——从“小洛熙案”看中国社会底线的破裂与觉醒

作者：李聪玲

编辑：张致君 校对：程筱筱 翻译：戈冰

小洛熙开庭当天，宁波的冬天并不喧闹，却显得异常沉重。法院门前，没有统一组织的横幅，没有正式的动员口号，却聚集了来自各地的普通人：打工者、宝妈、老人、年轻人。他们彼此并不相识，却在同一时间站在同一个地点，只为了一个五个月大的孩子。

这是一个必须被认真对待的事实：小洛熙开庭声援不是谣言，不是“境外势力”，也不是少数激进者的行为，而是一次真实发生的、广泛的、自发的民众集结。在一个长期被塑造成“稳定”“理性”“不关心公共事务”的社会里，这样的场景本身，就已经说明了问题。长期以来，中国社会被灌输一种叙事：普通人只要“好好过日子”，不碰政治、不惹麻烦，就可以换来基本的安全与安宁。公共事务被描述成“与你无关”，不公被解释为“个案”“偶然”，而一切抗争都被贴上“闹事”“不理性”的标签。

但小洛熙案之所以刺破这种叙事，是因为它触碰的不是某个抽象概念，而是最原始、最不可退让的人性底线。一个婴儿。一个无法说话、无法维权、无法自救的生命。一个本应在医学与制度保护下被全力呵护的对象。当这样一个生命在高度专业化、制度化的医疗体系中迅速消失，而家属却被推诿、被冷处理、被质疑动机、被消耗时间时，人们突然意识到：如果连孩子都无法被保护，那么所谓的“安全”，究竟还剩下什么？

声援小洛熙的人，并不一定都懂医学，也未必掌握完整的案件细节。他们来到法院门前，并非因为每一个人都能给出严谨的法律判断，而是因为他们都读懂了一种危险的信号：制度正在用冷漠、程序与权力优势，把个体的生命价值不断压缩。

当家属面对的是一个封闭的系统——医疗机构内部调查、鉴定结论迟迟不出、信息披露高度不对称、维权成本被无限拉长，那么，这已经不仅仅是一场医疗纠纷，而是一场制度与个体之间的力量对比实验。

而人们的到场，恰恰说明了一个变化正在发生：越来越多的中国人开始明白，“事不关己”的安全感是虚假的。当制度习惯性站在强者一边，任何人都可能在下一刻成为“个案”。

在中国，真正罕见的从来不是悲剧，而是被看见的悲剧。多年来，从矿难、疫苗事件、校车事故，到铁链女、唐山事件，人们一次次被迫目睹制度失灵的后果，却又一次次被要求“向前看”“不要情绪化”。久而久之，愤怒被压抑，表达被自我审查，社会逐渐形成了一种危险的状态：悲剧被接受为常态，底线被不断下调。

但小洛熙案的不同之处在于，它发生在一个人们“以为最安全”的领域——医疗。它涉及一个“最不该被牺牲”的群体——婴儿。它发生在一个“无法用道德污名化”的家庭身上。于是，许多曾经选择沉默的人，第一次发现自己无法继续退让。有人说，到场声援的人是在“被情绪裹挟”。但恰恰相反，真正危险的不是情绪，而是长期被压制到麻木的情绪。一个社会如果对儿童的死亡无动于衷，对制度性冷漠习以为常，对家属的绝望视而不见，那才是彻底失去自我修复能力的征兆。

声援者的出现，说明还有人拒绝接受这种麻木。他们或许无法改变判决，但他们至少在表达一个清晰的态度：生命不能被轻易对待，权力不能免于质疑。这不是政治动员，而是道德本能。值得注意的是，这次声援并未出现激进对抗，也没有暴力冲突。人们只是站着、看着、等待着，用身体在公共空间中表达关注。这种克制，本身就说明了中国社会并非“无法理性表达”，而是长期缺乏被允许的表达空间。

当一个社会把所有公共议题都压缩进“内部处理”，把所有质疑都归类为“别有用心”，那么任何一次合法、和平的聚集都会显得“异常”。但异常的不是人们的出现，而是一个需要靠恐惧维持秩序的环境。小洛熙案不会是最后一起这样的案件。真正的问题是：当下一次悲剧发生时，人们是继续选择沉默，还是继续走出来？

觉醒并不意味着立刻改变制度，它首先意味着拒绝谎言，拒绝遗忘，拒绝被迫接受不公为“正常”。觉醒意味着人们开始意识到，权利不是被赐予的，而是通过持续的关注与坚持，被一点点争取的。在法院门前的那些普通人中，没有英雄，也没有领袖。他们只是明白了一件事：如果今天不为一个孩子站出来，明天就可能无人为自己站出来。一个社会的底线，从来不是写在文件里的，而是体现在人们是否还愿意为他人的不公感到不安。小洛熙案让人痛苦，但它也让人看见了一线微弱却真实的光——那是良知尚未熄灭的证明。

当越来越多的人不再把悲剧当作“别人的事”，当越来越多的人开始走到现实中表达关切，中国社会或许仍然艰难，但至少，它还没有完全沉沦。而这，正是觉醒的开始。

When a Child’s Death Brings People to the Courthouse Steps

—The Little Luoxi Case Reveals the Erosion and Awakening of China’s Social Conscience

Abstract: The Little Luoxi case sparked spontaneous public gatherings outside the courthouse, fueled by outrage and unease over the institutional indifference toward an infant’s life. It exposes the relentless decline of societal standards while showcasing ordinary citizens’ refusal to grow numb—a reawakening of conscience and action.

Author: Li Congling

Editor: Zhang Zhijun Proofreader: Cheng Xiaoxiao Translator: Ge Bing

On the day of Little Luoxi’s trial, Ningbo’s winter was not bustling, yet it felt unusually heavy. Before the courthouse, there were no organized banners or formal rallying cries, yet ordinary people from all walks of life gathered: migrant workers, stay-at-home moms, the elderly, and young adults. Though strangers to one another, they stood together at the same place, at the same time, united for a five-month-old child.

This is a fact that must be taken seriously: the courtroom solidarity for Little Luoxi was not a rumor, not the work of “foreign forces,” nor the act of a few radicals. It was a real, widespread, and spontaneous gathering of the people. In a society long portrayed as “stable,” “rational,” and “unconcerned with public affairs,” this scene itself speaks volumes. For years, Chinese society has been fed a narrative: ordinary people need only “live quietly,” avoid politics, and stay out of trouble to secure basic safety and peace. Public affairs are portrayed as “none of your business”, injustices dismissed as “isolated incidents” or “coincidences” , and all forms of resistance labeled as “troublemaking” or “irrational”.

But the Little Luoxi case pierces this narrative precisely because it touches not some abstract concept, but the most primal, non-negotiable baseline of humanity. An infant. A life unable to speak, unable to defend itself, unable to save itself. A being who should have been safeguarded with all possible care under medical and institutional protection. When such a life vanishes rapidly within a highly specialized, institutionalized healthcare system, while the family faces buck-passing, cold treatment, questioning of their motives, and drawn-out delays, people suddenly realize: If even children cannot be protected, what exactly remains of this so-called “safety”?

Those rallying for Little Luoxi may not all understand medicine, nor possess the full details of the case. They gather outside the courthouse not because each can offer rigorous legal analysis, but because they recognize a dangerous signal: the system is using indifference, bureaucracy, and institutional power to steadily diminish the value of an individual life.

When families confront a closed system—where internal medical investigations drag on, expert conclusions remain indefinitely delayed, information disclosure is severely asymmetrical, and the cost of seeking justice is stretched to the limit—this ceases to be merely a medical dispute. It becomes a test of strength between the system and the individual.

The very presence of these people signals a shift underway: an increasing number of Chinese citizens are realizing that the security of “it doesn’t concern me” is illusory. When the system habitually sides with the powerful, anyone could become the next “isolated case” at any moment.

In China, what is truly rare is never tragedy itself, but tragedy that is seen. Over the years, from mining disasters, vaccine scandals, and school bus accidents to the chained woman and the Tangshan incident, people have been forced time and again to witness the consequences of systemic failure, only to be repeatedly told to “look forward” and “avoid emotional reactions.” Over time, anger has been suppressed, expression self-censored, and society has gradually descended into a dangerous state: tragedy is accepted as the norm, and moral boundaries are constantly lowered.

But the Little Luoxi case is different. It occurred in a realm people “believed to be the safest”—healthcare. It involved a group that “should never be sacrificed”—infants. It happened to a family that “cannot be morally stigmatized.” Thus, many who once chose silence found themselves unable to retreat any further. Some claim those who came to show support were “carried away by emotion.” But quite the opposite is true: the real danger lies not in emotion itself, but in emotions suppressed to the point of numbness. A society that remains unmoved by a child’s death, that treats systemic indifference as routine, that turns a blind eye to a family’s despair—that is the sign of a society that has utterly lost its capacity for self-repair.

The emergence of supporters demonstrates that some refuse to accept this numbness. They may not alter the verdict, but they clearly express a stance: life cannot be treated lightly, and power cannot be exempt from scrutiny. This is not political mobilization but moral instinct. Notably, this solidarity remained free of radical confrontation or violent conflict. People simply stood, watched, and waited—using their physical presence in public space to convey concern. This restraint itself demonstrates that Chinese society is not incapable of rational expression, but rather has long lacked permitted spaces for such expression.

When a society compresses all public issues into “internal handling” and labels all questioning as “ulterior motives” , any lawful, peaceful gathering inevitably appears “abnormal.” Yet the abnormality lies not in people’s presence, but in an environment that relies on fear to maintain order. The Little Luoxi case will not be the last of its kind. The real question is: When the next tragedy strikes, will people choose silence again, or will they step forward?

Awakening does not mean immediate systemic change. It first means rejecting lies, refusing to forget, and refusing to accept injustice as “normal.” Awakening means recognizing that rights are not granted—they are won through sustained vigilance and persistence. Among those ordinary people gathered outside the courthouse, there were no heroes, no leaders. They understood only one thing: if we don’t stand up for a child today, tomorrow there may be no one left to stand up for us. A society’s moral baseline is never written in documents; it manifests in whether people still feel uneasy about injustice inflicted upon others. The Little LuoXi case is painful, yet it also reveals a faint yet real glimmer of light—proof that conscience has not yet been extinguished.

When more and more people stop viewing tragedies as “someone else’s problem,” when more and more people begin stepping into reality to voice their concerns, Chinese society may still face hardships, but at least it has not yet sunk completely. And this, precisely, is the beginning of awakening.