Emergency Notice on Comprehensively Blocking International Traffic and Strictly Prohibiting Firewall-circumvention Services

Greetings:

In accordance with the latest requirements received from Shaanxi Telecom:

As of today, all IP addresses must completely block access to addresses outside the Chinese mainland, and international traffic must be blocked without exception. This includes, but is not limited to: Hong Kong, Macau, and Taiwan, and all other countries and regions. At the same time, it is strictly forbidden to host any kind of firewall circumvention-related service such as VPNs, proxies, etc.

All users, please carry out immediate self-inspection, focused on identifying the following:

• Services for accessing or relaying traffic outside mainland China
• Applications or activity involving VPNs, proxies, firewall-circumvention, etc.
• Abnormalities in up- or downstream traffic (such as peering, tunneling, etc.)

Enforcement:

• Detection of unauthorized firewall-circumvention or international traffic will result in immediate termination (IP blocked, server shut down)
• Data will not be retained after termination; backups must be completed beforehand.
• All consequences of suspension and termination resulting from unauthorized usage are the user’s responsibility. Our company assumes no responsibility.
• Past payments will not be refunded, and there will be no compensation for unused resources.
• No replacement, adjustment, or refund will be available under any circumstances for loss or disruption of existing services due to blocking of international traffic.
• Any subsequent lifting of the ban will be subject to notification from [Shaanxi] Telecom; our company [Qihang CDN] can offer no assurances.

Please treat this matter seriously and carry out immediate rectification to avoid unnecessary losses.

Thank you for your support and cooperation!

March 31, 2026 [Chinese]

Another of the documents is a purported invitation from the Ministry of Industry and Information Technology to a meeting on "strengthening management of unauthorized internet connections via dedicated cross-border data lines," a focus which suggests that the above corporate memo reflects a broader, coordinated strategy.

Memo from the Ministry of Industry and Information Technology

Meeting Notice

China Telecom Corp. Ltd.; China Mobile Communications Group Co., Ltd.; China United Network Communications Group Co., Ltd.:

In order to strengthen management of unauthorized Internet connections via dedicated cross-border data lines, this office is convening a special meeting in room D103 of the Ministry of Industry and Information Technology’s Xidan offices at 16:00 on Tuesday, April 7.

Supervisors from your work unit’s departments for planning and construction, network operations, and government and enterprise are requested to attend and bring relevant written documentation to the meeting. Please provide our office with attendees’ details by 14:00 on Tuesday, April 7.

[Seal: Bureau of Information and Communications Management, Ministry of Industry and Information Technology]

April 7, 2026

(Contact person and telephone [redacted])

CC: Cybersecurity Bureau [Chinese]

A third document is a purported invitation to a seminar on "Deep Study and Implementation of General Secretary Xi Jinping’s Key Thoughts on National Cyber Power" at the Cyberspace Administration of China. The invitation’s contents do not establish a direct link with the "airports" crackdown, but reflect the same climate of steadily tightening control.

Letter of Invitation to a Symposium on In-depth Study and Implementation of General Secretary Xi Jinping’s Key Thoughts on National Cyber Power

Comrade [redacted]:

In order to deepen study and implementation of General Secretary Xi Jinping’s key thoughts on national cyber power, the CAC has scheduled a symposium on that topic for 9:00 a.m. on Thursday, April 16 in meeting room 125 at our offices at 11 Chegongzhuang Avenue, Xicheng District [in Beijing]. The comrade with relevant responsibilities from [redacted] is cordially invited to attend; please fax the attached registration form to [redacted] by April 7.

Attendees are requested to arrive at the venue 20 minutes early to complete registration, and to leave cellphones in the security locker at the entrance and remain in the meeting room during the session. Your understanding and cooperation are appreciated.

Contact: [Name redacted] [Phone number redacted]
[Seal: CAC Secretariat]

April 2, 2026 [Chinese]

Jessica Batke and Laura Edelson described "airport" services as follows last year in their ChinaFile report, "The Locknet: How China Controls Its Internet and Why It Matters" (which they discussed in an interview with CDT):

These black-market circumvention services are euphemistically known as “airports” in China, because they connect users to a foreign internet. Such black-market services “always exist when there are barriers to and obstacles to what people want to do, and there’s an opportunity to arbitrage against that with a superior product,” notes Boehler, the media researcher. It’s hard to get a precise fix on how many such “airport” providers are out there—dozens? hundreds?—but the advertisements they post offer some insights into the scale of the market. For one, the advertised prices are quite low, with monthly fees ranging from 15 to 188 renminbi (approximately U.S.$2 to U.S.$26). “If you’re doing something that’s illegal, and the pricing is really low, that is an indication it’s so widespread you can monetize it at that level.” For another, the variety of offerings suggests a highly sophisticated, diversified, and “kind of pervasive” market. “There’s a lot of pricing competition, competition around features, countries you can tunnel into, the amount of servers they have, the throughput in terms of traffic,” Boehler explains.

Individual airports can serve thousands or even tens of thousands of customers, according to local governments that have prosecuted sellers. They can also provide the technical know-how to less tech-savvy users in order to successfully set up their services. “That’s exactly why [airports] exist,” says Boehler. “They don’t require any technical knowledge or paperwork or anything. You just go to Taobao or wherever, you buy a box and connect the box to your WiFi, and you have streaming services on your TV.” In fact, the relative ease of using these services “means that people might not be aware that they’re using airports. They might think they just bought a box. [They’re not thinking] ‘I’m subverting the Communist Party,’ but ‘I just want to watch Netflix.’ [The providers] don’t have to put a warning label, like ‘You’re committing a crime!’” (The unofficial nature of the airport market also gives scammers ample opportunity to bilk money from would-be users.) Source

Last November, China Media Project’s David Bandurski noted a warning from an AI-generated spokesperson for the Ministry of State Security against this and other dangers of "scaling the wall." At China Law Translate in February, Jeremy Daum noted the possibility that the new draft Cybercrime Law could bring further pressure on circumvention tools and services:

Some of the restrictions mentioned above touch on the use of VPNs and proxies, which are of particular concern because they are used by many to circumvent content restrictions and access foreign sites.

Losing access to effective VPNs and being cut off from the global web is a regular concern for many based in China. It is not entirely unfounded, as longstanding rules prohibit the unauthorized establishment of international connections or circumvention tools, and there have been periodic crackdowns reported. Enforcement tends to target those creating, selling, or providing others with circumvention tools, but there are confirmed incidents of people being fined for simply using such tools.

In the context of this draft, however, it is far from clear that there is an intention to move VPN usage further out of the gray area and towards a full prohibition, but it is worth following closely. [Source]

中国北京市地坛公园, by 荧_Lumine (CC BY 2.0)

A recent article from WeChat account 元气自留地 (Yuanqi ziliudi, “vital allotment”) discusses the author’s success in expanding the readership and reach of their own account, and offers some advice, by turns wry and serious, about what subject matter to avoid when publishing to WeChat. The article includes two screenshots from WeChat admins enumerating the usual violations, which range from insulting China or the Chinese government, defaming heroes and martyrs, impersonating others, embedding malicious QR codes or links, or publishing “content that is misleading, exaggerated, or otherwise likely to deceive or create misunderstanding among the public.” But the author’s focus in this piece, a portion of which is translated below, is on the blurrier and often-shifting boundaries that readers might not even be aware of:

Today I want to highlight some subtler examples of content that could easily cross “red lines.” Although such content might be thought-provoking and resonate with readers, there’s no need to hurl yourself at the firing line.

