——从李维忠案看中共对言论自由的恐惧
作者／冯仍
近日，我看到湖南省益阳市人民检察院对李维忠提起公诉的一份《起诉书》。读完以后，我最震惊的，并不是其中出现了“煽动颠覆国家政权罪”这几个字，而是检察机关列出的那些所谓“犯罪事实”：写文章、发推文、转发政治观点、印刷和传播文章。这些原本属于公民表达思想和政治观点的行为，竟然被一项一项写进了刑事起诉书。
更值得注意的是，检方不仅记录李维忠在Twitter，也就是现在的X平台上发表、转发了多少条内容，甚至连这些推文获得多少评论、多少转发、多少点赞，都进行了统计。看到这里，我感受到的已经不只是一个人的案件，而是一套非常具体的政治监控和追责方式。它说明，中共不仅在意一个人说了什么，也在意这些话传播了多远、影响了多少人。
根据起诉书记载，李维忠长期在境外网站发表批评中国共产党领导和社会主义制度的文章，也曾在Twitter平台发布、转发相关政治内容。如果这些事实属实，我首先想到的问题却是：批评一个执政党，为什么可以被认定为颠覆一个国家？
中国共产党不是中国，中华人民共和国也不应该等同于中国共产党。一个公民批评执政党，反对现行政治制度，甚至公开主张民主化改革，本质上都属于政治意见。一个现代国家如果连这些声音都无法容纳，那么问题恐怕不在说话的人，而在这个制度本身。
可是，在中共建立的政治逻辑中，“党”“政府”和“国家”长期被有意混为一体。批评共产党，可以被解释成攻击国家；反对一党专政，可以被解释成颠覆政权；呼吁民主宪政，也可能被扣上“危害国家安全”的帽子。于是，一个人没有枪，没有组织武装，没有实施暴力，仅仅写了文章、发了推文，就可能面对“颠覆国家政权”的刑事指控。
这究竟说明言论有多危险，还是说明这个政权对言论有多恐惧？我认为，李维忠案中最值得关注的，恰恰不是这些文章和推文本身，而是司法机关如何把思想表达一步一步转化为刑事证据。
起诉书中还有一个细节尤其值得注意。检察机关专门统计了其Twitter账号相关内容的评论数、转发数和点赞数。为什么要统计这些数字？在我看来，这恰恰暴露了中共处理政治言论的一种基本逻辑：它不仅要判断一个人“说了什么”，还要评估这些话究竟传播了多少人。
换句话说，一个观点影响越大，在所谓“维稳”体系眼中可能就越危险。这也让我们更加理解，中国为什么投入如此庞大的资源进行网络封锁、删帖、封号、关键词过滤和舆论控制。真正令专制制度害怕的，从来不只是一个人说一句话，而是这句话被第二个人听见，再被第三个人转发，最后让越来越多的人开始提出同样的问题。
所以，一条推文的点赞、评论和转发，最终都可以变成司法文书中的数字。这已经不只是普通意义上的案件侦查，更像是在计算一种思想传播的范围。
这份起诉书对身在海外的中国人尤其值得警醒。很多人离开中国以后会认为，到了美国、欧洲，只要使用Twitter、YouTube、Facebook这些境外平台，中共就看不到，也管不到。现在看来，这是一种过于乐观的判断。
李维忠案至少说明，中国公安机关不仅会搜集境外网站发表的文章，也可能长期保存境外社交媒体账号的发言、转发和传播数据。一个人在海外说过什么、写过什么、与谁联系过，这些内容都有可能被记录下来，并在某一天成为政治案件中的材料。
这件事情对我有特别直接的触动。来到美国以后，我公开加入中国民主党，参加中国领事馆前的抗议活动，纪念六四，声援政治犯，也通过实名社交媒体持续批评中共的一党专政以及对宗教自由、人权和言论自由的打压。我还参与《在野党》的编辑和校对工作。按照李维忠案中呈现出来的办案逻辑，这些事情中的很多内容，完全可能成为公安机关记录的对象。
而这种担忧对我来说并不是抽象的。在我参加海外政治活动、发表政治言论之后，国内公安人员曾多次到我父母住所，也曾通过家人传递对我海外言论的警告；后来，我在国内的商业关系也受到政治因素影响。正因为经历过这些事情，当我看到李维忠起诉书中那些“境外网站”“Twitter账号”“境外机构”这样的文字时，我感到格外刺眼。
我看到的不是一个遥远的案件，而是一套非常现实的追责机制。它真正产生的作用，也许并不仅仅是把一个人送进监狱，更重要的是警告其他人不要说话。
一个政府不需要把所有批评者全部抓起来。只需要抓几个，只需要让几份起诉书流出来，只需要让大家知道：“你在国外网站写的文章我们也能看到，你发过多少条推文我们也能查到，甚至有多少人点赞，我们都记录着。”恐惧自然就会产生。
接下来，人们开始自我审查。这一句是不是不能发，这个名字是不是不能提，这篇文章是不是最好删除，回中国会不会出事，家人会不会受到牵连。当一个人开始主动删除自己的思想时，审查制度就已经完成了最重要的一步。
因为最高效的审查，从来不是警察每天站在每个人身后，而是让每个人心里都住进一个警察。
我始终认为，无论一个人的政治观点多么尖锐，只要他没有鼓动和实施针对他人的暴力，就应该允许他表达。你不同意一篇文章，可以写另一篇文章反驳；你不同意一种政治主张，可以公开辩论；你甚至可以认为一个人的观点完全错误，但不能因为一个人批评执政党，就把他关进监狱。
更不能因为一个人发表几十篇文章、几十条推文，就说他“颠覆国家”。如果几十条推文真的能够颠覆一个拥有庞大军队、警察、国安系统、宣传机器和互联网防火墙的政权，那么真正应该被质疑的，也许并不是那几十条推文，而是这个政权为什么如此缺乏安全感。
看到这样的案件，有人可能会说，既然说话有风险，那就少说一点。这当然是每个人自己的选择，我也完全理解这种恐惧。当公安找到我的家人，当国内的人因为我的政治活动受到询问时，我不可能毫无压力。
但这些经历也让我越来越明白，我今天之所以珍惜在美国可以公开表达政治观点的自由，正是因为我曾经生活在一个不能自由说话的社会。如果来到自由社会之后，我们仍然因为中共的恐惧而自我审查，那么人在地理上虽然离开了中国，思想上却仍然没有真正走出那堵墙。
李维忠案真正值得我们关注的，也正在这里。今天进入起诉书的是李维忠的32篇文章、36条推文；明天也可能是另一个人的YouTube视频、Facebook文章或者X平台帖子。所以，对这样的案件保持关注，不仅仅是在声援一个具体的人，也是在维护一个最基本的原则：批评政府不是犯罪，反对一个政党不是犯罪，要求民主不是犯罪，思想更不应该成为犯罪。
一个政权可以删除文章，可以封锁网站，可以把一个人投入监狱，但它很难永远封锁一个社会对真相和自由的追问。而我们能够做的，就是不要因为恐惧而主动沉默。
当一条推文都能够成为“颠覆国家”的罪证时，真正值得担忧的，从来不是那条推文，而是那个害怕人民说话的政权。
编辑：钟然
校对：毛一炜 翻译：沈美花
When Tweets Become “Criminal Evidence”: Looking at the CCP’s Fear of Free Speech Through the Case of Li Weizhong
Author: Feng Reng
Abstract: Li Weizhong was indicted by the procuratorate on charges of “inciting subversion of state power” for publishing and retweeting political articles and tweets. The author thereby questions the Chinese Communist Party’s suppression of political speech, calling on the public to cherish freedom of speech and remain vigilant against self-censorship induced by fear.
Recently, I saw an Indictment issued by the People’s Procuratorate of Yiyang City, Hunan Province, against Li Weizhong.
