By Bo Gu, NBC News

BEIJING –"Say no to Mandarin!" thousands chanted in Cantonese in a busy district of Guangzhou, capital of China’s southern Guangdong province, Sunday afternoon.　

Residents of southern China have long been known for being vocal about their opinions – from mass protests against a local chemical plant in Fujian province three years ago to a series of strikes by migrant workers calling for higher wages in Guangdong earlier this year.

But Sunday’s protest was unique – Guangzhou citizens were walking in the street to protect their native language:Cantonese.

It was sparked by an announcement earlier this month by the local China People’s Political Consultative Conference (CPPCC), a political advisory body, encouraging the local government to promote Mandarin language content on Guangzhou’s prime time TV news programs.

With Cantonese serving as the primary language in Guangdong province, as well as Hong Kong and Macao, it’s spoken not just by millions locally, but also by millions of Chinese emigrants around the globe.

Dialect equals identity
Mandarin, China’s official language, is based mainly on northern dialects, primarily, the Beijing dialect. It was not adopted as the country’s national language until the1950s, when the fledgling Communist government took power and began to enforce it as the standard language to be used in education, media and by the government.　

But in a country as large and geographically diverse as China, promoting one standard dialect has been no easy task. It’s not uncommon for villagers living just 30 miles away from each other to speak different dialects – particularly in the south where the mountainous terrain helped lead to linguistic differences.　

Many people living in southern China have been speaking local dialects for centuries – the only time they even hear Mandarin is when they watch TV or listen to radio (assuming they watch or listen to either). As a result, the central government has gone to great lengths to try to unify what people speak.

"When I was in elementary school 11 years ago, we were not allowed to speak any Cantonese," said a native Guangzhou girl who spoke to NBC News by phone and asked to be identified by her Internet chat room alias, Yinghuochong.　

"We were only allowed to speak Mandarin in the school, otherwise your daily achievement score would be deducted by teachers. They say it’s not civilized to speak Cantonese. I don’t understand. Why is it so civilized to speak Mandarin? What about English? Is it more civilized to speak English then?" said Yinghuochong.

Yinghuochong was not the only one angry about the CPPCC’s proposal. She joined thousands of other young people, mostly in their 20s, wearing white tee-shirts that said "I love Guangzhou" as they walked through the city’s streets to show their support for their dialect.

"Support Cantonese!" "Let’s speak Cantonese!" "Say no to Mandarin!" were a few of the slogans shouted out by the crowds.

The march reached a climax when a chorus of protesters sang "Glorious Time," a hit song by the former Hong Kong band Beyond, in Cantonese.　 　

"Among dozens of the TV channels we can receive, only five or six are Cantonese channels. They are for people like my mom, who doesn’t speak Mandarin at all. She doesn’t have many options when she watches TV," said Yinghuochong. "This is just not necessary at all."

Su Zhijia, the deputy mayor of Guangzhou, denied that Guangzhou TV was planning to switch from broadcasting in Cantonese to Mandarin. In an interview with a local media he stressed that "the government has never thought about doing anything to weaken Cantonese."

Su also argued that promoting Mandarin doesn’t necessarily mean Cantonese has to be eliminated. But his promises didn’t seem to calm the doubts and complaints from many Guangzhou citizens.

A form of ‘cultural deprivation’
Michael Anti, an active blogger and analyst, explained why he believes Cantonese is so symbolic in this region, which is one of just two places in China that is still permitted to broadcast television in its own dialect; the other is Shanghai.

"The official promotion of Mandarin is a sort of cultural deprivation," Anti said. "The majority of the protesters are young people, who cannot afford to buy any property in this weak economic environment. They already feel economically disadvantaged and now they are more afraid of losing what they are proud of."

And the outrage over the Mandarin proposal is not limited to the activists marching last weekend. The CPPCC’s web site sponsored an online survey asking respondents if they should add more Mandarin TV programs. The survey received a resounding "No" from 80 percent of respondents. The overwhelmingly negative results quickly became a major point of discussion in the blogosphere and on Internet chat rooms. 　

"Shame on a city without dialect," said Feng Xincheng, an editor of a magazine based in Guangzhou. "Save Cantonese!" soon turned into the most used slogans on many microblogs.

