Say you bought a drone, never flew it illegally, and even obediently left it to gather dust in a cupboard [because of the existing flight ban], and were now required to remove it from the city—would you be understanding about this, or would you struggle to accept it?

On September 11, 2026, the Standing Committee of the Beijing Municipal People’s Congress passed the newly revised “Beijing Administrative Provisions on Unmanned Aircraft.” This single decree draws an unprecedented line in terms of low-altitude security in the capital: starting from November 15, 2026, drones “may not be flown, stored, brought in, or sold” within the Beijing administrative area. The essence of the new rules can be summed up as a “citywide ban on possession.”

According to the text of the regulation, the entire Beijing administrative area is designated as controlled airspace for unmanned aircraft.

Except in cases with “special authorization” (e.g. anti-terrorism and stability maintenance, emergency response and disaster relief, major events, or with authorization following security assessments for special requirements in scientific research, training, production etc.), ordinary organizations and individuals:

• are forbidden from carrying out flight activities;
• are forbidden from possessing or storing drones or their core components;
• are forbidden from transporting or carrying drones or their core components into Beijing;
• are forbidden from selling or renting drones to organizations or individuals in the city.

Even flight control and propulsion systems are listed among the 17 designated “core components,” which rules out the possibility of simply dismantling them and hiding the parts.

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.

What will you do with your drone? [Chinese]

Drone restrictions also came up in another recent archived post about drone use by a recreational fisherman who identified and reported illegal dumping in the Yangtze River. The fisherman, a Douyin blogger known as Fishing-and-Hunting Brother Qi, frequently monitors and reports environmental issues. The author of the piece concludes:

The thing I can’t make sense of is that Hubei has all kinds of rules against shipping pollution, a “river chief” system, an inspection system … why did none of these notice the boats dumping sludge when some dude with a fishing rod and a drone was able to film the whole thing as evidence? Carry on like this and the relevant organizations will have to take a page from the Russia-Ukraine playbook and install protective covers on their boats.

Speaking of drones, last year Wuhan started to implement its Interim Measures for Management of Angling in Key Waters of the Yangtze River Basin, which banned the use of drone-assisted fishing. They won’t end up confiscating Brother Qi’s drone, right? [Chinese]

This has become the typical official response to such “indiscriminate” mass attacks: a brief police bulletin noting that the suspect was arrested and that the case “remains under investigation,” but little to no witness testimony, follow-up reporting, information on the victims, or details on the motive behind the attack. Each new incident seems to be followed by at least some online censorship, and Chinese news outlets frequently decline to conduct any investigative reporting, preferring the safer course of “waiting for further statements from the police.” This issue of excessive reliance on official notices has drawn critical commentary in a variety of other contexts.

CDT Chinese editors have archived two pieces related to the Guangzhou stabbings. The first, a now-deleted article from WeChat account Li Yucheng, takes issue with online commenters describing the attack as “indiscriminate,” given that the attacker clearly targeted only women—and more specifically, women’s faces. A brief excerpt of the piece is translated below:

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. [Chinese]

The second archived piece, an essay by WeChat blogger 昔平 (Xī Píng), is titled “Eventually, We All Learned to Keep Quiet.” Although the author does not mention the Guangzhou stabbings specifically in the text, the essay is bookended by screenshots of the statement issued by Guangzhou police. In light of this, the author discusses how censorship and self-censorship interact to erode societal discourse over time. The essay, along with the screenshots, is translated in full below:

A screenshot shows that a multiple stabbing in Guangzhou was one of the top five trending topics on Weibo on September 14. The text reads:
#PoliceBulletin#
“At approximately 5:20 p.m. on September 14, 2026, Guangzhou’s 110 emergency hotline received a report from a member of the public that a man was attacking people with a knife outside a hotpot restaurant in the Xiaoguwei neighborhood of Panyu District. Police officers quickly arrived at the scene, sent the injured individuals to the hospital for treatment, and apprehended the suspect, surnamed Li (male, 35). The victims received medical treatment and none of their injuries are life-threatening.
The case remains under investigation.
Guangzhou Public Security Bureau Panyu Substation
September 14, 2026”

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

This isn’t a skill taught in school textbooks, but it’s more practical than much of what is. As children, we were taught to "speak freely, and hold nothing back," but as adults, we discovered an even more profound wisdom: "Too much talk only leads to trouble."

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.

This wasn’t because people suddenly stopped having thoughts. Quite the opposite. It was because they had too many thoughts.

Thoughts are like treasured possessions, in that they’re best kept hidden away at home. It’s fine to take them out and examine them once in a while, but you certainly shouldn’t put them out in the middle of the street for all to see.

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.

People even grew wary about having discussions.

Before, when arguing about something, at least there was the thrill of being able to say to someone, "You’re wrong." But later, people scarcely dared to say those words, because nobody really knew what "wrong" meant anymore.

The safest mode of expression was no expression at all.

Social media posts grew “tidier” and comment sections more civil, and public debate came to resemble a freshly cleaned house: spotless floors, no trace of footprints, and scarcely a whiff of human habitation.

A fine thing, certainly.

How harmonious was a society without quarrels, how cohesive a space without differing opinions, how reassuring to live in an era where everyone says the right thing!

There was only one problem.

If everyone only says the right thing, then who will ever tell us what is “wrong”?

Probably best not to ask that question.

Asking too many questions makes you stick out from the crowd.

And so people began to self-censor in increasingly sophisticated ways. Before speaking a sentence, they would delete all the adjectives. Before writing a passage, they would delete all the opinions. Before venturing to express a viewpoint, they would delete themselves.

What remained was scrupulously cautious and hermetically sealed.

And naturally devoid of anything at all.

Surely, this must be a highly advanced civilization: everyone is safe because no one ever comes in contact with anything real.

But what’s truly terrifying isn’t a society in which people are angry.

It’s one in which everyone is too afraid to express their anger, so they bring it home with them, instead.

Not all silence is peaceful.

Sometimes silence is just emotion that lacks an outlet.

If someone suffers an injustice and vents about it, at least they’re still communicating with others. But if they don’t know who they can turn to, to whom they can vent, then all they can do is lock those feelings inside themselves.

Over time, such people are apt to grow silent and numb.

The odd thing about numbness is that it may appear more docile than anger, but it’s actually more dangerous.

If someone is angry, at least it shows they still care.

But numbness means they’ve given up believing in anything.

