——写在2026年的国际妇女节
作者：张致君
编辑：胡丽莉 校对：熊辩 翻译：吕峰
三月的风吹进城市，空气带着潮湿与寒意。街角的梧桐树在风中轻轻摇晃，枝叶摩擦发出细碎的声响，像某种被压低的低语。
城市看起来依然正常：地铁照常运行，咖啡店门口排着队，商场的大屏幕滚动着广告和节日祝福。
但在中国的互联网空间里，一些声音正在悄然消失。
女性博主的账号消失了，性少数群体的讨论区消失了，脱口秀演员小帕的社交媒体账号也被封禁。她们曾经写下的文字、发出的笑声、表达的愤怒与困惑，就像被风卷走的落叶，在互联网的地面上再也找不到停留的地方。
许多人曾经相信，互联网会让表达变得更加自由。但在中国，这片海洋布满了看不见的渔网。人们看不见它，却随时可能被困住。人们以为自己在自由地游动，实际上每一步都在被监控、被记录、被计算。
中国女性与性少数群体的公共表达空间正在迅速缩小。那些曾经可以被讨论的话题——身体、婚姻、性别平等、性取向、家庭暴力——逐渐被重新划入危险的领域。
红线在移动，在收紧。而这一切，并不是突然发生的。
在中国当代政治叙事中，女性问题从来不仅仅是社会问题，它同时也是一个政治问题。
长期以来，中国官方意识形态强调一种以国家发展和社会稳定为核心的国家主义叙事。在这种叙事中，个人权利往往被置于国家目标之后，而社会角色则被赋予明确的政治意义。
女性在这种叙事中通常被定义为三种角色：母亲、妻子和家庭照顾者。
这种角色定义并非偶然。随着中国人口结构迅速老龄化、出生率持续下降，人口问题逐渐被视为国家安全与经济发展的重要议题。近年来，中国政府不断鼓励生育，从二孩政策到三孩政策，再到各地推出的生育补贴和住房奖励，国家正在试图重新塑造一种以家庭和生育为核心的社会价值。
在这种政策逻辑下，女性的身体逐渐被纳入国家治理的框架。
官方媒体频繁强调婚姻与生育的重要性，一些地方政府甚至通过行政手段鼓励女性尽早结婚生子。与此同时，一些关于女性独立、性别平等或婚育选择的讨论，却被视为“西方思想”或“极端女权”。
这种意识形态上的冲突，使女性主义与国家主义之间逐渐形成张力。
女性主义关注的是个人权利、身体自主与社会平等，而国家主义更强调人口结构、社会秩序与家庭稳定。当女性开始公开讨论不婚、不育、家庭暴力或职场性别歧视时，这些讨论往往被视为对传统家庭结构和社会秩序的挑战。
因此，许多女性主义议题在中国的公共空间中逐渐被边缘化，甚至被压制。
这种冲突并不仅仅发生在网络审查或个别案件中，而是反映出一种更深层的意识形态矛盾：当国家试图通过家庭和人口政策塑造社会结构时，女性的自主选择往往成为最先受到限制的领域。
2022年初，一段来自江苏徐州农村的短视频在中国互联网迅速传播。
视频里，一个女人被铁链锁在一间破旧的小屋里。她的脖子被粗重的铁链拴在墙上，牙齿几乎全部脱落，头发凌乱，眼神空洞而惊恐。
据当地村民说，她已经为所谓的“丈夫”生下了八个孩子。
这就是后来震惊中国社会的“铁链女事件”。
许多女性在深夜刷到这段视频时，感到一种难以言说的震动。一个现代国家，一个每天谈论科技与繁荣的社会，却仍然存在这样的场景：一个女人像牲畜一样被锁在屋里，被迫不断生育。
公众开始追问：她是谁？她从哪里来？是谁把她卖到这里？
但随着调查的展开，官方通报却一次次改变说法。地方政府先称她是“精神病患者”，后来又说她是“走失人口”，再后来又承认她可能是拐卖受害者。
几份通报之间互相矛盾，却始终没有给出清晰解释。
与此同时，大量前往徐州调查的志愿者和公民记者遭到警方阻拦，一些女性调查者甚至被警方带走讯问。互联网上关于铁链女的讨论迅速被删除。
一个女人被铁链锁住的身体，最终变成了一个被锁住的公共话题。
在铁链女事件之前，中国的女性主义运动就已经经历过一次重要的打击。
2015年3月，五名女性权利活动者计划在妇女节前夕发起反性骚扰宣传活动。她们原本只是计划在地铁和公交车上发放反性骚扰贴纸。
后来被称为“女权五姐妹”的她们，行动尚未开始，便被警方同时带走，以“寻衅滋事”的名义拘留。
这一事件引起国际社会关注。联合国和多个国家政府呼吁中国释放她们。37天后，她们被取保候审。
但这一事件成为中国女权运动的重要转折点。
许多女性主义组织被迫关闭，一些长期关注性别议题的 NGO 逐渐消失。
李翘楚长期关注劳工和女性权益。2021年，她因发布有关人权和刑讯逼供的文章被逮捕；2023年，被以“煽动颠覆国家政权罪”判刑三年八个月。
在中国，女性不仅难以讨论性别议题，也难以参与更广泛的公共事务。
2018年，中国媒体人弦子公开指控知名主持人朱军曾在央视后台对她实施性骚扰。
这一案件迅速引发中国版的 #MeToo 讨论。
许多女性开始公开讲述自己的经历。
但案件审理过程异常艰难，相关讨论在社交媒体上频繁被删除，弦子本人也遭遇巨大舆论压力。
2022年，北京法院判决弦子败诉。
这起案件在许多人看来，不仅是一场性骚扰诉讼，更像一次社会试验：女性是否能够公开讲述自己的经历。
答案令人沮丧。而发起“米兔运动”的黄雪琴，至今仍在狱中。
2021年，中国网球运动员彭帅在微博发布长文，指控一名高层官员性侵。
帖子在二十分钟内被删除。随后，彭帅从公众视野中消失。
国际社会要求调查，但在中国国内几乎无法讨论这一事件。后来，彭帅在官方安排的采访中表示自己“从未提出性侵指控”。
她在镜头前微笑。那种微笑平静得让人不安。
习近平上台后，中国多所大学的 LGBTQ 学生社团公众号被集中关闭，一些高校要求相关社团停止活动。
在官方媒体的叙述中，“性别多元”被描述为“西方文化渗透”。许多年轻人发现，她们曾经用来交流的社群一夜之间消失。
沉默再次成为一种生存方式。更多女性少数群体选择隐瞒自己的性取向，选择结婚或者形式婚姻，而性别暴力隐藏在这些不真实的关系中，许多犯罪在婚姻框架下变成“合法”。