Despite the outpouring, Yinghuochong is still worried. "The last time when 80 percent of people surveyed voted ‘No’ the CPPCC still said people needed to be guided. We only have one purpose: We don’t want them to crack down on Cantonese."

BEIJING – The live music scene in Beijing is one of the great perks of living in the Chinese capital. As we reported a couple of years ago, a thriving community of independent musicians and artists can satisfy practically any music craving.

Experimental folk? Check.

Indie electronica? Check.

Rock with comic cross-talk? Check.

But if you crave big marquee names, better move to Tokyo.

In the past year, China has seen only two major-league performers come from overseas: Usher earlier this month, and Beyoncé last October.

For a major international city with nearly 18 million permanent residents, that’s a pretty poor showing of global mainstream pop and rock acts.

One reason for the paucity is censorship.

Avoiding controversy
Since Bjork’s controversial act of shouting "Tibet, Tibet" at the end of a song called Declare Independence during a concert in Shanghai in March 2008, China’s Ministry of Culture has maintained strict restrictions on foreign performers.

Since then, a handful of western artists have had to cancel gigs because of their perceived politics. In 2009, ministry officials revoked permits for Oasis to perform, calling the band "unsuitable."

Bob Dylan was due to perform in Beijing and Shanghai this year, but concert promoters said the Chinese Ministry of Culture denied him a permit, perhaps concerned about the legendary 68-year-old musician’s counter-culture origins.

But it’s not just about politics.

"Anything that talks about violence or things that are a little bit extreme, those tend not to be approved here," said Adam Wilkes, managing director of 8th Round, a live entertainment company in Beijing that organized this month’s Usher concert.

Usher’s mass appeal in China is in part due to his wholesome image as well as his talent, the accessibility of his music (R&B remains extremely popular amongst the young urban set here), and his fame in the west.

Chinese acts still reign
Concert promoters face other challenges trying to bring overseas rock/pop acts here.

"Foreign mainstream artists are not particularly influential in China," said Jia Wei, a music critic.

"They are merely competitors in the local music scene."

Usher drew a large audience at the spiffy Wukesong Stadium, which looked to be about 70-80 percent full. That’s not a bad turnout considering the cheapest tickets went for $41 in a city with a median monthly income of $550.

But that was nothing compared to the sell-out concerts by Mandopop stars like Jay Chou or Wang Leehom, who attract at least 35,000 people per show.　 (In fact, Wang made a special appearance at Usher’s concert and sang a duet in Mandarin with him, triggering screams of delight from the audience.)

The night of the Germany-Argentina World Cup quarterfinal, Chou staged a show at the Workers’ Stadium in Sanlitun, where expats and locals converged on a concentration of bars, restaurants, and clubs to watch the match.　And I’m pretty sure the traffic snarling up the roads in Sanlitun were because of Chou, not the soccer.

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And when tickets were released this month for a series of comeback concerts in China by Faye Wong, a semi-retired Hong Kong pop singer, they were sold out within ten minutes.

But there’s also the fact China’s music industry is new and relatively undeveloped, with the concert industry really only five years old.

What little music recording infrastructure exists here revolves around local talent, said Wilkes, who’s spent almost a decade working in China.

"For the most part, the mainstream state-owned media does not focus their attention on Western popular culture," he said.　"So most of this information comes in organically through the Internet, so it’s available, but it’s not driven."

So for the foreseeable future, it seems Beijing will still only be attracting A-list music performers at the rate of one a year.

Thank goodness for the underground music scene.

Mongolian hip hop, anyone?

By NBC News’ Bo Gu

BEIJING – For Chinese Internet users frustrated by the government blocking of Western social media sites like Facebook and Twitter, the best way to communicate has been on microblogging services via major Chinese Web portals like Sina, Sohu, NetEase and Tencent.

Microblogging – short, punchy, Twitter-like posts that can be as brief as a sentence – has become an increasingly popular way to communicate. That is, until now.

There has been a sudden spate of temporary shutdowns of blogs in the name of "maintenance" – which many suspect is just another example of the government cracking down on the flow of information.

‘Sorry,’ no Internet today
It started with the microblogging service on the Chinese site, Sohu.com, which suddenly became inaccessible last Friday night and recovered service early Monday morning.

On Tuesday, NetEase.com, another microblogging site, had a notice saying, "Sorry, we are currently undergoing maintenance."

NetEase restored its service Thursday afternoon with its official notice "We have finished upgrading the system." But users discovered that the site’s old search function had disappeared.

The microblogging services on two other popular portals, Sina.com and Tencent.com, were not shut down. But a "beta" logo is appearing on both of their microblogging front pages, which means they are testing the service.　　

The shutdowns come just as the government-sanctioned China Internet Network Information Center released a report saying the number of Chinese Internet users reached 420 million at the end of June.

The speed at which Internet use is growing has made it more challenging for the government to monitor what people say and read online every day.

Early last year the Ministry of Industrial Information ordered that so-called "Green Dam" software be installed on all personal computers in China. The government said the software was meant to block websites considered inappropriate or harmful to users. But there was such an outcry from China’s netizens that the government was forced to abort the plan. And more recently, Google pulled out of China briefly due to a dispute over censorship of search results. The U.S. technology giant resumed business on the mainland this month after Beijing renewed its license.

None of these major portals’ spokesmen or editors has confirmed whether the government is behind the current spree of unexpected glitches.

The explanations given were either "system maintenance" or "upgrading," although the simultaneous timing is highly suspicious.

Bloggers still get word out
Gaoming, a Chinese tweeter, wrote on Twitter.com about the shutdowns. "All major domestic microblogging services have stopped their URL link functions. You can’t find any links on theses websites anymore." (Sophisticated Internet users have been able to access Twitter and Facebook via proxy servers.)

Another tweeter and popular commentator, Wen Yunchao, wrote, "Internet control policy in China can be concluded in one sentence: Trying as hard as possible to stop the spread of information."

But, despite the turmoil, Lian Yue, one of China’s most popular bloggers and a microblogger on both Sina and Tencent, said he’s still optimistic about the future of microblogs in the country.

"The government will definitely tighten their control over microblogging, but I don’t think they’ll completely shut them down," said Lian. "It’s hard to dig out the real reason behind this temporary shutdown, but it could be related to the change of the way information spread. Microblogging speeded up the information flow, but information censorship has always been there."

BEIJING – We were watching a group of men and women kneading and preparing loaves of bread when my colleague Gu Bo suddenly asked, "There are six patients baking and one instructor, is that right?"

"Yes," replied Yang Yun, a petite Beijing native showing us around.

"So the one holding the knife is the instructor, right?" asked Bo.

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"Yes," Yang answered again.

Bo's polite but firm persistence was understandable.

This was no ordinary kitchen. It was in the Beijing Chaoyang District Mental Health Service Center , a privately-run mental institution started up in 1999.

Yang, a veteran nurse, was the center’s director.

And the people baking were all patients diagnosed with serious mental illness.

"Most of our patients have gone through treatment at hospitals," said Yang. "But they still have mental problems, and their families can’t take care of them."

So they ended up at the center, which Yang said enables them to recuperate in a quiet and peaceful environment without any pressure. Families pay on average about $180 a month for the patient to live on the premises (not cheap given that the typical monthly income in Beijing is about $550).

Three doctors and some 40 caretakers look after the 190 patients. Virtually all are from Beijing and were brought to the center by relatives. "About 130 to 140 are men," said Yang. They range in age from 18 to 70.

The morning we visited, clusters of people sat in the garden, shaded by trees and grapevines, trying to beat the heat. A handful of patients watched television indoors. Some walked back and forth, quietly and purposefully, with a faraway look in their eyes.

But in the kitchen far off to the corner, there was a hubbub of activity.

‘Crazy bake’
The bakery was born five years ago when Natascha Prigge and Yvonne Gerig came to the center as volunteers.

"I think we as foreigners here in Beijing … have a pretty privileged life," said Prigge, who hails from Munster, Germany. She has been living in Beijing for nearly eight years and said that volunteering at the center is her way of helping her adopted country. "We can’t really change anything, but it’s a small thing I can do to give something back."

After starting an organic farm project at the center, she and Gerig, a Swiss native who studied psychology in college, came up with the idea of a bakery.

"We were thinking of something that we can teach to the patients, and we were looking for [an] occupation that they can do all year long," said Prigge, who studied business when she was in college. "And baking is something that is easy to learn, easy to handle, and when we started five years ago there were not so many bakeries around."

After raising a few thousand dollars, Prigge and Gerig bought equipment and refurbished a room in the center for the bakery to launch "Crazy Bake." ("Some people think the name is very direct," acknowledged Prigge, who canvassed opinions from native English speakers before deciding on the name. "But the patients are fine with it.")

Since then, every Friday, the group of six patients don their chef’s hats and aprons to work in their fully outfitted kitchen. Even during this slow season – most of their customers are expatriates who go away for the summer holidays – they churn out around 60 loaves of farmer’s bread and challah bread (each sell for about $3), in addition to bags of bagels.

"[The patients] do everything," said Prigge. "The only thing we do is distribution now." Each Friday, after the loaves are made, she or Gerig make the trip to downtown Beijing – occasionally with one or two of the patients – to deliver the bread to homes, schools, and embassies.

The bakery program was initially intended to give the patients something to do and to provide structure to their days. It’s also allowed them to re-engage with the wider world. A patient at the center since 2001, Jeff, who would only give his first name, loves making deliveries. "I like being outside, and I like seeing other people," he said.

"They have fun baking and gain confidence," said Yang. "They can also make some money out of it, some of which has been used to buy facilities for the center, and that makes them feel respected and valued. So it’s a great thing for them both mentally and physically."

'This needs our whole society’s attention'
Attitudes at the center seem a far cry from how the mentally ill are typically viewed in China.

"I personally don’t think we have much support from society, which discriminates against the mentally ill," said Yang. "Chinese society doesn’t know very much about mentally ill patients. They think of them as lunatics or weirdos."

Her remarks underscore perceptions that surfaced after a series of random school attacks last spring across the country, in which several men injured or killed several dozens of young students.

Although still very little is known about the perpetrators or their motives, commentators in the media were quick to note commonalities: some of the men were social misfits or nursing a host of grudges. Many Chinese sociologists and psychology experts spoke out about the need for a better social safety net to catch those unable to cope with modern-day challenges.

"Our society is changing and developing rapidly," said Yang. "We discover that many young people, although they are not sick, they do have a mental disorder. You never know when they may act extremely…. This needs our whole society’s attention."

But that attention appears to be sorely lacking.

"There aren’t a lot of psychological doctors and clinics like we have in the West," said Prigge. "I think it’s difficult to get the proper treatment."

Health experts here have estimated China has at least 100 million mentally ill people (out of 1.3 billion), but that fewer than half of the general public have any awareness of mental health.

Moreover, by the end of 2005, there were just under 600 mental institutes, some 16,000 registered psychologists, and only 133,000 psychiatric hospital beds in the entire country. Crunch the numbers, and it looks worse: One hospital bed for every 10,000 Chinese and one psychologist for every 100,000 Chinese.

(We could only rely on statistics from 2005. In response to our requests for more up-to-date information, the Chinese Center for Disease Control and Prevention refused, and the Chinese Ministry of Health stonewalled us.)

The World Health Organization confirmed that mental illness ranks as the second largest burden on Chinese health care, just lagging behind heart disease, but exceeding cancer. Factoring in neurological disorders such as epilepsy, Alzheimer’s, etc., neuropsychiatric diseases top the list.

Which makes the Beijing Chaoyang District Mental Health Service Center and the "Crazy Bake" program all the more remarkable. Since the program’s inception, the participating patients have shown marked progress, said Yang. The six bakers are now housed in assisted living a short distance away from the centre.

"I feel more freedom than here," said Jeff, one of the two bakers who speaks fluent English that he learned in university.

Jeff, who worked in engineering, marketing and even ran his own business before he was brought to the center by his family, exudes a friendly directness that hints at none of his troubled past, yet promises a hopeful future. "I feel happy, I feel [active]. I feel good," he said.