1. Negative-energy content

For example, writing about declining birth rates, or encouraging people not to get married or have children: these topics run counter to what the government is promoting.

Not long ago, stand-up comedian Xiao Pa made an offhand joke about a random thought she had while she was sick, and got banned [from Weibo] for it. That’s a classic example.

We’re in no position to judge whether the ban was fair or too harsh, but it just goes to show you that certain topics, even when they appear in the context of a joke or a personal anecdote, can be easily flagged as "incitement."

But there’s no use getting angry about it. If you want to write and express yourself on this platform, you have to dance in chains.

Likewise, when discussing “negative social phenomena,” tread carefully around content that might trigger pessimism or hostility among readers.

2. Weighing in on “hot topics”

Weighing in on hot topics isn’t forbidden: you just have to be careful about how you approach it, and where you put the emphasis.

Simply aggregating information, particularly if it’s related to scandals in the entertainment world, is both risky and low-value.

You can share your own perspective on a societal hot topic, but don’t just copy and paste information. That kind of content is highly homogeneous, serves mainly to spread the story further, and platform content reviewers are likely to label it as "spreading negativity," so it’s just not worth it.

You may have heard of a well-known account called “魔XX”. [This is likely an intentionally obscured reference to the WeChat account 魔都囡 (Módūnān, “Shanghai gal”), known for its clickbait headlines, gossipy subject matter, and boisterous comments section.] It has a massive following, and its model is precisely this kind of content aggregation: every day it rehashes the previous day’s viral stories (often about societal issues or entertainment) in a chatty way, then garnishes them with some social media comments and AI-generated images.

It earns money mainly through traffic monetization. It gets penalized for violations from time to time, and has probably had several accounts banned. But like a “cunning rabbit with three burrows,” it has multiple spin-off accounts and keeps popping up again and again.

How has such a risky operation managed to survive?

Possibly because they’ve been doing this for a decade and have built up a considerable follower base. Every time they open a spin-off account, their followers seamlessly migrate to the new account (and they migrate voluntarily, not through an automated system transfer).

But one thing is certain: ordinary people can’t replicate their model.

For one thing, you’re too late to the game. For another, you don’t have that many "bullets" to waste. If your account gets banned, that means having to start over with a new I.D. and new phone number, a huge hassle.

So why not take the sensible route and write content that is healthy, safe, and genuinely valuable?

3. Government personnel appointments and dismissals, announcements of investigation results, weather forecasts, etc.

For a while, there was a whole group of personal accounts that tended to repost these officially confirmed, legitimate announcements. It was just a simple copy-paste, a quick way to drum up traffic.

But free resources often come at the highest cost. If you don’t have the proper credentials or authorization, you simply cannot publish this content, even if the information is accurate and you’ve cited the official source.

Some may say, "But I just want to help people to stay informed, I’m doing this for the benefit of the public. Where did I go wrong?"

The platform doesn’t take into account your good intentions when assigning penalties. If everyone were allowed to publish this kind of content willy-nilly, it would have an unhealthy effect on the overall content ecosystem.

A [WeChat] public account is a small personal space where many ordinary people are able to express themselves. I sincerely urge everyone to protect what you’ve built here, and stay within the rules when you write.

And if you have friends running public accounts, be sure to remind them: the easiest way to up your game is to avoid the hassle of burning through a perfectly good I.D. number and account! [Chinese]

Zhang provided his advice to prospective students and their parents via online streaming, public speeches, and paid consulting sessions. The once-impoverished rural student worked tirelessly to become an in-demand tutor able to command high fees for his advisory services, an owner of three related businesses, and an online influencer with over 30 million online followers. Zhang’s approach was not without controversy, however, and he had his fair share of both supporters and detractors. Some critics dubbed him “utilitarian” for frequently urging students to eschew their own academic and career interests, particularly in the liberal arts, in favor of pursuing only majors that would lead to stable, well-paying jobs after graduation. Others countered that Zhang’s pragmatic advice was simply a reflection of a broader “utilitarian” mindset prevalent in Chinese society. “Education didn’t become ‘utilitarian’ because of Zhang Xuefeng,” argued blogger Citizen Jin Jianguo last fall, in an essay that was later censored on WeChat. “Rather, in a society that universally venerates utilitarianism, Zhang Xuefeng emerged as a response to the times.”

Zhang was also one of a number of online influencers hit with multiplatform bans last October, amid a Cyberspace Administration of China (CAC) campaign to clean up internet content that might “maliciously incite” polarization, pessimism, anxiety, and other negative sentiments. The bans highlighted the increasingly difficult task, even for a savvy online influencer such as Zhang, of navigating censorship-related “red lines.” At the time, there was a rampant speculation about what might have prompted the ban: some posited that Zhang had overstepped with his performatively patriotic pledge to donate 100 million yuan were China to invade Taiwan, while others claimed it had more to do with Zhang’s lucrative online business model that seemed to profit from stoking parental anxiety about their children’s futures. Still others suspected that Zhang might have been targeted for his frank recognition of socioeconomic inequalities, and the many ways in which poorer or rural students without wealth or connections were at a huge disadvantage in the job market.

CDTC editors have archived 14 recent articles about Zhang’s life and death, career and legacy. At least four of these have been deleted from WeChat, and one (“Zhang Xuefeng: The Opposite of Idealism”) remains visible and can be commented on, but cannot be shared, liked, or saved on that platform. One of the deleted pieces, a short article by Yuan Yi, expresses privacy concerns about alleged copies of Zhang’s hospitalization records being shared on social media. Another censored article, by blogger Lao Xiao, describes Zhang as a sort of “spiritual pacifier” and suggests that students might be better off without his educational bromides. “When the only valid belief is that ‘choosing the right major equals a stable future,’ education is transformed from a nurturing soil to an ‘all-or-nothing’ gamble,” writes Lao Xiao. “Forcing children to abandon humanities and social sciences and dive headfirst into fields they don’t relate to may deprive them of opportunities to define themselves, unleash their creative potential, and better understand the world.”

A now-deleted WeChat article from current-affairs blogger Wei Chunliang, “Zhang Xuefeng, You Have Become the Memory of a Generation,” offers a fairly balanced assessment of Zhang’s legacy. Wei writes that while he has no desire to pen a hagiography, if a person’s value is measured by how many others they helped during their lifetime, then Zhang certainly deserves some recognition and gratitude. Toward the end, Wei mentions a speech in which Zhang—who himself hailed from a small county in Qiqihar, in China’s far northeastern province of Heilongjiang—spoke frankly about the slim chances of a Qiqihar University graduate making it into the corporate big leagues. A portion of Wei’s article is translated below:

I wasn’t a big fan of Zhang Xuefeng. I disagreed with many of his views, and found some of his rhetoric overly sensationalistic. But reading his obituary just now, I find myself thinking it’s a shame he’s gone.