这些现象的背后，其实还有一个更深层的政治背景：人口政策。
中国长期实行严格的计划生育政策。从1980年代的一胎政策，到后来逐步放宽为二孩，再到2021年的三孩政策。
当人口出生率持续下降时，国家的政策叙事开始发生转变。女性被越来越多地视为“人口生产者”。
官方媒体不断强调婚育责任，地方政府推出各种鼓励生育的政策——从现金补贴到住房优惠。与此同时，离婚冷静期被写入法律，一些地方开始限制单身女性冷冻卵子。
这种政策逻辑下，女性的身体再次被纳入国家治理的框架，处处彰显了中共统治下威权国家的性别政治。而在国际上中国也并不是唯一一个把性别问题纳入政治叙事的国家。伊朗的女性必须遵守严格的着装规定，2022年年轻女性马赫萨·阿米尼因“头巾佩戴不当”被道德警察拘捕并死亡，引发全国抗议。俄罗斯政府近年来强调传统家庭价值，并通过法律限制“同性恋宣传”。匈牙利总理欧尔班政府也不断强调“家庭主义”，反对性别多元政策。
这些国家的政治制度不同，但在性别议题上却呈现出相似趋势：国家试图重新定义女性角色，将其纳入民族、人口或传统价值的叙事之中。
而在这种政治逻辑下，女性与性少数群体的空间往往最先受到压缩。
从政治学的角度来看，女性运动之所以常常成为威权政府警惕的对象，并不仅仅因为性别议题本身，而是因为女性运动往往具有跨阶层、跨群体的社会动员能力。
在许多国家的历史中，女性运动往往是社会变革的重要推动力量。
女性问题几乎涉及每一个家庭。无论是婚姻、教育、就业还是生育，这些议题都与日常生活密切相关。当女性开始组织、发声和行动时，她们往往能够迅速触及广泛的社会群体。
这种广泛的社会联系使得女性运动具有一种特殊的政治潜力。
在威权体制中，政府通常通过控制媒体、压制反对党和限制公民社会来维持权力。然而，女性议题往往从日常生活出发，很难完全被政治化，也很难完全被压制。
当一个关于家庭暴力、性骚扰或拐卖人口的事件引发讨论时，它就不仅限于一个个案，也可能迅速演变为对制度的反思。
正是如此，许多威权政府往往对女性运动保持高度警惕。
在中国，“女权五姐妹”因反对性骚扰活动而被拘留，弦子的#MeToo 案件遭遇重重阻碍，铁链女事件的讨论被迅速压制，这些现象在一定程度上都反映出中共政府对社会动员的恐惧。
在中共的威权政治的逻辑中，任何能够跨越社会阶层、激发公众共鸣的议题，都被视为潜在的政治风险。
而女性运动，恰恰具备这样的力量。
当中国的女性开始讲述自己的经历、讨论自己的身体和权利时，这些看似私人和日常的议题，往往会被中共置于高度敏感的位置。
在这样的环境中，中国女性的声音就不单纯是一种社会表达，也可以被理解为一种政治行为。
历史也一再证明，极权可以压制声音，却很难彻底消灭记忆。
每一次被删除的帖子、每一个被封禁的账号、每一段被消失的讨论，都不会真正消失。它们会在人们的记忆里留下痕迹，在私人聊天、海外媒体和零散的叙述中继续流传。
铁链女的影像曾震动整个中国互联网；女权五姐妹的拘押让许多年轻人第一次意识到：性别平等也可能成为一种“敏感议题”；弦子的控诉、彭帅的失声、李翘楚的判刑，也让更多人看见权力与沉默之间的关系。
这些事件被压下了热度，但它们改变了许多人的认知。
在中共的威权社会中，权力往往试图让历史变得短暂，让公众忘记昨天发生过什么。
但社会记忆并不会完全消失。它会在新的代际之间缓慢传递，在新的语言和新的叙述中重新出现。
女性和性少数群体的声音，也许会被迫沉默一段时间，但它们不会真正消失。
因为这些声音所表达的，并不仅仅是个体的不满，而是关于尊严、身体与自由的基本问题。
三月的风仍然在城市之间吹过。
梧桐叶一片一片落下，是时间留下的痕迹。
哪怕红线不断收紧，哪怕沉默再次降临，那些微弱却真实的光点仍然存在——在记忆里，在语言里，在那些仍然愿意讲述的人心中。
Women’s Voices in an Authoritarian Era—Written on the Occasion of International Women’s Day 2026
Author: Zhang ZhijunEditor: Hu LiliProofreading: Xiong BianTranslator: Lyu Feng
Abstract: In China, the space for public expression by women and sexual minority groups is increasingly restricted. Feminist activism and related events are frequently suppressed, and online discussions are often deleted. State policies and governance logic surrounding population and social management politicize women’s roles, turning private issues into sensitive public topics.
The winds of March sweep into the city, carrying dampness and a lingering chill in the air. At the street corner, the plane trees sway gently in the wind, their branches and leaves rubbing together and producing faint rustling sounds—like whispers deliberately lowered.