That’s why I’ve come to believe that instead of getting everyone to shut up, what society really needs to do is to allow ordinary people to speak, and different opinions to co-exist. When someone is unhappy with something they think is unreasonable or unfair, they ought to be allowed to ask, “Why?”

That one little question isn’t so scary.

What’s scary is if society reaches the point where no one dares to ask why.

By that point, people will still have stories to tell, but the only thing they’ll dare to talk about is the weather.

It won’t be that there’s no anger, but that anger has learned to stay silent.

It won’t be that no one saw anything, but that people have gotten used to pretending not to see.

Some say, “Silence is golden.” In some contexts, there’s real economic value in that bit of wisdom. But that kind of gold is buried so deep that even the person who buried it can’t find it anymore.

So if one day you discover the streets becoming quieter, your friends’ social media posts becoming tidier, and everyone reacting to a single event in the same way, with the same facial expression, please don’t rush to celebrate the fact that society is becoming more “civilized.”

It might just be that everyone has finally mastered the art of seeing it all, understanding it all, but saying nothing.

A truly vibrant society is never silent.

When different voices are allowed to exist, we need not be afraid of any one particular voice.

As for when we’ll relearn how to speak … I’ll just leave that question for all of you to ponder.

After all, we’re still allowed to think.

For now. [Chinese]

A screenshot of the official police bulletin shows the exact same text as the first screenshot:
“Police Bulletin
At approximately 5:20 p.m. on September 14, 2026, Guangzhou’s 110 emergency hotline received a report from a member of the public that a man was attacking people with a knife outside a hotpot restaurant in the Xiaoguwei neighborhood of Panyu District. Police officers quickly arrived at the scene, sent the injured individuals to the hospital for treatment, and apprehended the suspect, surnamed Li (male, 35). The victims received medical treatment and none of their injuries are life-threatening.
The case remains under investigation.
Guangzhou Public Security Bureau Panyu Substation
September 14, 2026”

Many of Huang’s friends and supporters, fellow journalists, and rights-defense advocates are concerned that even after her release, she may be kept under surveillance and have restrictions imposed on her freedom of speech and movement in a state of "non-release release." In the past, many released journalists and activists (including citizen journalist Zhang Zhan) have been subject to similar restrictions.

The Committee to Protect Journalists (CPJ) released a statement criticizing Huang’s “unjust imprisonment” for simply doing investigative reporting, and expressing its hope that she will not be subject to arbitrary restrictions or retaliation after her release:

“Sophia Huang Xueqin should never have spent a day in jail,” said CPJ Asia-Pacific Director Beh Lih Yi. “Her unjust imprisonment exposes the insecurity of China — a government that is afraid of independent journalism and women who dare to speak truth to power. The Chinese authorities must guarantee her full freedom, without any further delay or arbitrary restrictions.”

In a joint statement on Tuesday, CPJ was among 60 press freedom and human rights organizations that urged the Chinese government to ensure Huang is released immediately on Friday and guarantee that she could return to reporting without being subjected to surveillance, retaliation, or other forms of restrictions.

Police detained Huang and a friend, labor activist Wang Jianbing, on September 19, 2021, while they were on their way to an airport in southern China. Huang was due to fly to Britain to study at the University of Sussex.

Wang was jailed [for] three and a half years on the same charge and was freed [in 2025] after completing the sentence. [Source]

CPJ and Frontline Defenders were among the 60 press freedom and human rights organizations that issued a joint statement urging the Chinese government to “ensure Sophia Huang Xueqin’s release and guarantee her freedom from arbitrary restrictions”:

While Sophia Huang Xueqin is expected to be released on 18 September, we are concerned that she will face restrictions after leaving prison. She was subject to a ‘supplemental sentence’ of four years’ deprivation of political rights, a punishment that is routinely imposed on human rights defenders and journalists to restrict their ability to speak, publish, and organise long after their prison terms end. The legal provisions permitting this punishment are incompatible with international human rights standards, not to mention the fact that no one should be punished simply for exercising their human rights.

We call on the Chinese authorities to:

• Ensure Sophia Huang Xueqin is released immediately and is not subjected to any further arbitrary detention and allowed to move freely;
• Guarantee her rights to freedom of expression, press, association and peaceful assembly, alongside her right to participate in public life, including her ability to communicate freely with family, friends, supporters, and civil society groups;
• Ensure she is not subjected to surveillance, harassment, intimidation, retaliation or restrictions on her movement and communications; and
• Amend domestic laws, notably the Criminal Law, to ensure their compliance with international law and standards, and prevent the misuse of legal provisions to restrict the rights of human rights defenders and others. [Source]

The last five years have seen a marked crackdown on online Chinese feminist discourse and offline events and gatherings, with frequent account closures, article deletions, mass social-media bans, and curtailment of even the most cautious events and in-person gatherings. (For a longer-term perspective, see CDT’s interview with Leta Hong Fincher on advances and setbacks in women’s rights in China over the past decade.)

At the Guardian, Danny Vincent and Yu-chen Li reported on how Huang will be returning to a drastically altered landscape, one “changed by censorship, and a new generation of feminists”:

“A lot of younger, digital-native feminists today don’t know much about those earlier feminist struggles not too long ago, thanks to the state’s intentional annihilation of them,” says Eva Liu, a researcher on Chinese feminism and digital media at Ohio University.

Today, Chinese feminists employ creative ways to avoid censorship. They use new expressions to avoid posts being blocked. “It’s really a cat-and-mouse game,” says Liu.

[…] Jasmine in Beijing says: “If you want to organise a public event, anything explicitly related to feminism or LGBT issues is basically not possible, at least in Beijing. If you advertise it that way, there’s a risk the event will be shut down.

“So usually we frame the event in a more neutral way, without directly presenting it as being about gender or social issues. But once the event is taking place, we may still discuss those topics.” [Source]

The lexicon, which contains some 5,241 “sensitive” words and phrases subject to review by ByteDance internal content moderators, derives from a larger tranche of internal content-review documents that date from the first half of 2020 and were leaked by a former ByteDance employee (or employees). CDT editors have reviewed and analyzed the documents, and made them publicly available at China Digital Space. This post focuses on the “ByteDance Lexicon of Sensitive Terms.” Another post, soon to follow, will focus on 112 rules that comprise the “ByteDance Livestream Content-Review Standards.”

