Pay to Do Evil, Do Evil for Pay” — The Rot at the Heart of Modern Power

 “Pay to Do Evil, Do Evil for Pay” — The Rot at the Heart of Modern Power

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There are two lines that now circulate like a dark mantra in Chinese: 收錢做壞事 (shōu qián zuò huài shì) and 做壞事收錢 (zuò huài shì shōu qián). At first glance, they seem almost identical: both describe evil acts tied to money. But upon reflection, they are two different stages of moral collapse, two stages of a society in which the line between service and crime, between duty and corruption, has vanished.

收錢做壞事 means: “Take money, then do evil.” It is the classic form of corruption — the official who accepts a bribe and then uses state power to hurt the weak, help the rich, or destroy the inconvenient. The order is: money first, evil later. The actor still pretends to be a neutral functionary; he only crosses the line when the money is in hand. This is the corruption of the civil servant, the manager, the bureaucrat: power for sale, but not yet power built on evil.

做壞事收錢 means: “Do evil, then collect money.” This is a different world. Here, evil is not an occasional lapse, but the core business model. The actor is no longer a state official who sins; he is an outlaw, a gangster, a black-market sovereign whose very product is harm, fear, and control. He sells violence, information, false documents, rigged contracts. He does not wait for a bribe to twist the law; he creates the very situation that needs to be bought off. This is the world of the modern gang, the online scam syndicate, the coercive service provider whose only “service” is crime itself.

The shift from 收錢做壞事 to 做壞事收錢 is the shift from a sick system to a criminal system. In the first, the state still exists as an ideal, even if it is betrayed in practice. In the second, the state is gone, and the gang is the new state: a shadow government that runs on payoffs, punishments, and loyalty to the chain of command.

We see this everywhere. In politics, where parties are no longer ideological movements but machines that sell access, protection, and favours for money. In business, where companies don’t just cut corners with suppliers, but actively design traps — misleading contracts, hidden fees, forced arbitration — and then charge customers to escape them. In technology and media, where platforms enable harassment, fraud, or manipulation, then profit from the outrage, or from selling “protection” (verification, ads, moderation as a paid service).

What is truly terrifying is not just that people do bad things, but that society now treats 做壞事收錢 as a normal way to earn. The “gig economy” has become a perfect cover: “I’m not a criminal, I’m just completing a task.” Online scams, doxxing, targeted harassment, fake reviews, paid propaganda — all are reframed as “work” for which one is paid, even though each act is clearly harmful.

The deeper danger is cultural: when 收錢做壞事 becomes 做壞事收錢 in the public mind, people stop expecting fairness, honesty, or duty. They expect everything to be bought, and they learn to buy everything — justice, safety, reputation, even loyalty. Distrust becomes the default, and the only “trust” left is to one’s own side, one’s own gang.

And so, the old moral question “Is this right?” disappears, replaced by “Who pays, and how much?” The state, the party, the company, the family — all become transactional networks where relationships are contracts and principles are discounts. The only remaining “virtue” is loyalty to the group, measured in obedience and share of the take.

To recover, a society must first admit that it has crossed from corruption (收錢做壞事) into organized evil (做壞事收錢). It must punish not just the act, but the system that rewards it; not just the bribe-taker, but the market that sells injustice as a service. Only then can the distinction between serving and sinning, between earning and extorting, be restored — and the simple idea that one should not do evil, period, begin to mean something again.

 

Deciphering the Hierarchy: A Comprehensive Guide to China's Official Ranks

Understanding the labyrinthine hierarchy of Chinese officialdom is essential for navigating the country’s socio-political landscape. In China, the "Official-Standard" (Guanbenwei) culture dictates that social resources, personal security, and status are systematically tied to one's administrative rank. This complex system ensures that power flows from a single center, extending its reach into every facet of society, including education, state-owned enterprises, and even civic organizations.

The Backbone of the Party-State

At its core, the Chinese system is a "Party-State" structure where the boundaries between the Communist Party and the government are blurred. The Organization Department of the CCP holds the ultimate "personnel power," managing civil servants from recruitment to retirement. While there are millions of public sector employees, only a fraction—approximately 7 million—are formal civil servants (Gongwuyuan) with administrative status. Others belong to "public institutions" (Shiye Danwei) like hospitals and schools, where the career ceiling is significantly lower and leadership is often appointed from the civil service pool.

The Ten-Level Administrative Pyramid

The official hierarchy is divided into five main tiers, each split into "Primary" (Zheng) and "Deputy" (Fu) grades, forming a ten-level ladder:

1. National Level: The pinnacle of power, including the General Secretary, Premier, and members of the Politburo Standing Committee.

2. Provincial/Ministerial Level: Heads of provinces, major ministries, and direct-controlled municipalities like Beijing and Shanghai.

3. Departmental/Bureau Level: Leaders of provincial departments and mayors of prefecture-level cities.

4. Division/County Level: County heads and chiefs of city-level bureaus.

5. Section Level: The base of the leadership hierarchy, including township heads and heads of county-level departments.

Complexity and "Hidden" Rules

Rank is not determined by title alone; it is deeply influenced by the "attribute" of the organization. For instance:

• The "Half-Step" Advantage: Certain units, such as Courts, Procuratorates, and the Discipline Inspection Commission, often hold a status "half-a-grade" higher than equivalent government departments.

• Sub-Provincial Cities: 15 major cities (e.g., Shenzhen, Guangzhou) have an internal hierarchy that is elevated, meaning a "Bureau Chief" in these cities holds a higher rank than one in a standard city.

• "High-Ranking" Appointments: Some officials hold a personal rank higher than the position they occupy—a practice known as Gaopei—often seen in powerful departments like the Development and Reform Commission.

The "Official-Standard" Logic

The persistence of this intricate system is rooted in risk aversion. In a society where the rule of law is secondary to administrative will, an official position serves as the most reliable safeguard for an individual’s interests. This structure creates an intense internal competition, driving the best minds toward the bureaucracy rather than the market. Ultimately, understanding these ranks is not just about learning titles; it is about understanding how resources are allocated and how power truly operates in modern China.

How Language Can Create “Us vs Them” Power (Interdiscursive Clasp Explained)

 How Language Can Create “Us vs Them” Power (Interdiscursive Clasp Explained)

Some words do more than describe people. They shape who belongs to the powerful group and who becomes the outsider. Language can work like a “clasp” that connects two worlds while also creating inequalities. This idea is called interdiscursive clasp, from linguist Susan Gal.

Here’s the main idea:
When Group A talks about Group B, A is not only describing B. A is also defining what A is. So language becomes a tool that creates social categories and power differences.

For example:

• In Japan, male writers once invented a “feminine speech style.” They used it to show that women were emotional or weak, while men were modern and smart. The funny part? Real women did not actually talk that way. So the language did not reflect reality. It created a version of women that supported male power.

• In Hungary, the government talked about “good mothers” and “bad mothers” in official reports. By describing women’s behavior, they made some mothers look “deserving” and others “undeserving.” At the same time, this language gave social workers more power, because they got to decide who was “good.”

• Politicians also used the term “gypsy crime” to make people think Roma people commit crimes because of their ethnicity. That label does two things at once: It blames Roma and makes the politicians look like “truth-tellers” or “protectors of the nation.”

See the pattern?
Language does not just describe the world. It changes the world by creating social boundaries.

Whenever you hear someone say things like “teen slang,” “immigrant accents,” or “that’s how girls talk,” ask:
Who gains power from this way of talking?
Who loses?

That is the heart of interdiscursive clasp.

Bean There, Done That: My President's a Bot?

 Bean There, Done That: My President's a Bot?

Well, isn't this something? Another day, another headline that makes you scratch your head and wonder what in the blue blazes is going on. Now, I've seen a lot of things in my time. People talking to their pets, people talking to their plants, people talking to themselves in the grocery store aisle – usually about the price of a cantaloupe. But this? This takes the cake, the coffee, and the entire fortune-telling parlor.

Here we have a woman, a presumably normal, everyday woman, married for twelve years, two kids, the whole shebang. And what does she do? She asks a computer, a machine, a… a chatbot, for crying out loud, to read her husband's coffee grounds. Now, I’m no expert on modern romance, but I always thought marital spats started with something more traditional. Like, say, leaving the toilet seat up. Or maybe forgetting to take out the trash. Not consulting a digital oracle about the remnants of a morning brew.

And then, wouldn’t you know it, the chatbot, this ChatGPT, this collection of algorithms and code, allegedly tells her her husband is having an affair. An affair! Based on coffee grounds! I mean, you’ve got to hand it to the machine, it certainly cut to the chase, didn’t it? No vague pronouncements about a tall, dark stranger or a journey to a faraway land. Just a straightforward, digital bombshell. And poof! Twelve years of marriage, gone with the digital wind.

Now, it makes you think, doesn't it? If a chatbot can diagnose marital infidelity from a coffee cup, what else can it do? And that's where the really interesting part comes in. We’re always complaining about our politicians, aren’t we? They lie, they grandstand, they stonewall us when we just want to know what the heck is going on. We elect them, we trust them, and half the time, they turn out to be about as transparent as a brick wall.

But what about an AI president? Or a prime minister made of pure, unadulterated code? Think about it. No more campaign promises that disappear faster than a free sample at the supermarket. No more carefully worded non-answers designed to obscure the truth. An AI, presumably, would just tell you. "Yes, the budget is in a deficit." "No, that bill won't actually help anyone but your wealthy donors." "And by the way, Mrs. Henderson, your husband is having an affair with the next-door neighbor, according to the suspicious stain on his collar."

The thought of it is both terrifying and oddly comforting. No more spin doctors, no more filibusters, no more "I don't recall." Just cold, hard, truthful data. We always say we want the truth, don't we? We demand transparency, accountability. And here comes AI, ready to deliver it, whether we like it or not, whether it’s about a nation’s finances or the dregs at the bottom of a coffee cup.

So, maybe that’s where we’re headed. Not just AI telling us our fortunes, but AI running our countries. And who knows? Maybe it’ll be a good thing. At least we’ll finally know, won’t we? We’ll finally know the truth. Even if that truth comes from a machine that just broke up someone’s marriage over a cup of joe. And that, my friends, is something to ponder while you’re stirring your next cup of coffee. Just be careful who you ask to read the grounds. You never know what you might find out.