The city still appears normal. Subways run as usual, lines form outside coffee shops, and giant screens in shopping malls roll through advertisements and holiday greetings.
Yet within China’s online space, certain voices are quietly disappearing.
The accounts of female bloggers have vanished. Discussion forums for sexual minorities have disappeared. The social media account of stand-up comedian Xiao Pa has also been banned. The words they once wrote, the laughter they shared, the anger and confusion they expressed—like fallen leaves swept away by the wind—can no longer find a place to settle on the surface of the internet.
Many people once believed that the internet would make expression freer. But in China, this ocean is filled with invisible fishing nets. People cannot see them, yet they may be trapped at any moment. People believe they are swimming freely, but in reality every step is being monitored, recorded, and calculated.
The public space for expression by Chinese women and sexual minorities is rapidly shrinking. Topics that were once openly discussed—bodies, marriage, gender equality, sexual orientation, domestic violence—are gradually being reclassified as dangerous territory.
The red lines are shifting. They are tightening. And none of this has happened suddenly.
In contemporary Chinese political narratives, women’s issues have never been merely social issues; they are also political issues.
For a long time, official Chinese ideology has emphasized a nationalist narrative centered on national development and social stability. Within this narrative, individual rights are often placed after state goals, and social roles are endowed with explicit political meaning.
Women are typically defined within this narrative in three roles: mother, wife, and family caregiver.
This role definition is not accidental. As China’s population structure rapidly ages and the birth rate continues to decline, demographic issues have increasingly been framed as matters of national security and economic development. In recent years, the Chinese government has continuously encouraged childbirth—from the two-child policy to the three-child policy, and through various local policies offering birth subsidies and housing incentives. The state is attempting to reshape a social value system centered on family and reproduction.
Under this policy logic, women’s bodies are gradually incorporated into the framework of state governance.