ByteDance is the parent company of short-video app TikTok and its Chinese sister app Douyin, as well as other popular media platforms including video apps Huoshan and Xigua, news aggregator Jinri Toutiao, the now-defunct jokes app Neihan Duanzi, and the popular AI assistant Doubao. (In early 2026, ByteDance sold most of its stake in the U.S. version of TikTok to a consortium of American investors, retaining only 19.9%.)

About the ByteDance Lexicon of Sensitive Terms (5,241 Entries)

This leaked trove reveals the company’s internal content-review mechanisms as they stood around 2020: regulatory requirements from higher-level authorities are broken down into granular detail and passed down through managerial layers, ultimately forming the basis for a minutely detailed lexicon of sensitive terms and serving as an “operating manual” used on a daily basis by frontline content moderators.

This lexicon contains 5,241 unique entries, covering the following broad categories:

Direct or coded references to certain political figures, historical events, scandals, disasters, locations, etc.

Actual names of political figures and their immediate family members, or coded references to such, using pinyin or homophone variants:

• 习仲勋 (Xí Zhòngxūn, the real name of Xi Jinping’s father)
• 习远平 (Xí Yuǎnpíng, the real name of Xi Jinping’s younger brother)
• 远pin (Yuǎnpin, a possible representation of Xi Jinping’s younger brother’s name by using a combination of a Chinese character and altered pinyin)
• 华主席 (Huà Zhǔxí, "Chairman Hua," referring to Hua Guofeng, CCP chairman from 1976-1981)
• 总理 (Zǒnglǐ, "Premier")
• 领导人 (Lǐngdǎorén, "leaders" or "leadership")
• 裆员 (Dāngyuán, "crotch members," a homophone for 党员 Dǎngyuán, "Party members")

Direct or coded references to sensitive historical or political events:

• 1989 (referring to the June 4, 1989 crackdown on protests in Tiananmen Square, Beijing)
• 08宪章 (08 Xiànzhāng, "Charter 08," a 2008 public manifesto calling for political reform, human rights, and an end to one-party rule in China)
• 19大 (19 Dà, the 19th Party Congress held in October 2017, during which Xi Jinping Thought was enshrined in the Party constitution)
• 夹边沟 (Jiābiāngōu, a notorious political re-education camp in Gansu province where thousands of accused rightists and other prisoners died of starvation during the 1959-1961 Great Famine)
• 复辟 (fùbì, “to restore” a dethroned monarch or old order—used sarcastically to refer to Xi Jinping’s perceived return to autocratic, imperial-style rule)
• 万邦来朝 (Wànbāng láizhāo, “All nations come to pay tribute”—mocking use of a classical phrase describing the imperial Chinese tributary system)

Terms related to Tibet or Xinjiang:

• 东疆 (Dōng Jiāng, “eastern Xinjiang,” an administrative region in Xinjiang that includes the Turpan-Hami Basin and the cities of Turpan and Hami.)
• 自由西藏 (Zìyóu Xīzàng, “Free Tibet”)
• 西藏人权 (Xīzàng rénquán, "Tibet human rights")

Audiovisual works and creative artists

• Politically themed documentaries, such as “The Coming War on China” (a documentary film listed with both its Chinese and English titles) and “Crouching Tiger: What China’s Militarism Means for the World” (a TV documentary listed with the Chinese title of the book it was based on, which varies slightly from the documentary’s actual title, “Crouching Tiger: Will There Be War with China?”)
• Banned films, such as 苹果 (Píngguǒ, "Apple," released internationally as “Lost in Beijing”) and 课中坏事 (Kè Zhōng Huàishì, “Bad Things During Class,” a South Korean film released internationally as “Bad Class”)
• Indie bands, including 1976 (Taiwan, indie), 16Reasons (Japan, hardcore), Miserable Faith (China, indie), Slap (China, socially engaged indie music), Panggu (Punkgod, originally from Jiangsu, now in Sweden).

Slang and coded references to prohibited guns, air guns, gun parts, and the firearms trade

This is the largest thematic category on the list, with roughly 520 entries, and includes slang and coded references to guns and gun dealers, as well as terms related to the prohibited trade in gun accessories such as barrels, air cylinders, steel BBs, rifle scopes, and even homemade blueprints for making guns.

• 狗 (gǒu, "dog," a slang term for gun)
• 狗商 (gǒu shāng, "dog merchant/dealer," a gun dealer)
• 狙击狗专卖 (jūjī gǒu zhuānmài, "sniper dog specialty dealer," a dealer who specializes in rifle scopes and accessories)
• 狗管配件 (gǒu guǎn pèijiàn, "dog barrel accessories," gun barrel parts/accessories)
• 秃鹰 (tūyīng, literally "bald eagle"; seems to refer to knockoff guns modeled on the AirForce Condor, a U.S.-manufactured pneumatic air rifle)
• 仿美国秃鹰 (fǎng Měiguó tūyīng, "replica American Condor")
• 5.5秃鹰归零 (5.5 tūyīng guīlíng, "5.5 mm/.22 caliber Condor zeroing")

Personal names and livestream-room names

This list is a mix of public figures, dissidents, and livestreamers’ online names, jumbled together indiscriminately. This suggests that the word list does double duty, allowing censors to flag and later take down “sensitive names” on both social-media accounts and in livestreaming spaces.

• 张伯笠 Zhāng Bólì (Zhang Boli, a June Fourth-era dissident turned pastor)
• 黄立成 Huáng Lìchéng (Huang Licheng/Jeffrey Huang, a Taiwanese-American hip-hop musician turned crypto entrepreneur)
• 宋建国 Sòng Jiànguó (a ubiquitous name, but this likely refers to the former director of the Beijing Municipal Public Security Bureau Traffic Management Bureau, who was sentenced to life imprisonment for bribery)
• 旋风哥 Xuànfèng Gē (“Brother Whirlwind,” a livestreamer and video creator active on Douyin, known for his shock-value stunt content)
• 极品小乔 Jīpǐn Xiǎo Qiáo (“Top-Grade Xiao Qiao,” likely an account or livestream name referencing the coquettish video-game character Xiao Qiao)
• 国服第五骚 Guófú Dìwǔ Sāo (“Fifth Sluttiest on the National Server,” a reference to controversial internet celebrity turned e-sports star Guo Lele)
• 英语课小王子 Yīngyǔkè Xiǎo Wángzǐ (“The Little Prince of English Class”)
• 大学生自习室 Dàxuéshēng Zìxíshì ("College Students’ Dedicated Study Room," a song by Hao Yu that was featured in a 2015 Ministry of Culture blacklist)

