Flames Darken the Ground: An Elegy of Our Era in the Hong Fuk Court Fire, Hong Kong
A Chronicle of a Disaster and a City’s LossBy Miao Qing, Reporter of Opposition PartyEdited by Li Congling · Proofread by Xiong Bian · Translated by Peng Xiaomei
Abstract:The Hong Fuk Court fire resulted in major casualties, exposing the collapse of safety in Hong Kong as regulatory systems fell apart, construction quality deteriorated through corner-cutting, and governance became increasingly mainland-style. The flames illuminated the city’s sense of loss and spiritual decline, becoming a historical warning of the disintegration of public safety and justice in Hong Kong.
Image sourced from the Internet
On the morning of November 26, 2025, an unexpected burst of flame tore open the silence of the city. The exterior wall of a residential tower in Hong Fuk Court suddenly caught fire. Flames climbed rapidly along the scaffolding and protective nets, like a runaway dragon of fire swallowing the entire building. When the first burst of light illuminated the whole neighborhood, Hong Kong—the city that once showed the world order, refinement, and freedom—was also illuminated with cracks it least wished to acknowledge.
As of the time of writing: 128 lives have come to a halt, 84 people are injured, and more than 200 people remain missing. Numbers appear cold in the face of disaster, yet taken together, they outline a darkness Hong Kong has not confronted for many years.
They are numbers—but behind each number is a life abruptly cut off. Hong Kong, the city once called the Pearl of the Orient, appeared especially dim in the glow of the flames.
I. What the Fire Illuminated Was Hong Kong’s Shadow
The burning of the building sounded like a violent symphony, and the cracking of windows and walls felt as though the city’s heart was breaking inch by inch. From afar, the residential block looked like a massive black candle melting in despair through the night. Some people wept uncontrollably on street corners, some ran through the thick smoke searching for loved ones, and some stood silently at a distance—trying to discern whether the fire was consuming the city in their memories: Hong Kong, the free, prosperous, international, and once safest city in Asia. The Hong Kong of “Glory Days.”
When the thick smoke rose above Hong Fuk Court, many Hongkongers’ first reaction was: “How did it become like this?”
In the past, Hong Kong rarely saw fires claiming over a hundred lives, nor large-scale disappearances. Public safety used to be the city’s pride, etched into countless immigrants’ recollections. Yet this night, the speed at which the fire spread, and the extent of the damage carried a sense of “familiar strangeness”—a familiarity rooted in mainland-style construction hazards, regulatory collapse, and systemic disorder.
What the firelight reflected was not only residents fleeing for their lives, but also the fading shadow of Hong Kong’s “glory days.” An elderly resident murmured:“This… is no longer the Hong Kong I knew.”
II. What Used to Be Safety Has Now Become Nostalgia
Hong Kong was once a model of safety among Asian cities. Its engineering standards, regulatory system, media oversight, and civic vigilance were like invisible steel beams holding the city aloft. Today, these fingers are loosening. The flammable materials on the exterior wall, the frightening speed of the fire’s spread, the shocking structural vulnerabilities, and the unclear mainland-style outsourcing and subcontracting—these were all exposed in the flames. The sense of safety that Hong Kong once had, along with transparency, justice, and accountability, were charred black in the night. This pain felt familiar to Hongkongers. It came from the accelerating push toward mainlandization—from a governance logic that places political considerations above human safety—from a “man-made disaster model” that has haunted Chinese communities for decades. Now, this model is creeping into every corner of Hong Kong.
Preliminary investigation shows: Scaffolding materials did not meet fire-prevention standards; Foam insulation panels on elevator lobbies accelerated fire spread; Portions of the fire-safety system were poorly maintained; Widespread outsourcing and subcontracting occurred during repair work.
In the Hong Kong of the past, these problems would have been unthinkable.
Standards, audits, and accountability were the three gates of Hong Kong’s building-safety regime. But after the National Security Law was enacted, the city’s priorities quietly shifted: regime security outweighed public safety; political stability squeezed out technical regulation; media and citizen oversight shrank.
When oversight is suppressed, structural flaws remain open. When construction costs are endlessly cut, inferior materials find room to survive.
Thus, the most “un-Hong Kong-like” tragedy finally occurred.
III. Silent Regulation, Sunken Lives
If the spread of flames is explosive, then silent regulation is a slow form of death. When engineering oversight weakens, when the media cannot ask questions, when civil society cannot speak, when accountability becomes mere posture rather than action, safety begins to sink—like a piece of iron dropping to the ocean floor.
