Yaoyao Jiang: Why Did Wang Shuo Call Bai Yansong a “Flesh Loudspeaker”?
This episode reviews Bai Yansong's mental journey from joining CCTV's "Oriental Horizon" in 1993, going through the "brief spring" of CCTV news, to the tightening of media oversight. It analyzes how he gradually transformed from a sharp, perceptive journalist into a "flesh-and-blood megaphone" who uses rational-sounding rhetoric to blow the horn and carry the sedan chair for official policies. Through a series of program case studies—including delaying retirement, youth unemployment and Sanhe youth, savings and consumption, and pandemic prevention and control—it dissects how he packages official conclusions as reasonable, compassionate advice to guide the public into accepting reality.
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Hello everyone, I am Yao Yao Jiang, a thinker who values logic. Before we start the show, let's watch an old video that was popular across the internet 25 years ago. This video was filmed in 2001; it was an internal satirical comedy produced by the CCTV "Tell the Truth" (Shihua Shishuo) production team for the News Commentary Department's annual meeting. It was a parody of the Soviet film "Lenin in October," titled "Separation in October." If this were released today, it would likely be labeled as an insult to red classics, much like Guo Degang's "Quiet in the Forbidden City" bit. Looking back, it feels like a lifetime ago, which is truly sigh-inducing. In the film, the leaders of the News Commentary Department and CCTV had "-nov" added to their names, while regular employees had "-sky" added to theirs. What was just played is the ending scene of the film. "Bai Yansong-sky" is full of "ultimate concern," firmly believing that "a rational Fourth Ring Road is better than a passionate Chang'an Avenue." This was colleagues satirizing Bai Yansong, who sat in front of the camera always frowning, full of rationality and golden quotes. "I can barely take care of myself, and I'm exhausted; how can I raise the next generation? Right, precisely because there is a certain difficulty, and when you reach for it, the pain is related to this, and the happiness may also be related to this." Next, in the video, Bai Yansong conflicts with the team leader and begins to list his various honors and titles: "I was one of the Top Ten Outstanding Youth, hosted the Hong Kong handover and the Macau handover, took photos with the Premier, and shook hands with the General Secretary," finally shouting, "Longing for old age, being stubbornly happy, pain is real." This was a portrait drawn by his most familiar CCTV colleagues over twenty years ago. Later, as public opinion supervision tightened, a group of TV celebrities like Cui Yongyuan left CCTV. True to his wishes, Bai Yansong really did age prematurely, sporting a head of white hair, continuing to frown, sitting in the most central studio of CCTV, using the same language techniques and glib tongue his colleagues once satirized, pretending to be worried about the country and the people, blowing the trumpet and carrying the sedan chair for various policies. "Many farmer friends can only get a so-called, in quotes, pension of a little over 100 yuan a month at most. Obviously, it is not enough. Including many representatives and committee members who are also suggesting, can we take small steps and run? If we start from now, confirm it every year, it might double in 10 years. I think 'small steps and running' is a rhythm we should achieve." Wang Shuo once borrowed a nickname given to him by Beijing Broadcasting Institute students and called him a "meat loudspeaker." Today, let's take a good look at how Bai Yansong went step by step from a famous CCTV host to a twisted-mouth mouthpiece. Just after the Spring Festival in 1993, Cui Yongyuan called Bai Yansong. At that time, Bai Yansong was still an editor at "China Radio News," and Cui Yongyuan was hosting "Noon Half Hour" at China National Radio. Cui Yongyuan said on the phone, "Xiao Bai, a classmate of mine at the TV station is starting a new program. Why don't you go over and help out?" This new program was the later "Oriental Horizon." Bai Yansong was not a trained broadcaster and did not have the standard tone of a traditional CCTV host. When he first joined "Oriental Horizon," he worked in planning. Once, he complained that the host didn't know how to ask questions, so the producer simply pushed Bai Yansong in front of the camera and said, "What are you afraid of? The program airs at 7:00 AM, who's going to watch you?" No one expected that this newspaper editor, temporarily pushed onto the screen, would later become the most famous face of CCTV.
