The first time I saw Ai Weiwei I was sitting in my Moscow apartment, watching CNN. There was a photograph of a burly artist dropping an ancient Chinese urn. A second photograph showed an equally ancient urn on which he’d painted the words “Coca-Cola.”

Christiane Amanpour introduced him as a co-designer of Beijing's iconic Olympic Stadium, a vocal critic of the Chinese government and the son of Ai Qing, a renowned writer and Communist revolution supporter later denounced by the Party and sent to work camps. The elder Ai is now considered one of China’s most prominent modern poets.

But it was this exchange that really hooked my interest:

Q: “How you can go in and out of China, especially when you speak so strongly against the government?”
Ai: “Yes, it's very hard to say. On the one hand, the prime minister would memorize my father's poetry in front of the great public, but on the other hand, the police were, you know, following me. So it's hard to say. You know, I was beaten almost for death.”

I made a mental note: Arrange an interview with Ai Weiwei.

In a nation of 1.3 billion people, Ai is a man apart. As an internationally known artist and domestic political provocateur, his ability so far to both speak out against the government and avoid prison is a high-wire act that has ended in disaster for others.   

His work turned increasingly political after the Sichuan earthquake of 2008, which left more than 80,000 people dead or missing. The earthquake killed more than 5,000 children -- many crushed in cheap, poorly built schools.

Ai organized a team of volunteers to scour the Sichuan countryside and compile a list of the names and basic information about the dead children. The volunteers were arrested more than 30 times, by Ai’s count.

When Ai showed up last year to testify in the trial of a fellow earthquake activist, local police detained and beat him. That fellow activist, Tan Zuoren, was later given five years – a sentence upheld by a provincial high court earlier this month.

Ai keeps a copy of the list of the children killed in the earthquake stretched across the wall of his office, and posts Twitter updates on their birthdays. (Ai can be followed on Twitter @aiww.)

He sat down recently to talk with me at his Beijing home. Because the life and times of Ai have been so thoroughly documented in the past -- links below -- I'm concentrating here on his thoughts about politics in today's China.

But in the spirit of Ai's call for transparency, the entire conversation can be downloaded by clicking here: Download WS320050.

(The text of the questions was edited for space.)

Q: Your public presence is a very transparent one in many ways – your constant Twitter feeds, interviews, videos, etc. Beyond the content of those things, is the transparency itself a message?

 “Very much so ... To deal with this power, or this authoritarian society, the strongest tool is to be transparent, to (be) very open, to try to start a conversation or a discussion or just throw out something which can generate this kind of motion. Transparency itself is the tool but also it’s the purpose (that) this tool is trying to achieve. So-called justice or fairness will never come if there’s no transparency.”

Q: How do you answer when government representatives ask why you do what you do?

“They realize I’m not hired by any foreign agency. I come from a family which started longer (ago) in the revolution than them, most of them. They’re influenced by my father’s poetry in the early time, in the 1930s, he also was in a nationalist jail, was also a Communist exile. So they couldn’t find why I’m doing it, they couldn’t find why I am identifying myself with somebody on the street. You know, this is just simply beyond their understanding – ‘Why do you care about this guy who's mistreated, I mean there’s really no association between you and him.’
So I try to explain to them we are all related, you know, if one is not free then none of us are free, this kind of very basic values. But still it seems (for) people hard to understand it, in China in general … I try to explain to them my ideas about freedom of speech, I think that’s good for everybody, for the state, for anybody.”
… “Secondly, you have to have a judicial system which is independent. And set up a rule, no matter how wrong the rule is, but we all have to follow the same rule. Otherwise you cannot start a game: you are a dealer, you are dealing the cards but you steal the cards, you change the rules all the time depend(ing) on what is in your hands. So nobody is going to play with you, then you lost your authority, then the whole situation becomes deteriorated and corrupt … that’s what (situation) today China is in.”

 Q: Do government officials accept your critiques as a kind of patriotism?

“No, they just shake their heads.”

Q: Your art about the earthquake has included a project where you spelled out a grieving mother’s words in backpacks and another marking birthdays on Twitter. Beyond the artistic statements, what’s the social statement?

