The Oriental Star ferry “disaster management” model, in which the goon squad manages to seize control of the information spigot early on and develops the subsequent narrative, is not the “new normal” in China that some may have feared.

Not that censorship is relaxing at all, or that the guidance of public opinion isn’t a priority after Tianjin’s chemical-explosion disaster (114 dead and counting, at least 70 missing and over 700 casualties). If anything, the censors are the only ones appearing to keep their heads in this whole sorry mess.

The Internet regulator seems to be the only functioning government agency at the moment. https://t.co/mH1BuGFdpD

— Li Yuan (@LiYuan6) August 16, 2015

But it seems the Yangtze disaster containment was probably more of an outlier than a precedent – the ferry’s sinking was rapid, going over in just a few minutes in poor weather conditions on a wide river, deep in the Chinese interior, miles from any major city. There were no pictures or videos of the incident. The few key witnesses, including the surviving crew, were nobbled immediately. (So far as I know, nothing’s even been heard from the captain since his detention, except brief statements via official channels.)

Their success managing the Oriental Star crisis was probably a magical time for propaganda officials – well done handling that dangerous mob of grieving relatives, Comrade Zhang, that was deputy secretary material! But busy as the censors and crowd control were, geographical and logistical restrictions did much of their work for them. It’s hard to report on a story that’s halfway up a muddy provincial river, in which the “crime scene” is underwater and the rural population is motivated toward helping the authorities, rather than media.

The police helped out a little, roughing up relatives who spoke to journalists and generally protecting and serving the government. But I suspect many might agree that heading to Jiangli, the nearest town where the mop-up operation was centered, didn’t really help anyone get to the bottom of the story. If anything, it provided a convenient locus for authorities to contain. (When the Economic Observer, a Chinese newspaper, went to the ferry company’s Chongqing offices and caught them shredding documents – red flag alert! – police summoned the reporter and deleted the report.)

The #TianjinBlast, on the other hand, is a nightmare for censors. Binhai New Area, where the detonations occurred, may not be “Tianjin” in the downtown sense that most people would recognize. It’s an 800-square-mile port, storage facility and giant development zone touted, among its many facets, as a petrochemical-processing hub, home to numerous multinational companies by day and poor migrants/shift workers by night. The latter took the brunt of the initial blast, which was quite some distance from the actual city but clearly not far away enough, by legal zoning standards, from residential buildings within 2,000 km of ground zero. But Tianjin is a high-speed 30-minute hop away from Beijing, where many journalists are based and able to get there – and back – within the day.

How much coverage would this story have received if the blast had occurred in, say, the province of Jilin, where 119 people died at a poultry factory that went up in 2013? There, residents of Dinhui City, heavily promoted as an economic opportunities zone much like Binhai (in this case, an agricultural manufacturing base used for commercial food processing), were awoken in the early hours by a series of massive blasts from the nearby plants, releasing toxic gas and chemicals into the surrounding area. Most of the dead were unskilled workers unable to escape the blaze because their factory doors were sealed. Like Tianjin, there was much handwringing in the aftermath about safety standards, reckless economic growth, ticking time bombs, “the worst fire in living memory,” etc., but that was pretty much it.

Already, the unfolding disaster in Tianjin has yielded much of the same, a rich basket of negligence, dodgy oversight, grim safety standards, environmental hazards and general indifference toward life. Thanks to the hyper-paranoid system, authorities are doing themselves further disservice by fighting another fire online, badly. Take the political cover-up of the company responsible, Ruihai International Logistics (RIL): rumors that ownership of RIL is connected to a senior relative (a former Politburo member? The ex-police chief?) are already rife. So while attempting to explain why its corporate records have suddenly vanished post-blast, officials have bravely tried to claim RIL’s website also got “blown up.” Consider that RIL has yet to even issue a statement on the tragedy caused by its warehousing. Or re-watch the CCTV flub in which a live presser was fumbled after officials were unable to answer a simple question; CCTV cuts right back to the studio, catching the host by surprise.