The blaze at Hong Fuk Court was only one explosion at the bottom. Long before this, it had already been smoldering in the dark. Residents had long held complaints: delays in maintenance, unknown origins of materials, layers of subcontracting, communities unable to pursue accountability. These voices found no echo in a tightening political space.
Hong Kong used to be a global model of engineering rigor and public safety: transparent bidding, independent inspections, triple fire-department audits, and the ICAC’s anti-corruption oversight.
Today, all of this is fading quickly. “Mainlandization” is not only a shift in political structure—it is an entire change of governance logic: Regulation follows political directives, not institutional independence; Projects prioritize cost and efficiency, not safety; Public resources go to regime maintenance, not public welfare; Media cannot investigate; Citizens cannot participate. The familiar mainland cycle—cut corners → regulatory gaps → mass casualties → unclear accountability → repeat—is now happening in Hong Kong.
For many Hongkongers, this is the deepest wound: The city’s sense of safety and trust has been quietly removed—like a fire-scorched wall, crumbling at the slightest touch.
IV. What the Flames Scorched Was Hong Kong’s Spirit
At the fire site, a resident picked up a charred piece of metal. It was cold like a silent monument. He said softly: “Hong Kong… is no longer the Hong Kong we knew.” These words cut deeper than the flames. What burned was not only construction material.It was the spirit of Hong Kong—once refined, proud, free, diverse, brave, and unyielding.
That spirit was built over generations: By professionalism and the rule of law during the British era; By the collective effort of Hongkongers around 1997; By the belief system that supported the Pearl of the Orient’s global reputation.
Today, that spirit is being scorched into ash, drifting in the wind. The flickering shadow of the burned tower looked like a mirror reflecting the vanishing silhouette of Hong Kong’s past—more heartbreaking than the flames themselves.
In the old Hong Kong, any minor accident might trigger media investigation.In today’s Hong Kong, reporting “must be cautious,” and accountability “must be gentle.”
When oversight falls silent, accidents find fertile ground.
Every screw loosens faster; every small hazard is quietly buried—until suddenly, a massive fire shocks the world, revealing the ugliness of CCP-style governance.
V. Above the Ashes: Mourning Is a Refusal to Forget
We mourn the dead. But to remember them is also to refuse to forget why they died.
Refusal to forget prevents the fire from sweeping across another building, another street, another generation. Refusal to forget keeps Hong Kong from sinking into numbness and ashes. Refusal to forget reminds the city that its “glory days” were not poetry—they were reality, built by millions through trust and freedom. Even if today’s Hong Kong seems to have lost the key to that past, it must still be remembered and defended.
The fire at Tai Po burned Hong Kong’s spirit raw.
It marked:— The dispersal of a generation of elites shaped by the British era;— The retreat of professionalism, legal culture, and ethical responsibility;— The collapse of the order and safety the city long took pride in;— The unspeakable pain of the Pearl of the Orient dimming.
This fire did not destroy only a building—It destroyed the “glory days” in Hongkongers’ shared memory.
Conclusion: May Light Be Born from the Ashes
The flames will eventually go out. But the shadows they cast will linger long over Hong Kong’s heart. May this tragedy become a deep scar reminding Hong Kong of its former self—not a city ruled by fear, but a city upheld by freedom, institutions, and justice.
May Hong Kong find light again—not the light of fire, but the light it once possessed, the light that illuminated the future of countless young people. May Hong Kong refuse to fall silent because of pain. May the Pearl of the Orient shine again
On the ruins of Hong Fuk Court, a resident whispered: “This is not a fire problem. It is an era problem.”
We must remember this night, remember the wounds the flames revealed, remember the trust dissipating in the smoke, remember the brilliance Hong Kong’s spirit once had.
May this tragedy be not only Hong Kong’s warning, but the beginning of rebuilding justice, safety, and trust—the only path by which the Pearl of the Orient may shine once more. Not because of flames, but because of freedom; Not because of tragedy, but because of rebirth.
Opposition Party · Report by Miao QingWritten in San Francisco, November 28, 2025
The Sinister Accumulation of Evil in the Sinicized Buddhism
Author: Lu Huiwen Editor: Han Lihua Proofreading: Cheng Xiaoxiao Translation: Lyu Feng
Abstract: This article reviews the transmission of Buddhism into China and traces its evolution under successive regimes up to the present CCP-ruled China. It analyzes how “Chinese-style Buddhism” has been repeatedly appropriated by rulers as an ideological tool for pacifying and domesticating the populace, ultimately becoming an accomplice to authoritarian power.