Official media frequently emphasize the importance of marriage and childbirth. Some local governments have even used administrative measures to encourage women to marry and have children earlier. At the same time, discussions about female independence, gender equality, or reproductive choice are sometimes labeled as “Western ideas” or “extreme feminism.”
This ideological conflict has gradually created tension between feminism and nationalism.
Feminism focuses on individual rights, bodily autonomy, and social equality, while nationalism emphasizes demographic structure, social order, and family stability. When women begin publicly discussing remaining unmarried, choosing not to have children, domestic violence, or gender discrimination in the workplace, such discussions are often viewed as challenges to traditional family structures and social order.
As a result, many feminist issues in China’s public sphere have gradually been marginalized or even suppressed.
This conflict does not occur only in cases of internet censorship or isolated incidents. It reflects a deeper ideological contradiction: when the state attempts to shape social structures through family and population policies, women’s autonomy often becomes one of the first areas to be restricted.
In early 2022, a short video from a rural village in Xuzhou, Jiangsu Province spread rapidly across the Chinese internet.
In the video, a woman was chained inside a dilapidated room. A heavy iron chain was locked around her neck and attached to the wall. Most of her teeth were missing. Her hair was disheveled, and her eyes looked hollow and terrified.
According to local villagers, she had given birth to eight children for the man who claimed to be her husband.
This was the case that later shocked Chinese society: the “Chained Woman” incident.
Many women who came across the video late at night felt a shock that was difficult to describe. In a modern nation that speaks daily about technology and prosperity, such a scene still existed: a woman locked in a room like livestock, forced to continuously give birth.
The public began asking questions: Who was she? Where did she come from? Who sold her into this situation?
But as the investigation unfolded, official statements repeatedly changed their explanations. Local authorities initially claimed she was a “mentally ill patient.” Later they said she was a “missing person.” Eventually they admitted she might be a victim of human trafficking.
These statements contradicted one another, yet none offered a clear explanation.
Meanwhile, volunteers and citizen journalists who traveled to Xuzhou to investigate were blocked by police. Some female investigators were even taken away for questioning. Online discussions about the chained woman were quickly deleted.
The body of a woman locked by an iron chain ultimately became a public issue that was also locked away.
Even before the Chained Woman incident, China’s feminist movement had already experienced a major setback.
In March 2015, five women’s rights activists planned to launch an anti-sexual-harassment campaign ahead of International Women’s Day. They intended to distribute anti-harassment stickers on subways and buses.
Before the campaign could even begin, they were simultaneously detained by police on charges of “picking quarrels and provoking trouble.”
They later became known as the “Feminist Five.”
The case drew international attention. The United Nations and several governments called on China to release them. After 37 days in detention, they were released on bail.
However, the incident became an important turning point for China’s feminist movement.
Many feminist organizations were forced to shut down. Some NGOs that had long focused on gender issues gradually disappeared.
Li Qiaochu had long advocated for labor rights and women’s rights. In 2021, she was arrested for publishing articles about human rights and torture. In 2023, she was sentenced to three years and eight months in prison on charges of “inciting subversion of state power.”
In China, women not only struggle to discuss gender issues; they also face obstacles in participating in broader public affairs.
In 2018, Chinese journalist Xianzi publicly accused the well-known television host Zhu Jun of sexually harassing her backstage at China Central Television.
The case quickly sparked a Chinese version of the #MeToo movement.
Many women began publicly sharing their own experiences.
But the legal proceedings were extremely difficult. Related discussions were frequently deleted from social media, and Xianzi herself faced enormous public pressure.
In 2022, a Beijing court ruled against her.
To many observers, the case was not merely a sexual harassment lawsuit—it resembled a social experiment: could women publicly tell their stories?
The answer was discouraging. Meanwhile, Huang Xueqin, a journalist who helped initiate China’s #MeToo movement, remains imprisoned.
In 2021, Chinese tennis player Peng Shuai posted a long message on Weibo accusing a senior official of sexual assault.
The post was deleted within twenty minutes. Shortly afterward, Peng Shuai disappeared from public view.
International organizations called for an investigation, but inside China the topic was nearly impossible to discuss. Later, in a carefully arranged interview with state media, Peng Shuai stated that she had “never made allegations of sexual assault.”
She smiled in front of the camera. The calmness of that smile made many people uneasy.
After Xi Jinping came to power, LGBTQ student organizations at many Chinese universities saw their social media accounts shut down simultaneously, and some universities required such groups to cease activities.