The fallout, including fears of chemical clouds making their way to Beijing, is growing uncomfortably close to the bigwigs. That’s half an hour away! They have a big, gung-ho military parade in three weeks and the last thing they need is this shit. The pressure to lock it down is growing intense, and comes with increasing political strictures – as the bureaucracy expands to contain the disaster zone, who is in charge and what’s permitted becomes opaque even to those within the system. Confusion and disarray take over, as officials try to cover themselves, different departments say different things, orders are delayed, reversed or rescinded, rumors fly, Twitter tries to make sense of it all and no one believes anything that the government says. 

They can’t be serious. https://t.co/E2NwwjosL3

— Fergus Ryan (@fryan) August 15, 2015

All but certain that evacuation is happening. Our school at the edge of the blast is closed until further notice. https://t.co/CYkD7Q33hD

— Matthew Stinson (@stinson) August 15, 2015

A #Tianjin govt spokesman said he’ll need to check who is in charge of the rescue operation of the deadly explosions. pic.twitter.com/8CQMMwYApV

— Li Yuan (@LiYuan6) August 16, 2015

Rather than the Oriental Star model, an old-fashioned clusterfuck with Chinese characteristics is playing out on social apps (here’s one take on absorbing the events over WeChat that Thursday), with some powerful local media doing their best to defy orders in the circumstances.

With alternative information widely available, the traditional propaganda, such as a decision to play up the “public service martyrs” storyline (it worked so damn well before, with those frogmen in the Yangtze), feels hasty, reflexive and off-key. Particularly, it won’t wash when the rescue workers look like lambs to the slaughter, many barely out of their teens, sent in without any proper protection or information to put out a raging chemical fire with water.

Chinese people may claim to “trust” their government in what they do or where the nation is heading, but that’s only because their objectives – economic growth and nationalist pride – roughly overlap for now. And, really, what’s the alternative in an authoritarian one-party state? But they certainly don’t believe, or place trust, in anything their government says, precisely because those same shared imperatives (nationalism, wealth accumulation) require all kinds of obfuscation, denial and logical gymnastics (“Everything is fine, we’re evacuating the area”).

For the bosses, yet another round of crackdowns and soul-searching – how did we fuck up the cover-up this time? – will almost certainly be in order. If the dust cloud heading toward Beijing has a silver lining of potassium cyanide, it’s this: Whatever serene sense of leadership you may have had about China’s grip on handling crises should be evaporating like a cloud of nitrate gas into the autumn air.

You may think you’ve seen them all, but this one has that little something extra. It’s worth watching from the beginning, but go to the 30-second mark for a mushroom cloud of commentary. Noooooooo fucking way.

Tianjin was woken last night by a massive warehouse explosion that killed at least 44 and injured 500 others — numbers which will surely rise in the coming days. As authorities investigate the cause — was it arson? — we sit here sifting through some amazing photos and videos of the incident. You may have seen some of these already. But they’re worth another look.

From social media:

Full video of drone footage showing destruction from #TianjinBlast – http://t.co/FPSRfkL5ea | Updates: @GrasswireNow pic.twitter.com/wy6wW2Wp17

— Grasswire (@grasswire) August 13, 2015

From BBC:   Seattle PI: Globe and Mail:

214 soldiers form a nat’l nuclear biochemical emergency rescue team, leave Beijing for rescue work in #Tianjin Thu pic.twitter.com/UmqpWVPWyZ — People’s Daily,China (@PDChina) August 13, 2015

An article titled Tianjin Journalists, Pls Wake Up is deleted on WeChat. Chinese public angry at the media silence. pic.twitter.com/bQPgK78pX6 — Li Yuan (@LiYuan6) August 13, 2015

UPDATE, 8/16, 4:56 pm: One of the crazier explosion videos yet:

Sometimes, when life throws you an obstacle, simply call on a dozen people to move said obstacle out of the way. In Tianjin on Sunday morning, a van parked in front of a building blocked a coach bus from leaving the enclosed lot via the only road out. That bus happened to be carrying more than two dozen Beijing Ultimate Frisbee players who were in town for a tournament. They had an idea.

We like this video because of how happy everyone is, especially the man laughing hysterically behind the camera (that would be Ken Dry). Look at all those form-perfect high-fives. You know what, people? Life’s okay sometimes.

UPDATE, 3:56 pm: Disclosure: I play on this team, called Big Brother. We won this tournament, probably thanks to karma.