The Sinicized Buddhism Laden with Transgressions
At the outset, I hesitated for a long time over whether to place such a strong phrase in the title. Yet it seemed that without such an extreme expression, I could not convey the depth of my indignation toward the harm Buddhism has inflicted upon China. Indeed, Buddhism—or more precisely, the Sinicized Buddhism—has caused injuries that reach down to the marrow. Its harms are countless and operate on every dimension.
Buddhism originated in ancient India around the 6th to 5th century BCE as an inconspicuous sect among hundreds of Indian religions. From its origins to the present, it has never developed into a major force within India itself. Around the turn of the Common Era (the Eastern Han dynasty), Buddhism entered China. Initially spread among commoners, it gradually surpassed China’s indigenous Daoism and minority religions such as shamanism. The reason, I believe, lies in the social context of the time: ordinary people needed some form of mass psychology to sustain their war-torn, miserable, and hopeless lives.
At the beginning of the Eastern Han, the Battle of Kunyang (23 CE) took place, followed by sixty years of continuous warfare against the Southwestern tribes, the Xiongnu, and the Qiang (40–100 CE). The suffering of commoners was hellish. In 184 CE, the Yellow Turban Rebellion erupted—a large-scale peasant uprising marking the collapse of the Eastern Han.
Ordinary people bore agricultural taxes and corvée labor (adult men serving either labor or military duty). The chronology itself shows that almost the entire Eastern Han was consumed by warfare—meaning virtually all household males were conscripted. The famous poem “The Fifteen-Year-Old Goes to War” (from Yuefu Shiji, “Hengchui Qu Ci”) laments this misery: “At fifteen I marched to war; at eighty I returned home. On the road I met a villager. ‘Who remains in my house?’ Looking from afar, I saw my home—only cypress trees and clustered tombs.”This is one of the most profound anti-war poems in ancient Chinese literature. In my view, even this poetic depiction is an exaggeration; under such conditions of ceaseless warfare and extreme privation, how many could truly live to eighty?
According to historical and archaeological studies, the average life expectancy in the Eastern Han was roughly 25–35 years (supported by Hou Hanshu reports of epidemics and famine; osteological data show most deaths occurred between ages 20–40).
Buddhism’s Core Message: Accept Suffering, Hope for the Next Life
Buddhism centers on the doctrine of future lives: monks practice asceticism; one suffers now to reap blessings in the next life; one’s own asceticism even benefits one’s children.Theravāda emphasizes self-discipline for personal liberation; Mahāyāna emphasizes spreading the Dharma and “saving all beings”—in essence, persuading everyone to endure hardship together for future salvation.
For people living in an era of constant warfare and epidemics, life was worse than death. Such spiritual consolation easily spread among illiterate and socially marginalized groups. It allowed commoners to accept hunger, disease, war, and death, believing these sufferings to be justified and even beneficial for the next life.
Thus Buddhism—an imported faith—proved more adaptive than Daoism (which requires higher literacy and metaphysical grasp). For ordinary people, Buddhism provided a hope that allowed them to survive.
For any autocratic ruling class, this mass self-consolation was a heaven-sent gift. Why wouldn’t they seize it? Consequently, rulers began promoting Buddhism. To this day, this foreign religion has flourished across China—wherever Buddhism thrives, one finds deep social suffering. Meanwhile, Christianity—naturally emphasizing individual rights and human dignity—has consistently faced suppression.
Early Political Co-optation: Kumārajīva versus Xuanzang
Shortly after entering China, Buddhism became politicized. No ruling class would ignore such a convenient free anesthetic for the populace.
Xuanzang, after his pilgrimage, received lavish royal favor. But Kumārajīva—one of the world’s four great translators of Buddhist scriptures—was persecuted for refusing political co-optation. His suffering was severe, and Chinese historical records preserve only a few hundred words about him—effectively erasing this globally significant Buddhist master.
Kumārajīva was born in Kucha (modern Kuqa, Xinjiang). His father was an Indian Brahmin monk; his mother a princess of Kucha. From childhood he studied Buddhism and achieved profound insight. Kucha thus became a key transit point for Buddhism’s entry into China. Fluent in Indian languages, Sanskrit, and Chinese, Kumārajīva became a crucial bridge between Indian and Chinese Buddhism. He translated major scriptures such as the Diamond Sutra, Lotus Sutra, and Vimalakīrti Sutra, and his thought influenced Dunhuang’s Mogao Caves and Maijishan Grottoes.
Kumārajīva translated Sanskrit scriptures into Chinese. Xuanzang, by contrast, produced transliterations—attempting to mimic Sanskrit sounds with newly coined Chinese characters, many incomprehensible because corresponding sounds did not exist in Chinese. Thus Xuanzang was essentially a “parrot” trained to reproduce foreign phonetics, yet he became a royal favorite and cultural icon.