On May 1, 1993, Oriental Horizon began broadcasting. For the first time, many Chinese viewers saw a CCTV news program in the early morning that looked nothing like Xinwen Lianbo. Sons of the East interviewed not just officials, but also elites from all walks of life; Living Space turned the camera on the lives of ordinary people; and Focus Time began to touch upon certain social issues. The following year, Focus Report launched. Later came News Probe and Tell It Like It Is. Looking back at those programs today, the footage was grainy, the lighting rudimentary, and some hosts were even distinctly green, yet they showed Chinese audiences something that had rarely been seen before: journalists from the state television network would actually corner a local official with a microphone and ask why arbitrary fees were being charged, why land was being requisitioned, and why fake goods were running rampant; ordinary people without official titles could also sit inside the CCTV studio and speak in their own voice, rather than merely having to stand behind leaders and applaud. Those years were later called the "brief spring" of CCTV news. Oriental Horizon was even hailed as the "Shenzhen of television." Over here we grew that monk fruit; the research trial had nine thousand mu, and there was also golden... the planting task on my ledger was completed; is grain grown in the soil or on paper? However, this spring was never genuine freedom of the press. CCTV dared to hold local authorities accountable not because journalists possessed an irrevocable right to report, but because standing behind them was an authority far higher than local officials. Jing Yidan later recalled that back then, Focus Report was like holding an "Imperial Sword." While this sounded imposing, it also laid the fundamental issue bare: the sword was granted from above, and the higher-ups could naturally take it back. In 1998, Zhu Rongji visited Focus Report and inscribed sixteen characters: "Watchdog of public opinion, mouthpiece of the masses, mirror for the government, vanguard of reform." This marked the peak of Focus Report's glory. Many viewers believed that as long as they mailed their grievances to CCTV and as long as the reporters were willing to come, matters in the localities that nobody dared to touch had a chance of being seen by the entire nation. Bai Yansong and Cui Yongyuan both earned public trust through their talent and brilliance during this spring breeze. Back then, there was even a mother holding a child who, upon hearing on a bus that the person sitting next to her was a Focus Report journalist, immediately stood up to offer her seat. Today it is hard to imagine that a television program once made ordinary people believe journalists worked harder than themselves, and might genuinely help them seek justice.
At the end of 1995, 27-year-old Bai Yansong wrote an article titled Longing for Old Age. He envied the knowledge, experience, calm, and tolerance represented by gray hair, hoping that one day he too would become a seasoned elder who saw through the ways of the world. At the time, it was merely a young man's reflections on life. Nobody could have imagined that "longing for old age" would later become a running gag that CCTV colleagues repeatedly used to mock him, because Bai Yansong increasingly liked to place himself in the role of a mature elder, lecturing others on what was rational, what was naive, what it meant to take the bigger picture into account, and what meant manufacturing hardship for oneself to bear, embracing painful pleasure. In 1998, the very year Zhu Rongji wrote that inscription for Focus Report, the brief spring soon met with a permanent late freeze. In the long, slow night, groaning and shouting again and again: on such nights, what other pursuit do we have besides creating humanity? In 2003, when Jing Yidan met Wen Jiabao, who had just taken office as premier, she presented a set of numbers: in 1998, investigative watchdog reports accounted for 47% of the programs aired on Focus Report; by 2002, that figure had plummeted to just 17%. In other words, out of ten episodes, nearly five used to monitor reality, but four years later, fewer than two out of ten did. The program was not taken off the air, but the very content most likely to solve problems for everyday people had been cut by nearly two-thirds. Meanwhile, the methods of supervising reality had also changed: in the early years, those exposed would make private phone calls begging for mercy, but later it gradually turned into an "organizational action" involving official units and administrative ranks. Whether a program could air was often no longer determined by the evidence in a journalist's hands. This was the real late freeze for CCTV news. It did not pull the plug abruptly on a single day; instead, it reduced topics bit by bit and piled on approvals layer upon layer, slowly teaching journalists which matters were best left untouched and which people were best left unasked.
In 2000, Bai Yansong published *Pain and Joy*. The book contained many personal experiences and began to form a set of arguments he would repeatedly use later: do not let anger lead you away, change takes patience, reform cannot be achieved overnight, and sometimes one must endure grievances. Heard in isolation, every sentence seemed to make sense. Coincidentally, during the years when investigative programs fell from 47% to 17%, this set of arguments became increasingly useful. Every step the program retreated could be called maturity; every time the audience endured a bit more, it could be called taking the overall situation into account. That same year, Wang Shuo wrote an article criticizing *Pain and Joy*, borrowing a nickname given to Bai Yansong by a Broadcasting Academy student: "Meat Loudspeaker." The word "loudspeaker" is not hard to understand, but the question is why the character "meat" was added in front of it? Because an ordinary loudspeaker just reads documents aloud, with a rigid voice that sounds like propaganda at first hearing. Bai Yansong was different. He had expressions, life insights, and would say a few things the audience liked to hear first. He could digest the meaning from above and then express it in his own tone; after passing through this mouth, the ice-cold policies gained a so-called warmth. After *Dividing the Family in October* leaked out of CCTV, the authorities demanded the recall of CDs and posters, and subsequent internal annual meetings were no longer allowed to parody it, turning even self-mockery among colleagues into a restricted zone. During the same period, Cui Yongyuan’s body gave out first. *Tell It Like It Is* began to go downhill in the second half of 1999; the topics that could be discussed became narrower and narrower, controversy grew weaker, yet the pressure for ratings kept increasing. In 2002, Cui Yongyuan left *Tell It Like It Is* due to severe insomnia and depression. He said that this departure was "ninety-nine percent" due to illness, and he would not truly put down the CCTV microphone until 2013.