After reading it, what shocked me the most was not the appearance of the words “inciting subversion of state power,” but rather the so-called “facts of the crime” listed by the procuratorial organ: writing articles, posting tweets, reposting political views, as well as printing and disseminating articles.
These acts, which originally belonged to citizens expressing their thoughts and political views, were actually written into a criminal indictment, item by item.
What is even more worthy of attention is that the procuratorate not only recorded how many pieces of content Li Weizhong posted and retweeted on Twitter—now known as X—but even compiled statistics on how many comments, retweets, and likes these tweets received.
Reading up to this point, what I felt was no longer just a case involving a single individual, but a highly specific method of political surveillance and accountability. It demonstrates that the CCP not only cares about what a person says, but also cares about how far those words spread and how many people they influence.
According to the records in the indictment, Li Weizhong had long published articles criticizing the leadership of the Chinese Communist Party and the socialist system on overseas websites, and had also posted and retweeted relevant political content on the Twitter platform.
If these facts are true, the first question that comes to my mind is: Why can criticizing a ruling party be identified as subverting a state?
The Chinese Communist Party is not China, nor should the People’s Republic of China be equated with the Chinese Communist Party. A citizen criticizing the ruling party, opposing the current political system, or even publicly advocating for democratic reform essentially holds political opinions. If a modern country cannot tolerate even these voices, then the problem likely lies not with the speakers, but with the system itself.
However, within the political logic established by the CCP, “the Party,” “the government,” and “the state” have long been intentionally conflated. Criticizing the Communist Party can be interpreted as attacking the state; opposing one-party dictatorship can be interpreted as subverting state power; and calling for constitutional democracy can also be labeled as “endangering national security.” Thus, without owning a gun, organizing armed forces, or committing acts of violence, a person—simply by writing articles and posting tweets—can face criminal charges of “inciting subversion of state power.”
Does this ultimately show how dangerous speech is, or how terrified this regime is of speech? I believe that what deserves the most attention in the Li Weizhong case is precisely not these articles and tweets themselves, but how judicial organs transform the expression of thought step by step into criminal evidence.
There is another detail in the indictment that is particularly noteworthy. The procuratorial organ specifically compiled statistics on the number of comments, retweets, and likes on his Twitter account’s relevant content. Why count these numbers? In my view, this precisely exposes a fundamental logic of how the CCP handles political speech: It not only judges what a person “said,” but also evaluates how many people those words actually reached.