“I think that in today’s China, after years of tragedies or this kind of totalitarian society, then the true value of a life, of an individual’s life is dismissed, it’s never been really announced.
So you often see, oh here you had a problem, 200 dead. And there you have a problem, 35 died. And then the earthquake, maybe 100,000 dead.
But nobody asks more than that -- Who are they? What’s their name? Which family (do) they belong to? How old are they? Which school are they in? And what really happened during their death? Then this, I think, reflects a nation, a race, (that) are trying to erase all those details which relate to a person who has a temperature, has color, and shapes ... I think that’s the only way people can be very cruel, it’s just (to) forget everything.
So I thought this is a very good idea, to start with those details, just trying to ask the simple question of who are they. Those people ... are victimized by those buildings. But instead to ask about the buildings, first we have to recognize who’s dead, what happened.”

Q: The headlines about your earthquake projects have been about the building quality of the schools, but is the recognition of the individuals who were killed in a way more threatening to the government?

“I think it’s more threatening … coming back to life itself, to how the state looks at the individual’s life, why those people are being ignored. And why they are covering up.
So all those questions are really stronger than those buildings’ qualities -- it’s the quality of the state. The whole state has (been) built on this doubtful construction, the whole system. So they are covering it (up). We are showing the people why they are covering it, and it shows how weak they are and how timid they are and how irrational they can be.
I think it’s so successful because we're not stuck on the argument of how the building quality is. We start to question: What is the quality of this state, this government? And in what kind of moral stand (are) those people are for? Why (are) they so afraid of this?”

I’ve spent the last few days in Seoul, immersed in the usual routine of a correspondent visiting a country for the first time – dialing dozens of numbers trying to set up interviews, meeting people in hotel coffee shops, doing phone interviews and forgetting to eat lunch. And getting a ride to the DMZ.

My mind, though, has wandered several times to a different part of the world: Kyrgyzstan. More specifically, I’ve been thinking a lot about the way that new media (if we may still call it that) has allowed anyone with an internet connection to process an astounding variety of breaking news. (A brief background on what led up to the violence is at the end of this post.)

Just a few years ago, reports from an event like the ethnic violence in Kyrgyzstan this past week would have come mostly from print/wire news outlets, with some TV thrown in.

But with a simple log on to Twitter, I was flooded with: feeds from Kyrgyz reporters on the ground, essays by observers, Russian media reports, American media reports, anguished pleas for peace, the spread of rumors, the debunking of rumors, statements by officials, photographs from the scene, video from the scene … really, the list is so long that I’ll just stop here.

The online service – with a reported 100 million+ users across the world – has repeatedly been used during major breaking news events to not just link to articles and sound shrill opinions, but to convey facts from the ground in real time. This happened, to pick two examples, in Iran during the protests there last year and in Thailand during the violent crackdown on the Red Shirt protesters last month.

Most impressive was not the volume of information from and about Kyrgyzstan, but the layers in which it was available.

Following events on Twitter is like news in 3-D.

Zooming down to the ground for real time reports, @kasymr told us about passing armed checkpoints in the south of Kyrgyzstan. @icrcnews said its representatives saw bodies burned at a cemetery. The Associated Press reported Kyrgyz mobs setting Uzbek villages on fire.

Or pulling back the lens, Human Rights Watch (@hrw) gave early accounts of what started the ethnic bloodshed. Several think tanks and NGOs provided background briefings.

You could have pieced together your own news report, with links to video, just from flipping through the posts.

Of course, there are drawbacks. One is not always sure who the writers are, or what their agendas might be. This is particularly true in highly-charged situations like one ethnic group slaughtering the other.

That said, much of the information was from the sorts of people I would have called had I been writing a story from Moscow as I hustled to get a flight to Kyrgyzstan – witnesses, officials, NGOs, analysts, etc. And when I read newspaper stories on Monday morning about those events in southern Kyrgyzstan, they mostly confirmed what I’d already gathered from Twitter.

In the days that followed, though, the traditional media proved its worth, giving analysis and a depth of reporting not available anywhere else. The New York Times has had at least four reporters in two Kyrgyz cities and Moscow, producing solid pieces on the violence and its fallout, and a look at who/what was behind the carnage.

I know that because I read those stories on Twitter.

