China Blue Smoke and Mirrors

The move was trumpeted in a nationally televised address and was well received by foreign governments. But when China finally lifted martial law, which was imposed on parts of its capital eight months ago to crush the pro- democracy movement, the response in Beijing was "Wu suo wei" -- it makes no difference. Despite official repeal of the decree, the government appeared to have ended the crackdown in name only: soldiers who had switched into the uniforms of civilian police were cropping up all over town, and there was no sign that their orders to suppress any hint of new unrest had changed.

In fact, the show of moderation was mainly aimed at appeasing critics abroad. Beijing is eager to break out of its international isolation and revive the lines of foreign credit and investment it needs to stoke its stalled economy. It also wants to bring back tourists, most of whom have stayed away from China since the June massacre in Tiananmen Square, costing the country more than $1 billion in lost revenue.

Washington and Tokyo commended the action and moved closer to resuming normal ties. Japan, the largest provider of economic assistance to China, announced that it was sending an envoy to Beijing to discuss resuming negotiations on pending loans. In the U.S., President Bush called China's decision "a very sound step," and Washington immediately softened its blanket opposition to World Bank loans to China.

But few Chinese were taken in by their government's maneuver. "Maybe ending martial law is good for international relations," said a history major at Peking University, "but there will always be soldiers and plainclothes police around." Despite Premier Li Peng's claim that "a great victory has been won in . . . quelling the counterrevolutionary rebellion," his government remains extremely wary of any revival of the protests.

Although most of the rifle-toting troops in Tiananmen Square have been gone for months, guards armed with bayonets remain in place at the Monument to the People's Heroes. Overall, there have been no reductions in the security forces controlling the capital. Many of the restrictions on demonstrations and strikes in Beijing have been codified in municipal regulations every bit as tough as the martial-law decree, and the independent student associations that mobilized demonstrators last spring remain outlawed. In any case, the dissident vanguard has been shattered as dozens of student leaders and their intellectual mentors have fled the country or gone underground; many more have been jailed or executed. In this atmosphere, disgruntled students and faculty alike have been lying low, stoically enduring hours of brain-numbing political re-education, until another opportunity for change presents itself.

Nonetheless, the overthrow of Rumanian dictator Nicolae Ceausescu, a close ally of Beijing, has emboldened China's dissidents. When news of Ceausescu's execution began to circulate, Beijing experienced a temporary shortage of beer as students bought up cases and smashed the bottles -- just as they did last spring to show their opposition to the leadership of Deng Xiaoping, whose given name in spoken Chinese can mean "little bottle."