Seeds of Fury

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Three years ago, the village of Panlong didn't exist. Instead, there were two villages, one named Peace and the other Patriotism. But in 2003, leaders from Peace and Patriotism decided to merge their farmland and rent it to a Hong Kong company that wanted a large plot for a textile factory. The new village name was Panlong, or Coiled Dragon—a moniker more suited to a rural hamlet with economic ambitions than the quaint socialist tags of Peace and Patriotism.

But Panlong soon disappointed its residents. Villagers say they had not been consulted on the land deal, and many resented their farmland being taken away. Even worse, they were told by village leaders that compensation per mu—a local measurement equivalent to 1/15 of a hectare—would amount to around $100 a year, even though the factory was paying $3,300 per mu. Where the rest of the money was going wasn't clear, although villagers claim that soon after the land contract was signed, several village committee members started building homes or bought new cars. (A Panlong village committee spokesman refused to discuss details of the alleged buying spree, telling TIME: "I don't know anything about this situation.") "We all live in the same place, and we can see what they are doing," remarks a Panlong resident, who says his friends were hired to construct a new house for one of the local officials. "They can't keep secrets from us."

But knowledge means little if there's no way to wield it. China's legal framework hasn't caught up with its economic development, leaving farmers without a proper channel to protest land grabs or local corruption. One problem is that China's judges are hired and fired by local authorities, complicating efforts to instill judicial independence. "A lot of [local officials] do outrageous things and the people they govern can't do very much about it," says Zhang Qianfan, a law professor at Peking University. "The courts are not working. They're often allied with the government and refuse to take cases." Although local governments are technically allowed to appropriate farmland and lease it to outsiders if it's for "public interest," there's no mechanism to make sure the profits end up back in farmers' bank accounts. Despite hopes that last month's "new socialist countryside" initiative would restructure rural land policy, the plan included no substantive land reforms. According to a report commissioned last year by the State Council, China's cabinet, around 60% of revenue from rural land deals goes to developers and county and township governments; 30% is funneled into village committee coffers; and only 10% trickles down to the peasants forced to give up their land. Yet only two provinces and one municipality in China have set up land-arbitration panels for farmers to claim lost revenue. Most other peasants must petition directly to Beijing, where their individual voices tend to be lost in a cacophony of complaints.

Some of the loudest voices come from the village of Liujiaying, in eastern Shandong province, where residents were told they would lose their fruit and vegetable fields back in 2003. After finding out how little compensation the village committee was offering, Liujiaying villagers protested the proposed industrial park and refused to clear their land. Their defiance was short-lived. Within a few months, the fields had been bulldozed in the middle of the night, destroying decades-old grape vines and fruit trees. Later, rows of greenhouses were torn down. Peasants who complained claim they were awakened at night by bricks crashing through their windows, and that several villagers were beaten up. ("I don't know the details of this case," says a spokesman for the municipal government of Qingdao, the nearby administrative capital that oversees the village. "There are too many incidents like this in China.") A 62-year-old villager named Liu Yinde traveled in January to Qingdao to seek redress, bearing a petition letter that detailed the alleged abuses. In it, he claimed $1.8 million in lost farming income for the village and appealed directly to Beijing: "We farmers believe the central government headed by President Hu will carry out the law for the people. We believe you certainly will take care of our village affairs." But before he was able to submit his letter, Liu says a group of hooligans stopped him at the train station, tore up the document and kept him hostage for eight days in a hotel. "I can't understand why no one addresses my problems," he says. "What good is the law if it doesn't serve the people?"

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