In other words, the greater the influence of an opinion, the more dangerous it may appear in the eyes of the so-called “stability maintenance” system. This also allows us to better understand why China invests such vast resources into internet blockades, post deletions, account bans, keyword filtering, and public opinion control. What truly frightens an authoritarian system is never just one person saying a word, but that word being heard by a second person, retweeted by a third person, and ultimately leading more and more people to start asking the same questions.
Therefore, the likes, comments, and retweets on a tweet can ultimately turn into numbers in legal documents. This is no longer just a case investigation in the ordinary sense, but feels more like calculating the reach of an idea’s dissemination.
This indictment serves as a particular wake-up call for Chinese people living overseas. Many people believe that after leaving China and arriving in the United States or Europe, as long as they use overseas platforms like Twitter, YouTube, and Facebook, the CCP cannot see them and cannot reach them. Looking at it now, this is an overly optimistic judgment.
The case of Li Weizhong shows, at the very least, that Chinese public security organs not only collect articles published on overseas websites, but may also preserve post, retweet, and dissemination data from overseas social media accounts over a long period. What a person has said, written, or who they have contacted overseas could all be recorded and become material in a political case one day.
This matter touches me in a particularly direct way. Since coming to the United States, I publicly joined the China Democracy Party, participated in protests in front of the Chinese Consulate, commemorated June 4th, voiced support for political prisoners, and continuously criticized the CCP’s one-party dictatorship and its suppression of religious freedom, human rights, and freedom of speech through real-name social media. I have also been involved in the editing and proofreading of the publication The Opposition Party. According to the case-handling logic demonstrated in Li Weizhong’s case, much of what I do in these matters could very well become targets of recording by public security organs.
And this concern is not abstract to me. After I participated in overseas political activities and published political speech, domestic public security officers visited my parents’ home multiple times and passed along warnings through my family regarding my overseas speech. Later, my commercial relationships in China were also affected by political factors. Precisely because I have experienced these things, when I saw words like “overseas websites,” “Twitter account,” and “overseas institutions” in Li Weizhong’s indictment, I found them extraordinarily piercing to the eye.
What I see is not a distant case, but a very real mechanism of accountability. The effect it truly produces may not merely be sending one person to prison, but more importantly, warning others not to speak.
A government does not need to arrest all its critics. It only needs to arrest a few, allow a few indictments to leak out, and let everyone know: “We can see the articles you write on foreign websites, we can trace how many tweets you have posted, and we even keep records of how many people liked them.” Fear then arises naturally.
Next, people begin to self-censor. Is this sentence off-limits? Can this name not be mentioned? Is it best to delete this article? Will I run into trouble if I return to China? Will my family be implicated? When a person begins to proactively delete their own thoughts, the censorship system has already completed its most crucial step.
Because the most efficient censorship is never a police officer standing behind everyone every day, but making everyone harbor a policeman inside their own heart.
I have always believed that no matter how sharp a person’s political views are, as long as they do not incite or carry out violence against others, they should be allowed to express them. If you disagree with an article, you can write another article to refute it; if you disagree with a political stance, you can debate it publicly; you may even believe a person’s view is completely wrong, but you cannot lock someone in prison just because they criticized the ruling party.
Even less should someone be accused of “subverting the state” simply for publishing dozens of articles and tweets. If a few dozen tweets can truly subvert a regime that possesses a massive military, police, national security system, propaganda machine, and internet firewall, then what should truly be questioned is perhaps not those few dozen tweets, but why this regime lacks a sense of security to such an extent.
Seeing such a case, some might say that since speaking out carries risks, it is better to say less. This is, of course, everyone’s individual choice, and I fully understand this fear. When the public security officers approached my family, and when people in China were questioned because of my political activities, it was impossible for me to feel no pressure.
However, these experiences have also made me understand more and more clearly that the reason I cherish the freedom to publicly express political views in the United States today is precisely because I once lived in a society where one could not speak freely. If, after arriving in a free society, we still self-censor out of fear of the CCP, then while we may have physically left China, our minds have still not truly walked out from behind that wall.
This is precisely where the Li Weizhong case truly deserves our attention. Today, what entered the indictment were Li Weizhong’s 32 articles and 36 tweets; tomorrow, it could be another person’s YouTube video, Facebook post, or X platform thread. Therefore, maintaining attention on such cases is not only standing in solidarity with a specific individual, but also upholding the most fundamental principle: Criticizing the government is not a crime, opposing a political party is not a crime, demanding democracy is not a crime, and thought itself should never become a crime.
A regime can delete articles, block websites, and throw a person into prison, but it can hardly forever block a society’s pursuit of truth and freedom. What we can do is refuse to actively stay silent out of fear.
When a single tweet can become criminal evidence of “subverting the state,” what is truly worth worrying about is never that tweet, but the regime that fears its people speaking out.
Editor: Zhong Ran
Proofreader: Mao Yiwei
Translator: Shen Meihua