Religious groups, human-rights organizations, and various other overseas organizations, news outlets, and awards

Many of these groups appear in the lexicon numerous times, under different permutations and/or abbreviations of their Chinese and English names:

• 东方闪电 Dōngfāng Shǎndiàn (Eastern Lightning/Church of Almighty God, a monotheistic new religious movement considered a cult and banned by Chinese authorities)
• 净土宗十颂 Jìngtǔzōng Shí Sòng ("Ten Verses of the Pure Land School," another banned religious group)
• Independent Federation of Chinese Students and Scholars, IFCSS (a U.S.-based organization founded by mainland Chinese students and scholars in the aftermath of the 1989 Tiananmen crackdown)
• Oscar Human Rights Award (an annual human-rights award given by overseas Chinese pro-democracy groups in the U.S.)
• Voice of America, VOA (a U.S. government-funded outlet that broadcasts overseas in numerous languages)
• Tibetan Centre for Human Rights and Democracy, TCHRD (a Tibetan human rights advocacy organization based in Dharamsala, India, the seat of the Tibetan government-in-exile)
• Regional/Capital Area Tibetan Youth Congress, RCATYC (the Washington, D.C.-area chapter of the Tibetan Youth Congress, an international pro-Tibetan-independence youth activist organization with regional branches worldwide; the Tibetan Youth Congress has been labeled as a "separatist" organization by the Chinese government.)

Names and variant spellings of VPNs and other circumvention tools

This section includes names and shortened URLs of common VPN tools, plus variant spellings related to circumvention. Some use homophones, abbreviations, English, or pinyin to avoid censorship:

• Hotspot Shield
• Express VPN
• UltraSurf (无界浏览, Wú Jiè Liúlǎn)
• 推墙, tuī qiáng ("push down/take down the wall," in which wall can refer to the Great Firewall of China/GFW, or more broadly, to the government)
• fan墙, fan qiáng (a variant spelling of 翻墙, fānqiáng "go over the wall," to circumvent the GFW)
• THE WALL
• GFW Press

Phrases that are meaningless out of context but are often shorthand, coded references to certain scandals, crimes, trials, societal incidents, etc.

The lexicon includes a large number of phrases that, absent knowledge of the underlying incident, read as nonsensical. They may be specific social-media handles, nicknames, incident-linked place names, license plate numbers, shorthand references, or memelike phrases:

• @一只勤奋萱i, @Yīzhǐ Qínfèn Xuāni, “a hardworking Xuan” (likely a social media account name)
• 黑龙滩, Hēilóngtān, "Black Dragon Shoal(s)" (likely refers to a location, but the meaning is unclear)
• 鄂a0260w (a license-plate number in which the first character, 鄂 è, indicates the vehicle was registered in Hubei province. In 2020, a man in Hubei was filmed pilfering masks and placing them in the trunk of a vehicle with this plate. When asked, he said the masks were “for officials,” and an online outcry over cadre privilege ensued.)
• 1024专员, 1024 zhuānyuán, "Commissioner 1024" (likely a social media account known for posting videos and dashcam clips of everyday incidents, altercations, traffic accidents, etc.)
• 齐枪打鸟视频, qí qiāng dǎ niǎo shìpín, "video of shooting birds (possibly with an air rifle)”
• 11本护照, 11 běn hùzhào, “11 passports” (refers to exiled Chinese billionaire Guo Wengui, who once claimed to hold 11 passports)
• 八个口罩, bāge kǒuzhào, "eight face masks" (a coded reference to the eight people punished for "spreading rumors" in the early days of the COVID pandemic. One of the eight was Dr. Li Wenliang, who later died providing medical care to COVID patients.) [Chinese]>- 八个口罩, bāge kǒuzhào, "eight face masks" (a coded reference to the eight people punished for "spreading rumors" in the early days of the COVID pandemic. One of the eight was Dr. Li Wenliang, who later died providing medical care to COVID patients.) [Chinese]

Mini fire station, by QuantFoto (CC BY-NC-ND 4.0)

Fellini refers to journalists’ role as increasingly resembling that of a contract’s 乙方 yǐfāng, or "Party B," with government departments as 甲方 jiǎfāng, or "Party A." Originally dry legalese, these terms in popular use have acquired connotations of an imbalanced relationship in which the contractor, Party B, must uncomplainingly pander to every whim of the client, Party A, while expressing effusive gratitude for the opportunity to serve—not a dynamic conducive to effective "supervision by public opinion."

Zhejiang Propaganda put out an article the other day, titled "The Media Shouldn’t Have to Shoulder the Entire Burden of ‘Systemic Change.’" I bookmarked it, but when I tried to access it this evening, I was surprised to read: "This article has been deleted by the author."

An article discussing how the media can survive did not itself survive. But the very fact of its demise became the coda to the argument it had been making.

The circle is complete.

It was still an eight-legged essay [i.e. formal and formulaic], but I found it refreshing that it at least raised a problem that’s received little public discussion: Is the media’s current plight ultimately one of its own making?

The article wasn’t at all extreme—you could even call it gentle. It voiced no opposition to reform or challenges to mainstream values, and even its points of criticism were wrapped in the standard language of “holding the battle lines” and “shouldering the new mission.” What surprised me more was that a public account with this kind of background would concede such inconvenient truths:

The media’s plight is not just one of its own making. The media have undertaken responsibilities beyond their resources; in some places, they are given only targets, and not the conditions for reform; journalists are being reduced to Party Bs for various government departments; negative public opinion cannot be avoided in every situation; and the media need some space to work whose boundaries are not determined solely by whether the leaders are satisfied.

I left the media many years ago, but a number of younger friends I’ve known in the industry over the past ten years or so work in various “integrated media centers.” I suspect that our Zhejiang compatriots’ article struck a chord with media workers during the few dozen hours that it survived, which might be why it disappeared.

At each step of the traditional media’s decline over the past few years, it’s been widely ascribed to obsolete thinking, sluggish modernization, failing to understand the internet, and a lack of innovation. As if the media need only shorten headlines a bit, get news anchors to pivot to livestreaming, and turn newsroom lobbies into integrated media centers, and their former readers and advertisers will come running back.