(Follow me on Twitter: @TomLasseter)

A backgrounder of recent events: Last February Kyrgyz President Kurmanbek Bakiyev announced, from Moscow, that his country was receiving more than $2 billion in loans and aid from Russia. That same day, Bakiyev also said that the United States would have to shutter its strategically important Manas Air Base in Kyrgyzstan. Then in June, the Kyrgyz government said that it had reached a deal to get more rent and aid from the Americans.

The Russians were not happy. As Foreign Policy put it: “relations between Moscow and Bishkek plummeted to an all-time low, while Bakiyev's government gleefully cashed in the new checks provided by both Moscow and Washington.”

The glee was short-lived. This April, all hell broke loose in Kyrgyzstan. Protests against the government turned to riots and then revolution. Bakiyev was deposed. There were a myriad of reasons – corruption by the Bakiyev family and heavy-handed violence by his security forces among them. There was, as the Washington Post reported, also a sense that Russia at the very least did not oppose the toppling of the man who’d so publicly double-crossed the Kremlin.

Then came this past week of violence in the south of Kyrgyzstan between ethnic Kyrgyz and Uzbeks. The Uzbeks took the brunt of almost all of the bloodshed, with entire Uzbek enclaves reportedly razed, burned down, cleared out by men with clubs and knives, or otherwise vacated.

Wire reports quoted a spokesman for the International Committee of the Red Cross as saying that hundreds of people had been killed. Some 100,000 Uzbeks fled to the Uzbek-Kyrgyz border.

The headlines about the future of green technology in China are almost always promising, filled with numbers that boggle the mind. The country is pouring billions of dollars into developing all sorts of research labs and projects, and is inking deals to cooperate with Western companies that specialize in the field. The Wall Street Journal last year carried a story on a report saying the green/clean tech market in China could be worth between $500 billion and $1 trillion ANNUALLY. The New Yorker had a terrific piece on the subject with a headline that telegraphed expectations: Green Giant. There has, of course, been a corresponding myriad of warnings about the U.S. falling behind.

And perhaps one day I'll write a story about all of that. But really, when I think of green tech here, I think of something more basic -- getting home without being run over by one of the estimated 120 million electric bicycles in China.

I'd thought about writing about it earlier in the week, hesitating because it's such a well-worn subject. (Just this evening, a friend specifically warned me that "traffic in Beijing" is shamefully cliche to longtime China news consumers.)

The gentleman in the picture above (whose basket tag translates to: Little Bird), however, changed my mind. I was walking from the office to the subway two days ago when I looked up and there he was -- a few yards away, in the middle of the sidewalk,  and coming right at me.

E-bikes are the subject of equal parts adulation and annoyance during chats about life in the capital. Although many bikes are still outfitted with lead-acid batteries, which are not great for the environment, there is hope for the greener lithium-ion version becoming cheaper and more widely used. That could help offset pollution in the country and lessen congestion on over-burdened roads. (One environmental attorney in Beijing, Alex Wang, contemplated those issues in his blog after buying a deluxe version of an E-bike known as the Big Turtle King.)

On the other hand, due to the chaotic nature of Beijing traffic, these things are a menace.  E-bikes silently swarm everywhere in Beijing -- both sides of the street, the sidewalk, bus lanes, alleys, parking lots and even pedestrian bridges. In both directions. Against traffic flow. Coming right at you. Or from behind.  At a faster speed than you would expect. Did I mention that they are silent?

I suppose one could contemplate whether there are meta-themes at play here. It's an authoritarian state, and yet there is much chaos.

But truthfully, I am left just gazing at the photo above. My mind wanders. There are 120 million E-bikes in China. The country is bounding forward. Mr. Little Bird is heading right at me.

 
  
On one hand, a visitor to China is struck by the magnitude of infrastructure projects here. On a short trip last year, coming from Moscow, I was floored by the growth and energy of the country's big cities.

It's not just places like Shanghai -- provinces and towns that most Westerners have never heard of are also bursting with cranes and construction.

