In Zhangjiakou, an openly accessible database shows how meticulously foreign tourists in the vicinity of Olympic ski slopes are tracked. The region near Beijing attracted global attention in 2022 through the Winter Games and the striking ski jump
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It was an iconic landmark of the 2022 Olympic Winter Games, the ski jump “Snow Ruyi” near the city of Zhangjiakou with its four million inhabitants, roughly an hour by high-speed rail from Beijing.
The structure is modelled on a ruyi sceptre, a ceremonial object meant to symbolise power, perfection and control. The ski jumping competitions, however, were more a collection of chaos and incompetence and stood as one of the biggest scandals in the sport’s history. The venue is notorious for its powerful gusts and extreme cold, which drew fierce criticism from athletes. But the scandal was not caused by China’s hosts. It was the Olympic committee itself, whose controversial decisions turned the mixed-team event into a farce.
The proximity to the capital makes Zhangjiakou a popular weekend getaway in winter for China’s beleaguered middle and upper classes seeking relief on the ski slopes. In China, it is one of the few ski destinations. The region has modern lifts and vast hotel complexes but a modest vertical drop due to the geography. It is more comparable to Saalbach-Hinterglemm, Winterberg or Hunter Mountain in Vermont than to Zermatt, Chamonix or, to stay in Asia, Niseko in Japan. Even within China it cannot match the ski stronghold of Yabuli. Its appeal lies primarily in its accessibility.
No wonder, then, that ski-enthusiastic foreigners from the capital and the neighbouring city of Tianjin make their way to Zhangjiakou. Even visitors from Shanghai travel to the province to unwind.
They might be less relaxed if they knew they were potentially part of a database whose sole purpose is the surveillance of the few foreigners living in Zhangjiakou: tourists and journalists. The database holds not only the usual details (name, passport and phone number, WeChat account and bank transactions), but, via the nationwide “Sharp-Eyes” network, of which Zhangjiakou’s surveillance system forms a part, it also contains movement profiles. The trackers know not merely which train a visitor took but which seat he occupied, which ski lifts he used at the resort, where and when he bought what at a supermarket, how high his electricity bill is and what illnesses he has. Recorded is who meets whom, how often, and what television series he watches in the evening via smart TV. None of this depends on whether the person lives in Zhangjiakou, is only visiting, or has never set foot in the city at all.
This appetite for data contrasts with a modest number of entries. The database contains only 12,000 entries in total, of which just over 700 are full profiles, mostly the few international students from Pakistan or India studying at the nearby Hebei North University.
That is why Fergus Ryan of the Australian Strategic Policy Institute coined the term “Chabudwellian.” The portmanteau blends Orwellian surveillance with the Chinese phrase “cha bu duo”, roughly translated as “good enough.” It captures the Chinese contradiction between unbridled data collection and the simultaneous imperfection of the system, visible in the unusually weak access controls for a security apparatus. Its discoverer, journalist Marc Hofer, found the login page already filled in with username and password. He simply had to press “Enter” and could scroll through the entries.
Of the roughly 12,000 records, 300 are dedicated to journalists, including Sophia Yan of the Daily Telegraph, who had never been to Zhangjiakou. Profiles of wanted persons from Hong Kong and Taiwan were also found. The remaining foreigners were divided into different risk categories: citizens of the USA, Great Britain, Australia, New Zealand and Canada are bundled into a joint category named after the intelligence alliance “Five Eyes.” A further category covers key countries: Egypt, Iran, Israel, Morocco, Pakistan and Sudan, all Islamic states with the exception of Israel. Separate folders hold people from Hong Kong, Macau and Taiwan, as well as foreign students, spouses of Chinese nationals and so-called “key persons”, a term used for activists and wanted individuals.
Foreign residents in China have long grown accustomed to pervasive surveillance. The Zhangjiakou database, however, offers a rare look at how deep the Chinese authorities’ appetite for data goes, and equally how unsystematic and at times amateurish the surveillance apparatus is. Similar systems are known from other cities. Two years ago, the data leak from the company I-Soon revealed how the data are used to monitor people abroad as well. Expats who have spent years in China, such as the author of this article, must reckon with the possibility that they remain under observation even after returning home, particularly if they are journalists or activists.
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