Western universities have become apologists for an illiberal China

Earlier this month, the Irish Centre for Human Rights at the University of Galway unveiled a bronze bust in memory of the Chinese human rights activist, poet, philosopher and 2010 Nobel Peace Prize Laureate Liu Xiaobo, which had been gifted to it by Art for Human Rights and Human Rights in China.
The unveiling itself was a lovely, if uneventful, occasion, and may seem like no big deal.
But because of the Chinese Communist Party (CCP)’s enormous and systematic attempts to exert influence and pressure on academic freedom in universities beyond its borders, something as straightforward as a commemorative bust becomes a very big deal.
Since Liu’s death from liver cancer in July 2017, the CCP has made relentless efforts to try to obliterate his memory. He died while serving an 11-year sentence for “suspicion of the subversion of state authority”. When his death was announced, Chinese censors deleted images or emojis of candles, or simple “RIP” messages. Searches on Weibo (China’s equivalent of X/Twitter) regarding Liu return the message: “according to relevant laws and policies, results for ‘Liu Xiaobo’ cannot be displayed”. His wife Liu Xia, who had spent almost seven years under strict house arrest while he was in prison, was not allowed to bury him; his body was cremated, and his ashes dumped at sea in an effort to prevent his family, friends and supporters having a place to gather to remember him.
What does this have to do with higher education institutions in the West?
Through a combination of pressure tactics – including a global censorship regime, the weaponisation of informal Chinese networks, questionable party-state funding, and dependencies on “official China” – students and researchers are silenced, and higher education institutions are influenced.
Within many universities outside China, academic freedom has been compromised by Chinese funding. Dependent on the large funds that have been allocated to them, they are more inclined to do research in line with the CCP’s programme. More recently, the much publicised Hong Kong National Security Law allows anyone to be charged who challenges China’s national unity, regardless of nationality or territory. The Hong Kong National Security Law purports to have extraterritorial effect and therefore it is not limited to Chinese citizens or even those physically in Hong Kong. This inevitably contributes to a climate of self-censorship among academics.
[ Hong Kong security law was inevitable, but speed of its passing was a surpriseOpens in new window ]
Whilst there is no suggestion of direct Chinese influence on any decision-making relating to the placing of memorial busts to Liu, it is notable that three universities in North America and Europe turned down the offer of a gift of a cast of this bust of Liu before it was accepted by the Irish Centre for Human Rights at the University of Galway.
One university cited “security concerns” in relation to protecting the artwork. Another claimed that it did not accept busts of “political figures”, when there were already several such busts on its campus. A third said it didn’t have “space” for the bust.
Unfortunately, rising authoritarianism, if not actual totalitarianism, in China has turned the tables on Western universities. Instead of spearheading the liberalisation of China, they have become vulnerable to Chinese pressure in the opposite direction. Their partnerships with Chinese universities have turned into potential liabilities as professors come under fire for not properly declaring Chinese funding, research grants are linked to human rights abuses in Xinjiang, and universities’ technology breakthroughs are being used to improve China’s system of mass surveillance.
The truth of China today is that is has a government that monitors and censors all internal communications; represses minority cultures in Tibet and Xinjiang; prohibits access to external sources of news and information; arbitrarily detains not only its own citizens, but increasingly foreigners as well, and severely prohibits the free exercise of religion. Each of these individually would be cause for concern. Collectively, their weight is overwhelming. Universities outside China who accept CCP funding can no longer argue that they are helping the reform of a liberalising China. On balance, wittingly or unwittingly, they have become apologists for an illiberal China.
The Irish Centre for Human Rights and the University of Galway showed courage in accepting this gift of memory to Liu. Statements of support by the university’s president and the director of the Irish Centre for Human Rights are significant. It is our hope that this example will encourage other universities to resist the pressure from Chinese money that might compromise their academic freedom.
The words of Liu will outlast those of any tyrant. His memory and legacy will never be forgotten.
In his obituary essay on Nadezdha Mandelstam, widow of poet Osip Mandelstam, who died in Stalin’s Gulag in 1938, Joseph Brodsky wrote: “If there is any substitute for love, it’s memory. To memorise, then, is to restore intimacy.”
Bill Shipsey is founder and executive director at Art for Human Rights (formerly Art for Amnesty). Fengsuo Zhou is executive director of Human Rights in China