When working in Henan Province a couple weeks ago, I was riding through a poor farming town, feeling like I was in the muddy middle of nowhere, and there in the distance a brand new high-speed rail line cut through the fields. Last week, while wandering around Shaanxi Province,  I stopped at the offices of a project in the town of Xianyang to ask about the residential/retail colossus going up in the background. A manager there said that all 425 apartments had been sold. There were signs for another rising apartment complex in town that depicted fat gold coins ready to drop from fat gold trees.

But in the shadows of that well-documented growth (I just Googled China growth and got 92 million hits, which still seems low), there are serious challenges. Among them: A lack of rule of law and social release valves, coupled with rampant corruption.

During the trip to Henan I reported about a farmer who committed suicide after local authorities shook him down to pay for prostitutes and meals, and then did nothing to help him. His final attempt at getting assistance ended in a beating at the local seed station.

Then in Shaanxi I looked at the case of a businessman who was killed on the orders of a local potentate who wanted to grab his coal mine. He was stabbed to death not far from his front door.

Managing that tension -- an explosion of growth + simmering internal problems -- would be a challenge for any government. In a nation widely viewed as an emerging world superpower, the stakes are that much higher.

China's economic clout -- third-largest economy in the world, expected by many to soon become the second-largest -- means that local stories here often have global impact. I was reminded of that at lunch today when the subject of Foxconn came up.

Following more than a dozen suicides or attempted suicides at the Taiwanese-owned Foxconn Technology Group electronics factory in Shenzhen this year, there was a raft of press coverage concentrated mainly on conditions at the factory. Questions abounded: Were the deaths a sign of desperation from workers packed together on the assembly lines that make your shiny new Apple iPad? Were they sacrificial acts meant to deliver death compensation payments for the young workers' poor families in the countryside? Or perhaps given that the company employs hundreds of thousands of people, were the 10 suicides statistically predictable?

I don't know the answer, and am not sure that anybody does. But beyond the guessing and analysis about the root causes of the spate of suicides, because this is China there are broader implications.

Reacting to the deaths and the news of the deaths, Foxconn first issued a 30 percent pay raise, and then later announced a 66 percent pay increase, effective later this year for qualified workers.

That, combined with pay raises at a Honda plant in China after a recent worker's strike there, has raised the question of whether China's labor scene is changing. The country has shaped the global economy as the world's manufacturing/export base, a development made possible by a gigantic pool of cheap labor.

What would be an item of domestic interest in many other countries -- worker strife, suicides -- has turned into something that could shift the way the world does business.

Interested in reading more? The Washington Post carried a piece looking at the nation's shifting demographics and labor attitudes. The Christian Science Monitor reported that wage increases "signal huge changes in the way 'the workshop of the world' is feeding global consumers." And the New York Times looked at how export prices might increase.

Also, an excellent podcast on the subject is here.

I've been reporting in China for just about a month now. One of the first things I've noticed is that I stand out like a sore thumb.

In Iraq, especially during the early days when travel was easier, I had some success blending in by buying local clothes. In Afghanistan, when I grow my beard long and wear a salwar kameez, I can sort of pass as an Afghan. In Russia, folks sometimes thought I was Russian or from the Caucasus.

That ability to blend in has come in handy, allowing me to hang out and gather more material because no one is paying much attention to me.

But here in China, everyone knows immediately that I am a waiguoren, a foreigner. While doing my daily routine in Beijing, where there is a sea of foreigners, it's not a big deal. It now and then means understanding just enough Mandarin to know that a joke is being told or, a few weeks ago, hearing a Chinese couple complaining to the waiter that the foreigner (me) and his friend were seated after them but seemed to get their salads first.

 In the provinces, though, there are real implications. When I was recently working in the province of Henan, local officials had no trouble spotting me first in one town -- where they stopped my car and suggested that I take a rest from reporting -- and then a second town, where they sternly invited me to leave (http://tinyurl.com/2fwukdk).

Last week, I was reporting in another province and asking people about a murder there (more on that later). I am certain that I was hindered by the fact that each person I approached knew that everyone watching saw they were with a foreigner. This led to some very short conversations.

I was thinking over that issue on the way home from work last night when the taxi stopped at my neighborhood. A man on the sidewalk, who I suspect had consumed a beer or two, peered into the cab, looked me over and then turned to his friends to pronounce: Waiguoren.