Because whether you liked him or not, you have to admit that when it came to bridging the information gap, Zhang Xuefeng did more, and did it better, than the vast majority of educators out there—especially for kids living out in the sticks or studying at second-rate high schools.

Even in their final year of high school, many such students had no idea that, instead of relying solely on their gaokao score to get into university, they could apply to [pilot university-recruitment programs like] the Strong Foundation Program. They didn’t realize that high-profile majors at certain universities weren’t always as hard to get into as they had assumed, nor were they aware of how to avoid the pitfalls of choosing the wrong school or the wrong major.

They were like frogs trapped at the bottom of a well, able to glimpse only a tiny patch of the sky above.

The most important thing Zhang Xuefeng did was to lower a rope into that well, offering them a way out.

He didn’t mince words. During one of his livestreams, he told a parent: “If that were my kid and he insisted on studying journalism, I’d knock him senseless and sign him up for something else!"

He had no qualms about shattering illusions: "Unless your family’s loaded, that isn’t the major for you."

Such advice seems harsh, even cruel.

But the thing is: he was telling the truth.

Teachers wouldn’t say such things, nor would parents. Only Zhang Xuefeng, with each barbed pronouncement, was willing to burst those unrealistic bubbles.

He was variously criticized as an opportunist who made his living via media while knocking the media as a profession, a utilitarian who turned education into a mere cost-benefit calculation, and an alarmist who stoked anxiety [among students and parents].

But for kids whose families lacked resources, connections, or even a single relative who had ever attended university, Zhang’s "utilitarian" advice satisfied their most pressing need.

Was it that these students and their parents lacked idealism? Not at all. It’s just that idealism won’t pay the rent or put food on the table, so it wasn’t something they could afford.

Those from elite families might have looked upon Zhang Xuefeng’s advice as common knowledge, but for rural students at non-elite schools, his every word helped to save them time and money, and to avert costly trial and error.

As I’ve said before, Zhang Xuefeng had a strong working-class sensibility.

I remember seeing him on a televised speech competition in 2017 talking about the importance of education. He said that while nearly all Fortune 500 companies claimed it made no difference where their recruits graduated from, they would never recruit from, say, Qiqihar University. "When they say things like that,” said Zhang, “They’re all lying." [Chinese]

A now-deleted article from WeChat account Yaya’s Room, titled “Rest in Peace, Teacher Zhang Xuefeng, and May Schoolgirls Never Have to Listen to Your Paternalistic Lecturing Again,” focuses on the often stark gap between Zhang’s advice to male and female students:

My simple view is that anyone’s life, be they from the humblest of backgrounds, is worthy of introspection and consideration. Others may offer them advice, but may not make decisions in their stead. But Zhang Xuefeng’s advice often crosses the line. The advice he “provides” to parents (that is, strong-arms them into accepting) deprives children of their right to choose, which is detrimental to their personal development. He also prioritizes financial exigency over students’ actual interests, which results in overly utilitarian choices (choices that are rarely sustained in the long run, and even if they are, result in a diminished quality of life.) These are all things I oppose.

What I find most objectionable is Zhang Xuefeng’s view on gender. This is mainly reflected in his educational advice to female students, which frequently includes the phrase: "Find a boyfriend." In short, regardless of whether or not a girl is seeking relationship advice, Zhang Xuefeng will “offer his two cents” on the subject of love and marriage—the gist of which is to tell her to “find a boyfriend” and “follow him wherever he goes.” Zhang never gives this kind of advice to male students.

As is abundantly clear, Zhang Xuefeng’s advice to many young women is that you don’t need to work hard to develop your career, you just need to find a man who is willing to support you. In his eyes, women’s roles within the family are as wives and mothers, and he hopes that women will internalize these roles and plan their lives accordingly. [Chinese]

Below is a list of key topics and some related deleted articles from CDT’s summary of deleted content for February 2026. Between February 1-28, CDT Chinese added 59 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 February included:

• The detention of investigative journalists Liu Hu and Wu Yingjiao
• Xenophobic and misogynistic comments by online influencer Lao A
• An investigation into fraud and embezzlement at Nanjing Museum
• The sixth anniversary of COVID whistleblower Li Wenliang’s death
• Hong Kong publisher Jimmy Lai’s 20-year prison sentence
• Humanoid robots featured in the annual CCTV Spring Festival Gala
• Free Nora report on combating human trafficking

Two investigative journalists, Liu Hu and Wu Yingjiao, were detained by police in connection with their reporting into a corruption case in Chengdu, Sichuan province.

In early February, CDT archived 22 deleted articles about the cross-provincial arrests of two investigative journalists, Liu Hu and Wu Yingjiao, in apparent connection with their reporting on a corruption case in Pujiang county, Chengdu, Sichuan province. Liu and Wu were released on bail two weeks later, but the case against them remains open. Chengdu authorities insist that some of the information published by these two highly regarded journalists was unfounded.

"‘The Last Investigative Reporter’ Liu Hu Detained for Exposing Pujiang County Party Secretary’s Suspected Corruption" by Hu An, WeChat account The Aquarian
February 2

This piece from online journalism collective The Aquarian (水瓶纪元, Shuǐpíng jìyuán, formerly translated as “Aquarius Era”), from which we published translated excerpts on February 4, detailed the cross-border detentions of investigative reporters Liu Hu and Wu Yingjiao by Chengdu public security officers the previous day. It describes the content of the article the two had published on January 29, over which they appeared to have been detained. In it, they reported allegations of corruption involving a joint construction project in Chengdu’s Pujiang county: local officials had courted private investors (including Liu and Wu’s source), but their successors unilaterally broke off the agreement, apparently intent on seizing the site and turning it into a kindergarten in order to fraudulently claim subsidies from higher levels of government. Pujiang County Party Secretary Pu Fayou was named in the report, which also highlighted his involvement in a forced demolition case that led to a man’s suicide some years earlier. [Editor’s note: The Aquarian and its sister WeChat account 水瓶启元 (Shuǐpíng qǐyuán, “Aquarian Genesis”) were shut down in February and March, respectively. The Aquarian continues to publish a Substack newsletter.]

"The Liu Hu I Know, A Newsman of the Gallant Fraternity," WeChat account Port Youth
February 3

This post recounts Liu Hu’s journalistic career including a period working with the author in Guangzhou during its "golden age of investigative journalism, [which was] also the last glimmer of print media," until finally Liu was pushed out of the industry and forced to publish through pseudonyms or via social media. The author highlights Liu’s repeated “reincarnations” on WeChat ("I just checked, and he’s now listed as ‘LiuHu21’"), his dogged perseverance and strict professional standards, and his role in online communities as a behind-the-scenes mentor and supporter of other journalists. Like many of the other posts gathered here, this one expresses the author’s longstanding anxiety about Liu’s safety. The post portrays Liu as a latter-day jianghu—a term Ian Johnson described in his 2023 book, "Sparks: China’s Underground Historians," as referring to “the honorable bandits and rogues of the backwoods who had become a symbol for Chinese people with a conscience.” Alluding to the authorities’ obsession with relentless "positive energy" in news and elsewhere, Port Youth writes, "A patch of forest will always need some woodpeckers; it can’t all just be magpies chirping good tidings. In this age of flocking magpies, woodpeckers like Liu Hu are rare and precious indeed."

“Ramifications of the Liu Hu Incident: ‘Political Karma’ Awaits Those Who Would Suppress Their Critics," by Lao Xiao, WeChat account Old Xiao’s Random Reflections
February 3

Blogger Lao Xiao warns that Liu and Wu’s detentions "will become an important test case for supervision by public opinion [or ‘watchdog journalism‘] within the rule of law." Presented as non-confrontational governance advice, the post argues that local officials who heavy-handedly suppress public-opinion crises are generally only postponing the inevitable and often making things worse for themselves, leading to reputational damage and stalled careers even for those who escape disciplinary action. “Every time an official uses heavy-handed tactics to suppress criticism, they are writing the first line of their political epitaph.” CDT translated fairly extensive excerpts from this piece in February.

"Liu Hu’s Detention Is The Last Nail in Journalism’s Coffin," by Yu Feng, WeChat account I Am Yu Feng
February 4

Yu Feng, another beneficiary of Liu Hu’s online journalism community-building, "always wondered where he [Liu] got the phone numbers to keep registering new WeChat accounts" after successive bans. Yu writes that when Liu was previously detained in 2013, the detention center placed him among hardened criminals in an effort to give him a hard time, but that he won the other inmates’ respect when they heard how he had exposed corrupt officials; Liu generated even more goodwill by helping some of his fellow inmates apply for sentence reductions. At that time, Yu recalls, Weibo was still free enough to serve as an effective platform for supporters to speak out on Liu’s behalf. This time, though, supportive posts on WeChat were being deleted almost as quickly as they appeared, and many journalism professors and others were too cowed to speak out at all. Yu describes the official notice on Liu Hu’s detention, targeting such a prominent pillar of the journalism community, as "a signal to the whole news world and society in general: this kind of investigative journalist is no longer allowed to exist. This is how Chengdu, known for its openness, tolerance, and cultural prosperity, drives the final nail into journalism’s coffin."

“A Phone Call With Wu Yingjiao,” by Xuanyuan Jian, WeChat account Huang Jian February 4

While most of the posts listed here focused squarely on Liu Hu, this one puts the spotlight on his younger colleague Wu Yingjiao. The author emphasizes Wu’s soft-spoken manner, at odds with the weight of his professional reputation, and declares, “He’s not Liu Hu’s shadow, he’s another blade—just more deeply concealed.” The author recalls how, when he came under pressure over his own writing, Wu contacted him to offer public support from himself and Liu. Huang recalls being stunned that two people in such risky situations themselves would make such an offer to someone they had never met in person—all the more so since Wu had recently become a father, and had his young family to think of:

[…] It would be easy to just casually mention this and move on, but I keep getting drawn back to it.

There’s not really much more that needs to be said about the significance of becoming a father at that [young] age, under those circumstances. What it does mean is that you start to truly appreciate the value of what you have to lose. There’s something holding you back, now, and nobody would blame you for letting it.

But he didn’t back down.

He chose to keep writing with Liu Hu, sharing the risk together, being named together, and being detained together.

He didn’t use "youth," "family," or "parenthood" as excuses, nor as bargaining chips.

He just stood his ground. [Source]

Controversy erupts over xenophobic and misogynistic pronouncements (particularly about Chinese women who live or study abroad) made by online influencer Lao A, who gained popularity for coining the phrase “kill line” to describe poverty and homelessness in the U.S.

"Society’s Greatest Tragedy Is Holding Up Lao A as a Hero and Conscientious Journalists as Cowards!" by Mu Bai, WeChat account Mu Bai’s Writing is Mediocre
February 3

This article laments that investigative journalists like Liu Hu are widely dismissed as troublemakers while figures like online influencer Lao A, "who spends all day making mountains out of foreign molehills and slagging off Chinese students overseas," are "held up as a shining model for the ages who’ll lead us into a new era." Mu Bai highlights several issues of public interest that came to light through investigative reporting: "Gutter oil, [melamine-tainted] Sanlu milk, food oil in fuel oil trucks, this current story about mental hospitals locking people up unnecessarily to fleece them … if not for journalists reporting on these dark corners, how many more ordinary people would have been harmed?" The piece concludes: "Ultimately, what I want to say is this: the lives of ordinary people in a society that holds Lao A up as a hero would be very different to ones in a society that celebrates journalists."

The conclusion of an investigation into fraud and embezzlement at Nanjing Museum raises as many questions as it answers.

In February, CDT archived four deleted articles about the conclusion to an investigation into a decades-long mismanagement and corruption scandal at the Nanjing Museum in Jiangsu province. (We also archived five articles on the topic in December 2025.) At least five of 137 artworks donated to the museum by the family of collector Pang Laichen were falsely identified as fakes, transferred to a state-owned provincial storehouse for cultural relics, and resold at auction for a profit. The Pang family discovered the subterfuge after one of the donated works—“Jiangnan Spring,” a silk-scroll painting by Ming Dynasty painter Qiu Ying, worth an estimated 88 million yuan ($12.5 million)—surfaced at a Beijing auction in May of 2025. The story broke in December 2025, and a subsequent investigation concluded that there had been systematic mismanagement and corruption at the Nanjing Museum, and 25 individuals are facing legal or disciplinary action. The deleted articles from February discuss the official investigation and the museum’s public apology, noting that both raise more questions than they answer, including how low-level employees could have stolen the paintings without the connivance of higher-level administrators such as Xu Huping, former vice-director of the museum.

“‘Jiangnan Spring’ Survived Five Catastrophic Chapters in Human History and Was Kept Safe for 500 Years … Until 1997, When It Was Sold for a Pittance by the Nanjing Museum,” by Xiang Dongliang, WeChat account Basic Common Sense
February 9

This piece by Xiang Dongliang describes the history of the culturally significant scroll painting “Jiangnan Spring” and discusses five times that it came under threat due to invasion, civil war, or political strife, but was protected by concerned scholars and archivists. The conclusion to Xiang’s article is translated below:

The scroll painting “Jiangnan Spring” has weathered 500 years of tumultuous change. Safeguarded by generations of upstanding scholars and individuals of integrity, it survived one catastrophe after another: the Qing Army [plundering during the Ming-Qing transition], the Taiping Rebellion, the Japanese invasion, the Nationalist forces, and the [Cultural Revolution-era] campaign to "Destroy the Four Olds.” The fact that it has survived into the present day is nothing short of miraculous.

Until 1997, that is, when it was [falsely] identified as a “forgery” by Xu Huping and his band of thieves, and sold for a pittance of 2,250 yuan, tarnishing its true value.

This is lamentable, pathetic, and utterly shameful. [Chinese]

There was online censorship of commemorations of the sixth anniversary of Wuhan ophthalmologist and COVID whistleblower Dr. Li Wenliang’s death.

Dr. Li succumbed to the coronavirus just over a month after he was censured by Chinese authorities for attempting to alert colleagues to an emerging mysterious “SARS-like virus.” Each year on the anniversary of his death, there is an uptick in online censorship related to Dr. Li, suggesting that he remains as censored in death as he was in life. Despite this, Chinese netizens continue to leave greetings and tributes under Dr. Li’s final Weibo post, which appears to remain online as a kind of safety value, and has become known as China’s “Wailing Wall.”

“Dr. Li: Six Years, Six Questions,” by Big Shot Fellini, WeChat Account Fellini Typing Away
February 7

Among the censored articles this year is “Dr. Li: Six Years, Six Questions,” which raises six questions and six corollaries about Dr. Li’s punishment for trying to alert his colleagues to an emerging medical emergency, about the lingering effects of information suppression in the early days of the COVID pandemic, about why people continue to find solace and community on Dr. Li’s Wailing Wall, and more. A short excerpt is translated below:

Dr. Li’s initial actions were not scandalous or shocking. He did not bypass the chain of command and report to higher authorities, nor did he speak out to the public; he simply alerted his colleagues to the unusual situation he had observed and advised them to take precautions.

So, the first question is: In a properly functioning system, how should such an alert be treated?

Is there timely gathering of information, which can then be verified or disproven? Or does it instantly devolve into an attempt to “silence the person who pointed out the problem,” instead of attempting to resolve the problem itself?

[…] Later, we would all learn that the answer was the latter. [Chinese]

Hong Kong democracy advocate and newspaper publisher Jimmy Lai was given a 20-year prison sentence on charges of sedition and foreign collusion.

Jimmy Lai, founder of the now-shuttered Hong Kong newspaper Apple Daily, was sentenced to 20 years in prison in early February on charges of sedition and foreign collusion. Six other Apple Daily staff members also received sentences of up to 10 years. The harsh sentence meted out to Lai was widely seen as a politically motivated attempt to suppress dissent, and met with voluble international criticism from overseas governments, human rights groups, NGOs, and journalists (including some former Apple Daily staff), although Hong Kong-based journalist groups were notably silent.

“Newspaper Publisher Sentenced to 20 Years,” by Li Yuchen, WeChat account Li Yuchen
February 9

CDT editors noted stringent online censorship of content related to Li’s sentencing. One archived WeChat post, by legal blogger Li Yuchen, attempted to dodge censorship by almost entirely omitting proper nouns: Lai is referred to as 老人 lǎorén, or "the old man"; Apple Daily as 那份报纸 nà fèn bàozhǐ, or "that newspaper"; and others by their job titles or relationships to Lai. Even "Hong Kong" is never mentioned by name, only as 那座城市 nà zuò chéngshì, or "that city." Despite this, the post was still deleted. Below is an excerpt from Li’s article, previously translated by CDT:

After the session, the old man’s wife wept outside the court. Members of the public embraced each other, saying that nothing could be done.

The old man himself calmly left the courtroom after the sentencing, his face nearly devoid of expression.

Only the [former] managing editor of the newspaper’s English edition tried to stay behind, attempting to make eye contact with people in the public gallery.

His sentence was ten years, because he had not testified against his boss.

The old man was born in Guangdong in 1947. At the age of 12, he stole across the border to that city.

According to his autobiography, a stranger at Guangzhou Railway Station gave him a piece of chocolate. This was the first time he had ever tasted it. He said later that it tasted like freedom.

He worked as a child laborer in a garment factory, and worked his way up until finally starting his own brand of clothing. Later, he launched that newspaper. Later still, he was arrested.

Now, at the age of 78, he’s facing another 20 years in prison.

Twenty years for running a newspaper.

[…] That’s 2026 for you. [Source]

There was the usual wry criticism of CCTV’s Annual Spring Festival Gala, and some spirited debate about the gala’s flashy martial-arts performance by a troupe of humanoid robots.

This year as ever, Chinese internet users engaged in the national sport of poking fun at and criticizing the quality of CCTV’s televised annual Spring Festival [Chinese New Year’s] Gala. One archived WeChat article claimed that the Gala stands alongside China’s national soccer team as a rare “safe target for online derision.” (Apparently there are limits to this safety, because the article was deleted.) But the most talked-about part of the Gala was an impressive synchronized martial-arts performance by humanoid robots.

“Sure, Those Spring Festival Gala Robots Might Be Awesome, but What Do They Have To Do With Working Stiffs Like Us?” by Li Yuchen, WeChat account Li & Chen
February 19

This post by legal blogger Li Yuchen dismisses the Gala’s flashy robot acrobatics as little more than a series of very expensive ads that have nothing to do with the daily lives of Chinese people. Li compares the relative status of China’s robots with its human citizens, and concludes that while robots are honored as flagbearers for China’s economic progress, too many human workers are treated as "huminerals"—expendable resources to fuel the economic machine. Below is a portion of Li’s article, previously translated by CDT:

Every New Year’s Eve, the Spring Festival shows you how awesome we are. We’ve got 5G, AI, quantum computing, and humanoid robots. The core technologies are homegrown and under domestic control.

What they don’t show you is what any of this progress has to do with you.

Robots are becoming more agile, while workers are becoming more oppressed by algorithms. Technology gallops forward, while ordinary people get left behind.

Onstage, man and machine dance together; offstage, the humans are worse off than the robots.

The amount that a place is willing to spend on backflipping robots reflects the amount of thought it will spare for real people.

At this year’s Gala, the robots were more lifelike than ever.

They can dance, speak, and recognize emotions … they’ll be well looked after.

And the people?

They can run, they can carry, and when they break, they’ll be replaced, and no one will care.

So in the end, are robots becoming more human, or are humans becoming more like draft animals?

Or to put it another way: Who’s treated with care in this country, and who’s an expendable resource? [Source]

To mark the third anniversary of the Xuzhou “chained woman” incident, the Free Nora grassroots media collective released a multipart report assessing government progress on combatting human trafficking and providing services for trafficked women with mental or developmental disabilities, among other benchmarks.

In late February, CDT editors archived three deleted posts from Free Nora, a diverse and independent media collective that grew out of grassroots activism following the 2022 Xuzhou “chained woman” incident. (The group’s name was inspired by Nora Helmer, the protagonist of Henrik Ibsen’s 1879 play “A Doll’s House.”) The three archived posts (1, 2, and 3) are chapters of Free Nora’s civil-society report assessing Chinese government progress on its “Action Plan Against Human Trafficking (2021-2030).” Among the report’s key findings: while efforts to combat human trafficking have intensified, the number of cases filed has fallen, and backlogs and low clearance rates are a problem; both enforcement and legislative progress are fragmented; rural women with mental disabilities continue to be at high risk of being trafficked, and are marginalized in both policy and practice; and the government’s response remains inadequate across most dimensions.

Not long after these posts were censored, the Free Nora WeChat account was shut down, one of many progressive advocacy groups hit with account bans just before March 8 International Women’s Day.

Samuel Wade also contributed to this post.

Let the music play, by Gauthier Delecroix (CC BY 2.0)

Despite administration claims that the new rules “will not affect the lives of the general public" and that they were implemented to address “national security risks [… that] may arise suddenly and unexpectedly," many legal experts and human rights groups have warned that the broadly defined amendments are “open to abuse” and represent a ratcheting up of the Beijing-imposed 2020 National Security Law that has long been used to undermine democratic freedoms and crush political dissent.

At Hong Kong Free Press, Hans Tse reported on the amendments, their potential penalties, and the expansion of who can be compelled to disclose password or decryption information—including even those with a "duty of confidentiality or any other restriction on the disclosure of information," such as journalists, doctors, and lawyers:

Under the new rules, police can require people under national security investigation to provide passwords or help decrypt their electronic devices. Failure to do so can be punished by up to one year behind bars and a HK$100,000 [$12,760 U.S.] fine.

Providing a false or misleading statement can be punished by up to three years’ imprisonment and a fine of HK$500,000 [$63,815].

Police can also compel anyone believed to know of the password or the decryption method of a device under investigation to disclose such information. Similarly, those who own, possess, control, or have authorised access to a device, as well as current or former users, can be subject to such an order.

The new rules have also empowered customs officers to freeze or confiscate assets relating to national security crimes or to forfeit “articles that have seditious intention.” [Source]

At Reuters, Jessie Pang described the expansively worded new amendments and the sweeping powers they afford to Hong Kong law enforcement:

The new amendments empower police to require a person under investigation suspected of endangering national security to provide any password or decryption method for electronic devices and to provide the police "any reasonable and necessary information or assistance."

The new amendments ⁠also empower customs officers to seize items that are deemed to have "seditious intention", regardless of whether any person has been arrested for an offence endangering national security because of the items.

Urania Chiu, a law lecturer in the UK researching Hong Kong, said the new provisions interfered with fundamental liberties, including the privacy of communication and the right to a fair ⁠trial.

"The sweeping powers given to law enforcement officers without any need for judicial authorisation are grossly disproportionate to any legitimate aim the bylaw purports to achieve," Chiu said. [Source]

SCMP’s Matthew Cheng provided further detail on other new stipulations related to censorship of online content and exit restrictions for those under investigation under Hong Kong’s National Security Law:

The amended rules also stipulate that authorities can order the removal of online messages deemed to endanger national security from any electronic platform.

Under the original provisions, police could compel the publisher who posted the message and the specific service provider to remove the content.

But authorities said past experience showed that such messages were often quickly and widely reposted across multiple platforms or uploaded again, so a more efficient mechanism was needed.

Any individual who fails to comply with the order can face a maximum imprisonment of one year in jail and a fine of HK$100,000, while a service provider’s non-compliance can result in up to six months in jail and a HK$100,000 fine.

The amendments have also tightened restrictions preventing individuals being investigated from leaving Hong Kong, stipulating that the return of travel documents or granting permission for overseas travel must not contradict national security interests. [Source]

At Australian news outlet ABC News, Claire Campbell reported on how the changes could exert a chilling effect on the city’s international business community, particularly if the new rules were weaponized for geostrategic advantage:

Hong Kong Watch’s senior policy advisor, Thomas Benson, said the organisation was concerned about how these laws would be applied, including to foreigners living in Hong Kong.

“Practically anything can become a matter of national security concern and that gives tremendous latitude for the Hong Kong government, and for the organs of the mainland People’s Republic of China state that operate in Hong Kong, to apply a national security condition and compel practically anyone,” he told the ABC.

“There’s always this concern with these laws about how they can be used to respond to the wider geopolitical picture of economic competition between China and the United States, but also Europe, Australia, New Zealand, other countries.”

[…] “These powers do seem to give tremendous ability for the Hong Kong police to compel people who work for foreign businesses to hand over their passwords and …to freeze assets,” he said. [Source]

According to Hong Kong’s Security Bureau, 386 people have been arrested for national security crimes thus far, with 176 individuals and four companies convicted. One of the most prominent targets is Jimmy Lai, the inveterate pro-Democracy campaigner and founder of the now-shuttered Hong Kong newspaper Apple Daily. In February, Lai was sentenced to 20 years in prison on charges of sedition and collusion with foreign forces. The harsh sentence meted out to Lai was widely seen as a politically motivated attempt to suppress dissent, and met with voluble international criticism. (The topic of Jimmy Lai is heavily censored on the Chinese internet: CDT has archived and translated a recent article about Lai’s sentencing that was deleted by WeChat platform censors, despite the fact that it only referred to Lai as “he” or “the old man,” to Apple Daily as “that newspaper,” and to Hong Kong as “that city.”)

At The New York Times, Vivian Wang reported on how this rare debate about inequality was touched off by the smaller than expected pension increase:

The promised increase is so meager that it has prompted widespread calls for more — even from representatives to China’s rubber-stamp legislature who usually spend their annual meeting praising Beijing’s plans.

[…] For many Chinese farmers, the payments are far from enough to live on. The average older rural resident spends about $80 a month on routine expenses, according to a government report published in 2024. About 180 million people receive the rural pension, a cohort that is set to grow as China’s population ages rapidly. (The pension also covers urban residents without salaried work, but the vast majority of recipients are farmers.)

The paltriness of the pension is one of the clearest examples of the vast inequalities in China’s economy, and the deep-rooted challenges that are often overshadowed by its much-touted progress in high-tech fields. While the country leads the world in sectors like robotics or electric vehicles, many of the workers who powered China’s economic rise, such as farmers and workers in low-end manufacturing, are suffering from stagnating wages and cutthroat competition.

Despite its socialist billing, China has a threadbare social safety net; the country’s top leader, Xi Jinping, has warned against the dangers of “welfarism.”

Rural residents have also long had far fewer benefits than their urban counterparts. While the average actual payout for rural pensioners is about 246 yuan, or $36, a month, retirees in cities receive on average almost 16 times more, or about $560 a month, according to the government’s 2025 Labor Statistical Yearbook. Retired officials get even more, on average $940 a month. [Source]

CDT Chinese editors have archived about a dozen posts, several of which were deleted from WeChat, exploring various aspects of the complex and long-running rural pension debate: how raising these pensions could help to reduce poverty and stimulate consumption; proposals for funding pension increases; society’s obligations to farmers for decades of maintaining the food supply; the growing political momentum in favor of increasing pensions; debunking arguments against increasing pensions; and more.

Our editors have also noted some censorship of the topic, most notably the deletion of a number of articles by former investigative journalist Peng Yuanwen and the closure of Peng’s WeChat account 盘点六条 (Pándiǎn liùtiáo), which was focused on the pension issue. Known for his reporting at The Beijing News, Vista and ifeng.com, Peng has been a tireless advocate for raising rural pensions. He continues to publish articles about this and other topics on his other WeChat account, 往事随想录 (Wǎngshì suíxiǎnglù, “Scribblings on Events Past”).

In one of these archived articles, Peng discusses the growing political and social momentum behind increasing rural pensions. This piece includes quotes from many NPC delegates who have advocated for a larger rise. Despite this year’s disappointingly low increase, Peng sounds a note of optimism and suggests that future years may prove kinder to China’s elderly farmers:

This year the pension increase was once again only 20 yuan, which is disappointing. But it would be unfair to say we should feel discouraged or hopeless about the future: in fact, the situation is quite the opposite.

Let’s put it this way: what was the hottest topic at this year’s Two Sessions? Without a doubt, it was raising farmers’ pensions, a topic so dominant that it seemed to crowd out everything else, almost as if it were the only pressing issue on this year’s agenda. In the two decades I have been following the topic of rural pensions, this is unprecedented.

Many delegates spoke out on the topic. By a conservative estimate, no fewer than nine NPC delegates called for raising farmers’ pensions. And the public response was overwhelming: social media sites were filled with posts garnering tens of thousands, or even hundreds of thousands of likes. The media naturally jumped on the bandwagon, contributing both original reporting and reposted content, until the topic blanketed the entire internet.

The online discourse shows that a 20-yuan increase is no longer considered acceptable by anyone. The figures being discussed are now 300, 500, or 1,000 yuan, within a timetable of three to five years. This wasn’t always the case. Just last year, [CCTV news anchor] Bai Yansong was still advocating a “rapid series of small steps" to increase pensions. That phrase has now become the biggest punchline of his career, something he surely never anticipated.

On the very day the Government Work Report announced the 20 yuan increase, [business and financial news outlet] Yicai published a commentary titled "A Great Effort Could Be Made to Raise Farmers’ Pensions." The following day, the Beijing News featured the headline "Boosting Domestic Demand Requires Raising Farmers’ Pensions." I can’t recall another time in recent years that media outlets so promptly or openly expressed dissatisfaction about a government work report.

All of this is very much a product of our times. In just one short year, a great deal has changed. [Chinese]

Another WeChat article, “Who Should be Responsible for Taking Care of Elderly Farmers?” focuses on how to allocate societal responsibility toward China’s farmers. The author makes a number of arguments in favor of increasing rural pensions, debunks some arguments opposing it, and concludes that raising rural pensions is not a problem of fiscal resources, but of political will:

Some argue that China’s rural population is too large to be supported by public funds. This is a claim that needs careful examination.

There are approximately 55 million rural residents over the age of 70. If their pensions were increased to 1,000 yuan per month, or 12,000 yuan per year ($145/mo and $1743/yr, respectively), the total annual cost would be approximately 660 billion yuan ($95 billion). This figure is equivalent to 3% of national fiscal revenue in 2024, but it is less than 40% of the military budget.

In other words, it is absolutely financially feasible to support these 55 million elderly people, at a cost of roughly 3% of annual fiscal revenue.

It makes no sense to argue that a country that can build a space station, expand high-speed rail to county capitals, and host the Olympics cannot afford to support tens of millions of elderly rural residents.

The real obstacle is not financial resources, but political priorities. The [comparatively generous] urban and public-employee pension system is backed by a vast interest group; any increase in resources flowing toward rural areas would mean adjusting the existing distribution pattern. The elderly rural population lacks a political voice, collective bargaining power, and channels through which to express their opinions about policy-making. Their resulting silence is precisely why they have been so neglected. [Chinese]

WeChat authors can try to avoid having their posts torpedoed by unruly reader replies by policing the comments on their posts. The piece therefore shows how the burden of censorship is passed down not only through official departments and private platforms, but also foisted on end users, with incentives to err on the side of caution stacking up along the way. It also reflects the increasingly common trend of turning to AI chatbots for guidance in navigating content sensitivity issues. (In their now highly regulated state, these bots appear strongly inclined to encourage compliance with censorship, rather than subversion.) The post ends with a sardonic spin on public safety slogans: "Ultimately, purifying the online environment is everyone’s responsibility!"

A few days ago I wrote a post on Sima Pu in "Swords into Plowshares," and whether or not they succesfully adapted the character. I guess it got boosted by the platform, because by the next day it had surpassed 5,000 views—not bad for a new public account.

A day later, the views surged past 12,000. Given such momentum, it looked like it should have kept climbing for another several days.

So when I checked on the morning of the fourth day, I was surprised to find that the view counter had abruptly flatlined, like someone had hit the pause button.

Even if it was no longer being actively recommended, it would make sense for the views to slow down, not stop completely.

This isn’t the stock market: there’s no movement limit!

I couldn’t make head or tail of it.

I searched for other such cases and consulted AI, which suggested I check the comments section, because it was possible that the platform had restricted the post because of violations there.

Following this advice, I checked the site backend. It seemed this theory was correct.

Around 10:00 or 11:00 the previous night, there had been several comments that were deleted by the platform for violations, though I couldn’t see what they said. Several more had been blocked automatically.

All those comments were, let’s say, less than harmonious, or a bit extreme, or involved certain political stances.

I hadn’t seen this coming, but probably should have.

As a public account newbie with no prior experience of managing one and relatively few followers, I’d mostly used the default settings. Comments, for example, were all visible by default.

In other words, if a reader leaves a comment, it’s automatically visible.

And if the visible comments aren’t very harmonious, or include sensitive words, the post might be restricted to “contain” the negative influence.

Who’d have thought that one little setting would come with such a special gift?

Fine. I guess my post was just collateral damage.

Let’s call it a teachable moment in running a public account.

My main priority now was to follow the advice and set things right.

As suggested, I deleted the comments that had been autoblocked.

Most importantly, I changed the comments setting to "Only display comments and replies approved by author" (i.e. comments on posts aren’t shown until chosen by the author).

The toggle is right at the bottom of the article settings, as pictured here:

Afterward, I took the opportunity to slack off and take a few days’ break from posting.

That post’s view count is basically still frozen where it was that day before it flatlined.

I hope everyone learns from my misfortune to manage their accounts more carefully.

Encourage readers to keep the conversation friendly, and turn on author approval for comments. If there are things like extreme comments or personal attacks, block and delete as appropriate.

Ultimately, purifying the online environment is everyone’s responsibility! [Chinese]

It contains wide-ranging provisions that encompass education, housing policy, entertainment, and other areas. The law formalizes assimilationist policies including the strict promotion of Mandarin as the “national common language” in education and public affairs. Schools and universities will no longer be allowed to teach core subjects in languages such as Tibetan, Uyghurs, or Mongolian. It also contains language suggesting restrictions on freedom of speech and potential penalties for those outside of China who "engage in activities that undermine ethnic unity" or incite "ethnic separatism."

At AP, Huizhong Wu interviewed scholars and rights advocates who worry that the new law will further erode ethnic identity and cement assimilationalist policies:

Scholars also note the mention of pushing for “mutually embedded community environments” in the law, which they say may result in the breakup of minority-heavy neighborhoods.

