In China, “rights” are not, for many people, a particularly important idea—let alone the right to privacy. Even when people realize their privacy has been violated, it’s hard for them to think, “one of my rights is being infringed,” rather than merely, “my feelings are hurt.”
In my view, there are three kinds of privacy rights: (1) our privacy vis-à-vis other people, (2) our privacy vis-à-vis companies, and (3) our privacy vis-à-vis the state. It’s obvious that Chinese people take “privacy vis-à-vis other people” seriously, and most also know that prying into others’ private lives is wrong. In this respect, there’s no real difference from other nations—even if many don’t see defending their own privacy as defending a right. At times, I even feel the demand for privacy is greater than elsewhere. For example, privacy screen protectors are especially popular, even among people who don’t handle secrets, despite the film degrading display clarity. Many women also like to wear “safety shorts” (modesty shorts worn under skirts) to guard against exposure.
When it comes to “privacy vis-à-vis companies,” however, Chinese people are less attentive. When certain corporate figures say, while infringing people’s privacy, that “Chinese users are willing to trade privacy for convenience,” that claim is understandably hard to accept. In recent years the government and some companies have introduced many privacy measures, and these firms advertise their “achievements.” Yet public awareness still isn’t where it should be. When people notice that something they just typed in one app quickly shows up as recommendations in a completely unrelated shopping app, many are surprised—but few are alarmed or angry. Only a tiny minority are willing to push back: for instance, the handful of residents or zoo visitors who sued over face recognition being the only way to enter a housing compound or attraction. Many people still happily “scan their face,” use domestically made input-method apps (keyboards) that explicitly collect user data, and buy phone brands widely known to harvest user information.
As for “privacy vis-à-vis the state,” the concept is sorely lacking. In the real world, even those who dare to fight for privacy against companies often fall silent when it comes to the government. Plenty will rage online that Li Yanhong (李彦宏, Robin Li) is invading privacy, and entrepreneurs like Li Shufu (李书福) have publicly claimed that Ma Huateng (马化腾, Pony Ma) “peeks at everyone’s WeChat messages.” But on the Chinese internet you rarely hear accusations about violations of privacy vis-à-vis the state. In other words, many people think: Ma Huateng mustn’t read my chats—but if even the lowest-level officer at a local police station (pàichūsuǒ) sees them, that’s no big deal.
Not long ago, the so-called “online ID” system (wǎngzhèng, an “internet identity” scheme) was introduced—at least on the surface—to further standardize companies’ collection of personal data and prevent abuse. Legal scholar Lao Dongyan (劳东燕) voiced a worry that this would infringe privacy vis-à-vis the state—a legitimate concern. Predictably, she was soon attacked by “Little Pink” (xiǎo fěnhóng, nationalist pro-government internet users) and other forces. Raising such concerns is precisely the social responsibility of a public intellectual; trying to shut one up is far more harmful. Although Lao Dongyan made a poor call on the “Lianshui Vocational School ‘fake genius’ Jiang Ping” case (she believed Jiang Ping was a great genius; that viral story was later widely questioned), and revealed a certain naïveté—hardly uncommon among public intellectuals—we shouldn’t question everything she does because of one mistaken judgment.
Many people have effectively given up their privacy vis-à-vis the state. Their go-to lines are: “I have nothing to hide,” “I haven’t done anything suspicious,” “I have a clear conscience”—or that they aim to be a “dignified, upright Chinese person”. The same routine appears with so-called “national champion” firms like Huawei—hardly any Huawei users worry about whether their privacy is being violated.
Some time ago, a cybersecurity company investigated hidden cameras in vacation rentals in Shijiazhuang. In one video, the investigators told two young women that their room had a hidden camera—and it was live-streaming. Astonishingly, one of them said, “Let them film, it’s fine” (at 3:59 in the video), leaving the investigators stunned. We can only guess why she was so indifferent. Did she truly want her every move in that room live-broadcast to thousands of strangers—mostly leering creeps? Was she an exhibitionist? I think, in that instant, she fell back into the cul-de-sac of “I have nothing to be ashamed of.” Either she imagined the person behind the camera as “Big Brother” or wanted to signal she wasn’t a lesbian (nǚtóng, slang). To reassure Big Brother—or merely to avoid being mistaken as lesbian—does that justify live-streaming your room to countless people?