Bai Yansong also faced his own choice in 2003. At the time, he simultaneously served as the producer of *News Banquet Hall*, *China Weekly*, and *Time and Space Connection*. He later explained that sitting in the producer's chair, the first thought in his mind was always: Will this sentence get the entire segment killed? If things went on like this, his own expression would become "increasingly and mediocrily safe." Bai Yansong knew what self-censorship felt like very early on, and he knew what it meant when a journalist first considered whether a program could pass censorship and how far their words could go. On August 19, 2003, he resigned from his three producer positions. He said that if he continued to serve, he would become increasingly smooth and lose his edge. After resigning, he did not leave CCTV, but continued to appear as a host and commentator. From then on, he was no longer responsible for topic selection and broadcasting for entire programs, yet he still retained the most influential position in front of the camera. In 2007, Bai Yansong accepted an interview with *Southern People Weekly*. In that interview, he explained his career choices very clearly. He first stated a remark that few people would pay attention to later: talking about politics must also be done in a professional way. From his perspective, people do not resent political propaganda itself, but rather propaganda that is executed poorly. To illustrate this point, he also gave the example of American films, saying that *Schindler's List* and *Saving Private Ryan* had strong ideologies, but were well-made, making them worth learning from. However, this was completely different. *Schindler's List* and *Saving Private Ryan* had distinct value judgments, but they were commercial films that had to compete for audiences in the market, and if audiences refused to buy tickets, the film companies bore the failure. Party media, however, had to be responsible to the party first; the party set the conclusion first, and the host then made that conclusion sound pleasant for the audience to accept. Whether the audience liked it or not only concerned whether the propaganda was effective, with no commercial interests involved. Bai Yansong's conflation of commercial films' ability to win over audiences with party media completing propaganda tasks was merely using Hollywood to gild party media propaganda. Reactionary China—who was its first award winner? Bai Yansong also recalled that after *Touching China* was broadcast, Li Changchun, the leader in charge of ideology, specifically praised the fact that main-melody content could be made to look this good. This passage had already made his task clear: what he studied was not whether politics should be discussed, but how to discuss politics in a way that looked good and made the audience willing to accept it.
When discussing public opinion supervision, he said again that supervision could only be accomplished if there was such a desire from both top and bottom; without "support from above," it was simply impossible. He believed journalism must "leverage external forces," conforming both to the needs of the people and the "needs from above." This set of remarks sounded comprehensive and very much like Bai Yansong—the standard of wanting both. Bai Yansong could certainly ask a few questions on behalf of the common people; once a conflict arose between the two sides, the only thing he had to obey was the top. The so-called "wanting both" was merely a way to make obedience sound more respectable. A reporter asked him why some people felt that the Bai Yansong of ten years ago was sharper? Bai Yansong replied that the sharpness of ten years ago "was just cathartic," whereas his current self was instead "more effective and more powerful," adding: "I just don't know who else in Chinese journalism is sharper than me." This remark had a strong Bai Yansong flavor. While admitting that supervision could not happen without a nod from above, he simultaneously framed the kind of remarks that would not provoke bans as the sharpest voice in Chinese journalism.
The interviewer then asked if he had ever thought about leaving CCTV. Bai Yansong's answer was more candid. He said that money was no longer the thing that tempted him most, and he had no reason to jump ship. If one wants to do journalism in China, where else could one go besides CCTV? The penetration rate of Phoenix TV cannot compare to CCTV. CCTV gave him a platform; he chose CCTV and stuck with it, which gave him the opportunity to make his voice heard. He called this choice "having a duty to defend the territory." He made it very clear that what he valued in staying was precisely CCTV's irreplaceable coverage and discursive power. When a major event happens nationwide, he is the one sitting in the studio to explain it; he can interview people that ordinary reporters cannot see; while others' words might disappear quickly, his words can enter thousands of households through the state television station. He also admitted that he had obtained everything a host should get—he had fame, and he was not lacking in material wealth. He even worried that he would become a "fish in warm water," completely turning into a vested interest holder. In 2008, CCTV's News Center was reorganized. The News Commentary Department, which had once cultivated Bai Yansong, Cui Yongyuan, Jing Yidan, and Shui Junyi, no longer existed as an independent department. "Tell the Truth" was later canceled, the broadcast space for "News Investigation" kept changing, and that group of people went their separate ways—some left, some transferred, and some retired behind the scenes. Yet, in this same year, Bai Yansong ushered in "News 1+1."
This program suited him very well. He did not need to lead an investigative team to block officials in the provinces, nor did he need to chase down those responsible with evidence in hand. He sat in the studio, first playing edited materials, and then connecting with an official, reporter, or expert. He could ask very sharp questions about issues the audience cared about; but who would answer, whether anyone would refute the answer on the spot, and whether he would continue to press the person responsible in the next sentence—all of this was in Bai Yansong's hands. The name "News Commentary Department" disappeared, but Bai Yansong's personal commentary seat became increasingly stable.
In 2010, he published "Are You Happy?" In the book, there is a past event that clearly illustrates what he saw with his own eyes. After the 9/11 attacks, Bai Yansong and his colleagues thought that such world-class major news should be broadcast live, but the notice they received was to go home and sleep; it was not allowed to be broadcast. The next day, a female colleague pushed open the door and questioned him: "Didn't you say that whenever something big happens, we would see you? Why weren't you there yesterday?" The comfort Bai Yansong gave was: "It's not that things are abnormal now; it's that the past was abnormal. They were just lucky to have caught that past." Look at that, this linguistic skill is impressive. He knew that the window of freedom was closing and the air in the room was becoming thin, but when he turned around, he persuaded young people that the harsh winter was the norm. Later, he found an even more elegant explanation for this norm, saying: "Only by 'News Broadcast' (Xinwen Lianbo) stabilizing one end could other programs have once been allowed to open up."
More interestingly, he had already written in the preface of the book that young people have to buy houses and cars, and must gain a foothold in the workplace; these three things are like three new mountains pressing down on them, making even falling in love a difficult problem. Therefore, when Bai Yansong later faced young people, it was not that he did not understand their difficulties; he understood them very early on, and wrote about them quite accurately. In these few years, Cui Yongyuan drifted further and further away from CCTV. He turned to oral history, and in 2012, the Communication University of China established the Cui Yongyuan Oral History Research Center. In 2013, he filmed his own documentary, and knowing he was violating the station's rules, he said, "Then I'll just resign," and subsequently officially left CCTV. In 1993, it was he who called Bai Yansong into "Oriental Horizon." Twenty years later, Cui Yongyuan left, but Bai Yansong retorted: "How many internet figures possess as much discursive power as I do?" One put down the national microphone, the other grabbed it even tighter. What remains to be seen is what Bai Yansong uses this increasingly steady microphone to say, and for whom.
Tang Jun, a scholar from the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences invited to the program, also reminded him that pension security cannot be calculated merely by the ratio of how many people support one person in the insurance account. Whether a society can afford to support its elderly also depends on how much wealth the country can create and how those wealth are distributed. After hearing this, Bai Yansong replied on the spot: Exactly. He himself also said that those who are willing to delay retirement are often people who sit in offices, enjoy secure jobs regardless of performance, and receive higher compensation; while those who are unwilling are often physical laborers and private enterprise employees. Therefore, the Bai Yansong of 2012 knew that this was not just an issue of age, but also involved youth employment, occupational differences, pension distribution, and government responsibility. Being forced to retire a year later means completely different costs for someone sitting in an office compared to someone working underground in a mine, doing shift work, or climbing to heights.
Over the next three years, the policy trend shifted. The 2013 Central Committee decision had already incorporated studying and formulating a policy for the progressive delayed retirement age. By 2015, the focus of CCTV's discussions also changed from whether to delay to how to delay, and Bai Yansong's tune changed accordingly. Male and female workers would be delayed to 63 and 58 or 55 years of age respectively, and the delayed retirement policy was implemented today. On March 10, 2015, Yin Weimin, Minister of Human Resources and Social Security, introduced the progressive delayed retirement at the Two Sessions press conference. That night, Two Sessions 1+1 made it a key topic. Ouyang Xiadan mentioned that in an online survey in 2013, over ninety percent of participants opposed delayed retirement. This survey could not represent all Chinese people, but it was enough to show how resentful those who publicly expressed their opinions were at the time, and what they opposed was not just working a few more years.
Half a month later, Guangming Daily interviewed two people. One was Huang Songling, a professor at Tsinghua University. He said that elderly university professors experienced little impact on their professional capabilities, and students had already grown up, so delayed retirement had only benefits and no drawbacks for them. Another person was named Wang Hongwen, a workshop worker at a machinery factory in Hebei, who was 52 years old at the time. He worked three shifts every day and frequently had to climb to high places for operations, with his physical condition deteriorating year by year. What he looked forward to was not getting a few more years of salary, but simply keeping a healthy body to properly live through a few years of retirement life. Professor Huang leaving the podium a few years later allowed him to continue collecting a salary and doing research; for Wang Hongwen leaving the workshop a few years later, working a few more years meant not just collecting a few more years of salary, but depending on whether his body could hold out.
Yet in the March 10 program, these two types of people were quickly packed by Bai Yansong into the same us. Ouyang Xiadan asked him, with ninety percent of participants opposed, which side did he personally stand on. Bai Yansong did not directly answer whether he approved or opposed; he first said that when the policy was just proposed, many people's initial reaction would be opposition, which was why the government was cautious; the plan still needed to be reported, communicated, and negotiated, and it wouldn't delay by several years all at once, but rather extend by a few months each year. What the audience asked was whether this matter was fair. What Bai Yansong answered was that this matter would be done slowly, and pushing it slowly could not prove the policy was reasonable, but could only show the government knew everyone was unwilling. Next, he listed two reasons for delayed retirement: the labor force would be insufficient in the future, and the pressure on pensions would also grow increasingly large. He admitted that delayed retirement meant individuals contributed a little more years and collected a little fewer years, and then immediately added a sentence: superficially everyone has to sacrifice a little, but the entire society will become the bigger beneficiary. Who contributes a few more years and who collects a few fewer years was originally an account that could fall onto specific individuals, but with the phrase the entire society benefits, Wang Hongwen's body simply vanished. Those who continued to oppose sounded no longer like they were protecting their labor rights, but rather like they only cared about the present without regard for the elderly or the country.
