heaven above or a popular mandate from the people below, China’s leaders often follow rather than guide development. Laudable laws and praiseworthy policies are not enough. If conservation is to stand any chance of working in China, the government needs to be either a lot more dictatorial or a lot more democratic or, more realistically, needs to secure the support of the market, the media, and a nascent civil society centered around NGOs and the Internet. Without them, the authorities have the power to expand but not the power to conserve. Waste and environmental destruction are inevitable.83 The emphasis on efficiency of “Scientific Development” reads just like any other propaganda slogan painted on a village wall: it highlights the fact that reality is the complete opposite.
Even Ma Zhong, the pioneer of Heilongjiang’s first wetland nature reserve, is fighting a losing battle.84 Despite international and central government support, his efforts to make the Sanjiang area an example of conservation management failed to win widespread support among locals who preferred to put their land to greater economic use. Demand for food and land is still growing. As farming becomes increasingly profitable, people move in and the government’s commitment to the environment is compromised yet further. The population of the three provinces that once encompassed the Great Northern Wilderness is now well above 100 million. The region is a bastion of the state’s food security policy. Wetlands and wildlife don’t really stand a chance.85
“This is the most difficult time to be a conservationist,” Ma said sadly. “Few people agree with me. Although it’s nice in principle, when people are given the choice of food on the table or the protection of birds, they all choose food. That is understandable.”
New cold-resistant hybrids, modern technology, and global warming had turned the Sanjiang area into the rice capital of China. The marshes that Ma helped to convert into dry land for farming during the Cultural Revolution were being reflooded and turned into rice paddies. Nature reserve managers approved the massive expansion of the cultivated land on the dubious grounds that paddy fields are a form of wetland.86 Far from blocking this expansion into what little was left of the wilderness, the government has encouraged land conversion with tax incentives and price subsidies.87 Heilongjiang has become the biggest grain producer in China, with a surplus so great that much of it is turned into ethanol.88
“In the space of just two or three years, farming on the Sanjiang Plain has become profitable for the first time in more than fifty years,” said Ma. “Wetland conservation cannot compete.” The math is simple. The value of wetland rises more than thirtyfold once it is converted into farmland.
Yet Heilongjiang’s best soil is being degraded. The province once boasted the most carbon-rich earth in China. The black soil was so valuable that it was protected. Under provincial regulations, townships were not supposed to build factories unless they first removed the loam and laid it down elsewhere. But this rule was usually ignored. The topsoil has thinned and paled as a result of overcultivation and excess use of fertilizer. In some areas in the southwest of the province, the land is suffering the same fate as much of Gansu, Ningxia, and Inner Mongolia and turning into desert. Local journalists told me this was now a bigger problem for the province than water pollution.
More of Sanjiang’s wetlands will be converted in the future to compensate for the loss of topsoil and to ensure the nation’s farmland stays above the 120-million-hectare baseline that the government set for food supply stability.89 It is a matter of national security. As the state media has pointed out, the Three Rivers area provides enough food for three cities—Beijing, Shanghai, and Tianjin—as well as the entire People’s Liberation Army. Madame Qian Zhengying, the former water minister, told me she believed this had large potential to be expanded further in the future. Against such powerful forces, conservationists like Ma can only hope to limit the damage.90
I left Heilongjiang unconvinced that the world could solve its environmental problems by being “China for a Day.” Strong government is important. Many of the politburo’s declared measures are ambitious and commendable. But they are not enough. Implementation is dire. More nature reserves are being established, more animals are being bred in captivity, and more trees are being planted, but wetlands, forests, topsoil, and wildlife are declining more precipitously than ever.
It is not a question of democracy or dictatorship, but of demographics and culture. As long as there are more people demanding more food and bigger buildings, the pressure to clear more wetlands and forest will grow. Despite its dictatorial reputation, the Chinese government seems even less able to prevent an environmental meltdown than leaders in democratic nations because it is more addicted to growth. When it comes to protecting the environment, the authority of the authoritarian state looks alarmingly shaky.
I had looked at top-down, supply-side, scientific solutions and found them wanting. It was time to consider the grassroots, demand-side, cultural alternatives. And where better to view them than the massive, sparsely populated northern region where more and more of China’s problems were being dumped.
16. Grass Roots
The more I engaged in environmental protection, the more I understood the importance of democracy and the rule of law.
The driver was hurtling us toward Inner Mongolia at a reckless speed. His handling was good and he was familiar with the roads, but he could not possibly have known what was coming in the other direction as he overtook slow trucks on rising, winding bends through the outer dregs of the Loess Plateau. His only precaution was to keep his hand on the horn almost as often as his foot was on the accelerator. “I’m coming through. Get out of the way!” the horn blared. One accident was averted at the last moment by a sudden spurt of the accelerator and a yank of the wheel, another by sharp braking and indignant honking.
I was initially fatalistic. But after the first near miss, I became worried enough to ask him to slow down, which he did for a couple of minutes, then roared back to video-game speed, talking away the whole time about his side businesses in a strong local accent. For him, time was obviously money. Either that or he wanted to make me pay for haggling down the fare. I took some comfort in the landscape, which was swiftly shifting from winding loess slopes to flat gravel desert. The scenery was getting uglier, but at least it was easier to see what was coming on the road ahead.
Inner Mongolia announced itself with a smoke-belching power plant, piles of coal on the roadside, and a gust of sand-filled wind. I swapped vehicles at the first opportunity and was soon on a minor road into the Hetao grasslands, relieved to be progressing at a less suicidal speed, with a quiet driver inside the car and empty open plains outside.
I had been looking forward to this trip for some time. A year earlier in Mongolia, the country to the north, I had been awestruck by the beauty of empty space, high, translucent blue skies, and endless green steppe that you could drive or gallop across for hours without seeing a single fence or building. Outside the cities, the only signs of habitation were the white
Few Han care to acknowledge the enormous influence of Mongols on China’s history. Much of the country’s current territory, wealth, and status are owed to Genghis Khan and his successors. In the thirteenth century, this Mongol led a small army of nomad warriors across Eurasia, bringing almost the entire continent under their thrall and smoothing the way to increased trade between Europe and Asia along the Silk Road. His name has since become a byword for brutality, but he was also a scholar, poet, and philosopher who was sufficiently broad-minded to challenge his own shamanistic upbringing by inviting Christian, Muslim, and other scholars to explain their beliefs.1
Genghis Khan was also aware of the need to conserve his home environment. Even while pillaging central Asia, he introduced laws to protect the grasslands of Mongolia. Hunting was permitted only in winter. Burning or excavating the grasslands without permission was punishable by death. Under his rule, the Mongols were said to conserve wildlife better than human life.2 Such beliefs lasted far longer than the nomad warrior. As in