Also… for the disc geeks out there:

This guy.

The people behind what we called the worst China party of the year posted a statement to Facebook around midnight today about the debacle that was November 1’s Electric Castle Party at the Dynasty Chateau in Tianjin. Here it is in full:

To our guests,

This is both an apology and a thank you… To everyone who bought a ticket, we want to thank you for believing in us and for supporting us to be a part of the celebration. Although many of you have told us you had a great time, we are also aware of the many guests who were let down. Our goal was to make this a night you would never forget. We achieved this, but of course not in the way we wanted—at all. The fact of the matter is, we dropped the ball, and we failed miserably to deliver what we promised.

What happened was embarrassing and deeply disappointing. Many of you have told us (at the event and online) about our lack of organisation, inexperience, irresponsibility, etc. Many of you were disappointed and angry, but yet remained patient and rational. Thank you again: thank you for staying calm in the middle of the chaos. Although we don’t want to believe it, we know you’re right. If we were in your shoes, we would feel the exact same way. It was one of the biggest lessons we have learned. Our regretful actions put you all at risk, and quite frankly… we’re lucky that worse things didn’t happen that night.

However, we want to set the record straight that it was NEVER our intention to scam anybody. As organizers, we were working together to make this the most amazing Halloween party in the world, one that would set a new record and make Tianjin the place to party, a celebration that would bring new opportunities for all of us, but our dream suddenly became a nightmare. The truth is, our team is not exactly “together” right now. Members with good intentions and high ambitions are now ashamed to have been a part of this. We sold tickets to our friends, family, and co-workers. Our reputation not only as a brand, but as individuals have been tarnished.

We appreciate the many suggestions given to us to make things right, and although we don’t have much to say anymore, we are indeed listening. Although we can see how the answers would seem to be quite obvious, there are certain situations limiting us at the moment. We really are sorry, and we truly want to make things right. We don’t know exactly what we will be able to do, but we are trying our best.

Sincerely,
Night Owl “Disappointment”…

(H/T Kenn Bermel)

Did hundreds, possibly thousands of expats — including promoters Street Hustle, ticketing agency Send Me Tickets, and local magazines — get swindled by organizers of the worst China party of the year? UPDATE, 11:08 am: the organizers have issued a statement.

The Electric Castle Party on Friday in Tianjin, held by a previously unknown outfit called Night Owl Entertainment, was billed as the “World’s Largest Halloween Masquerade Party.” Organizers hoped to draw 5,000 revelers and set a “world record” for largest Halloween masquerade (completely dubious, considering the actual record was 17,777 people in New Orleans). The thing was supposed to happen at a castle called Dynasty Chateau (wtf?), with tickets costing 350 RMB. It was supposed to be fun. It was supposed to be adventurous. It was supposed to combine the energy of DJed late-night soirees with the delirium of drunken mornings.

It was a downright debacle.

Here’s TimeOut Beijing with this report from the streets of Gongti — because the problems began from the outset, before the party could even get underway:

We were among the hundreds stranded at Gongti east gate after the last round of buses – maybe four or five in all – had departed at 9pm. Being that the first one back from Tianjin wasn’t set to leave until 5am the next morning, it should have been no surprise to Night Owl Entertainment that such a large group showed up then. Oh, that and the fact that they were claiming that attendance to the party would break the previous world record.

We contacted Street Hustle about the bus shortage. We were told that Street Hustle, who were themselves still on their way to the party, was in communication with the organisers and that more were on the way.

The reinforcements were laughable. Vans half the size of the now long since departed buses showed up one by one, no more than five in all, and the mad rush to get on them probably saw countless injuries. We witnessed folks climbing in through back windows, refusing to let go of doors even as they were driving away, running across something like 6 lines of traffic to get to a van parked on the other side of the street. It was sheer madness that we watched from the sidelines, hoping that this couldn’t possibly be the last of the available transportation.

So… fights, anger, madness. Great start.

Will Philipps, writing for That’s Beijing, actually made it to the chateau, but apparently it was hardly better there:

But at the party itself, thousands were marooned outside the castle gates in five-degree temperatures for the duration of the night, after a veritable company of uniformed police showed up forcibly prevented people from entering the castle (we’re still trying to figure out who called them and why, but essentially the police presence, akin to that of a military occupation, did little to help get the party started).