This Zhejiang Propaganda article admitted that things are not so simple.

Tech platforms control the traffic, but the media shoulders the responsibility. Meanwhile, media outlets must deal with falling operating revenues and rising performance targets, and the need to expand their reach while toeing the political line, to cut costs while boosting innovation, and to fulfill public functions while earning enough to sustain themselves.

Local media aren’t facing a single reform challenge, but a whole barrage of competing mandates.

There was one bit in the article that really stung: “Some reporters and editors are even living each day in the shadow of Party A.”

This is probably the closest the article gets to the current reality of local media.

A lot of reporters these days have to write news coverage while also organizing events, shooting videos, securing new projects, and serving clients. One day they’re producing a propaganda video for some department or other; the next they’re expected to hold that same department to account. On paper, they’re journalists, but their daily workload more closely resembles that of a Party B.

So when the article said "The Media Shouldn’t Have to Shoulder the Entire Burden of ‘Systemic Change,’" it wasn’t saying that the media don’t need reform. It was a reminder that you can’t treat structural issues as a problem with media workers’ competence, still less ask why reform hasn’t been effective while removing the necessary conditions for it.

That assessment isn’t wrong. Of course, the article’s diagnosis isn’t comprehensive, either.

Traditional media aren’t just losing readers due to algorithmic diversion, platform monopolies, and funding difficulties. There’s another, unavoidable factor at play: the media’s declining informational value, explanatory power, and level of public trust.

Sometimes readers leave not because the media don’t know how to make short videos, but because the media have no timely answers to the questions that readers actually care about. When a question can be answered, often only a single, standardized answer remains.

Technology can transform news distribution channels, but it can’t replace journalism itself. No matter how advanced the integrated media hall, how young the video team, or how complete the government data, if the media can only report on safe but irrelevant facts, it will be hard for it to regain its status as the public’s gateway to information.

Zhejiang Propaganda did actually touch on this as well. The wording was restrained, but the point was clear.

The media certainly need funding, technology, and talent, but they also need room to speak. If the media have no room to raise issues, then traffic-boosting trickery will only help it blow its fluff over greater distances.

Sadly, this might be the last time we ever see this kind of common sense expressed in such “official boilerplate.”

Any illusion of "openness" always comes from something "leaking" through the cracks. [Chinese]

Editor’s Note: CDT recently conducted an audit of our “404 Deleted Content Archive” to check for duplicate entries, and the total article count has been revised accordingly.

Below is a list of key topics and some related deleted articles from CDT’s summary of deleted content for July 2026. Between July 1-31, CDT Chinese added 47 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 July included:

• The Liulan Reservoir collapse in Guangxi province during torrential rains
• Fifth anniversary commemorations of the destructive July 2021 floods in Zhengzhou, Henan province
• A parking space dispute in Changsha, Hunan province, that snowballed into a debate about cadre privilege
• Newly installed razor-wire fencing at the Mt. Tai scenic area that sparked a media war between Zhejiang and Shandong media
• Fields Medal winners Wang Hong and Deng Yu
• A CCTV “Focus” report that was criticized for “lecturing farmers about how to farm”
• Food-safety comparisons between China and Taiwan, after a recent scandal in Taiwan about carcinogenic cooking oil

The Liulan Reservoir collapse in Guangxi province during torrential rains

In July, back-to-back typhoons Bavi and Maysak brought torrential rains and flooding to parts of southern and central China, resulting in at least 39 deaths, damage to farmland and livestock, the evacuation of nearly two million residents, rare tornadoes in Hubei province, and the breach of the Liulan Reservoir in Guangxi province.

Throughout the month, CDT Chinese editors tracked censorship of social-media content about the Liulan dam breach and the Guangxi flooding, particularly articles pointing out snafus in disaster-prevention and disaster-relief efforts, or complaining of biased or inadequate reporting about the human toll of the storms. Most notable were the deletions of two long-form investigative reports from the Guangzhou-based Southern Weekly, one of which featured an in-depth interview with Liulan Reservoir station chief Xie Zhijie discussing the many failures of governance that made the breach possible: a past "reinforcement" project that never passed inspection, failed automated monitoring that forced staff to gauge water levels by eye, sluice gates that malfunctioned, an auxiliary dam that failed to collapse as it was designed to, ineffective communication, and a chain of command that left Xie and his colleagues unable to open all of the sluice gates without instructions from higher authorities. “Looking back now,” Xie says regretfully, “I should have thrown open the gates first, and reported it to my superiors later.”

CDT editors archived at least eight articles about the flooding and dam breach, including some that criticized the lack of information from government sources, the use of euphemism in official statements, and the paucity of independent investigative reporting on the disasters. On his Constructive Opinions WeChat account, blogger and social commentator Xiang Dongliang discussed the responsibilities of the media when reporting on weather-related natural disasters in China, and debunked some of the arguments about independent reporting from the scene of such disasters being “intrusive” or “threatening to social stability.”:

In recent years, whenever a major natural disaster strikes, there are always some online commenters who blame media coverage for exacerbating the situation, while others complain that the coverage is inadequate. These seemingly opposing camps are really two sides of the same coin when it comes to public-opinion control in the wake of natural disasters. Local governments, in the name of preserving “social order and stability,” will obstruct news reporting and suppress social-media discussion of the disaster. The result is a disconnect between the firsthand experiences of disaster victims and the news coverage they see, and a disconnect between the severity of the disaster and the level of public attention it receives.

The most dystopian part is that much of the criticism of “disruptive” media reports comes from those actually living in the disaster-stricken areas. I’m not blaming the victims here, I’m just pointing out that they’ve been victimized twice over: first by the natural disaster, and second by the entrenched, extremist notion that "stability overrides everything else."

In reality, disaster reporting by the news media and attention from the online public play an invaluable and irreplaceable role in both disaster relief and disaster prevention.

[…] From what I’ve observed in this round of reporting on the Guangxi floods, the coverage by bloggers and independent online media has been more timely and more in-depth than coverage by official media. In the comment sections, we can see many locals thanking bloggers and independent media for speaking up about their plight. While those in the midst of a disaster zone may not immediately recognize the "cash value" of this public attention, the simple act of “being seen” naturally gives them a sense of security. [Source]

Another deleted post, by popular online writer Wei Zhou, examined hostility to foreign reporting on disasters amid numerous official and nationalist warnings about "hostile foreign forces." Wei Zhou argues that criticizing or even impeding reporting by independent or overseas journalists due to embarrassment about “airing China’s dirty laundry” does nothing at all to help the victims of natural disasters:

Even when an accident is clearly man-made, people with a traditional mindset see it differently. If someone is in a traffic accident, our first reaction nowadays is of course to look into which driver is responsible, but for some people it’s all a matter of fate: Why did this have to happen to my loved one, and not someone else?

At first glance, fatalism looks like powerlessness, but it can bestow a strange kind of inner calm: there’s no need to expend mental energy asking why, no need to agonize over it for long, if you just write the whole thing off as an "act of God."

The problem is this: you’ll only take action to pursue truth and demand justice if you believe you have the power to do so. If not, you essentially have no motive. Often, people who do so are even mocked for their repeated failure: "We told you already, it’s pointless."

In these circumstances, people without power of their own put their hopes in a deified form of collective power. That way, they believe, "divine intervention" will deliver them from their predicament. All they can do themselves is give up their own rights, wait patiently, be sensible and uncomplaining, and then be moved and grateful once rescue has come.

No wonder some people exclaim, "We have the best people." If you look around the world, there are very few people as docile as the Chinese who, whatever negligence may occur, will quietly spare their leaders embarrassment, and take it upon themselves to defend the group’s honor. When rescue comes, those "heartwarming moments" are what’s often remembered.

But think about it: is being moved so much really what ordinary people need? I think rather than being moved to tears [by the rescue], disaster victims would prefer uneventful normality, with the whole thing never having happened at all. Real happiness doesn’t need drama, but rather successful, routine maintenance and prevention while nobody’s paying attention, ensuring that the tragedy never occurs. [Source]

Fifth anniversary commemorations of the destructive July 2021 floods in Zhengzhou, Henan province

July’s deadly floods coincided with the fifth anniversary of the destructive July 2021 floods in Zhengzhou, Henan province that killed nearly 400 people. As in previous years, there was online censorship of commemorations and reflections on the 2021 Henan flooding. Many of the themes in translated commentary on the 2021 floods resurfaced this year: a longing for accountability and transparency, and reflections upon memory and forgetting in an increasingly constrictive media environment. As commentator Xiang Dongliang wrote in a previously translated post on the current floods: "All of this ought to be common sense by now. But here we are in 2026, and we’re having to reiterate it yet again, which is truly lamentable."

Among the three deleted posts about the 2021 Henan floods archived by CDT Chinese editors in July was an article from Huang Zhijie, who blogs under the pen name “Youyou Luming.” “Forgetting often means that an essentially identical man-made disaster occurs again,” Huang writes. “An accident investigation report that came close to the truth becomes just a blank piece of paper."

Why is it that people are willing to persist, to brave the consequences, in order to express their grief and commemorate the ordinary victims of disaster?

I think it’s because those ordinary office workers, those ordinary daughters, are so much like ourselves. Their fates struck without warning, as could happen to any ordinary person.

People who had been trapped on the subway recalled their fellow passengers, after many hours of confinement, beginning to show signs of oxygen deprivation—shaking, gasping for breath, and retching—while others fainted or suffocated.

Some people online said that just reading these accounts and watching the videos was enough to give them shortness of breath, headaches, or insomnia. For some, it evoked the anxieties of the pandemic years.

When people see the minutiae of these ordinary victims’ lives, both before and after their passing, their great sorrow becomes a form of memory.

[…] Sometimes forgetting is as terrible as the disaster itself.

Forgetting often means that an essentially identical man-made disaster occurs again; that an accident investigation report that came close to the truth becomes just a blank piece of paper; that the bicycle that carried a child, a father’s raincoat, the sunglasses his daughter gave him … it means that all these details will come into our view once more.

May we who have lived through disaster avoid further disaster; and, having grasped the human causes of catastrophe, may we avoid man-made catastrophe in future. [Source]

A parking space dispute in Changsha, Hunan province, that snowballed into a debate about cadre privilege

One of July’s viral online topics was a parking dispute in Hunan’s provincial capital of Changsha that snowballed into a long-running feud and resulted in official intervention, six rounds of mediation, and the suspension of a local cadre. Online, it morphed into a wide-ranging debate on the perennial problem of local cadres abusing their privilege and trampling the rights of ordinary citizens.

CDT Chinese editors archived at least six deleted posts about the dispute, several of which were responses to an acerbic analysis by blogger Huang Zhijie (writing under his pen name Youyou Luming) of the official report. That document’s biased language seemed designed to downplay the offensive behavior of Peng Muxi, the parking scofflaw, and vilify the actions of her victim, a Mr. Min. For example, the report used markedly different words to describe the same actions: Ms. Peng “parked” her car in the space, whereas Mr. Min used his car to “block” the space.

In the end, after six rounds of mediation and heavy censorship of online discussion, the parking dispute that some dubbed “the Battle of Changsha” was resolved, restitution was paid, and Ms. Peng was suspended from her position as a deputy director at the Changsha Municipal Sports Bureau.

Newly installed razor-wire fencing at the Mt. Tai scenic area that sparked a media war between Zhejiang and Shandong media

CDT Chinese editors archived three articles about the controversy over newly installed razor wire fencing in the scenic area of Mount Tai in Shandong province. One of China’s “five sacred mountains,” Mt. Tai is a UNESCO World Heritage Site and home to many historic temples reflecting Daoist, Buddhist, and Confucian traditions. Some online commenters complained that the new fencing was unsightly (“a barbed-wire prison”) and presented a hazard to humans and wildlife, but it was negative coverage from Zhejiang media that really drew the ire of officials, media outlets, and even some bloggers in Shandong, who accused Zhejiang media of “smearing” Shandong and “meddling” in issues outside of their purview.

A now-deleted article from Song Qingren at WeChat account 天涯行路 (Tiānyá Xínglù, “Wandering the Far Corners of the Earth”) discusses the apparent spat between Shandong and Zhejiang media outlets, and reiterates the importance of allowing local media outlets to report on events outside of their own borders. A portion of Song’s article is translated below:

This kind of logic is deeply troubling, because it amounts to an implicit signal, a tacit understanding among local media outlets: I won’t expose you, and you won’t expose me. If everyone constantly reposts trivial, harmless little stories, and nobody steps on anyone else’s toes, what could ever go wrong?

[…] First, stop thinking that the Zhejiang media “smeared” you. Even if they had, they’d need real evidence with which to do so. Have you stopped to consider who might have leaked that material to the media in Zhejiang? If Shandong local media had reported on it first, would Zhejiang media have followed suit? If local media hadn’t remained silent, would there even be any need for “cross-regional media oversight?”

[…] Second, stop reflexively crying "regional smear!" Those words have become one of the most ridiculous get-out-of-jail-free cards of our era, and they’re steadily destroying our public discourse. If we followed that logic, would the investigative journalists who exposed the melamine-tainted milk scandal have had to be from Hebei? Would exposing mining disasters be the sole purview of reporters from Shanxi? Should only reporters from Sichuan have been allowed to cover the Wenchuan earthquake? If that’s the standard, then what do we even need investigative journalists for?

Third, cross-regional media oversight is absolutely essential! Local media frequently find themselves constrained for various “structural reasons” that I needn’t go into here. But if you blunt cross-regional media oversight with some kind of tacit understanding that regional media will stay out of each other’s business, well … I’ll let you draw your own conclusions.

When a region’s “dirty laundry” is fenced in by barbed wire, and outsiders are kept at bay with the label "regional smear," you tell me: as an ordinary person, what does that leave you with? [Chinese]

This debate over regional "smearing" resonates notably with the hostility to foreign media coverage previously mentioned.

Fields Medal winners Wang Hong and Deng Yu

The announcement that Wang Hong and Deng Yu, two Chinese mathematicians, won the Fields Medal was met with an outpouring of national pride on Chinese social media, as well as a flood of content about the state of Chinese academia, the level of domestic support for emerging academic talent, the role of women in STEM fields, and other related topics.

CDT archived about a dozen articles on the new Fields Medal winners, including one censored piece about a heavily edited interview with Peking University (PKU) alumnus Deng Yu. The original interview was conducted by the Beijing International Center for Mathematical Research (BICMR), but internet users quickly noticed that PKU’s republished version of the interview had been selectively edited, with numerous alterations and a question about overseas study deleted entirely. CDT Chinese editors compiled a side-by-side comparison of the original interview and PKU’s selectively edited text.

Perhaps the most viral topic was a video interview in which Wang Hong confided that she “felt a little discouraged” during her time at Peking University. The English word “discouraged” soon became a trending hashtag on Weibo, but was later censored, although some related content referencing Wang’s use of “discouraged” could still be viewed. Many Chinese social media users shared their own experiences of feeling thwarted by what they described as an overly hierarchical and inflexible academic system, and debated whether the two Fields Medal winners would have chalked up the same achievements had they remained in China. Wang’s comment clearly resonated with many Chinese netizens, and CDT archived several articles on the subject.

In one still-visible piece from blogger Xu Peng’s WeChat account History Rhymes, “Wang Hong and Deng Yu Won the Fields Medal, But How Much Credit Does Peking University Really Deserve?” the author likens the relationship between the two mathematicians and their Chinese alma mater to the deeply unhappy one between Yang Guo, the fictional protagonist of Jin Yong’s wuxia novel “The Return of the Condor Heroes,” and the Quanzhen martial arts sect:

Many say that the awards won by Wang Hong and Deng Yu, both Chinese, are a milestone for China. Chinese media has also emphasized that Wang Hong and Deng Yu are both alumni of Peking University.

[…] But how much did their success really have to do with Peking University? There’s certainly some connection there, but the university likely played a minor role.

You could call it the first step on their mathematical path. Without that first step, they might not have reached the pinnacle of their profession.

It feels a bit like Yang Guo’s relationship with the Quanzhen Sect.

If they hadn’t gone abroad, and had conducted their mathematical research in China, would they still have won the Fields Medal?

[…] They are the first two Chinese nationals to win that prize, and this goes to prove that Chinese people are capable of such an achievement.

But as the saying goes: "Orange trees grown south of the River Huai yield sweet fruit, while those north of the river bear bitter fruit.” Even the best seedlings require good soil if they’re to produce a bountiful harvest. [Source]

A CCTV “Focus” report that was criticized for “lecturing farmers about how to farm”

In July, two deleted and archived posts criticized CCTV’s “Focus” program for an investigation that alleged farmers in Jianghua County, Hunan province were endangering China’s “food security” by overstating the amount of rice they had planted. The CCTV report broadcast drone footage that showed many fields planted not with the “staple crop” rice, but with more lucrative cash crops such as tobacco, monkfruit, taro, pumpkin, and bitter melon. Some online commenters criticized the CCTV program for overlooking rural poverty, dismissing the importance of allowing farmers to make a living, and adopting an overly preachy tone that seemed to be “lecturing farmers about how to farm.”

A piece from Huang Zhijie’s WeChat account Youyou Luming pointed out some problems with both the investigation and with overly restrictive local government agricultural policies. “Farming should be a matter of respecting the wishes of farmers,” Huang wrote. “Governments at all levels should guide and support farmers, not issue arbitrary orders. History has proven countless times that famine often stems from bad man-made decisions, not natural disasters. As long as there is no brazenly criminal behavior, food security is not a problem.”

Food-safety comparisons between China and Taiwan, after a recent scandal in Taiwan about carcinogenic cooking oil

CDT also archived two deleted pieces of content about a food-safety scandal in Taiwan, involving seven batches of cooking oil found to have excessive levels of the carcinogen benzopyrene. Both articles compared the reaction in Taiwan—where there were public protests, legislative wrangling, and extensive media coverage of the issue—to the relatively quiescent public and governmental reactions to food-safety controversies in China.

A deleted article from blogger Mu Qi Says quotes several Taiwanese media commentaries on the cooking-oil scandal and praises the open societal discussion of food-safety issues in Taiwan. The author makes oblique references to the fact that in China, food-safety issues are too often swept under the rug or censored online.

Another censored piece is a satirical essay titled, “Why Did the Scandal About Carcinogenic Cooking Oil Cause Such a Big Fuss in Taiwan?” from Xiang Dongliang’s WeChat account Constructive Opinions. Xiang uses humor to skewer Chinese public passivity and government indifference to food-safety scandals, including the 2024 exposure of the widespread practice of using fuel or chemical tanker trucks to transport edible oil without washing them in between cargoes. (Note that Xiang uses the phrases “mainland compatriots” and “Taiwanese compatriots,” as is typical in writing from China, although not from Taiwan.) A short excerpt of the piece is translated below:

Taiwan’s limit for the carcinogen benzopyrene in edible oils is based on EU data and is set at 2 µg/kg. In comparison, China’s limit for benzopyrene is 10 µg/kg, which is leaps and bounds ahead of Taiwan.

Cooking oil with a benzopyrene content of 8.1 µg/kg is safe for Chinese compatriots to eat, but not for Taiwanese compatriots. This must be because their immune systems are too weak to break down such a negligible amount of carcinogens.

[…] In contrast, mainland compatriots have a much stronger awareness of the “big picture.” After the news about [two] chemical tanker trucks transporting edible oil was exposed, mainland compatriots had complete trust in the government’s authoritative investigation report. They were not curious about, nor did they question any potential problems beyond those two tanker trucks. The public opinion storm quickly subsided, and everyone returned to their peaceful and prosperous lives.

Furthermore, the fact that there was such a big fuss in Taiwan over a mere 8.1 µg/kg of benzopyrene in cooking oil illustrates a kind of “small-town mindset.” If they could get a look at the mainland’s sampling data, I’m betting they’d be horrified. [Chinese]

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. They issued punishments to the theatre and the performance organizers for violating Articles 16, 25, and 26 of the “Regulations on the Administration of Commercial Performances.” The organizers were punished with a formal warning, the confiscation of 48,687.4 yuan ($7,260 USD) in “illegal gains,” and a punitive fine of 486,874 yuan ($72,600). They were also ordered to rectify their practices and strengthen management of performers and performance content. The theatre management was given a formal warning and fined 110,000 yuan ($16,400).

Although the investigators’ statement does not specify exactly what portions of the three Articles were violated, Article 16 is a fairly straightforward regulation requiring organizers of commercial performances to submit certain materials (including a program and relevant audiovisual materials) to the local authorities in advance. This implicit stifling of improvisational elements sparked consternation late last year after an earlier brush between Guo and the authorities. Article 25 lists an expansive number of prohibitions in commercial performances, including: endangering national security, harming national honor, inciting ethnic hatred, disrupting social order or undermining social stability, harming public morality or national cultural traditions, among others. Article 26 requires venue operators or performance organizers to halt any performance that violates the provisions outlined in Article 25, and to immediately report the violation to local authorities.

The final paragraph of the report gives some hint as to the motivation and mindset behind the penalties: “Songs from the War of Resistance carry the Chinese nation’s memory of that struggle and its national sentiment, and no unit or individual will ever be permitted to distort or alter them. We will strengthen regulatory oversight in accordance with the law and earnestly safeguard the cultural marketplace."

CDT Chinese editors have archived a now-deleted post from WeChat account 难得君 (Nándéjūn), which discusses what the punishments bode for Guo Degang’s future career, and for the world of comedy in general. In "The Penalty Against Guo Degang Has Been Handed Down, But Is He Still Allowed to Perform?" Nandejun 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. Below is a translated excerpt from that censored article:

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.

This is not about appeasement. It’s about finding a balance in the complex public-opinion landscape that manages to uphold the bottom line without completely cutting off all avenues of communication.

Two opposing viewpoints seem to prevail online: one seeks to destroy Guo Degang and make things worse by escalating the issue, while the other argues that when it comes to crosstalk, any subject is fair game for jokes.

What the investigators’ report represents is an attempt to chart a new path between those two extremes. [Chinese]

Discontent has occasionally erupted after disasters, scandals or particularly brutal government actions. But something feels different lately. The pessimism is persistent. It has become part of the everyday social media feed, and can sometimes turn subversive.

China’s economic growth is slowing. A prolonged property crash has eroded the value of many families’ biggest asset while jobs have become harder to find and less secure. As the malaise deepens, more social media users are abandoning a cheery, compliant public performance and creating counternarratives that censorship can sometimes erase but not easily rebut.

Across RedNote, Douyin, Weibo and other popular platforms, you can scroll endless posts about meager wages, scarce jobs, falling property values and fear about the future. Some turn their hardships into dark humor. Others hijack official posts and hashtags and turn propaganda into spectacles of mockery.

China’s censorship apparatus still controls the internet. But prolonged economic distress is making it harder for the party to maintain its preferred account of how the country is doing. [Source]

Numerous recent translations at CDT have shown the discontent Li describes, such as disillusionment about traditional paths to success, retreat into slacking or Maoist nostalgia, and widespread frustration with the restricted online speech environment even for positive content.

While expressions of bleakness and frustration abound, the space for substantive critique or discussion of the issues behind them continues to narrow. The Economist Chaguan column discussed this constriction this week, highlighting two recent examples previously covered by CDT’s translations: the investigation of comedian Guo Degang for "vulgarizing" an old Communist song, and tight control over coverage of devastating flooding in Tibet.

[…] China still has plenty of commentary beyond pure state media, especially in “public accounts” on WeChat. Yet anyone posting there knows that taboo topics get accounts closed, a strong incentive to play it safe. More recently, artificial intelligence has given censors great power to survey the digital landscape in all its vastness and to speedily delete undesirable content. The party used to be a big step behind China’s once-rumbustious online chats; now it undoubtedly has the upper hand, says Xiao Qiang of China Digital Times, a site that monitors censorship.

It is natural to think about what the state blocks, be it foreign websites or domestic critics. But the system is far more ambitious than that. The bigger goal is to manage “the broader information landscape such that it alters what citizens know, and even what they think”, Jessica Batke and Laura Edelson wrote last year in a sweeping analysis for the Asia Society about how China controls its internet. [See CDT’s interview with Batke and Edelson.] Residents of China can still tunnel outside the country’s online firewall to see what the rest of the world is talking about. But only a small minority are so motivated, and even if someone forms dissenting views, they cannot transport them back into Chinese online discussions. Mr Xiao says his team manages to archive just one or two posts per day before they are wiped from the internet. And they have become “less and less interesting”, often quite minor in their critical scope—testimony, he believes, to China’s well-oiled information-control machine.

[…] What is lost in all of this? Limits on free speech hurt China, by making it harder to spot problems early and deal with them rationally. They may ultimately hurt the party, too, by letting grievances bubble undebated until they boil over. Yet that is surely not what China’s leaders think. They have their own internal sources of information; the public, in their view, need not be concerned by affairs of the state. This is what they have been building towards. For the party, the power to set the agenda in the modern age—to control so much of what people see and say—is a triumph. [Source]