ykoi

A China Hawk's Case for Studying in China Ten years into my own career, I consider my lack of formal China studies education to be both a blessing and a curse. A blessing because—as Jackie suggests—I was able to piece together a great deal of knowledge about the Middle Kingdom free from bias by the entrenched China hands. Having to figure everything out on my own (with tutoring from some colleagues at @CSETGeorgetown) forced me to learn more, and more deeply, about CCP policy—and to move beyond words-on-paper to consider how China “really works.” If you read my work, you’ll notice I tend to elide commentary on the traditional, politically symbolic policy pronouncements taught in Asian studies programs (who cares?) in favor of brass-tacks calculations of U.S. and Chinese power. But, speaking personally—as rewarding as it’s been to chart my own path and come to my own conclusions, I feel my lack of in-country experience has been a real detriment to my analysis. Looking only at the digital exhaust left behind by the CCP, I came to learn a great deal about China’s policies and the predilections of the ruling Party—and relatively little about China itself. I now teach a class on open-source research methods, and was lucky to spend a few years practicing diplomacy directly with Chinese diplomats. The gulf between what you can observe remotely and what you get face-to-face is massive. Each of these is an indispensable source of knowledge, but believe me when I say they are not substitutable. Ten years on, I have still never lived in China. It is probably one of my life's great regrets. I feel I can credibly claim expertise in U.S.-China relations and segments of China’s technology industry. Yet I still have huge blind spots when it comes to the lived experience, social pressure, cultural references, and general worldview of many Chinese people—blind spots that undoubtedly weaken my analysis of the Asian security environment. This deficiency is common in Washington, and it is getting worse. At a recent conference attended by ~200 undergraduates, I polled the room and was shocked to discover that not one was studying China. And while China once dominated IR masters programs, many of my @GeorgetownCSS students are now refocusing on Russia or Iran. I routinely attend dinners for China policy specialists in Washington where almost nobody besides me has set foot in the country in the past decade. The resulting assessments and policy recommendations are often badly miscalibrated. In my own field notes from last year, I wrote that “there’s a texture to a country that can’t be captured through policy documents or sardonic social media posts—unguarded glimpses of how a society actually feels about itself, which can only be witnessed with one’s own eyes and ears.” I still believe this is true. My advice to most American undergrads contemplating study in China: Go. Take the security risks seriously. Document your contacts, keep your ordinary digital life off any device you bring, and assume you are being monitored. Resist recruitment pitches and report suspicious approaches. Do not endanger Chinese friends or sources merely to satisfy your curiosity. Recognize that some research topics, personal circumstances, or the political calendar may still make your travel inadvisable—and if you're seeking a security clearance, you may have to explain your decision later down the line. But for most students, calculated exposure to risk is not the same thing as naïveté. In many respects, college is the best—and perhaps the last—window in which to immerse yourself in China without carrying the full professional and security liabilities that would accompany such an opportunity later in your career. The opportunity cost of going, and the scrutiny you receive from both U.S. and Chinese security services, will generally only increase as you age. So go, learn the language. Eat the food, hike the Wuyue, learn to negotiate with the waijiaobu. Make friends with princelings, dissidents, nationalists, strivers, cynics, and people who care nothing about politics. My own decision to live and study in Russia before the war was one of the best decisions of my life, and (I believe) has made me a better analyst of life inside of authoritarian systems. Go with eyes wide open. Enjoy being a stranger in an even stranger land. You'll learn so much—about things you would otherwise never know you never knew. Not all of you will enter government. But some of you might. I'm counting on it: America needs China hawks who know China.