Guests were unable to get any of the complimentary drinks on offer – five cocktails and two beers, according to the tickets – leading to numerous scuffles and arguments breaking out between angry revelers and the clueless “volunteers” left working behind the bars. Most astonishingly, there were no security checks going in, and many reported that their tickets were not checked upon entry. One witness described to us guests making it up onto the actual roof of the castle, with many forcing their way in from the freeze through open windows and side doors.

Additional downside: those who made it to Tianjin were, well, in Tianjin. Stuck there, in fact, since the buses refused to leave until 5 am. There was reportedly one bar and one food stall, which sold hot dogs.

“I would describe it as a clusterfuck,” one party-goer told us. “It was impressive how disorganized they were…. Nobody knew what the hell was going on. I didn’t have high expectations and prepared accordingly, many others didn’t.”

One of those “others” who wasn’t prepared for such a shitshow — because when you pay 350 RMB, you at least expect organizational competence — told us, “I can say that it was probably one of the worst nights of my life. I don’t even know where to begin with how many disappointments my friends and I faced due to the extreme lack of organization as well as the people that were amongst us.”

Continuing:

There was no one that checked our tickets when we got on the bus to Tianjin and when we arrived, after three unnecessarily long hours due to complications and too many people being on the bus (seats were shared amongst three people while some people sat on the floor), we were told immediately upon arrival that the “Castle” was at full capacity and we would not be allowed in.

After getting off the bus and entering the “venue,” which was just a few tents and a DJ stage outside, not including the castle that we could not enter, my friends and I were lost and cold. We wandered throughout the field and because there was a ridiculous amount of crazy, drunk, and rude foreigners we felt it was almost impossible to do anything. Something as simple as wanting to buy a soda required you to get a token from a small booth, which people were crowding over for almost the entire night.

We were left outside the castle, freezing, starving, and bored until 4 am, when we were finally able to make our way inside the place. Even when we wanted to leave we were told by the “security guards” that none of the buses were permitted to leave until 5 am. My friends and I actually couldn’t get on a bus until almost 6:30 in the morning and did not arrive back in Beijing until 9:30 am.

The security guards I found to be extremely frustrating because there were so many of them just standing around together in every corner of the venue doing absolutely nothing except yelling at people to make sure they didn’t attempt to enter the castle.

Another thing that really struck me was how the environment seemed to make everyone adopt this crazed animalistic nature. I really felt like it was a survival of the fittest competition, especially when trying to get back home on a bus. People were shoving and fighting and only looking out for their own. Some of the people there even made two of my friends cry because they were intentionally shoving and trying to scare and hurt them to ensure their own spots on a bus ride home. All in all I can say that it was a complete disaster and the perfect Halloween nightmare.

Read that last paragraph again. People were fighting because of all the HATE that party organizers had inspired. It was SURVIVAL OF THE FITTEST, because expats in face paint and costume simply can’t be expected to not lust for BLOOD. In the jungle of Tianjin, one kills or is killed. It’s the goddamn Hunger Games. Those left on the curb in Gongti were lucky.

Street Hustle Promotions sent a press release on Sunday for immediate distribution, offering an apology but mostly shoving the dead / decaying body of Night Owl Entertainment under a road roller. The release — posted in full on the Beijinger’s website — begins, “We stand with you cold, thirsty, hungry and disappointed.” Street Hustle wants no part of distributing refunds, however, so it’s not like they literally stand with you, cold, thirsty, or hungry. In bold text, you’re directed to contact Night Owl Entertainment at 186-3099-4341 or info@nowentertainmenthq.com for refund requests. (Ha!)

The Night Owl Entertainment website has gone black. The people behind it have apparently cut and run.

By the way, here’s Send Me Tickets’s response to this fiasco, which it posted to its WeChat. As far as attempts to placate customers — angry, confused, frustrated, sad people who gave Send Me Tickets 350 RMB for admission to a cold, soulless, and booze-deprived torture chamber — we can only say that “snarky memes” isn’t exactly going by the book.

There are zero winners here. One last time, here was the promotional video for Electric Castle Party: