The Hong Kong High Court sentenced Wong to an additional 10 years, on top of a shorter sentence he was already serving, on charges of “conspiracy to collude with foreign forces.” In a closed-door trial in Macau, pro-democracy activist and former lawmaker Au Kam San was given a 12-and-a-half-year prison term for "subversion against the political power of the state," among other charges. Both prosecutions were widely decried as being politically motivated and the sentences criticized as overly harsh. Many governments and international human rights organizations called for Au’s and Wong’s sentences to be overturned.

Joshua Wong is well known for his role in Hong Kong’s 2014 pro-democracy protests and for his work with pro-democracy party Demosistō and student activist group Scholarism. One of 45 Hong Kong pro-democracy figures jailed in 2024 for participating in unofficial primary elections several years earlier, Wong had been serving a four-year, eight-month sentence for “subversion of state power,” and was scheduled to be released from prison in January 2027. But the addition of 10 more years on charges of “conspiracy to collude with foreign forces,” a more serious national security offense to which Wong pleaded guilty, means that the 30-year-old will remain imprisoned and sidelined for many more years. He is the only activist to be prosecuted twice under Hong Kong’s National Security Law.

An opinion piece from self-exiled Hong Kong democracy activist Nathan Law in The Guardian notes the retroactive application of Hong Kong’s National Security Law and stark lack of evidence in Wong’s trial. Law, who was named in Wong’s trial as an alleged “co-conspirator,” discusses the broader significance of the harsh sentences imposed on Wong and other democracy advocates such as newspaper publisher Jimmy Lai and legal scholar Benny Tai:

Much of the cited evidence [in Wong’s trial] predates the implementation of the national security law, even though the court insisted it was not being applied retrospectively. Before 2020, meeting with foreign parliamentarians, engaging with and speaking to international institutions, and advocating for measures against human rights abuses were ordinary campaign strategies. These were peaceful means through which we tried to hold those in power accountable. The campaigns raised the profile of Hong Kong’s protests and garnered substantial support; they were so effective that Beijing had to impose the national security law to curb them and impose extensive legal punishments.

There is a stark lack of evidence about Joshua’s actions. Prosecutors said that he conspired with campaigners including myself to ask foreign bodies to impose sanctions on China – relying on his sharing of Facebook posts written by me. But these posts did not directly call for sanctions – they made other appeals, including for digital forensic companies to terminate their cooperation with the Hong Kong police. There’s no evidence that Wong himself advocated for imposing any form of sanctions, or that he had any direct link to advocacy work outside Hong Kong. The court also accepted that no organisation or funding supported his activities after the law came into force.

Still, as flimsy as the evidence is, it’s enough to secure him a decade in jail. The crux of the trial is not legal; it’s political. It is clear that Beijing exercises sweeping control over Hong Kong’s legal and political systems. This can be seen in the tightening of the electoral system by introducing an Iranian-style vetting mechanism, in the jailing of peaceful political dissidents and the emphasis placed on the necessity of “patriots ruling Hong Kong”.

When Chinese leaders categorise Jimmy Lai, Benny Tai and Joshua Wong as the “masterminds” behind the 2019 pro-democracy protests, the legal system must deliver sentences that reflect the trio’s “importance”. That’s why Lai and Tai have been sentenced to 20 years and 10 years respectively, and rank among the most persecuted pro-democracy figures in the region. There are now close to 2,000 political prisoners in Hong Kong. [Source]

Human Rights Watch (HRW) described the national security charges against Wong as “baseless” and the harsh sentencing “cruel and unjust.” In calling for Wong’s immediate and unconditional release, HRW Asia Director Elaine Pearson said, “Young people promoting social change are an asset for any vibrant society, but the Hong Kong government puts them behind bars.”

The court sentenced Wong, 30, under the National Security Law for “conspiring to collude with foreign forces.” The authorities accused him of “conspiring” with the activist Nathan Law and other “unknown” individuals between 2016 and November 2020 to urge foreign governments to sanction Hong Kong and Chinese government officials as they advocated for Hong Kong’s “democratic self-determination.”

The prosecution relied heavily on the international lobbying and media advocacy that Wong and Demosisto, the political party Wong co-founded in 2016, carried out before the National Security Law took effect. Wong initiated online petitions, spoke to international media, and met with foreign officials to draw attention to human rights abuses in Hong Kong. He urged governments to sanction Chinese and Hong Kong officials responsible for abuses and to stop selling weapons to Hong Kong police that they use to carry out rights violations.

Wong had mostly stopped these activities before the National Security Law became effective. Demosisto disbanded on June 30, 2020, and Wong resigned from the group. However, the government quoted social media posts by Wong as ostensible evidence that his alleged “conspiracy” with Law to commit “foreign collusion” continued after the law took effect. In these posts, Wong said he “would not change his views” and that he would “continue to seek support from the international community” in his personal capacity, while Law and others abroad would continue their international advocacy.

The government also cited Wong’s subsequent opinion pieces and media interviews, though none directly called for sanctions, which the National Security Law specifically prohibits. It also cited his reposts of Law’s posts broadly calling for sanctions against Chinese officials and Hong Kong police. [Source]

Hong Kong Free Press published an English translation of Wong’s mitigation letter, which he submitted to the court in a request for leniency. In it, Wong discussed the many milestones he has missed during his six years in prison, during which time he has been taking various legal and business courses and preparing for the International English Language Testing System (IELTS) exam. He also described his cessation of certain activities after the National Security Law went into effect in 2020:

“Unlike my peers born in the 1990s, I was unable to start a family of my own or enter the workforce. Instead, I could only watch the years pass inside a stark cell,” the letter reads.

[…] Wong said in his mitigation letter that once the national security law came into effect, he realised that calling for foreign sanctions was unlawful and he “promptly ceased all such statements and conduct.”

“However, as the law suddenly came into force, the situation was overwhelming. I attempted to adjust my words and actions amid confusion, yet my legal judgment was not thorough and I was not in a clear mind, leaving me unable to properly determine the legal boundaries for every single act,” Wong said.

“At the time, I believed that reposting publications by others, or urging foreign enterprises on commercial grounds to halt cooperation with police, differed from directly calling for sanctions,” he said, adding: “With respect to all statements I made and posts I published, I admit them in their entirety and accept full responsibility.” [Source]

A piece from AFP, published by Hong Kong Free Press, provides more background about democracy activist and former lawmaker Au Kam San, who was convicted of subversion and other offenses and recently given a 12-and-a-half-year sentence in Macau, the former Portuguese colony that reverted to China in 1999:

It was the first conviction under Macau’s National Security Law, enacted in 2009 and toughened in 2023, and followed a trial that wrapped up in three days behind closed doors.

Au, 69, who was arrested in July 2025, had co-organised annual vigils for victims of the 1989 Tiananmen Square crackdown in Beijing.

[…] The US consulate for Hong Kong and Macau on Monday called Au’s prosecution “another example of Beijing’s use of sweeping national security powers to silence peaceful political dissent and suppress fundamental freedoms”.

[…] The United Nations’s human rights office called the imposition of harsh penalties on the activists “deeply concerning”, noting that “Au was not represented by counsel of his choice”. [Source]

CDT editors archived four recent articles about the film, all of which are still visible online. “In ‘Angel in White,’ Who Plays Li Wenliang?”, from WeChat account 云崖擎苍 (Yúnyá Qíngcāng, "Cloud Cliffs and Azure Sky"), is extremely critical of the filmmakers for not including a character based on Dr. Li Wenliang, who played such a key role in alerting people to the emerging coronavirus, and for casting the famous and instantly recognizable Andy Lau in the lead role. Noting the film’s six-year lag time from completion to theatrical release, the author argues that it might have been better had it stayed on the shelf: “That ‘special period’ in our past is not an object of nostalgia in the conventional sense of the word, but a scar on our collective memory. No one yearns for or wants to relive that time.”

Also archived was “Andy Lau’s New Film ‘Angel in White’ Is Coming to Theaters, and I Definitely Won’t Be Seeing It,” from Xu Peng’s WeChat account History Rhymes. Adamant that he won’t be going to see the film, Xu also touches on the intense online censorship of those pandemic years, and mourns the erasure of many of his documentary writings from that time:

Whether or not this movie is screened, I will never forget that period in time. Back then, I was writing daily articles that recorded my experiences. It’s a shame that so many of my public WeChat accounts were closed, and that those articles are no longer visible.

Would you go to the theater to see a movie like this? I certainly wouldn’t. Having finally emerged from the psychological trauma of that time, why would I pay to sit in a theater and be lectured at, all over again? [Chinese]

An article from WeChat account Unyielding Bamboo, “‘Angel in White?’ Go See It If You Want, But I Won’t,” likewise lists numerous reasons for not wanting to see the film. The author notes the vast gulf between the film’s heroic depiction of doctors on the front lines of the pandemic and what ordinary Chinese people remember most vividly about those years: lockdowns and shortages, long lines for COVID tests, the promotion of ineffective herbal medicines and less-effective domestically produced (non-MRNA) vaccines, the lionization of biotech entrepreneurs such as Zhang Hezi, who many suspected of profiting from the pandemic, and more:

On Douban, under the news about the film’s release date, I saw this spot-on comment: "The scab has already healed. Why pick at it?"

[…] One thing I’m sure of is that what ordinary people remember about those years, and what the director thinks they remember, are two different creatures. For most ordinary people, what they remember are pharmacies being sold out of anti-pyretics, the stress of queuing up outside COVID-testing booths, and the loudspeaker announcements blaring downstairs on the day the lockdown was lifted. They remember Zhang Hezi [the controversial biotech entrepreneur known as the “Nucleic Acid Testing King”], Lianhua Qingwen [an herbal medicine touted by government health authorities during the pandemic], Sinovac [the company that developed a less effective non-MRNA vaccine against the virus], and all those other things … None of those made it into the film. They wouldn’t have dared.

But what you will see in the theater are the deep creases on Andy Lau’s face, left by hours of wearing a surgical mask, and lines like “Here’s hoping we meet again after this battle is won.”

What they filmed was their imagined version of those three years, but what we remember are all the parts they didn’t film. Both sides call it “the pandemic,” but that’s where the similarity ends. So why bother going to see it? To watch other people making money off us? I’d rather go read George Orwell: “Who controls the past controls the future; who controls the present controls the past.” [Chinese]

Lastly, a satirical article from WeChat account 午夜巡逻人 (Wǔyè Xúnluó Rén, “Midnight Patrol”), is titled “‘Angel in White’: A Report on the ‘Safe Disposal of Memories.’” It describes the film’s selective treatment of the early days of the pandemic, and ingenuously praises the director and producers for their "skill" in rendering painful memories inert. The author mines pandemic terms and slogans for sardonic effect: “safe disposal of memory” in the title refers to a euphemism for culling household pets; words such as tidiness, disposal, and sanitizing evoke the public-sanitation slogans of the time; and the use of the term “message received” is a reminder of how everyone was required to instantly respond to pandemic-related news and bulletins in their community, work, or school WeChat groups. The article is translated in full below:

The promotional poster for the film “Angel in White” features the tag line: “76 Days. 10 Million Lives on the Line.” Text at the bottom reads: “In theaters nationwide November 6.”

Having watched the release-date trailer for "Angel in White," I had a whole litany of complaints ready to unload. But after taking a closer look at the film’s rollout strategy, I decided to hold my tongue. Bad-mouthing it seems downright unkind, given that the most remarkable thing about this film is how very “well-behaved” it is. So "well-behaved" that you hesitate to say anything too harsh, and all you can do is reach into your pocket—not for the cash to buy a ticket, but to give it a silent round of applause.

I’d say it deserves a prize. Not for Best Picture, or Best Director, but for Outstanding Achievement in the Safe Disposal of Memory.

Quite simply, this film understands perfectly what to say and what not to say.

Take, for example, the tagline on the poster: "Everyone played a starring role." My first reaction was to naively scroll through my bank account statements, wondering where they’d deposited my performance fee for those 76 days. Then I realized what they meant: everyone who purchases a ticket becomes invested in that epic narrative. It doesn’t matter how big or small a part you played. Maybe you were the person scrolling on their phone at 5:00 a.m., trying desperately to buy a bag of wilted spinach online. Or the resident who queued for two hours, only to be told that the system had crashed. Or the worker pretending not to be upset and responding “message received” to a notification that their salary would be delayed. The movie has no use for that stuff. What it has instead are highlighted, soft-focus moments and tears falling right on cue, glimpsed through a pane of glass. Regardless of what you did or didn’t suffer during that time, the filmmakers—by virtue of their complete control over casting decisions—have already thoughtfully assigned you a role. (Their industry peers might do well to learn from such “narrative confidence.”)

Here’s another example: while some have groused that the film “focuses only on glorifying events, not documenting them,” such criticisms are amateurish. Films in theatrical release are supposed to turn a profit. Who’d pay to watch two hours crammed with the minutiae of people waiting in lines outside COVID-testing kiosks, and all of the other baffling and still-unexplained events of that time? That’s not filmmaking; that’s just asking for trouble. The filmmakers’ sharpest instinct lies in their ability to distinguish between what is "recyclable melodrama” and what is "non-recyclable hassle."

Farewells are supposed to be dignified affairs. You can’t exactly show up at a funeral and give a eulogy complaining that the departed owed you two thousand yuan, can you? The same goes for this film. Reheated and served up to audiences in 2026, it’s essentially a belated collective farewell, a chance to shed some tears, pay some respects, rub shoulders and shake hands with everyone, then go your separate ways. But what about that knot in your chest, that lump in your throat, that lingering sense of things left unsaid? That’s your own problem to digest. It’s got nothing to do with the officiant up onstage giving the eulogy.

Most of all, you’ve got to respect the producers’ mastery of the “half-life” of that period of time.

Filming wrapped in late 2020, but they managed to hold out for six long years before releasing it. Why do those six years matter? Because six years is long enough for a generation of people to cool down, for their blood to go from boiling to lukewarm, for their quest for answers to subside, replaced by a desire just to get on with their lives. Had they timed it too early, when the wounds were too raw, viewers might have turned against the film. Had they timed it too late, after the memories had faded, viewers might have reacted with a yawn. The current timing is perfection: the wounds have started to heal, but the scabs remain. Picking at them causes a slight stab of pain, but not enough to draw blood. Such skillful exploitation of public sentiment shows unparalleled business acumen.

In the end, the film takes all of the things you’re expected to cry about, to empathize with, and to forgive, ties them up with a pretty bow, and thrusts the bundle at you, saying: “Here, this is your past.”

I took it and examined it, and found it very tidy indeed.

It was as tidy as if I’d spent those three years sitting at home, watching a two-hour film, and not experiencing anything beyond that. Everything—all the answers that never came, all the goodbyes we never got to say—had been wiped clean, leaving nary a streak behind.

If the best measure of a film is what it leaves you with, then I have to tip my hat to “Angel in White” for making me realize that “being involuntarily represented" in such a way can be so dignified.

A small box of 12 Ibuprofen tablets languishes in a drawer. During the early days of the pandemic, even common over-the-counter medications such as this were in short supply.

This box of Ibuprofen that we went through so much trouble to get back then ended languishing in a drawer, and expired without ever being opened. We have no use for it nowadays, and at least there’s no need to spend good money listening to other people mouthing the lines “message received" on our behalf. [Chinese]

For further coverage, see CDT’s archive of translated propaganda directives, issued almost daily during the initial weeks and months of the COVID pandemic, which shed light on how the propaganda machinery attempted to grapple with the outbreak.

Chengdu, China, by moniqca (CC BY-NC-ND 2.0)

Like other Chinese backlashes against perceived slights from abroad—including another last week involving Hello Kitty parent company Sanrio—the rage at Mbappé threatens a broader chill over foreign speech about China. A complicating factor in this case, though, is that many in China did not know what the offending comment actually was. From Rebecca Bailey at The Guardian, on October 28:

The football app Dongqiudi was among the first to release a statement condemning the “inappropriate remarks”, but said: “Because his comments were offensive to China and the Chinese people, we cannot translate them.” Chinese media have reported on reactions such as the brand desertions, and the China Football Association’s lodging of a “stern protest” with Real Madrid – who apologised on Wednesday “to the Chinese people for any offence caused” – but have generally steered clear of outlining Mbappé’s precise offence.

The topic was still trending on Chinese social media on Wednesday morning, with one hashtag relating to the superstar’s apology boasting more than 600m views. Some posts asked variations on a simple question: “What did he actually say?”

Manya Koetse, editor of the Eye on Digital China newsletter, said in a post on X: “Many netizens without a VPN are still left in the dark about why all the talk about boycotting Mbappé is actually happening.” [Koetse examined the controversy at greater length at What’s On Weibo.]
[…] Jennifer Pan, professor of communication at Stanford University, said the difficulty of doing independent social science surveys in the past decade meant “our understanding of what Chinese people actually think is weak”. Pan said: “Social media doesn’t fill that gap. It’s noisy, unrepresentative, and censored … What we see is that companies, platforms, broadcasters and the foreign ministry moved together quickly. Did this follow public anger, or did this produce public anger? Either is possible, and we can’t tell which came first.” [Source]

Mbappé effect: a variant of the Streisand effect in which overlapping propaganda and censorship regimes render the targeted individual's ostensive misbehavior simultaneously inescapable and incomprehensible

[image or embed]

— Hudson Lockett IV // 康河信 // ハドソン・ロケット (@hudsonlockett.bsky.social) 27 October 2026 at 04:18

Recent translations have shown Chinese users turning to AI for help in navigating the mysteries of online censorship, but tests by fact-checkers at France 24 suggested that chatbots were able to offer little clarity on Mbappé’s comments.

The situation was discussed in some of the online commentary compiled by CDT Chinese. ”The funniest thing about this Mbappé situation is that all the media are saying he made ‘inappropriate remarks about China,’ and that a huge mob of people inside the [Great Fire]wall are up in arms,” said one comment. “But as for exactly what these inappropriate remarks actually were, those who don’t know can’t get a straight answer, and those who do know are talking in riddles." These riddles included: “[It’s about] the person on the 100-yuan note," and, “He said Tang Guoqiang was an art student." (Tang Guoqiang is an actor famous for portraying Mao; "an art student" is an apparent reference to Hitler as a symbol of dictatorship in general.) Weibo’s controversial AI “Comment Robot” joined in, responding to a post asking “What did Mbappé do? Was what he said wrong?" with: "He told the truth, that’s all. Some people just don’t like to hear it." Other collected social media comments are translated below:

luzelun134960: He wasn’t wrong! The whole world, apart from mainland China, knows Mao was a dictator.

Jammesavj: I’m not offended. Please don’t presume to speak for the Chinese people.

maihu8964: The pink maggots make memes of other countries’ leaders every day, but they’re not happy when the tables are turned.

Rongshen021116: What Mbappé said is a fact. Of course Mao Zedong was a dictator.

kiligulyanov: Bappé didn’t even say "Mao Zedong," he just said "a Chinese dictator," and everyone assumed he meant Mao. Couldn’t he have been talking about Chiang Kai-shek?

xr95718872: Telling the truth is an error these days.

mngshanqi: Milked again? [A pun on "insulted."] Is it even possible to get through life without “insulting China”?

TENPHOENIX2018: When even the reply-bot Robert dares to say, "He just told the truth," you know it’s not the algorithm being banned, but truth itself.

hackdeacon: I watched the original interview, and Mbappé at no point mentioned anyone by name. What he said was "je crois c’est un dictateur chinois" ("I think it’s a Chinese dictator"), without mentioning Mao Zedong by name, or specifying which meme he was talking about. It was the video creators who later inserted what they thought was the correct meme, and the media who took it on themselves to add the parenthetical explanation "(Mao Zedong)" to his original words in their copy. He was set up.

gaochao17lngs: Mbappé had no idea that China is still a dictatorship.

TianCai67: Pinks within the [Great Fire]wall amuse themselves Photoshopping gross memes of Takaichi Sanae, "The General," and Trump all the time, and think they’re being hilarious. Then Mbappé drops one joke in passing, and they go nuts.

Luvsic0929: This Mbappé thing made me realise that Chinese higher education is a total failure, without a doubt.

lilaoshizuikeai: Imagine foreigners who’ve just observed China’s great flame wars with Brazil [over socialist perspectives on LGBT rights and drug policy] and Turkey [over Uyghur identity], and now see the spectacle of little pinks banding together to defend a dictator who killed tens of millions of their own compatriots. The stereotypes runneth over.

huang3feng: So here’s a crazy question: right now the Chinese internet is engulfed in a Cultural Revolution-style struggle session against Mbappé, even X is flooded with little pinks, the whole country’s performing dictatorship, and what Mbappé said was wrong?

ooopqoqjs: The three inevitable experiences in any foreigner’s life: birth, death, and insulting China.

cc14514: You can’t make jokes with insecure clowns around.

liuyifei1065: Doesn’t this just go to prove it’s a dictatorship? No dissenting voices … everyone marching in lockstep. [Chinese]

Elsewhere, Geremie Barmé commented on the Mbappé affair at his China Heritage blog: "In short, it is getting easier to hurt the feelings of the Chinese people. In China’s Velvet Prison, verbal submission 口服, or parroting, remains paramount, even for non-Party members and, as Beijing’s Velvet Prison increasingly goes global, all of those who engage with China are expected to adhere to Beijing’s way of framing reality and to mouth their compliance." China Media Project’s David Bandurski, Jordyn Haime, and Zack Chiang wrote on Substack that, "At first glance, Mbappe’s China scandal may seem to offer well-worn lessons about intercultural sensitivity, national pride, and the pitfalls of global celebrity and the unguarded comment. But the incident also invites closer scrutiny of the unique sensitivities of the Chinese Communist Party and its marshalling of outrage for domestic political objectives." Their piece went on to examine the iconic phrase "hurt the feelings of the Chinese people," and to highlight the Mbappé eruption’s timing alongside the Party’s Fifth Plenum and the 90th anniversary of the Long March.

Another Substack piece by Howard Zhang also focused on this timing, explaining the quote’s impact in terms of the current ideological emphasis on political loyalty to "correct leadership," embodied first by Mao and now by Xi.

Years ago, a Chinese propaganda official visiting the BBC told me, half in jest, that Western media had a peculiar habit when covering China, making an enormous fuss over trivial matters while barely noticing the ones that really counted. That remark stayed with me. I have reflected on it many times since, and rarely more than this week, when the China story everyone wanted to talk about was a gaffe made by French footballer Kylian Mbappé.

[…] So what is this whole saga really about? Most of the commentary, from Western and Chinese experts alike, has said that it shows the risks of doing business with a dictatorship and Beijing’s readiness to cow the world with economic weapons. All true, but it misses the heart of the story, because the most important audience for the pile-on against Mbappé was never the international chorus. Xi’s intended audience was at home, sitting inside the Jingxi Hotel, the military-run compound in western Beijing where plenums are held, and receiving the noise from outside loud and clear.

[…] When Hu Xijin, the former Global Times editor, declared a red line crossed, his readers asked where they could watch the clip, and one was scolded for asking. There is no evidence that anyone in Beijing arranged the timing; the clip surfaced through a French football podcast, and coincidence is the likeliest explanation. The lesson stands regardless. If a world-famous footballer who never even named Mao can lose his Chinese sponsors overnight, a county Party secretary inclined to question the approved account of Party history can draw his own conclusions, and a warning does not need to be designed as one to be heard. [Source]

Below is a list of key topics and some related deleted articles from CDT’s summary of deleted content for September 2026. Between September 1-30, CDT Chinese added 31 new articles, primarily from WeChat, to the archive. (Note that the dates refer to when an article was published on the CDT website, not when it was deleted from Chinese social-media platforms.) Topics targeted for deletion in September included:

• The case of Sun Meihua, located in Shandong 26 years after she went missing from Beijing

• A mass stabbing incident in Guangzhou in which a man injured multiple women

• A particularly egregious official extortion ("distant-water fishing") case in Shaoyang, Hunan province

• New restrictions on drone flights, purchases, and storage in Beijing

• Gen Z labor activism and the practical benefits of studying English

• Investigation into comedian Guo Degang ends with censure, fines for performance organizers

The case of Sun Meihua, located in Shandong 26 years after she went missing from Beijing

The largest number of archived posts in September concerned the case of Sun Meihua, a Beijing woman who was recently found in Shandong and reunited with her brother 26 years after she went missing. Sun, who had been diagnosed with schizophrenia and was likely abandoned by her then-husband and possibly trafficked, was located living in a remote village with a man known as Uncle Long, who claimed that he had “taken her in” many years ago. Chinese netizens were shocked at the video footage of a frail, malnourished, and incontinent Sun, now 58 years old, and the contrast with the vibrant young woman she had been when she vanished all those years ago. Disturbing reports from other villagers strongly suggest that Long may have abused Sun and forced her into prostitution, but police have apparently not opened an investigation into the matter.

CDT Chinese editors archived six deleted posts about Sun, and noted intense censorship of the topic online. The censorship recalled the 2022 case of Xiaohuamei, a trafficked woman and mother of eight who was found chained and shackled in a freezing shed in Xuzhou, Jiangsu province. (In 2023, Xiaohuamei’s husband was sentenced to nine years in prison for abusing her and keeping her captive; five others involved in her trafficking were sentenced to terms of eight to 13 years.) One difference is the lack of an official investigation into Sun’s case, and the almost complete silence of Cao County officials and law enforcement.

Two of the deleted articles are from WeChat blogger Li Yuchen. The first recounts what is known of Sun and her history, and urges an investigation into whether she was trafficked and abused, how she came to be locally registered, and whether local officials were complicit in that. The second discusses the rumored conflict between Sun’s brother in Beijing and her sister and brother-in-law in the U.S., with the latter two expressing concern that Sun might end up as a “prisoner” in her brother’s home, deprived of needed services and medical care.

Another archived article, from WeChat account 赫陽漫谈 (Hè Yáng Màntán, "He Yang’s Musings"), asks who will fill in those 26 years of missing history from Sun Meihua’s life. Like Li Yuchen and other commentators, the author raises questions about how Uncle Long was able to register Sun locally, why he kept her ID card from her, whether local officials were complicit, and why the case isn’t being investigated.

A short archived piece by WeChat account 夏初拾禾 (Xiàchū Shí Hé, "Early Summer Gleanings") takes a more poetic approach, but makes similar points about the need for a thorough investigation into whether Sun was trafficked or abused. The author writes that holding people accountable is the only way to show respect for Sun and what she has suffered, and that the fact that she has been reunited with family should not cover up any crimes that may have been committed against her.

A deleted piece from WeChat account 她意定 (Tā Yì Dìng) asks how local social organizations might work together to help organize a guardianship for Sun Meihua. (Not only was this article deleted after being published, it appears that the affiliated WeChat account has also been closed.) The author sides with Sun’s sister and brother-in-law in supporting some form of guardianship for Sun, in order to meet her medical, psychological, and material needs, and ensure that she doesn’t end up, like Xiaohuamei before her, as a virtual “prisoner” in a psychiatric hospital.

Media collective The Aquarian deserves special mention for its excellent coverage of the Sun Meihua case, including the deleted longform article “Searching for Meihua: Twenty-Six Shattered Years, and a Silenced Homecoming.” In it, author An Mei writes in vivid detail about Sun Meihua’s early life, education, work, and family relationships; the circumstances of her disappearance; the manner in which she was located, with the help of netizen volunteers; and what the future holds for her and various members of her family. The article ends with some observations from Sun Meihua’s sister Sun Cuihua, now living in the U.S. with her husband Liu Anjun, and her fears for her sister’s health and welfare:

Sun Cuihua’s greatest fear is that after the online attention fades, her sister will disappear from the public eye again, or even be quietly whisked away to spend the rest of her life in a locked psychiatric ward.

“I am especially grateful to those netizen volunteers. Without their kindness, I would never have seen my sister again,” Sun Cuihua said hoarsely over the phone. “What hurts the most right now is worrying about how much suffering she endured while she was missing. If my parents were still alive, they’d be so heartbroken to see their daughter like this.”

More than two weeks have passed since Meihua returned to Beijing, and Liu Anjun has only received one recent photo of her: her hair has been shaved short, her skin dark and weathered, with furrowed brows and squinting eyes, as if she hasn’t yet woken up from the nightmare. Since September 24, police have been stationed outside [her brother’s] house 24 hours a day. [Chinese]

A mass stabbing incident in Guangzhou in which a man injured multiple women

In mid-September, Chinese social media users and bloggers complained about online censorship of a knife attack in which a man stabbed and wounded an unknown number of women in a busy shopping area of Guangzhou. The man, who was later arrested, appeared to target only women, and images and footage posted online (much of it later deleted) showed police rushing to the scene, the man stabbing one woman in the face, and at least three women with wounds on their faces.

A deleted article from WeChat account Li Yucheng criticized online descriptions of the attack as “indiscriminate,” given that the attacker clearly targeted only women—and more specifically, women’s faces:

What his motive was, I don’t know. He didn’t say, and nobody knows. But motive and outcome are two different things, and the outcome is there for all to see: in a crowded commercial district on Monday evening, he picked only women to attack, and then he chose to attack their faces.

The term "indiscriminate" is all over the internet tonight. But targeting a specific gender and a specific part of the body makes it far from indiscriminate. This is a conclusion that can only be reached after the investigation is complete, but it’s already all over the internet tonight, outpacing the investigators themselves. [Source]

A piece by WeChat blogger 昔平 (Xī Píng), “Eventually, We All Learned to Keep Quiet,” escaped platform censorship by not mentioning the Guangzhou stabbings specifically, but it is bookended by screenshots of the short statement issued by Guangzhou police. Written in the style of a dystopian fairytale, the piece discusses how censorship impedes the public’s right to know in the here and now, and how self-censorship erodes societal discourse over time:

Eventually, we all learned a useful skill: how to keep quiet.

[…] So when we encountered something odd, we didn’t ask questions; when we observed something unreasonable, we didn’t discuss it; when we heard others speak, it was safer to pretend we didn’t hear them. Over time, this culminated in a remarkably “stable” way of life: our eyes were in charge of seeing, our ears in charge of hearing, and our mouths in charge of staying silent.

[…] And so society grew quiet. Eerily quiet.

Events in the news remained perennially “under investigation," punctuated by a satisfying full stop, and followed by a complete blank. People learned to appreciate this unique literary form: the article’s introduction told you what happened, the middle warned you not to over-interpret events, and the conclusion assured you that the whole thing was being properly investigated.

As for what the investigation uncovered, that was a topic for the next article.

Assuming there was a next article. [Source]

A particularly egregious official extortion ("distant-water fishing") case in Shaoyang, Hunan province

The archived piece “Why Is the 100-Million-Yuan ‘Distant-Water Fishing’ Case in Shaoyang, Hunan, So Terrifying?” is based on an answer posted to Zhihu and later deleted. It is one of several articles archived by CDT on the topic, but the only one that was deleted. (The other two focus on the lack of media attention to the case, and the fact that, despite ample evidence from police surveillance footage, the extortion hasn’t even been investigated.)

At issue is the nearly three-year detention of Shanghai-based tech entrepreneur Zheng Shuai, accused of developing software for clients that could be used for firewall circumvention. While Zheng was held in RSDL (Residential Surveillance at a Designated Location) in Shanghai by police from Shaoyang, he was allegedly subjected to threats and a 100-million-yuan shakedown: if he turned over his “ill-gotten gains” to the Shaoyang government, a police officer from Shaoyang told him, he would be guaranteed a lighter sentence. The archived articles describe the case as one of the most egregious examples of “distant-water fishing” in recent years—a form of official extortion in which police from one jurisdiction seize suspects in another jurisdiction and use various methods of intimidation to separate them from large amounts of cash. In this case, Zheng paid the full amount of 100 million yuan ($15 million), 65 million yuan ($9.7 million) of which went straight into Shaoyang government accounts to make up for chronic budget shortfalls. Zheng was subsequently released on bail before he was detained again for refusing to pay more; he remains in detention despite protestations from the Shaoyang Procuratorate that his detention has exceeded legal limits. In July 2025, both the director and deputy director of the Shaoyang County Public Security Bureau were dismissed from their posts, and at least 15 others were punished, but no criminal charges have been brought in the case. A portion of the censored Zhihu post is translated below:

The most terrifying aspect of this case isn’t the sheer audacity of the perpetrators—extortion has existed since time immemorial, and offenders can simply be arrested and prosecuted. The real horror lies in the fact that, from beginning to end, every gear in this machine operated on a "legal" track: at no point in the operation was law-breaking required.

[…] This is more terrifying than violence. Violence is an assault on the social order, but this is a cancer within that order itself. It doesn’t need to marshal any forces outside the system; rather, it relies on existing tools such as RSDL, interrogation records, leniency in exchange for returning illicit gains, and a deposit into a government “non-tax revenue” account. Each of these comes equipped with a legal basis and an official seal of approval.

Therefore, the real question in this case is not “Is Zheng Shuai guilty?” but this: “When every step in the process complies with regulations, yet it culminates in the extortion of 100 million yuan, on what basis can we call that ‘illegal?’” If this question remains unanswered, then today it might be Zheng Shuai who is detained at Shanghai’s Hongqiao Airport, but tomorrow anyone in the airport waiting area could be snared in the net of some obscure regulation from a random jurisdiction. [Chinese]

New restrictions on drone flights, purchases, and storage in Beijing

The announcement of new restrictions on drone ownership and storage within Beijing city limits led to online debate and some content censorship in September. Drone registration requirements and flight restrictions were already in place; the new, tighter measures, scheduled to take effect in mid-November, were introduced in the wake of the June crash of a manned aircraft into Beijing’s tallest building, the 109-story CITIC Tower, which prompted its own wave of online censorship.

CDT translated a short post from WeChat account 白桦视界 (Báihuà Shìjiè, or “White Birch Vision”), about the new drone restrictions. Despite its rather mild tone and lack of overt opposition to the capital’s tight security environment, the White Birch post was deleted—much like another recent piece on security checkpoints for tourists visiting attractions at Tiananmen Square. Such deletions are a sign of how very sensitive public discussion of security measures in and around Beijing has become:

Why is it prohibited even to store drones at home? As the capital, Beijing faces different low-altitude security risks than an ordinary city. Management in the past has tended to focus on the “flight phase,” but in practice, illicit “black flights” and illegal “devil mods” by a small minority of users, plus the risk of drone-based terrorist attacks, have convinced regulators that it is no longer enough to control the sky alone.

The logic behind this new rule is to move the security perimeter from the sky right down to the level of equipment possession. Removing drones on the ground and banning their storage across the entire city more thoroughly eliminates the security hazard.

To ensure a smooth transition, Beijing has implemented a grace period and disposal channels: until November 15, pilots can remove their drones from Beijing themselves, choose to participate in a subsidized official buyback, or apply to ship them out of the city free of charge.

A balance must always be found between security and development. Beijing has opted for the strictest controls in exchange for absolute security in the capital.

You can take the drones out of their cupboards, but the momentum of the low-altitude era isn’t going anywhere. Drone pilots who say goodbye now may one day soar into broader skies. [Source]

Gen Z labor activism and the practical benefits of studying English

Another topic that saw some deleted online content in September was the successful labor activism of 107 young employees at Changzhou Xingyu Automotive Lighting Systems, a supplier of headlights for domestic and overseas automakers. After the company forced the workers, all of whom had been hired only the month before, to choose to either resign with half a month’s salary as compensation, or move to lower-paying assembly line jobs, the workers took matters into their own hands and filed complaints with the local labor board, the HK Stock Exchange (where Xingyu had been planning an IPO), and the company’s overseas customers, including Mercedes-Benz and Volkswagen. The ensuing negative publicity made Xingyu the target of online backlash from netizens, scoldings from Chinese authorities, and criticism from its own foreign clients. Within days, the company had issued an apology for the attempted layoffs, suspended its head of human resources, and increased worker compensation. Many observers and commentators praised the confidence and savvy of these younger Chinese workers in defending their labor rights.

CDT editors archived two deleted articles on the Xingyu labor incident during the month of September. “In the Xingyu Incident, Post-00s Workers Have Set a Good Example,” by blogger Wei Chunliang, points out that while the local labor bureau tried to downplay the conflict by claiming it was a “communication problem,” it was only pressure from the company’s big foreign customers that turned the tide in favor of the workers. Wei offers praise for the Gen Z workers: “This post-00s generation has set a good example. Their struggle has shown us, in a very intuitive way, another path to safeguarding our rights, another possibility for protecting labor rights, and even a completely different set of values ​​and way of living in this world.” He also cautions that such pressure tactics work only when a Chinese company has foreign customers. Wei ends by advising workers to study English and other foreign languages so that they can more effectively voice their grievances in the international arena.

Zhang Sanfeng’s “When Times Get Tough, Remember to Study English” discusses the Xingyu incident in light of controversial remarks by a popular online tutor who called for dropping English as a core subject and an end to “worshipping foreign things.” Zhang recounts the many benefits he reaped from English study, recalls darker chapters in Chinese history when foreign language study was verboten, and notes that when the darkness receded, those with foreign-language skills were the ones best able to transform their lives. Zhang ends by musing on the current era of AI and urges readers, “To avoid being reduced to mere ‘data,’ one needs to learn. Whether it’s learning English, math, or history, proactive learning is essential.”

Investigation into comedian Guo Degang ends with censure, fines for performance organizers

In September, authorities in Wuhan wrapped up their investigation into crosstalk comedian Guo Degang for riffing on a red song during a performance this summer “without prior approval.” The case has been cited as an example of the growing chill over various forms of artistic expression in China.

The Wuhan investigators concluded that Guo’s performance had “caused a negative social impact,” but did not fine him personally, nor did they say whether he would face performing restrictions in the future. The performance organizers were punished with a formal warning, the confiscation of 48,687.40 yuan ($7,260) in “illegal gains,” and a punitive fine of 486,874 yuan ($72,600), and ordered to rectify their practices and strengthen management of performers and performance content. The theater management was given a formal warning and fined 110,000 yuan ($16,400).

CDT translated a now-deleted post from WeChat account 难得君 (Nándéjūn), which discusses how the punishments might affect Guo Degang’s future career, and Chinese comedy in general. "The Penalty Against Guo Degang Has Been Handed Down, But Is He Still Allowed to Perform?" describes the ambiguity of the investigators’ brief report, and argues that their conclusions and the punishments they meted out represent a kind of face-saving compromise:

But what’s truly interesting is what wasn’t included in the announcement.

There is no performance ban, nor any explicit prohibition against Guo Degang performing on stage.

The announcement only stated that "those involved will be dealt with seriously." This wording leaves a lot of room for interpretation, certainly enough to give pause to those who prematurely declared that Guo Degang was “finished.”

The punishment has been handed down; the other shoe has dropped. But whether Guo Degang can still take the stage and perform crosstalk or Peking Opera remains unanswered in the official announcement.

Not providing an answer is itself an answer.

[…] The official statement was strongly worded, using terms like "distortion and falsification" and "negative social impact," applying all the appropriate characterizations. But the actual penalties were limited to fines, rectification, and “serious” disciplinary action. There was no ban on performances, no revocation of licenses, and no "complete end" of the issue.

This achieved two things: it addressed the public opinion storm, but also left the industry a way out. [Source]

习惯了近来平平淡淡的日子。
Xíguàn le jìnlái píngpíngdàndàn de rìzi.

The sentence thus joins Xi’s ever-expanding wardrobe of "skins"—a gaming term for a character’s appearance, now also meaning veiled references to the top leader. This example is not particularly obscure by the standards of the genre, which also includes the symbols "↗↘↗," the chemical n-butane, the letter N, the numbers 2-4-2 and 123, the Mandarin name for Singapore, and the English phrase "she dripping."

The "I" in the sentence is implicit. The guàn in xíguàn (to be accustomed to) can also stand alone, so the sentence could alternatively be read as:

Xí guàn le jìnlái píngpíngdàndàn de rìzi.
Lately, Xi has grown used to quiet, uneventful days.

The sentence’s placid tone might not seem obviously objectionable, though the latter reading could be taken as a barb about complacency or inertia. The keyword scans may be configured on the assumption that any use of 习, 近, and 平 in that order, with a certain number of intervening characters, is likely to be maliciously disguised, regardless of context. As users frequently complain, platforms tend to simply accept false positives as preferable to missing any politically sensitive content.

With a sufficient number of disposable accounts, it would be possible to determine exactly how many intervening characters would be needed to escape detection, whether equal spacing is required (unclear from this example, because of the double 平), and so on. Given the mounting difficulty of setting up new accounts, though, this might be a costly way to pin down a red line that could move at any time anyway.

At Lingua Sinica, David Bandurski and Zack Chiang described the video that touched off the scandal, and the online censorship that ensued:

This month, one of China’s most popular auto-review platforms, Dongchedi (懂车帝), also known as “DCar,” put a new luxury minivan model through a tough highway test — braking hard to a full stop from a speed of 100 kilometers per hour. The results, revealed in a video posted across Chinese online platforms, were enough to terrify potential buyers. In three live tests of the model with vehicles purchased from separate production batches, the bracket mounting the brake pedal to the van’s frame snapped.

As attention to the video soared on platforms like WeChat, Douyin and Bilibili, becoming the number one search term within hours, it was the worst possible news for Anhui-based JAC Group and the Chinese tech giant Huawei, the companies behind the vehicle in question, the Maextro V800 multi-purpose electric vehicle (EV). In a statement the same day, Maextro called the test non-standard and extreme, and promised the part would be redesigned. But the damage was done. Only the daily limit on stock drops imposed under Chinese exchange rules could keep shares of JAC Group from heading to the bottom of the hill. They ended the day down 10.01 percent.

A controversy over a faulty brake pedal may seem far removed from the issue of media and censorship. But within 24 hours, the video had disappeared from Chinese platforms such as Bilibili, and several related online posts and reports had vanished too. Viewers on WeChat Video were informed the video could not be played due to an unspecified “violation.” The case prompted discussion of the benefits and limits of consumer reporting in China — a vibrant consumer society with some of the world’s strictest controls on information. [Source]

About a week later, on October 15, it was announced that the Ministry of Industry and Information Technology, the Cyberspace Administration of China, and the State Administration for Market Regulation would be conducting a joint investigation into the brake-pedal safety incident. The inclusion of cyberspace authorities in a national consumer-product safety investigation fueled concerns that Dongchedi and outlets that shared the test video might become targets for raising the issue in the first place.

CDT Chinese editors have archived no fewer than 20 articles on the Maextro V800 brake-safety incident, several of which have been deleted. Main themes include automotive safety; the forced deletion of the initial test video; the manufacturer’s initial obfuscatory response; the unexplained deletion of op-eds from state-media outlet People’s Daily and a government information office in Xinjiang that expressed support for Dongchedi and concerns about vehicle safety; and concerns about the focus of the joint investigation. More recently, there has been a flurry of articles critical of what appears to be a coordinated campaign to undermine the credibility and motives of Dongchedi, one of China’s most trusted automotive-review platforms. There are also several pieces that offer counterarguments to media outlets and pundits who insist Chinese consumers need to be more tolerant and “give national industries more time” to mature.

This is not the first time that “national champion” Huawei has attempted to stifle critics or has suffered a public-relations disaster. In April 2024, three people, including a toddler, died when their Aito M7, a Huawei-backed sport utility EV, caught fire after a collision with a truck in Yuncheng, Shanxi province. There was some online censorship of footage showing bystanders attempting and failing to break the vehicle’s windows and doors in order to rescue the family. In August of this year, there was a massive backlash against Huawei’s heavy-handed attempts to force platforms to delete videos and memes of a toy bamboo cicada that Huawei felt was making fun of its corporate image. This resulted in a “Streisand effect” that brought even more negative attention and mockery upon the company, which responded with an ill-advised PR clapback that attempted to attribute the backlash against Huawei to malign “foreign forces.” Current affairs commentator Xu Peng, in an article that was later deleted, wrote, “Oh, give me a freaking break. What could that little bamboo cicada have possibly done to get lumped in with foreign forces?” Another censored piece, from blogger Xiang Dongliang, sardonically likened Huawei’s attempts to banish bamboo cicada memes from the Chinese internet to archaic “naming taboos” (避讳, bìhuì), which forbade the use of imperial or ancestral names in certain contexts. “[T]he management […] is either completely delusional, thanks to years of bootlicking by sycophantic underlings,” wrote Xiang, “or their ambition has swelled to the point that they believe their ‘extraordinary contributions’ have earned them a place in the history books. At any rate, it’s gone to their heads, because believe it or not, they’ve launched a campaign to enforce a ‘naming taboo’ across the entire internet.”

This time around, Xiang Dongliang weighed in with a now-deleted piece titled, “The Counterattacks Against Dongchedi Have Begun, and Show No Qualms About Distorting Facts.” In it, he takes the state-owned National Business Daily, or NBD (每日经济新闻, Měirì Jīngjì Xīnwén) and other media outlets to task for publishing the claim that Dongchedi voluntarily deleted the brake-pedal test video (when it was almost certainly removed under duress), a “story” that was later picked up by many other Chinese publications. (Although Xiang anonymizes NBD’s name, it is clear which publication he means, and the article is still visible on NBD’s website.) Xiang suggests that the unsubstantiated tale is part of a larger, coordinated “counterattack” designed to undermine the auto-review platform’s credibility and manipulate public opinion:

[…] Certain companies, however, are scrambling to use the technical timeout [brought about by the announcement of the joint investigation] to strike back and score points in the public opinion sphere by spinning a misleading narrative about Dongchedi somehow admitting it was in the wrong.

Most outrageously, certain media outlets are making a big show of accusing Dongchedi of proactively deleting the Maextro V800 test video, a counterattack that completely ignores the facts and distorts the truth.

The source of this information is a report published by Nameless Business Daily on October 16, under the headline “Dongchedi Takes Maextro V800 Test Video Offline, and Has Yet to Issue Any Official Comment."

I hesitate to even call the report “news,” because it is neither factual nor timely; it would be more accurate to call it a “rumor.”

First of all, Dongchedi’s video about the Maextro V800 suddenly vanished on October 9, over a week ago. At the time, this was widely reported by official media outlets and everyone on the internet was talking about it.

But for some unfathomable reason, a full week later, on October 16, a reporter and three editors from Nameless Business Daily decided to republish this bit of stale news as if it were something new.

There’s also the problem of factuality. The Nameless Business Daily headline claims that Dongchedi “took the video offline,” and makes a point of saying that the platform “has yet to issue any official comment.” The use of “took offline,” an active verb, coupled with Dongchedi’s lack of comment, gives readers the mistaken impression that Dongchedi proactively removed the video for some reason and is simply too embarrassed to admit it.

But as anyone with even a rudimentary understanding of the internet knows, Dongchedi is a commercial platform that spent millions of yuan to purchase those vehicles for testing, and the test video it released created a huge stir online. This would normally be the perfect time for Dongchedi to reap the rewards of its hard work and increase its commercial influence, so it has no motive to delete the video.

The only real possibility is that the video was forcibly “disappeared” by forces beyond Dongchedi’s control.

Fabricating a narrative that the auto-review platform voluntarily took a video offline, when in fact it was forced to delete it, is a vile distortion of the truth, and those who concoct such rumors are beyond despicable.

Even more loathsome is the reporter who had the nerve to ask Dongchedi to comment on why it had taken down the video, knowing full well that the platform could only swallow its grievances and decline to comment, and then painting its inability to respond as a tacit admission of guilt.

But if the media had bothered to ask whether or not they deleted the video, Dongchedi could have shot back: “It wasn’t us, we didn’t voluntarily take it down, stop making things up!”

Instead, after that stale and inaccurate report was published, it was picked up and reprinted verbatim by any number of official media outlets.

This is such an obvious problem that anyone from the “melon-eating” online masses could easily spot it, and I refuse to believe that so many editors at official media outlets would overlook it. There’s only one plausible explanation for why they were willing to reprint it verbatim: this is an organized counterattack designed to sway public opinion. [Chinese]

For more CDT coverage of consumer safety and consumer protection, see our translations related to the often-performative annual March 15 “Consumer Day” and 3.15 CCTV Gala, described by one internet commenter as “turn[ing] government inaction and inadequate supervision into a celebratory banquet”; food safety scandals over adulterated berries and other foodstuffs; product-quality concerns about sanitary pads; and the furor over fuel tankers transporting edible oil without washing between transports.

China, by Joe Hart (CC BY 2.0)

It was not until August 28 this year, though, that the film received a full release in mainland theaters. Close scrutiny of changes such as cuts or digital alterations to foreign films in order to secure market entry is routine; with an import as beloved and long-awaited as this, attention was especially intense. Criticism of the officially approved "dragon seal" version has focused primarily on its Chinese-language subtitles, particularly their treatment of homosexuality and its dilution of the film’s key theme of "institutionalization." The essay translated below, by commentator Li Yuchen, explains the changes, the problems with them, and their implications. In an apparent attempt to evade keyword scans, the essay was posted on WeChat as a series of two dozen text images, and its title renders the potential censorship trigger word 同性恋 tóngxìngliàn ("homosexual") as "同x恋." The post currently remains online. Li argues that the subtitles alternately judge and erase gay identity, and that the narrowing of "institutionalized" to "cage-tamed" is still more pernicious because it attempts to drain the film of its potential political resonance in China. "They didn’t import ‘The Shawshank Redemption,’" Li writes. "They screened it inside Shawshank Prison." But Li cites the reversal of infamously absurd changes to the movie "Fight Club" as evidence that Chinese audiences have room to push back: "The line is elastic, not a divine mandate. If you pull it hard enough, it moves."

Film criticism • Subtitles • One word

People Who Are Different

“The Shawshank Redemption” hit Chinese theaters for the first time.

In the film, that word [同性恋 tóngxìngliàn, meaning homosexual] was translated into Chinese as “people who are different.”

A film about freedom had to cut a slice off its tongue in order to be allowed in.

Full article about 4,000 characters—saving images is recommended

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1.

Just For Fun

“The Shawshank Redemption” came out 32 years ago, but on August 28 this year, it had its first proper cinematic release in China. What’s the movie about? A guy who gets sent to prison for a crime he didn’t commit, spends 19 years tunneling through a wall bit by bit, crawls through 500 yards of sewage pipe, and stands in the rain with his arms outstretched.

The whole world knows that this is a movie about freedom. It’s been ranked at number one on Douban for 20 years with some three million ratings. Who among us hasn’t gotten a bit emotional late at night, watching that scene with him in the rain with his arms aloft?

Right. Now it’s in theaters. The audience is seated, the lights go down, and the subtitles appear onscreen.

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Four Altered Translations

“Homosexual” [同性恋, tóngxìngliàn] is translated in the theatrical cut as “people who are different.”

“Queer”—in the context of the film, a homophobic slur—is translated as “pervert.”

“Institutionalized” [formerly translated into Chinese as 体制化 tǐzhìhuà] is translated as “cage-tamed” [牢笼驯化 láolóng xùnhuà].

In the line “It might as well have been in Chinese” (originally meaning “it was as illegible to me as Chinese”), “Chinese” has been scrubbed out and changed to “celestial script.” [i.e. gibberish]

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They’re Showing “The Shawshank Redemption” Inside Shawshank Prison

When I got to that bit, I did laugh out loud. But then my heart dropped.

Think about it: there’s a film about how a man is locked up, worn down, and crawls out, and it had to cut a slice off its tongue in order to get into China.

Andy chipped away at the wall for 19 years. The subtitle editors chipped away at the dialogue for two hours. The same tool working in opposite directions: two little hammers tapping away independently.

Now that’s what they call performance art. That’s meta.

They didn’t import “The Shawshank Redemption”: they screened it inside Shawshank Prison.

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2.

The “Institutionalized” Cut

This is the cruelest cut, because no one’s complaining about it.

Everyone’s mad about the change to “people who are different,” but “cage-tamed” is even worse. The speech about Old Brooks is the crux of the whole film:

These walls are funny. First you hate them, then you get used to them. Enough time passes, you get so you depend on them. That’s institutionalized.

The whole force of that word “institution” lies in the fact that it’s not just about prison. It means a system, an establishment, a work unit, an organization, the “higher-ups,” the “relevant departments,” or “sorry, my hands are tied.”

The prison here is just a metaphor, a catch-all standing in for everything that turns people into objects.

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Shoving the metaphor back into its cage

If you translate “institutionalized” as “cage-tamed,” you’re saying: “Sorry, what we’re talking about here is that prison, those iron bars.” Nothing to do with anything else, nothing to do with you, or your work unit, or thirty years of being too scared to say “no” to your boss.

In translation theory, that’s called “flattening.” In political theory, it’s called “castration.”

The sharpest part of the whole film’s script is cut off at a stroke, [its meaning] changed to “he’s inside” from “you’re inside, too.”

So now, you’re just watching someone else’s story. When the movie’s over, you can applaud, leave the theatre, and punch the clock as usual tomorrow.

Before Old Brooks hanged himself, he carved “Brooks was here” into one of the rafters. These subtitles carved something, too: “cage-tamed,” inscribed by all those feigning slumber.

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The problem is attitude, not ability

Side note: those subtitles refer to the original’s “500 yards” as “500 meters,” and “half a mile” as “half a kilometer.” [This change actually papers over an error in the original film.]

See?

They didn’t miss a single place where changes were required, but they cut corners everywhere they shouldn’t have.

This tells you what’s going on. Someone incompetent would have made errors across the board, but in this version, some errors were precisely targeted, while everywhere else, they couldn’t be bothered.

This level of precision takes professional skill, and an even higher level of political consciousness.

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3.

The Word “Pervert”

This is no mistake; it’s straight out of official documents.

Red uses the word “queer” in the context of foul-mouthed banter among a group of male prisoners in 1947 about the prison’s incoming “fresh meat,” one of whom “looks like a queer.” [Editor’s note: Li’s recollection is inaccurate; the word appears with reference to the prison’s resident “bull queers.”]

This was the kind of vulgarity they used back then. It’s crude, but it’s spoken by a character in a movie, a Maine convict in 1947.

Some people say translating it as “pervert” is just a matter of translator’s license. Nope.

If you translate it as “sissy,” “pansy,” or “fairy,” that’s translation. That’s reproducing the character’s tone. If you translate it as “pervert,” that’s passing judgment.

The former are the character’s speech; the latter is putting institutional language in the character’s mouth.

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One Comma

The word “pervert” was not chosen at random.

Article 8 of a 2017 industry code governing online audiovisual content listed things that should be cut or changed as follows:

Showing and displaying abnormal sexual relations or behavior, such as incest, homosexuality, sexual perversion, sexual assault, sexual abuse, sexual violence etc.

“Homosexuality, sexual perversion.” Note the comma.

See, a perfect match. That subtitle isn’t a translation slip, it’s the system echoing itself. There’s an official document that they’re following, word for word.

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50 Years’ Effort, Walked Back with One Comma

In 1997, the crime of “hooliganism” was dropped from the Criminal Law, and homosexuality was decriminalized.

In 2001, the third edition of the Chinese Classification and Diagnostic Criteria of Mental Disorders conditionally removed homosexuality from the list of mental illnesses, so it was no longer classed as a disease.

These two steps took fifty years of effort to achieve.

Then in 2017, a single comma in an industry association’s code reversed them both.

The law spent 20 years ushering it out the door; a single comma in a single rule invited it back in and gave it a seat at the head of the table.

So don’t talk to me about “declining translation quality.” This isn’t about quality. This is someone deciding on your behalf that there are people in the world who don’t deserve a name.

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4.

“People Who Are Different”

The most poisonous phrasing in the Chinese language.

I’ve thought a lot about this phrase. The genius of it is that it sounds so friendly.

It’s not abusive. It even has something of a progressive ring to it: a bit of diversity, a bit of inclusiveness, a bit of “respecting differences.” It’s like a neighborhood committee auntie coming over clutching her enamel mug to smooth things over, tutting: "Aiya, we’re all people, aren’t we, and folks are all pretty much the same. So how about we agree not to use that word again, okay?"

That’s what makes it so poisonous.

If someone uses a slur against you, at least you know you’re being insulted. Renaming you erases you from the list, and slaps a smiley-face sticker on you in the process.

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There’s "Us" and Then There’s "You People"

Stigmatization at least acknowledges that you exist. "People who are different" doesn’t even grant you that much.

You have no name, you’re just "different."

Different from whom? Different from "normal people."

That phrase hides an unspoken "Us," and a "You" that can’t be spoken.

Confucius said "If names be not correct, language is not in accordance with the truth of things." Officials have been quoting the old fellow on this for two thousand years, always to legitimize themselves, not to legitimize anyone else.

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We’ve been deleting words almost as long as we’ve been reading them.

In "1984," Orwell created "Newspeak." He said the final aim of Newspeak was not to corrupt your speech, but to prevent you from even forming the thought—because the word that bore it had been scrubbed from the dictionary.

If you want to rebel, but the word "freedom" isn’t in the dictionary, what kind of rebellion can you incite?

Chinese people have a tradition of this art going back long before Orwell: naming taboos, of course. [Under China’s imperial-era naming taboos, characters that were part of the Emperor’s given name had to be avoided elsewhere.] Guanshiyin had to become Guanyin [from 观世音 to 观音], and the Ministry of the People had to become the Ministry of Households [from 民部 Mínbù to 户部 Hùbù] because of Li Shimin [李世民, the second Tang emperor]. Even the first lunar month had to be read as Zhēngyuè instead of Zhèngyuè [征月 instead of 正月], because of Ying Zheng [嬴政, China’s first emperor].

Chinese people have been deleting words almost as long as we’ve been reading them.

---

The Ancients Spoke More Courageously Than We Do

The Han emperor Ai was napping with Dong Xian one afternoon. Dong Xian was lying on Ai’s sleeve, so to avoid waking him, Ai drew his knife and cut the sleeve off. This is where the Chinese term "cut sleeve" [like the terms that follow, a reference to homosexuality] came from.

Mi Zixia ate half a peach, and gave the other to Duke Ling of Wei [卫]: thus, "sharing a peach."

The King of Wei [魏] and Lord Longyang were fishing when Lord Longyang began to cry, explaining that he feared he would be thrown back like the little fish he caught first: thus, "Longyang’s ardor."

There’s a whole pile of Ming and Qing writing on this, like "Cap and Hairpin," "Fragrant Essences of Spring," and "A Precious Mirror for Ranking Flowers," all written plainly, without hiding a thing. In "The Dream of the Red Chamber," Red Inkstone comments gleefully on the section about Baoyu and Qin Zhong, and no one ever called Qin Zhong a "person who is different."

Our dictionary is thinner than the Han Dynasty one.

---

5.

Ontological Law-enforcement

In January 2022, a certain platform started streaming Fight Club. The original ending features two people standing hand in hand, watching buildings collapse one after another. There are no falling buildings in the platform’s version, just this white text on a black screen:

Police swiftly figured out Tyler’s whole plan in time to prevent the explosions, and apprehended all the criminals. Tyler was committed to a mental hospital for treatment, and discharged in 2012.

I applaud that caption, really. I’ve never read a funnier bit of Chinese in all my life.

First, a movie criticizing consumerism is transformed into a propaganda film showcasing public security work. This revision deserves an Oscar nomination for Best Adapted Screenplay.

Second, Tyler is a figment of the main character’s imagination, my friends.

---

The Line is a Rubber Band

Taking someone’s hallucination into custody and bringing it to justice, sending it off to a mental hospital, and then telling us when it was discharged … this isn’t just censorship, this is ontological law-enforcement. They’re not just regulating film, they’re regulating metaphysics.

The whole world laughed at this for a week. Afterwards, with public pressure mounting, the original ending was restored.

So you see, restoration is possible.

This point is extremely important. Always remember: the line is elastic, not a divine mandate. If you pull it hard enough, it moves.

---

There’s More

In February 2022, “Friends” reappeared on several domestic platforms. In that 30-year-old sitcom, the whole thread about Ross’s ex-wife being a lesbian was cut or changed; they even gave dirty jokes different meanings in translation. A family show from the final decade of the previous century was whittled down, in 2022, into a children’s fairy tale. At the time, the general verdict could be summed up as: “laughably backward.”

In 2018, “Call Me By Your Name” was withdrawn without explanation from a certain film festival. That year, a certain platform announced a clean-up of related content, which led to the hashtag #IAmGay breaking into the Hot Search list. After two days, the platform backed down. Another rubber band.

In 2019, “Bohemian Rhapsody” was imported, with Freddie Mercury edited down into "a somewhat lonely male singer."

---

Tacit Understanding

In the last few years, "socialist brotherhood" has become a respectable term. A couple of guys are obviously an item; the subtitles insist they’re just good friends; the audience insists "Okay, we get it, we get it," and everyone plays along on cue.

This is a kind of doublethink that the whole population takes part in: you know, I know, you know I know, but no one says it out loud.

Orwell coined the term "doublethink." We call it "tacit understanding [literally ‘heart reflected without declaration’]," a rather beautiful expression.

OK, now join the dots and think about "people who are different" again.

It’s not a momentary slip of the pen. It’s a standardized unit rolling off an assembly line.

---

6

I’m Not Blaming the Translator

He’s probably just a low-paid freelancer who was handed a word list by someone higher up and told what needed changing. If he doesn’t do it, he won’t get paid, and if he doesn’t get paid, he can’t make this month’s rent.

Is he supposed to die on this hill? Why should he? He’s no Andy, hiding a pickaxe in the wall for 19 years. He’s just someone doing a job.

A former fansub group veteran put it plainly: "Back in 2018, there was no money involved in subtitling groups. It was purely a labor of love. Back then, I had the enthusiasm and the time, but I don’t do it anymore: I’m tired."

Listen to that last sentence: so simple, but so heavy. That sentence carries more weight than this whole diatribe of mine.

---

What Time It Is

An era’s best translation is done for free, underground, for the love of it.

The most official translation in this era is done for money, shown in cinema chains, and changes "homosexual" to "people who are different."

When both of these things are true, you know what kind of an age you’re living in.

---

No Villain, But The Wall Keeps Getting Higher

It needs to be said: On an assembly line, each person just carries out their own little step in the process, until a film about freedom becomes this thoroughly tamed, and all the while, no one feels they’ve done anything wrong.

"I followed the rules," says the censor. "I delivered what was asked," says the translator. "Without these changes, it wouldn’t have gotten through the door," says the distributor. "Better to be allowed in than not," says the audience.

Everyone has their reasons, everyone is innocent, and that’s how the wall gets built.

That’s the real meaning of "institutionalized."

It’s not that there’s a villain—there isn’t one—but the wall keeps getting higher.

The word they most needed to translate correctly was the one word they had to translate wrong.

---

7

For Those Two Minutes, There Were No Subtitles At All

Andy did something stupid. He locked himself in an office, commandeered the PA system, and for two minutes, broadcast a recording of two women singing "The Marriage of Figaro" so that everyone in the prison could hear it. No one in the prison understood Italian.

Red said, "I have no idea to this day what those two Italian ladies were singing about. Truth is, I don’t want to know. Some things are best left unsaid. [I like to think they were singing about something] so beautiful it [can’t be expressed in words, and] makes your heart ache [because of it]."

It cost Andy two weeks in solitary. After he got out, someone asked him if it had been worth it. He said it was. He said music was "in here," pointing to his head, and then to his heart. "They can’t get that from you."

You can change the subtitles, change the endings, change "homosexual" to "people who are different," arrest a hallucination, send it off to a mental hospital, and then organize its release. You can do all of these things. You have done all of these things.

But you couldn’t change those two minutes.

Because for those two minutes, there were no subtitles to change.

---

This Is What You Call a Backup

For 32 years, how many people have leaned on this film to get themselves through their own hard times?

Now these people are sitting in the theater, looking at that phrase on the silver screen, silently translating it back to themselves.

A subtitle can be changed, but the original line is still etched in millions of people’s minds.

That’s what you call a backup. That’s something you can’t erase.

---

I have one final question.

You translated "homosexual" as "people who are different."

Now how do you plan to translate "people"? [Chinese]

In the post translated below, from the WeChat public account History Rhymes, commentator Xu Peng argues that reporting on rising food prices in Japan has sensationalized and exaggerated the issue. Xu cites posts from two official sources, Henan’s Dahe Daily and China News Service, featuring a 23-year-old woman from Ehime who eats only one meal every two days. "This might sound like a personal lifestyle choice," the China News Service article says, "but pairing it with another news item reveals the underlying problem. The IMF’s latest World Economic Outlook report predicts that by 2027, Japan’s nominal GDP will be surpassed by India’s and the U.K.’s, sliding from fourth to sixth place worldwide." Food prices have been a real problem for many Japanese, especially vulnerable groups, but the survey report at the root of the story overwhelmingly framed its findings in lifestyle terms: only 14% of meal-skippers said they did it to save money (peaking at 18.6% for 25-29-year-olds), far behind lack of time (31.4% overall) or hunger (25.7% overall). "The media can’t pull weird stunts like this just to drum up traffic," Xu concludes. "Young Japanese aren’t canceling meals—the traffic-obsessed media have canceled their own standards."

I saw a really ridiculous news story today. A lot of media are reporting that young Japanese people are "canceling meals."

"People are iron, food is steel; you’ll suffer if you miss a meal." Are these young Japanese doing some kind of Daoist immortality cultivation? "Canceling meals," really?

Look more closely, and you’ll realize that this is about one 23-year-old woman who eats once every two days because of soaring meat and vegetable prices, so she just doesn’t eat now.

And it describes her as an "extreme enthusiast" for canceling meals.

Then we hear about reports from Japanese media, saying young people there are prioritizing spending time on hobbies and socializing over bathing and cooking. How does this amount to "canceling meals"? Obviously if you’re gaming with friends, meals can wait.

And if people have canceled cooking, does this mean they’re "canceling meals"? How many people order delivery these days?

According to survey data from the Japanese organization INTAGE, about 34% of the 15–49 age group choose to skip at least one meal a week. For 18-to-24-year-olds, this leaps to 41%. Does this mean nearly four in ten young Japanese have started deliberately skipping normal meals?

Doesn’t choosing to skip one meal a week just mean missing a single breakfast or dinner during that period?

You’d probably find more extreme numbers if you did the same survey on one of our own university campuses. Sleep in, skip breakfast—when I was at college I did this all the time, sleeping late if I didn’t have morning classes and skipping straight to lunch at around 11:00 a.m. at least a few times a week.

So might this 41% of Japanese between 18 and 24 missing a meal a week not just be getting a good night’s sleep, and not waking up for breakfast?

And a lot of people now are into intermittent fasting, skipping a meal a week or even a whole day’s meals, which is actually considered to have health benefits.

And portions in Japan are pretty small: they’ll stop eating after barely a mouthful. This might be why they have the world’s longest life expectancy.

And then that woman who eats once every two days: isn’t this holding up a rare exception as a general phenomenon? Aren’t there a lot of people with anorexia who eat even less than her? When she doesn’t eat meals, is she snacking instead?

So is a trend of "canceling meals" in Japan really worth reporting on? If I don’t eat dinner tonight, will you call that "canceling meals"?

And the media say Japanese meat and vegetable prices are rising too quickly, as if Japanese workers can hardly afford to eat at all.

I’d have believed it, if I hadn’t visited twice. When I was there a couple of years ago, a fast food meal cost me about 50 yuan [$7.50]. Some people are fine with just grabbing onigiri or bentos from 7-Eleven.

The yen’s fallen over the last couple of years, but on what they earn, they’re not struggling to eat.

And most surprising of all, young Japanese people’s job prospects are great [see reporting from Bloomberg]. On average, a fresh graduate these days will have nearly three offers to choose from.

So are things really all that bad for young Japanese?

Are the media seeking truth from facts with these reports on young Japanese people "canceling meals"?

If you applied the same sort of cherry-picking reporting to China, you’d find a lot of our own young people canceling meals.

That’s why the media can’t pull weird stunts like this just to drum up traffic.

Young Japanese aren’t canceling meals—the traffic-obsessed media have canceled their own standards. [Chinese]

WeChat account Unyielding Bamboo also commented on this tendency earlier in the month, citing coverage of living costs in Japan and protests in France.

[…] Actually, I totally get why some netizens and media feel the need to find a few current hardships abroad to fire people up and turn this foreign news into a kind of spiritual poverty alleviation. But isn’t this going overboard? Two stories a day? Isn’t that just making fools of people, turning them into frogs in a well? And the key thing is, it doesn’t even solve anything. However badly someone else is doing, you can’t pass that off as meaning I’m doing well. Someone else’s kitchen catching fire doesn’t show that our house is well built.

Finally, some personal thoughts: news states facts, and these let people reflect for themselves. But if the presentation of facts is "optimized," then the reflection is deliberately warped. If the greatest value of a piece of news is just "feeling a little better from seeing others suffer," then it’s really no longer about reporting the truth.

It just gives people a cheap sense of superiority. Or you could say it’s a kind of cheap spiritual massage, leaving people numb.

I think really commendable reporting doesn’t see someone else’s roof leaking and rush to pull up a stool and sit at the doorway, laughing.

Rather, it should ask: "Why is it leaking? When did it start? How are they going to fix it? And does our own roof have the same problem?" [Chinese]

From the Forum 2000 Foundation and ICDR:

The International Coalition for Democratic Renewal (ICDR) and Forum 2000 Foundation are deeply concerned by the wrongful detention of Min Zin, a prominent democracy advocate and independent scholar, in China.

On June 3, 2026, Min Zin, a United States citizen, was detained upon arrival at the airport in Yunnan province after traveling there on invitation of a Chinese university for an academic workshop. He has since spent over one hundred days in criminal detention at an undisclosed location investigated on spurious allegations of espionage and endangering China’s national security. Since his wrongful detention, there has been little information regarding Min Zin’s condition, access to legal counsel, or any evidence supporting the allegations against him. On August 20th, the United States government formally designated Min Zin as wrongfully detained.

China’s detention of Min Zin is an affront to international norms and standards and sends a chilling message to those in our community who uphold the principles of intellectual freedom and the open exchange of ideas.

Min Zin has long been a part of the Forum 2000 family and is an active believer in this community’s mission. As a student activist in Burma’s “8888” democracy movement, he spent nine years underground organizing communities before fleeing to the Thailand-Burma border. Journalism became his way of continuing to serve the movement from exile. Through various media publications, Min Zin helped tell the story of a people the Burmese military regime tried to silence – a regime that continues to repress its people’s democratic aspirations even today. He eventually found his way to the University of California – Berkeley where he received his master’s in Asian studies and pursued a PhD in Political Science.

In 2016, and at a moment of hope for the country’s future, Min Zin returned to Burma. Informed by his deep commitment to democracy and freedom, he founded the Institute for Strategy and Policy – Myanmar (ISP), a now highly regarded independent think tank that conducts open-source research and analysis on Burma and empowers the country’s next generation of thought leaders.

Min Zin often spoke about how he walked away from his first Forum 2000 Conference in 2001 with a deep understanding of the critical importance that those on the frontlines in the struggle for democracy not only be able lean on one another for solidarity and support but also learn from one another’s trials and triumphs. He considered it an honor of a lifetime to be part of a cohort of advocates to speak alongside Václav Havel when he received the NED Democracy Service Medal in 2007. Years later, when Min Zin learned of Havel’s passing, he posted a tribute writing “Since I lived in Burma and was on the run to escape from the arrest of the military regime, I sought inspiration and courage from reading a poor Xeroxed copy of The Power of the Powerless. Havel has guided me all the way along.”

It is in this vein that the members of ICDR and participants of the Forum 2000 Conference express their solidarity with Min Zin. We call upon President Xi and the relevant authorities in China to facilitate Min Zin’s immediate and unconditional release and his safe return home. [Source]

As editor of the independent labor-focused media outlet Chiapas Dongfeng TV (恰帕斯东风电视机, Qiàpàsī Dōngfēng Diànshìjī, literally "Chiapas Dongfeng TV Set"), Feng has contributed to and helped to publish an annual review of labor-rights events for five consecutive years. After “Review of Labor Rights Incidents in 2025" was censored online and the Chiapas Dongfeng TV WeChat account suspended, Feng reportedly came under intense pressure, and he and his parents were harassed by local authorities and law enforcement.

This is a case that makes my heart sink. Feng Rui (known as xiaowu) is an activist/writer focused on labour rights and one of my mutuals on social media. We don't always agree on things and sometimes he'd repost my post and challenge my view. He was arrested after

— Chenchen Zhang 🤦🏻‍♀️ (@chenchenzhang.net) 2026-10-14T19:56:29.147Z

his team published a 200-page annual report on labour rights events in China. It's 100k words long and covers 15 topics, including informal work, social security debates, overwork, social reproduction, AI & automation, women, LGBTQ, disability and more.

— Chenchen Zhang 🤦🏻‍♀️ (@chenchenzhang.net) 2026-10-14T19:56:29.148Z

CDT Chinese editors have noted online censorship of content about Feng’s detention, and have archived seven related articles and reports, five of which were deleted from the platforms on which they first appeared.

One of these, an article from WeChat account 牛肥马壮 (Niú féi mǎ zhuàng, "Plump cattle and strong horses"), gives some background on Feng’s life, education, and years of labor-rights advocacy. The author criticizes Feng’s detention and the charges against him; praises Feng and his colleagues at Chiapas Dongfeng TV for their rigorous approach to writing about labor issues and the restraint they often exhibited; and strongly urges the authorities in Guangzhou to release or acquit Feng as soon as possible. Several other posts in the same vein recount Feng’s contributions to promoting workers’ rights in China and call for his immediate release.

Another censored article, “The Charge of ‘Picking Quarrels and Provoking Trouble’ Shouldn’t Be Used Against Those Investigating Labor Injustices,” comes from WeChat account 四下无人的街道 (Sìxià wúrén de jiēdào, “Deserted streets”). The author discusses some of the topics that Feng Rui and his colleagues covered, and makes a strong argument against using a catch-all offense such as “picking quarrels” to suppress research, documentation, or discussion of labor-rights issues:

Over the years, [Feng Rui] has documented many things that we have come to take for granted, though we shouldn’t take for granted: unpaid wages, layoffs, unemployment, labor disputes, workplace injuries, excessive overtime, and the travails of ordinary workers who so rarely appear in mainstream narratives.

Many workers are voiceless. No journalists write about them, nor do they have public social-media accounts or the means to turn their experiences into articles that might reach a wider audience.

A worker is owed several months of back wages. A food-delivery rider works all day in the rain for a pittance. A young worker is suddenly laid off. Someone suffers a workplace injury and doesn’t know to whom they can turn for help. For the people involved, events such as these are real-life crises, but they disappear from public view far too quickly.

Luckily, there are some people willing to document these events, so that at least others will be aware that these things happened.

This is the most basic significance of labor-rights investigations and reports. They don’t "create" labor conflicts; such conflicts already existed before they were documented. By documenting them, the chroniclers are simply bringing individual experiences into public view.

That’s why I’ve always found the idea that people who pay attention to societal conflict are just “stirring up trouble” so repellent.

It’s like thinking that as long as no one speaks up about a problem, it will somehow cease to exist.

Someone who is owed back wages won’t get paid just because no one talks about it. Someone who was unfairly sacked won’t get their job back just because there’s no written record of the matter. Silence doesn’t make injustice go away; it only makes it invisible.

But if a person who has spent years researching and documenting labor rights issues can be held criminally liable for "picking quarrels and provoking trouble" simply because of the nature of their particular work, then it merits a serious discussion about the nature of that particular criminal charge.

[…] The charge of "picking quarrels and provoking trouble" has long been controversial due to its broad application and vague boundaries. A wide range of actions—disturbing the peace, causing a public scene, and even certain online behaviors—may fall within the scope of this criminal charge.

And therein lies the problem: when a criminal charge can encompass so many different types of behavior, its boundaries must be made abundantly clear.

Otherwise, a criminal charge meant to target specific illegal acts can easily morph into a “pocket crime” open to interpretation.

Exactly what is meant by "picking quarrels” and “provoking trouble"? What specific behaviors cross the line and go from misdemeanor to “criminal offense”?

When it comes to this, vague interpretation isn’t good enough. Just because a person says something that makes the authorities uncomfortable or brings some societal conflict to the attention of the public, they cannot be shunted into the catch-all category of "picking quarrels and provoking trouble."

This holds especially true for labor rights issues, and it is why the charge of "picking quarrels and provoking trouble" warrants particular vigilance.

Of course, this doesn’t mean that anyone operating under the banner of "labor rights" is exempt from the constraints of the law. If someone commits an act that is clearly illegal or criminal, they should certainly be dealt with according to the law.

But conducting research surveys must not be criminalized, nor should documenting labor disputes, or interviewing workers.

The act of compiling and analyzing labor incidents that have already occurred should not be construed as "picking quarrels and provoking trouble” simply because some of the incidents make people uncomfortable.

Were that to happen, the resulting loss would not be a single article, but our courage to face up to reality.

This is why I believe this matter cannot simply be interpreted as the “criminal detention of an independent blogger.” If someone who has been documenting labor issues for so many years faces criminal prosecution because of his work, our concerns must extend beyond Feng Rui’s individual case.

What we should be concerned about is whether anyone will even dare to conduct such investigations in the future, and whether anyone will be willing to document the experiences of workers who often have no say.

We may disagree with [Feng’s] judgment, criticize his articles, and even believe that some of his reports are problematic. But these things should be hashed out through discussion, questioning, and public expression, not by arbitrarily resorting to the criminal justice system.

I remember these lines from the introduction to “Review of Labor Rights Incidents in 2025": “We hope that one day we will have fewer incidents to take stock of. People will come together not to document injustice, but simply to dance.”

That’s actually a very restrained and modest hope.

No one wants these annual labor-rights reports to go on forever. No one wants to have to tally up the unpaid wages, the layoffs, the workplace injuries, and the unemployed year after year. More than anyone, those who keep these records hope that someday, some of these problems will abate.

A day when we truly no longer needed these annual “labor rights reviews” would be the best possible outcome.

But until that day comes, someone ought to be keeping a record of such events.

If the mere act of documenting injustice requires us to walk on eggshells and police our every word, then we might find ourselves left with a very clean, very quiet, and very deserted society.

And such quiet is nothing to celebrate. [Chinese]

For more CDT coverage of labor rights and labor activism, see our articles on migrant worker Jing Shuren, recently sentenced to four years in prison for sharing social media posts about workers’ unpaid wages; the lengthy prison sentences given to journalist Huang Xueqin and labor-rights activist Wang Jianbing; the closure of a museum dedicated to migrant workers and their children; reports on wage arrears among staffers of a government hotline for reporting unpaid wages; accusations by the Ministry of State Security that “hostile foreign forces” are trying to trick Chinese workers into “lying flat”; and state-media outlets’ Workers’ Day proclamations that workers’ rights are something “granted” by the Chinese Communist Party.

The post focuses on the use of paid foreign influencers in local tourism promotion, citing a campaign launched by provincial authorities in Hainan, and on the algorithmic weighting that benefits this kind of "positive energy" content. It suggests that visitors’ gushing remarks on camera should be viewed more critically, while calling for attention to context rather than outright dismissal. “What annoys me most," it comments, "is the way a single line of praise from a foreigner is used to paper over our own experience.”

If you scroll Douyin these days, you’ll find a flood of videos from foreign visitors to China.

They marvel at the cheap food, bargain shopping, advanced high-speed trains, and amazing robots.

The people and the cities vary, but the praise does not. It seems like not one of the China trips in my feed ran into any pitfalls.

When we travel ourselves, we know we need to look up guides on pitfalls [e.g. scams, rip-offs, tourist traps etc.] to avoid. So why is it that when foreigners come, these pitfalls are never in the shot?

What I want to know about these tourist videos is who invited them, and who’s footing the bill?

Usually, when people online are on the hunt for "malign foreign influence," even natural disasters are fair game. The 2024 Guizhou wildfires were spun into “arson by Japanese spies”; the 2021 Zhengzhou floods were pinned on “American weather weapons." The former was officially refuted, while meteorologists pointed out that the latter had no scientific basis.

People dared say this kind of thing even without a scrap of evidence. So why is that when a foreigner pops up on our feed spouting fulsome praise of China, it’s not worth asking whether their trip was some promotional partnership?

If you say anything negative [about China], people will question your motives. But if you say only positive things, you somehow get a free pass?

Let’s take a look at some of the spending that’s been made public.

According to a notice from the Hainan Provincial Government Procurement Association, citing the provincial Department for Tourism, Culture, Radio, Television and Sports, up to 894,000 yuan [roughly $133,000] was allocated to a "Chasing the Light in the Free Trade Zone • Discover Hainan" project to bring international influencers on cultural junkets to Hainan in 2026.

The project covers invitations to content creators, food and accommodation, transportation, and publicity and promotion. The appendix for the Russian-speaking region specifies that eight foreign creators will post at least 16 one-minute clips to TikTok, Instagram, or YouTube. There are also arrangements for scripts, camera crew, editing and production.

The notice even spells out how shoots will be organized.

I don’t know if the accounts I’ve scrolled past had this kind of partnership, but once you’ve read about these arrangements, who can blame you for asking, "Did you pay for this trip yourself, or is there a promotional partnership?"

Telling a travel story online doesn’t mean you’ve paid your own way.

There’s a "Party A" [i.e., a paying client] behind positive reviews, too — at least, that’s the case with the promotional junkets described in the notice.

Who sent the invitation, who paid the bills, was there any partnership? As long as it’s clear, that’s fine. The point of these questions is to inform our interpretation of a particular video, not to slap more labels on the vlogger.

In these promotions, the destination wants visitors, the campaign wants numbers, and the vlogger wants exposure, but all the audience sees is a smiling face saying， "China’s awesome!"

But how much of the convenience on this trip would an ordinary tourist get, and how much was special treatment? If I visited the same places shown in the video, would things go as smoothly for me?

As for promoting traffic, don’t just dismiss the issue with, "The platform only pushes more of what you like to watch anyway."

The CAC announced in May 2025 that platforms including Douyin had adjusted their algorithms to focus on, among other things, "weighted recommendation of positive-energy content."

This weighting will change what you see. Why should my recommendations page be considered representative of all foreign tourists?

Content that doesn’t get filmed and content that doesn’t get boosted are two separate things.

What annoys me most is the way a single line of praise from a foreigner is used to paper over our own experience.

He might think food is cheap here, but does that mean I can’t say I think it’s too expensive? He might think a city is modern and developed, but does that mean the hassles I encounter there aren’t worth mentioning?

We’re the ones who work, pay our bills, and spend our lives here. The pitfalls we run into are a lot more concrete than gasps of awe in a video clip.

Rather than telling me to be happy about praise when I can’t see who footed the bill, why not do something to reduce the pitfalls I encounter? [Chinese]

As the university’s statement about the disciplinary actions spread online, it fueled intense debate, particularly after rumors surfaced that the school was tipped off by a student “informer” motivated by the desire to bring down an academic rival and move up the recommendation list for admission to HEU’s mathematics department graduate program.

CDT Chinese editors archived five articles, including two that were later deleted, about the university’s circumvention crackdown against the backdrop of cutthroat academic competition, restrictive postgraduate admission policies, the ubiquity (and necessity) of VPN use in academia, and the dangers of a resurgence of “informer culture” in China. The student-turned-informer reportedly admitted to using unauthorized VPNs herself, and even consulted one of her professors for advice about reporting the rival’s VPN use to school authorities. The professor strongly advised against it, saying it would come off as “a bit too ruthless.”

In one of the archived articles, from WeChat account Nonfiction Tales (非虚构故事, Fēixūgòu Gùshi), the author draws a connection between the Harbin incident and the chilling effects of “informer culture” on online debate:

I feel like there’s a growing trend toward reporting people for the online content they post. The tiniest slip of the tongue, a single poorly chosen word, or a slightly unconventional point of view can cause you to be reported.

[…] The reporting system has been completely weaponized.

It’s not reporting actual illegal activities that the public despises, but rather using the reporting system for personal gain, or as a way of retaliating against others. This destroys the basic bonds of trust between people.

Trust is the cornerstone of our society. No one wants to live in a society where everyone’s constantly walking on eggshells and our sense of morality has collapsed. [Chinese]

On a similar theme, a deleted article from Huang Zhijie’s WeChat account Youyou Luming is critical of both the student and of university policies that undermine trust by incentivizing classmates to inform on one another. As Huang writes, “No one wants to live in a society rife with informers.” When referring to the student who reported classmates for VPN use, Huang uses the gender-neutral pinyin "Ta" instead of the Chinese “she/her” pronoun “她” (tā), possibly due to lack of verifiable information about the student’s gender, or to avoid the misogynistic tone of some of the other online commentary about the incident.

It is worth noting that the informer also admitted, “I regularly use a VPN to read academic papers, use GPT, and stuff like that, and now I’m worried I might be investigated too, and I don’t know what to do.” This is why I label them “an informer” rather than “a tipster.” If they had reported the matter out of some commitment to upholding the rules, I’d have more respect for them, but they clearly don’t respect or uphold the rules.

Seen in that light, this is a case of an unscrupulous university student with ulterior motives betraying their classmates for personal gain, causing 20 students to be punished. By selling out their classmates to get ahead, the student violated a moral boundary governing the way people treat each other in a normal society.

No one is born a snitch, and this kind of despicable behavior often stems from the calculus of personal gain. Informing is definitely on the rise; you could also claim it’s experiencing a “resurgence.” And the problem isn’t confined to one university.

A few years ago, a certain university implemented a “one-on-one” monitoring system in which every student was assigned a “mystery classmate” to keep an eye on their every word and action. Another university even included this question on a final exam: “Name three of your classmates who participate the most in class, and three who skip the most classes.” Whatever the original intention behind these practices was, the result was to encourage students to inform on and expose their classmates. [Chinese]

Another deleted article, “If I Can’t Beat You in Exams, Maybe I Can Win by Informing on You,” comes from the Tencent News-affiliated WeChat public account "News Brother." The author takes aim at academic inequality and university regulations on “ideological and moral character,” arguing that such vaguely defined regulations are capricious and prone to abuse:

What makes a society a society is connections between people.

Trust and affection are essential to creating these connections.

But everyone has to weigh their words before speaking, and exercise caution around everyone they meet, just in case someone, someday, decides to inform on them.

Even more terrifying is the possibility that those who fear being informed on might decide to pre-empt things by informing on others first.

Can we really blame these students-turned-informers? Can we fault them for refusing to put themselves at a disadvantage, for being willing to burn bridges if it means they can secure a recommendation to a postgraduate program?

[…] Rather than aiming misplaced blame at the students, perhaps we should consider why the act of "informing" is seen as an instrument of justice.

Consider, for example, the guidelines on postgraduate recommendations from a certain teacher-training university and a certain comprehensive university. Both repeatedly stress the fact that recommendations depend on students’ "ideological and moral character" as well as their “academic conduct.”

[…] While academic misconduct or fabricated research papers are relatively objective problems, who gets to evaluate an applicant’s disciplinary record to assess their “ideological and moral character”?

And what exactly constitutes “moral depravity”?

[…] Of course, some might argue that an upright individual has nothing to fear. If you haven’t done anything wrong, they reason, an informer can’t hurt you.

But I wouldn’t bet on myself. As an ordinary person, I may be in no position to commit major blunders, but I could make some minor mistake at any time.

Who knows, maybe some keen-eyed reader has already combed through this article and found eighteen different ways to prove my guilt. [Chinese]

For more CDT coverage of VPN regulations and punishments, see our translations of a scaremongering anti-VPN campaign from the military-affiliated National Defense Times; a leaked internal document about new anti-circumvention measures from online service provider Qihang CDN; a piece on Chinese universities installing software to identify and punish students using VPNs; a Weibo user who was banned after reporting nationalist pundit Hu Xijin for illegal VPN use; and a computer programmer in Chengde who was fined and had three years of income confiscated for using a VPN to do work for an overseas client.