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SHANGHAI: As an American journalist based in China, I knew there was a good chance that at some point I would be detained for pursuing a story. I just never thought I'd be held hostage by a toy factory.
That is what happened last Monday, when for nine hours I was held, along with a translator and a photographer, by the suppliers of the popular Thomas & Friends toy rail sets.
"You've intruded on our property," one factory boss shouted at me. "Tell me, what exactly is the purpose of this visit?"
When I answered that I had come to meet the maker of a toy that had been recalled in the United States because it contained lead paint, he suggested I was really a commercial spy intent on stealing the secrets to the factory's toy manufacturing process.
"How do I know you're really from The New York Times?" he said. "Anyone can fake a name card."
Thus began our interrogation, which was followed by hours of negotiations, the partial closing of the factory complex and the arrival of several police cars, a handful of helmet-wearing security officers and some government officials, all trying to free an American journalist and his colleagues from a toy factory.
Factory bosses, I would discover, can overrule the police, and Chinese government officials are not as powerful as you might suspect in a country addicted to foreign investment.
I should not have been surprised by the reception. The last time I arrived at a factory under suspicion for selling contaminated goods (toothpaste), they quickly locked the gate and ran. A month earlier, I walked into the headquarters of a company that sold tainted pet food ingredients to the United States and Canada, and the receptionist insisted the owner was not in. When my translator called the owner, we heard his cellphone ring in the adjoining room. I peeked in and saw the boss scamper out the backdoor.
For American journalists, there is a tradition of showing up at a crime scene, or visiting a place that has made news. But in China, where press freedoms are weak, such visits can be dangerous.
Last year, a young man working for a Chinese newspaper was beaten to death after he tried to meet the owners of an illegal coal mine. Local officials later insisted he was trying to extort money.
My colleagues at The Times have been detained several times. And one of our Chinese research assistants is serving a three-year prison term for fraud. He originally was accused of passing state secrets to The Times, a charge The Times has denied.
But life in China is generally much easier for business reporters like me. Usually, I am welcomed at factories. State-owned companies often treat me like a visiting dignitary. I am seated in a kind of royal chair next to the chairman. We drink tea, and the chairman makes welcoming remarks while the company's official photographer snaps our picture.
On the walls of many of the factories I visit are portraits of powerful Chinese leaders like Deng Xiaoping, Jiang Zemin, Hu Jintao and others whose images signal to anyone visiting that a factory is "connected" and has the blessing of the Communist Party.
But my toy factory visit made me wonder: Who really holds the balance of the power in that relationship these days?
Many experts have told me that one of the most serious problems in China is that the government lacks the power to control the nation's Wild West entrepreneurs, deal makers and connected factory owners.
Bribery is rampant, and government corruption widespread. Just a few weeks ago, the top food and drug regulator was sentenced to death for taking huge bribes from pharmaceutical companies. But it is not clear that strong messages like that will stop the anarchy.
"China effectively has no oversight over anything," said Oded Shenkar, a business professor at Ohio State University and author of "The Chinese Century: The Rising Chinese Economy and Its Impact on the Global Economy, the Balance of Power and Your Job."
"People have this idea they are Big Brother and everyone is under watch," Shenkar said. "But this is not China. In China, local authorities often turn a blind eye to problems because maybe they're invested in it."
The impotence of local officials was clear to me from my visit to the RC2 Industrial Park in the southeastern city of Dongguan, which is thought to be the largest toy manufacturing center in the world.
The private plant is the main supplier to the RC2 Corp., an Illinois company. And the Hong Kong or mainland Chinese entrepreneurs who run the facility seemed to hold great sway over the government.
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