But the real question is: Why do Chinese people clearly value privacy vis-à-vis other individuals, yet fail to extend that to companies and the state?
Put plainly, it’s because many lack the ability for abstract thinking in the domain of rights. By abstract thinking I mean the ability to think apart from concrete, intuitively graspable situations. Of course, Chinese people aren’t inherently short on abstract thinking, but something blocks it when we talk about rights—or privacy rights. We all know it’s wrong to pry into others’ privacy, and wrong when others pry into ours. Parents who want to peek at a child’s diary or phone messages typically do it secretly rather than openly, because they know it’s wrong. A pervert caught peeping into a women’s restroom risks a furious beating from those present. In these scenes, the invasion of privacy is highly intuitive, so people clearly recognize it as wrong.
In the realm of privacy vis-à-vis companies, people are less clear-eyed; in privacy vis-à-vis the state, many abandon thinking altogether. The main reason is that the ways companies and the state intrude on privacy are not intuitive: there’s no pair of eyes peering from a dark corner, no visible hidden camera. Data collection happens automatically inside our smart devices, quietly in the background. Your phone’s notification bar doesn’t pop up a banner saying, “App X is extracting your private data right now.” Your WeChat group chat doesn’t flash a reminder that Big Brother just reviewed the messages here.
So, plenty of women will adamantly refuse to let a boyfriend see their social-media histories, yet accept companies or the state helping themselves to that data. Some defend this by saying that companies use “big data” and, to some extent, anonymize personal info—so even if they collect it, they don’t really know who “I” am. Others argue this is simply the business model of the internet: the platforms are free, and users must hand over data in exchange.
These claims have some truth. But as for corporate data collection, I stand firmly with Apple and the European Union: users must have the maximum possible right to know and to control. In particular, users should be able to refuse to have their usage data sold or transmitted to third parties, thereby preventing almost every internet company from freely acquiring it.
When it comes to privacy vis-à-vis the state, though, those defenses don’t hold. Citizens pay taxes and fund the state; they aren’t getting “free” government services in exchange for data. Of course, for national security, security services must maintain a general monitoring net to prevent terrorism and other crimes. But that monitoring must be lawful, constitutional, and proportionate. Especially: only in specific circumstances and through proper legal procedures may law enforcement listen to the contents of a particular person’s communications. They must not arbitrarily monitor anyone’s communications content. Yet because many Chinese are inclined to think the state is omnipotent, it’s hard for them to engage in abstract thinking here.
There’s a story that, a few years ago, Chinese officers walked into an Apple Store with the phone of a fallen corrupt official and asked ordinary retail staff to unlock it so they could inspect its contents. This suggests those officers were quite unfamiliar with the very idea of privacy rights: how could a frontline retail employee possibly have the authority to unlock a phone? Strangely, these agencies would rather spend money tinkering with hopeless cracking tools than contact Apple for assistance. In principle, with a formal search warrant, Apple would cooperate. Incidents like this give us no reason to believe law-enforcement bodies will protect people’s privacy vis-à-vis the state when people themselves don’t care about it. When the PRISM program in the U.S. was exposed, public trust in national-security agencies plummeted, which in turn forced those surveillance projects to be more restrained and kept more firmly on a rule-of-law track.
Here, I won’t list in detail why the right to privacy matters or why we must defend it, because I believe most people already know—those who cherish privacy vis-à-vis other people should recognize that privacy, whether against individuals, companies, or the state, is the same right. At bottom, we do value privacy. There’s no need to debate why “I have nothing to hide” is an invalid reason to surrender privacy: it’s a non sequitur. In ordinary circumstances, you do not need—and should not be required—to surrender a basic human right in order to prove you haven’t done anything “wrong.” In matters of rights, people need a measure of abstract thinking to elevate an intuitive defense of privacy into a defense of rights themselves and of personal dignity—to realize that non-intuitive violations of privacy can have far more frightening consequences. Whether done openly or in secret, whether by other individuals, by companies, or by the state, an invasion of personal privacy is an invasion.
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