In official media narratives, “gender diversity” has been described as “Western cultural infiltration.” Many young people discovered that the communities they once used to communicate had disappeared overnight.
Silence once again became a way to survive. More women and sexual minorities chose to conceal their sexual orientation, to enter marriages or even sham marriages. Gender-based violence often remained hidden within these relationships, and some forms of abuse became “legal” under the framework of marriage.
Behind these developments lies a deeper political background: population policy.
China long implemented strict birth-control policies—from the one-child policy introduced in the 1980s to the later two-child policy, and eventually the three-child policy announced in 2021.
As birth rates continued to decline, the state’s policy narrative began to shift. Women were increasingly viewed as “producers of population.”
Official media repeatedly emphasize responsibilities related to marriage and childbirth, while local governments introduce incentives ranging from cash subsidies to housing benefits. At the same time, a mandatory “cooling-off period” for divorce was written into law, and some regions began restricting egg-freezing for unmarried women.
Under such policy logic, women’s bodies once again become integrated into the machinery of state governance—reflecting the gender politics of an authoritarian state under the rule of the Chinese Communist Party.
Internationally, China is not the only country that incorporates gender issues into political narratives. In Iran, women must follow strict dress codes; in 2022, the death of young woman Mahsa Amini after being detained by morality police for “improper hijab” sparked nationwide protests. In Russia, the government has increasingly emphasized traditional family values and passed laws restricting so-called “homosexual propaganda.” Hungary’s government under Viktor Orbán has also emphasized “familyism” and opposed gender diversity policies.
These countries have different political systems, yet similar trends emerge regarding gender issues: the state attempts to redefine women’s roles and incorporate them into narratives of nationhood, demography, or traditional values.
Under such political logic, the space for women and sexual minorities is often among the first to shrink.
From a political science perspective, women’s movements often attract the attention of authoritarian governments not simply because of gender issues themselves, but because such movements possess the ability to mobilize across social classes and groups.
In the history of many countries, women’s movements have been important drivers of social change.
Women’s issues touch nearly every family. Whether concerning marriage, education, employment, or childbirth, these issues are closely tied to everyday life. When women begin organizing, speaking out, and taking action, they often quickly reach broad segments of society.
This extensive social connection gives women’s movements a particular political potential.
In authoritarian systems, governments typically maintain power by controlling media, suppressing opposition parties, and restricting civil society. Yet women’s issues often originate in everyday life and cannot easily be fully politicized or entirely suppressed.
When an incident involving domestic violence, sexual harassment, or human trafficking sparks public discussion, it may quickly expand beyond a single case and evolve into reflection on institutions themselves.
For this reason, many authoritarian governments remain highly wary of women’s movements.
In China, the detention of the Feminist Five for anti-harassment activism, the obstacles faced by Xianzi’s #MeToo lawsuit, and the rapid suppression of discussion about the Chained Woman incident all reflect, to some degree, the Chinese Communist Party’s fear of social mobilization.
Within the logic of the CCP’s authoritarian politics, any issue capable of crossing social boundaries and generating widespread public resonance is viewed as a potential political risk.
Women’s movements possess precisely such power.
When Chinese women begin telling their stories, discussing their bodies and rights, these issues—seemingly personal and everyday—often become highly sensitive under the CCP’s political system.
In such an environment, women’s voices in China are not merely social expressions; they can also be understood as political acts.
History repeatedly demonstrates that authoritarian power can suppress voices, but it rarely eliminates memory entirely.
Every deleted post, every banned account, and every vanished discussion does not truly disappear. They leave traces in people’s memories, circulating through private conversations, overseas media, and fragmented narratives.
The image of the Chained Woman once shook the entire Chinese internet. The detention of the Feminist Five made many young people realize for the first time that gender equality could itself become a “sensitive issue.” Xianzi’s accusation, Peng Shuai’s disappearance from public speech, and Li Qiaochu’s imprisonment revealed to many the relationship between power and silence.
These events were suppressed, but they changed many people’s understanding.
In the CCP’s authoritarian society, power often attempts to shorten history—to make the public forget what happened yesterday.
Yet social memory does not vanish completely. It passes slowly between generations, reappearing in new languages and new narratives.
The voices of women and sexual minorities may be forced into silence for a time, but they will not truly disappear.
Because what those voices express is not merely individual dissatisfaction, but fundamental questions about dignity, the body, and freedom.
The winds of March continue to blow through the city.
Plane-tree leaves fall one by one, traces left behind by time.
Even as red lines tighten, even as silence returns, those faint yet genuine points of light still exist—in memory, in language, and in the hearts of those who remain willing to tell the story.