Then, Bai Yansong smiled and said to Ouyang Xiadan, I can't escape either, and you are so young, you certainly can't escape either. This remark sounded very affectionate, as if the host, colleagues, and laborers in front of the TV were people in the same boat. But how could Bai Yansong talking a few more years in an air-conditioned studio be the same thing as Wang Hongwen working a few more shifts and climbing a few more years of heights in a workshop? Some people still had others inviting them on stage when they reached retirement age, while others struggled to secure even a stable job after passing fifty. Bai Yansong saying we all cannot escape neatly smoothed away who suffered the most, who was most vulnerable to losing their jobs, and who had the most qualifications to choose.
Immediately following, the program flashed a prediction: by 2050, employee pension insurance might be left with only 1.3 contributors corresponding to 1 pensioner. Bai Yansong followed this number to tell the audience that although delayed retirement would cause individuals to lose out, it was a last resort and its advantages outweighed its disadvantages. Yet just three years prior, in 2012, Tang Jun, a scholar from the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences, had already reminded him in his program that pension security cannot just calculate how many people support one person, but must also look at how much wealth the entire society can create and how these wealth are distributed. Bai Yansong replied on the spot: Exactly. But by 2015, Bai Yansong instead said that 1.3 people supporting 1 person was a last resort and its advantages outweighed its disadvantages. The logic he nodded and agreed with three years ago was cast aside by him three years later. The 2015 program no longer pursued what other responsibilities the government bore, but instead told the audience that everyone had no other choice left.
But Bai Yansong left out two things he did not tell the audience. First, at that time, the enterprise employee pension insurance was not in deficit; the accumulated surplus exceeded 3 trillion yuan. Second, to solve future pension pressure, it is not just about delaying retirement; the government could also increase fiscal investment and promote national pooling. Once these facts are stated, the audience would immediately ask: since there are other ways, why make ordinary people work a few years longer and receive benefits for a few years less first? Why not talk about the responsibilities the government should bear? Bai Yansong did not ask, which shows that he was not clarifying the policy for the audience, but rather removing the reasons for opposing the policy from the program.
Later in 2015, Bai Yansong published "Bai Shuo" (Bai Speaks), where he summarized his life philosophy over the years into one sentence: all progress is an art of compromise, a negotiation. But a negotiation requires at least two sides, and both sides must be able to say no; one side makes the policy, while the other can only study how to accept it. How is this a negotiation? This is just making those who suffer accept reality, and then calling that acceptance a negotiation. In 2016, Xi Jinping publicly demanded that media hosted by the Party and the government must be surnamed "Party," that all work must reflect the Party's will and propositions, and that the Party's theories and policies must become the conscious actions of the masses. Ordinary propagandists would only tell the audience that the policy is correct, but Bai Yansong's skills are far superior. He first admits that the audience will suffer, tells you that he himself cannot escape it, and once you feel he is standing with you, he brings up aging, pensions, and the whole of society, framing a policy for which there are still multiple options as a fate no one can escape. Three years ago, he questioned the government on behalf of the common people; three years later, after delayed retirement was written into the Party's decision, he turned around to persuade the common people on behalf of the government.
We now hope for very low housing prices, then jobs that are easy to find everywhere, then no pressure at all, and then as long as the girl he likes is pursued, it will be OK. In the summer of 2017, before dawn, the area behind the Sanhe Human Resources Market in Longhua, Shenzhen, was already crowded with one or two thousand men waiting for daily-paid work. Some had just crawled out of beds costing 15 yuan a night, some had spent the night in internet cafes for 6 yuan, and others were sleeping at the entrance of the human resources market or under the eaves of shops. Most of them were only in their twenties or thirties, waiting for bosses who pay daily to come and pick people. A recruiter shouted that they would leave at 8:00 AM, return at 9:00 PM, and get 120 yuan paid that day. The cheapest noodles nearby sold for only 4 yuan, and the local saying was that one day of daily-paid work could support three days of leisure. Ma Dongdi, mentioned in reports, did daily-paid work, working seven or eight days a month, earning a total of over 1,200 yuan, of which over 700 yuan was spent on food, and the remaining money was barely enough to pay for internet fees. At that time, "lying flat" had not yet become a national buzzword, but these young people were already living a life that no longer believed that long-term work could change their destiny, relying on daily-paid work and minimum consumption.
On December 17, 2020, Bai Yansong gave a speech at Lanzhou University of Arts and Science. That year, the COVID-19 pandemic hit employment, with 8.74 million college graduates entering the market; the next batch of graduates would reach 9.09 million. The Ministry of Education used the term "severe and complex" to describe the employment situation. A student at the scene stood up and asked Bai Yansong: Why is it that contemporary young people watch patriotic videos and feel passionate about the country's future, but when they return to their own lives and face employment and life pressures, they feel powerless? Why are they optimistic about the country's destiny but pessimistic about their own future? Did Bai Yansong have this contradiction when he was young? What this student was asking was: while the country is constantly developing and national rejuvenation is repeatedly told, why does an ordinary young person see less and less of a future when facing their own work and life? He did not mention housing in his question; housing was something Bai Yansong brought up voluntarily when answering.
