent members, simultaneously supporting, undermining, reacting to, and shaping the regime and its policies. Furthermore, and perhaps most importantly, this study has begun to hint at the possible value of quantitative analysis of Chinese propaganda. An entirely new level of analysis has opened itself, and other projects which could be similarly undertaken using a similar methodology. Of particular interest might be a continuation of the analysis of the Beijing Review into the 1990s and the Twenty-first Century, to determine if the propaganda machine remains a viable means of determining the level of threat being perceived by the PRC at any particular time, or perhaps a similarly exhaustive analysis of other works of Chinese propaganda through the same period, such as People's Daily.