A Hong Kong protester decries Xu Wenli's 13-year jail term. ROBYN BECK--AFP

After a secret two-hour trial, a court in southern Hunan province last week sentenced labor organizer Zhang Shanguang to 10 years in prison. His offense, according to his family, was giving an interview about rural unrest in China to the U.S.-funded Radio Free Asia. A week earlier, three veteran activists, Xu Wenli, Qin Yongmin and Wang Youcai were sentenced to 13, 12 and 11 years in jail, respectively. Their crime: "subversion" by attempting to set up the China Democracy Party (CDP), the country's first political opposition group since 1949. Last week the People's Daily announced the arrests and sentencing of 10 people in Beijing and Tianjin for selling unspecified "illegal political publications." They were given prison terms ranging from three to 13 years.

What's going on here? Only months ago China was being praised by the international community for what appeared to be a blossoming of political tolerance. Western journalists were buzzing about a new "Beijing Spring" reminiscent of the 1989 student movement. Writers and academics were growing outspoken, and politically provocative publications were becoming accessible. In September Beijing welcomed Mary Robinson, the United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights, on a high-profile visit. A few weeks later, China even signed the U.N. Covenant on Civil and Political Rights.

Spring has clearly turned to winter, and human rights observers are wondering why. Some believe that the perception of greater tolerance was merely an illusion. They note that in the months before U.S. President Bill Clinton's historic trip to China last June the government could afford to be flexible. "It was a very important visit for China," says a Beijing political scientist. "Nothing was to happen that could turn Clinton away." Dissidents capitalized on the moment. In late June activists in eastern Zhejiang province tried to register the CDP and unexpectedly were treated with relative tolerance. In the weeks that followed, branches were set up in 11 cities nationwide.

Some activists were not surprised by the clampdown that followed. They see it as proof that China's communist leadership will never be serious about human rights, no matter how many international covenants it signs. Yet other observers believe the spring thaw was real, and that the subsequent chill betrays a new insecurity at the top. "The arrests symbolize the greater problems facing the government both politically and economically," says a Western diplomat in Beijing. Unemployment, labor unrest and a slowdown in domestic growth have the Chinese government increasingly concerned about maintaining control. Within a period of six days last month, President Jiang Zemin made two hard-line speeches that highlighted the government's priorities. Stability, said Jiang in an address to judicial and public security organs on Dec. 23, is the country's top concern. Jiang insisted: "Any factors that could jeopardize our stability must be annihilated in the early stages."

One manifestation of Jiang's uneasiness is a set of administrative regulations announced in November. The new rules make it virtually impossible to establish any organization, let alone a political party, without state approval. Last week the government went one step further: it published a judicial interpretation of the crimes of "subversion" and "splitting the country." From now on artists, authors, publishers, musicians and filmmakers could face anywhere from three years to life imprisonment if found guilty of "inciting to subvert state power," a more expansive restatement of existing offenses. "They don't want anything to upset the supremacy of the Communist Party," says the Western diplomat.

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