“The intention is to encourage Han and other minorities to migrate into each other’s communities,” said Minglang Zhou, a professor at the University of Maryland who studied China’s bilingual policies.

[…] Maya Wang, deputy Asia director at Human Rights Watch, said the law is not about ensuring equality.

“The question was never so much about ensuring their participation in the economy in an equitable manner, more inclusive manner,” because the policies are being forced on Tibetans, Wang said. “And a truly inclusive model does not preclude the ability of children to speak two languages.”

[…] The law also creates a legal base for the Chinese government to prosecute people or organizations outside China if their actions harm the progress of “ethnic unity.”

[…] Rayhan Asat, a legal scholar at Harvard University, said “the law serves as a strategic tool and gives the pretext to government to commit all sorts of human rights violations.” [Source]

A piece by Changhao Wei at the NPC Observer noted the powerful political backing behind the new law, summarized its key provisions, and described the significance of its legislative path:

The Law’s high-profile legislative journey demonstrates its importance. The Communist Party expressly called for its enactment in the 2024 Third Plenum Decision. Last August, the Party revealed that the full Politburo had discussed a draft of the Law—the first such disclosure in almost four decades. In December, the NPC Standing Committee decided to refer the bill to the NPC on the ground that it qualifies as a “basic statute” [基本法律] on ethnic affairs that constitutionally must be approved by the full legislature.

The Law’s political salience is also evident in two atypical features. First, it begins with a rare narrative preamble of over 800 characters. Only three other statutes include a preamble: the closely related Regional Ethnic Autonomy Law [民族区域自治法] and the Basic Laws of Hong Kong and Macao. Second, the Law uses Party-speak drawn from the “Twelve Musts” as the headings of three core chapters (II–IV): “Building a Shared Spiritual Home,” “Facilitating Interactions, Interchanges, and Intermingling,” and “Promoting Common Prosperity and Development.” Far from being descriptive and dry, as headings typically are, they incorporate key prongs of Xi’s doctrine and organize the Law around them. [Source]

Writing for The Diplomat, Sophie Richardson explored the broader implications of such language restrictions, and documented some specific cases of political repression aimed at language advocates:

Language restrictions are especially pernicious, eroding multiple aspects of community and identity with a goal of eradicating these communities’ distinct culture. A January 2026 report by the United Nations special rapporteur on minority rights cited Chinese government policies of language erasure as a form of “extermination,” and argued that such practices “should be qualified as genocide and be treated as such by the international community.”

The human cost of these policies is already apparent. Renowned Uyghur scholar and Xinjiang Folklore Research Center founder Rahile Dawut is serving a life sentence for “separatism” after authorities subjected her to enforced disappearance in 2017. The same year, Tibetan language activist Tashi Wangchuk was sentenced to five years in prison for advocating for greater Tibetan medium instruction in schools. In October 2024, a public security bureau in Qinghai Province detained him for 15 days for videos he posted on social media advancing his language rights activism.

Ethnic Mongolian dissident Hada disappeared over a year ago, when he was reported to be in ill health. A writer and advocate for Mongolian identity and culture, Hada spent 15 years in prison, starting in 1995, for protecting and promoting Mongolian culture, and endured round-the-clock surveillance after his release. [Source]

CDT Chinese editors have archived some past content critical of restrictions on bilingual education, particularly in Inner Mongolia, where there were mass public protests in 2020 about curriculum reform and online censorship about the end of the Mongolian-language gaokao college entrance exam in 2024. Our editors have also noted some ongoing cross-platform censorship of sensitive word combinations related to Mongolian-language suppression, such as “bilingual + education + Mongolian.” Past CDT English coverage about assimilation and language suppression includes pieces about the purging of Uyghur language books in Xinjiang; the removal of Tibetan and Uyghur language content from language-learning app Talkmate and video-sharing platform Bilibili; and interviews on the expansion of Tibetan boarding schools where students as young as four or five are forced to speak only Mandarin, and the various threats to Tibet’s minority languages.

A recent article by Zhang Zisong, first published by the freelance journalism collective Aquarius Era and archived by CDT Chinese, describes the “language gap” that now exists in Inner Mongolia and other Mongolian regions five years after textbook and curriculum changes curtailed the teaching and public usage of the Mongolian language:

In Inner Mongolia’s public spaces, one can observe the linguistic remnants of three distinct eras existing side by side. The first dates back to the decade-long Cultural Revolution, when Mandarin Chinese was dominant and Mongolian subordinate. The second era, which lasted until 2022, saw Mongolian and Chinese displayed together, with Mongolian generally given priority: "Mongolian on top, Chinese below," or "Mongolian on the left, Chinese on the right." Mongolian enjoyed clear legal status and visibility as one of the region’s official languages, and was included in ubiquitous bilingual signage ranging from the smallest shop signs to the largest public spaces and facilities.

From 2022, new public signage either followed a layout that put "Chinese on top, Mongolian below,” or used Chinese exclusively. Meanwhile, some existing Mongolian signage has been physically erased: Mongolian inscriptions have been chiseled off stone carvings and sculptures commemorating place-names have been removed, leaving only the faintest traces behind.

Perhaps the most striking example is the trilingual stone plaque at the Xanadu ruins [a UNESCO World Heritage site commemorating the remains of Kublai Khan’s legendary capital city]. Prior to 2022, the stone plaque featured inscriptions in three languages, with Mongolian at the top, followed by Chinese and English. After 2022, the Chinese inscription was moved to the top position. Uneven white scars where the original text inscriptions were scraped away remain visible.

[…] When the curriculum reform policy reached Harqin County [an autonomous Mongolian county located in Liaoning province] in 2021, Ruofeng [a pseudonym] had just entered high school and barely registered the change. But after becoming interested in ethnology at university, she began to feel that something "wasn’t quite fair." While working on a research project related to language policy, she found she couldn’t locate any official government documents on the policy change: even when the policy had first been enacted in her county, her teachers had only given the verbal explanation, “We’re not teaching Mongolian anymore.” Although the Harqin County government website still claims that Mongolian is being taught there, in fact “they stopped teaching it long ago," a discrepancy that Ruofeng finds puzzling.

Studying ethnology prompted Ruofeng to think more deeply about her own ethnic identity. In the past, lacking immersion in that cultural tradition, she had never been conscious of being Mongolian; learning the Mongolian script had only been a means to an end, a way of passing exams. Now she has begun to appreciate the importance of Mongolian script, and her sense of ethnic belonging has steadily deepened. For her, language is the only thread still connecting her to that identity.

"My younger brother is in the second year of middle school,” she says. “He probably stopped studying Mongolian by third or fourth grade, and by now he’s basically forgotten all of it. Later on, when he goes out into the world, will he still say he’s Mongolian? I wonder about that sometimes. If he leaves home, where will his sense of ethnic identity come from?"

As for those young people who are still fluent in their mother tongue, they have responded to its growing marginalization by clustering together for warmth and support. Many add "Mongolian" tags to their social media profiles as a way of recognizing one another. Most of them live in cities where, drawn together by their shared language and cultural background, they often gather for meals and conversation. [Chinese]