KEY POINTS:
Halfway through the Olympic Games that pledged to show the world a "New China, New Beijing, New Olympics", the Chinese certainly seem to have their PR work cut out.
In the minds of sports fans, these games may be remembered as the ones in which US swimmer Michael
Phelps became, at least in terms of gold medals won and world records set, the greatest Olympian of all time.
But for many, the abiding image is just as likely to be that of seven-year-old Yang Peiyi, who sings like an angel but was adjudged not pretty enough to appear before the eyes of billions at the opening ceremony. She was replaced by a lip-syncing Lin Miaoke who was, in the eyes of ceremony organisers - "flawless in image, internal feelings and expression".
The switch was revealed in an interview with the ceremony's music designer, broadcast - apparently unapologetically and certainly unremarked-on - on state-run television, which suggests that Chinese television audiences may not have found it either remarkable or reprehensible. But in some corridor of power, the Western reaction was quickly noted: an immediate and hostile international response prompted the pulling of the interview from the Chinese news website sina.com, where it had been briefly posted.
It may yet be that officials will attempt to repair the damage done by giving Yang a place in the spotlight at the closing ceremony. But it would take a brave person to bet on such a backdown. The event highlights the way in which Western media who have, at least implicitly, condemned the substitution, tend to look at events in Beijing through an ethnocentric prism. To "us", what happened may seem obvious and unforgivable: a little girl's feelings were trampled on by a heartless bureaucracy in order to facilitate an act of deception that was at best tasteless and at worst deeply cruel. But to the Chinese it is part of presenting the country to a watching world in the best light. Seen that way, the decision looks unexceptionable, even logical.
At the same time, an official change of heart in the matter would run counter to the deeply embedded concept of saving face - known as mianzi - which is integral to social relations. Westerners may find it hard to understand, but Chinese hesitation about challenging authority is not only or always the action of a populace cowed into submission by autocratic rule: it is also driven by the customary and entrenched social contract not to bring up embarrassing facts in public. And, in any event, dissent is not entirely stilled: renowned artist Ai Weiwei, who collaborated on the design of the "Bird's Nest" main stadium, has sharply criticised the Olympic effort as China's "pretend smile". Yet even he concedes that greater freedom, even democracy, is coming to his homeland.
None of this excuses the Yang decision but it may go some way to explaining it. It is worth wondering what organisers of an Olympic opening ceremony in a Western country might do - might indeed have already done, undetected - when faced with the choice between two singers, the better one plainer, the prettier one less talented. The difference may be entirely in how the matter was finessed by PR advisers.
The Yang story reveals something profoundly naive in the Olympic organisers' attitude to PR. So does the decision to hush up the extent of injuries suffered by dancer Liu Yan, paralysed in a fall during a rehearsal for the opening ceremony but, for a week, described as having a broken leg that was healing well.
The Western press corps, hardened to ferreting out the facts from beneath the blandishments of spin doctors, may think that they are playing the same game in Beijing. But it is hard to shake the suspicion that Western media often gleefully seize on stories that make China look bad. In the process they may be demonstrating their ignorance of the profoundly different cultural makeup of the country that is home to around one sixth of the world's population.