Bai Yansong clearly understood what the student was asking. He said that the per capita housing area in China is close to 40 square meters, but big data does not solve individual problems. He also said that if the country's development cannot allow individuals to share in the fruits, the country and the individual will diverge. However, in the same answer, he did not continue to talk about how the country should let young people share in the fruits of development, but instead told the student that as long as they firmly bite down and make themselves better, many problems will be solved. Earlier he was admitting that national development had not reached everyone, but when it came to providing solutions, all that was left was for young people to make themselves better.
That student had already walked down, and Bai Yansong added another segment. Housing prices are very low, then jobs are easy to find everywhere, then there is no pressure at all, and then as long as the girl he likes is pursued, it will be OK. This student did not ask the state to help him date, nor did he say he must be able to afford a luxury home upon graduation; he asked about employment, life pressure, and personal future. Yet Bai Yansong changed the question into low housing prices, finding jobs at will, no pressure, and whoever you pursue says yes. A student worried about not seeing a future was thus described by him as someone who wants everything for free. In the spring of 2021, this video spread online, and "Really?" (Bu hui ba) became a meme for netizens to mock Bai Yansong. Really? No way, could it be that jobs are easy to find? Really? Really?
No one would like such a deeply depressing depiction—no, never, no one would like it. Are housing prices really that low? You can't be serious, right? Really? No one would like it. If you're willing to pursue it, then... In June, Bai Yansong responded that when the show was recorded, the concept of "lying flat" didn't exist yet. He also said that when facing young people, one must both acknowledge their hardships and cheer them on, reminding them that pies don't fall from the sky. Yet Bai Yansong's so-called encouragement meant twisting employment and living pressures into unrealistic demands, telling students to simply go back and make themselves better. It is true that "lying flat" did not become a nationwide buzzword until 2021, but the "Sanhe youth" had already been lying flat on the streets for years. Bai Yansong fixated on when the word became popular, but failed to address why those young people lay down in the first place. By August 2021, Bai Yansong said again that if he had to answer over, he would add a sentence: hoping that the country loves young people in ways that benefit them, offer visible hope, and ensure fairness. The demands that should have been put to the state were finally added later, yet across two public responses, he never once admitted that saying "You can't be serious, right?" was wrong.
In 2010, housing prices, employment, and romance were described by him as the "new three mountains" crushing youth. In 2020, when a student asked why individual futures could not keep pace with the nation's development, Bai Yansong dismissed the most modest demands as youthful greed. By 2026, he admitted in his own words: "The workplace, housing prices, and dating and marriage are the three mountains weighing on the heads of young people." It is 30,000 RMB, but 600 million people have a monthly income of only around 1,000; 1,000 in a medium-sized city might make even renting an apartment difficult. On May 28, 2020, Li Keqiang made a statement at the Premier's press conference that shocked many. He said that China's annual per capita disposable income was 30,000 RMB, but there were 600 million people in the low-to-middle income bracket and below, whose average monthly income was only around 1,000 RMB. In a medium-sized city, 1,000 RMB might barely cover rent. Officials later clarified that in 2019, the bottom 40% income group had a monthly per capita disposable income of around 965 RMB, while the bottom 20% had only about 615 RMB. This is the other side of China's rapid growth and status as the world's second-largest economy: the macroeconomic figures are enormous, but when broken down to hundreds of millions of individuals, a monthly income of 1,000 RMB might not even pay the rent.
Two years later, when Bai Yansong talked about consumption, he also presented an enormous figure. On July 18, 2022, an episode of "News 1+1" was titled "How to Make Consumption as Hot as the Weather." Everyone knows that recently it has been extremely hot across the country, prompting many to sigh that it would be wonderful if our consumption could be as hot as the weather. At the end of the program, Bai Yansong asked Wang Wei, an expert from the Development Research Center of the State Council: people in many places are living harder lives than before, facing difficulty finding jobs and declining incomes, yet household deposits still increased by 10 trillion RMB, which means that, on a macro level, there is no shortage of money. The figure of 10 trillion RMB was real—the precise figure was that household deposits increased by 10.33 trillion RMB in the first half of 2022. The entire problem lay behind Bai Yansong's "yet." If one person out of ten deposits an extra one million RMB while the other nine don't see a single cent added to their accounts, total deposits still increase by one million RMB. A 10-trillion-RMB increase in household deposits only proves that money entered household bank accounts; it does not prove that money entered everyone's pockets equally, let alone that low-income families suddenly gained extra spare cash to spend. In the first half of that very year, total retail sales of consumer goods fell by 0.7% year-on-year, and in June, the surveyed urban unemployment rate for youth aged 16 to 24 reached 19.3%. When the full-year statistics came out, the annual per capita disposable income of the bottom 20% income group was only 8,601 RMB—an average of about 717 RMB per month. On one hand, hundreds of millions earned low incomes, and youth unemployment approached nearly 20%; on the other hand, national household accounts surged by 10 trillion RMB. Whose money increased, and by how much, was precisely the question that should have been asked. Bai Yansong, however, used the aggregate figure to conclude that "on a macro level, there is no shortage of money."
Consequently, what the show set out to resolve next was no longer why the money never reached these people, but why people were unwilling to spend. Wang Wei's answer actually acknowledged the problem; she said that poor expectations for employment and future income lead people to increase precautionary savings, and the pandemic also prevented offline consumption in catering, culture, and entertainment. Yet Bai Yansong did not follow up on these two statements: into whose accounts did that 10 trillion RMB primarily go? For low-income families, were they unwilling to spend, or did they simply have no money to spend? Without guarantees for healthcare, pensions, and education, why would anyone dare to take out the emergency money sitting in their accounts? None of these questions were asked. At the end of the program, he concluded with the slogan of the CCP Central Committee Politburo at the time: "The epidemic must be contained, the economy must be stabilized, and development must be secure."
By the end of 2023, boosting consumption once again became a policy priority. On December 29, "News 1+1" invited Wang Wei back for an episode titled "How to Boost Consumption During the New Year and Spring Festival Holidays." Later, a short video clip went wildly viral online, leaving only a single sentence from Bai Yansong: "Even if they have money, they dare not spend it and are unwilling to spend it." Consequently, many people cursed him, asking why he was acting like the emperor saying "let them eat meat porridge." That short video was indeed edited such that hearing Bai Yansong ask that question, an idiom describes my state of mind at the time: dumbfounded amusement. Why don't ordinary people dare to spend money if they have it? After going in a big circle, are they asking if people have money? Bai Yansong's full, original words were: "The ordinary people's immediate, first reaction will definitely be: I have no money, you must let me have more money before I can consume. Another thing is, even if they have money, they dare not spend it and are unwilling to spend it." Putting the complete original words back, the issue actually becomes clearer: Bai Yansong knew that there were two groups of people in completely different situations—some had no money, while others had money but dared not spend it. Wang Wei then also spoke about consumption polarization, stabilizing employment, increasing income, individual income tax deductions, and lowering interest rates on existing home mortgages. On the surface, everything that needed to be said seemed to have been mentioned, but the questions and answers in this program followed the previous official narrative almost to the letter. In January 2023, Xi Jinping summarized boosting consumption as "being able to consume with stable income, daring to consume without worries about the future, and being willing to consume with a superior consumption environment and a strong sense of gain." In December, the Central Economic Work Conference demanded an increase in household income on the one hand, while requiring strengthened economic propaganda and public opinion guidance on the other. The Office of the Central Financial and Economic Affairs Commission subsequently proposed converting high savings into consumption and investment. A dozen days later, "News 1+1" rephrased the document's "able to consume, daring to consume, willing to consume" in Bai Yansong's tone and asked it again. The audience heard him say "I have no money" on their behalf, but did not see any officials responsible for distribution, finance, and social security sitting across from him to explain how much money the government prepared to bring out, to whom it would be given first, and when it would be disbursed.
On January 3, after the new year, Bai Yansong hosted the show again, taking the initiative to claim that "some people are manipulating public sentiment," and emphasized that what these narrative-spinners cared about first were those who lacked money and had no money. This time, guest Wang Yiming spoke very directly. He said that when the government, enterprises, and residents divide the cake, could the residents get a slightly larger share and the government take a bit less? Within the household sector, could low-income groups get a slightly larger share? For low-income individuals hit by the pandemic, could direct subsidies be issued, and public services and social security improved? Having reached this point, the conversation was finally no longer about whether ordinary people dared to spend, but whether the government was willing to take less, and whether it was willing to give money directly to low-income earners. Bai Yansong also asked a follow-up question: These are all long-term measures; viewers might feel unsatisfied—are there any short-term measures that could bring tangible benefits quickly? Wang Yiming did not answer how subsidies would be disbursed, nor did he answer which part the government would take less of; he turned the conversation toward job creation, increasing labor productivity, and making the pie bigger, ultimately saying: "A satisfactory income is also made through hard work." Bai Yansong did not demand that Wang Yiming answer how the subsidies would actually be distributed; he directly seized upon the phrase "work hard," saying that everyone should roll up their sleeves and work hard. At the end of the show, he used another familiar metaphor: "If the water in the big river increases, every household will probably become a beneficiary." Bai Yansong would mention the poor, and he would also ask about subsidies, but as soon as Wang Yiming pivoted to "making the cake bigger" and "working hard," he no longer pushed the other party to answer how much less the government prepared to take or when subsidies would be disbursed. In the end, only one demand remained on the program: for ordinary people to keep striving, restore their confidence, and spend their money.
There was another show that best demonstrated why Bai Yansong's knack is far more effective than merely reciting by the book. On October 12, 2022, he interviewed Liang Wannian, head of the expert panel of the National Health Commission, discussing why China still needed to adhere to dynamic zero-COVID. Before the broadcast, People’s Daily published articles for three consecutive days demanding that confidence and patience be maintained toward dynamic zero-COVID, emphasizing that "lying flat is undesirable, and winning by lying flat is impossible." Bai Yansong's very first question began with "the media have successively published commentaries over the past couple of days," and this time, his questions were not soft at all. He asked: the pandemic has lasted three years, why must we still fight a protracted war? Overseas stadiums are packed with 80,000 people, why must China still maintain dynamic zero-COVID? The severe case and mortality rates for Omicron have dropped, why are restrictions instead so strict? How are the economic costs calculated? Is there a timetable for resuming normal life? He even imagined whether, after improving vaccination rates among the elderly, expanding hospitals, and preparing medicines, the country could gradually open up by the following spring. It wasn't that Bai Yansong didn't ask. The problem was that before this interview had even begun, the conclusion had already been printed in People’s Daily, and it appeared almost verbatim in CCTV's program synopsis.
The interview took place twenty-four days after the Guiyang quarantine transport bus accident. In the early hours of the morning, that bus was carrying residents involved in the epidemic out of the city when it flipped into a deep ditch by the side of the road. There were 47 people on board; 27 died and 20 were injured. Bai Yansong asked Liang Wannian how to calculate the "cost," but the program did not place those 27 lives on the table, nor did it invite a single person who had been locked down, a small business owner who had lost their income, or a doctor or economist with a different judgment to sit in front of the camera. All nine questions were answered by Liang Wannian. He explained the policies, calculated the "grand account" of lives versus the economy, attributed the brutal lockdowns in various places to unscientific implementation, and finally declared that dynamic zero-COVID was the "most cost-effective" method. The more elegantly Bai Yansong asked his questions, the easier it was for the audience to feel that the debate had been sufficiently thorough—look, CCTV asked all the sharp questions. But CCTV only arranged for Liang Wannian to be the sole respondent; not a single person who truly bore the cost of the lockdowns was sitting on the stage.
Fifty-seven days later, on December 8, CCTV.com released a video of Bai Yansong. He said that the "New Ten Measures" meant that China was officially embarking on the path to ending life under the pandemic, while also reminding the audience that this did not mean the pandemic was over, and that medical preparations, personal protection, and vaccinations for the elderly still needed to be done. From October's "must persist" to December's "beginning to exit," he explained the policies before him as logical and natural both times, yet in neither of these two public speeches did he ask a single question about who should be held responsible for the costs incurred previously.
In December 2023, when Bai Yansong accepted an interview with Southern Weekly, he said that he had been a host for thirty years and that almost all of his hosting scripts were written by himself, so "if there is anything wrong or incorrect, just scold me; you really can't blame anyone else." Since these words were written and spoken by him personally, there is no need to push the blame onto teleprompters or program editors. In the same interview, he admitted that he had both promoted the television reforms of the 1990s and was a beneficiary of those reforms. When explaining why he did not leave CCTV, he said that China's news is at CCTV, and if he still wanted to do news, where else could he go? He also said that mainstream media must learn to tell stories and disseminate the principles they want to convey. These words made his choice very clear: he wants to stay at CCTV, and he wants to make the principles that mainstream media hope the common people will accept easier to listen to.
In 1993, a phone call from Cui Yongyuan introduced Bai Yansong to "Oriental Horizon." In 2013, Cui Yongyuan left CCTV, while Bai Yansong continued to host "News 1+1" and "News Weekly." Wang Shuo once relayed a nickname that students at the Broadcasting Institute gave to Bai Yansong: "Meat Loudspeaker." Ordinary loudspeakers only repeat slogans, but Bai Yansong would first speak out the dissatisfaction on behalf of the audience, and then turn the conclusions that the authorities hoped the common people would accept into a set of concerned, reasonable, and sensible exhortations. It is precisely because he has such professional ability, and once enjoyed the trust of the audience, that his speaking on behalf of power is more deceptive and more lethal.
In 2010, Bai Yansong wrote a harsher self-mockery in "Are You Happy?": In a place like CCTV, if you pull a dog into the studio and broadcast it for a month, it becomes a famous Chinese dog. He also reminded himself that relying on a big tree does not mean you can truly consider yourself a big tree. Bai Yansong is, of course, not that dog. The dog is led into the studio by others, but he chose to stay himself; the dog cannot write hosting scripts, but he can, and as he himself said, he should be scolded for anything wrong or incorrect. CCTV gave him fame, the audience gave him trust, and he took both of these things to persuade the common people to accept their fate on behalf of power. This is the evil of Bai Yansong.
There will surely be sympathetic viewers in the comments section asking, he is in China, what can he do? Compared to his colleagues, he could compare himself to Cui Yongyuan, who introduced him to CCTV; Cui was in the CCTV News Commentary Department. Wang Qinglei was suspended for four months for pursuing the truth about the Wenzhou train collision, and later, after he publicly criticized CCTV for broadcasting the pre-trial confessions of suspects, he was kicked out of CCTV by a single notice. Chai Jing investigated land seizures and judicial rulings, was transferred away from "News Investigation," and was never allowed to do legal supervision again. Looking further, Li Datong and Lu Yuegang of "Freezing Point" lost their editor-in-chief positions, and Gao Qinrong of the "Shanxi Youth Daily" spent eight years in prison. I am not asking Bai Yansong to go to jail; what is truly shameful about Bai Yansong is not that he did not become a martyr, but that he used his silver tongue, sitting inside the 'Big Pants' (CCTV headquarters), to gaslight the ordinary public. He originally had more choices; at the very least, he could have chosen not to do evil. That is all for today. If this program has value for you, please like,
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I am Yao Yao Jiang, who loves to think and values logic. See you next time.