Why the “parrot” was exalted and the sage erased? The reason lies in Kumārajīva’s defiance of political authority. His followers outnumbered the emperor’s subjects. The ruler, Lü Guang, wished to harness Kumārajīva’s charisma for political legitimacy. But Kumārajīva repeatedly refused. Lü Guang, impatient and crude, subjected him to public humiliation—forcing him to ride a crazed ox in front of crowds, intoxicate him to break monastic discipline, and imprison him naked with a woman to break his vow of chastity. All this sought to destroy his saintly image, erode public faith, and break his resistance.(Here one can see the historical precedent for political smear tactics.)
Despite immense torment, Kumārajīva did not yield. After seventeen years of captivity, famine, cannibalism, and war, he finally reached Chang’an in 401 CE. There, under Later Qin ruler Yao Xing—who admired him—he was installed at Caotang Temple and produced a large corpus of translations that shaped East Asian Buddhism.
Yet even as one of the world’s four greatest Buddhist translators, Kumārajīva was marginalized in Chinese historiography because he resisted serving political power.Xuanzang, on the contrary, ingratiated himself with the throne and was elevated into literary canon—Journey to the West being based loosely on his image.
This reflects a long-standing political logic in Chinese history:Those who obey prosper; those who resist perish.
Buddhism as a Barometer of Popular Suffering
Across Chinese history, periods of extreme social misery almost always coincide with the popularity of Buddhism. When Christianity entered China, it happened to be during periods of economic growth. Conversely, in recent years as China’s economy has deteriorated and approached collapse, Christianity has been increasingly suppressed—preaching has been criminalized, and pastors imprisoned.
China is nominally not a theocracy, yet the flourishing or suppression of religion reflects political conditions with remarkable precision.
Originally, Buddhism encouraged compassion, mercy, and inner cultivation. Yet in China it was transformed into a doctrine teaching the ruled that only by enduring suffering could they secure a favorable rebirth; that enjoying blessings now would bring misfortune later, or exhaust their children’s good fortune. Such ideas—deeply rooted in folklore—have shaped the cultural psychology of self-abnegation, passivity, and resignation.
Thus Buddhism became a mechanism for psychological subjugation. From customs to festivals, language to daily life, Sinicized Buddhism permeates Chinese culture.
Examples of Cultural Penetration
Karma and retribution: People believe “good is rewarded, evil punished,” and await cosmic justice while rulers plunder unrestrained.
“Suffering is a blessing”: Ordinary people work fourteen-hour days, endure 996 or 007 schedules without protest, believing hardship builds future fortune.
Vegetarianism as moral purity: Many equate eating meat with “killing life,” leading to widespread qi-blood deficiency uncommon in Western populations.
Leniency toward wrongdoing: The saying “A butcher who lays down the knife becomes a Buddha” undermines rule of law and valorizes mercy over legal accountability.
Meanwhile, the ruling elite enjoys unimaginable wealth—for example, online rumors about Xi Jinping’s alleged daughter Yang Lanlan’s staggering allowance of 135 million RMB—numbers beyond ordinary comprehension.
Reincarnation: Sufferers console themselves that enduring hardship ensures rebirth as humans, while corrupt officials will be reborn in lower realms. Thus they enter a self-reinforcing loop of resignation.
Past-life karma: Enormous inequality—retired cadres earning tens of thousands while farmers receive less than 200 RMB—gets justified as “previous-life karma,” pacifying resentment.
Burning incense and worship: Amid economic downturn and suffocating control, people attribute misery to “unlucky years” rather than structural oppression. Donations and incense fuel monastic elites rather than improve living conditions.
Rituals for the dead: When the actor Yu Menglong reportedly died under suspicious political circumstances, the public, unable to seek justice, resorted to reciting scriptures to Kṣitigarbha. Lacking rights and legal recourse, people fall back on Buddhism—which explains why Buddhism must serve politics. Had Kumārajīva understood this, he would have enjoyed endless wealth.
Conclusion: The Structural Violence of Sinicized Buddhism
Buddhism permeates Chinese life so deeply that it functions as a political technology—an invisible force dissolving crises of rule. Its role in governance has often surpassed that of armies.
The greatest crime of Sinicized Buddhism is that it does not help people become better individuals—it helps them become better sacrifices, and willingly so.
[Editor’s Note] The views expressed in this article are solely those of the author and do not represent the editorial stance of this magazine.
Abstract:This article analyzes the governing logic that sustains the CCP’s dictatorial system. It argues that the regime’s legitimacy does not originate from genuine public trust but from its absolute monopoly over truth, information, and language. When the Party presents itself as the sole representative of the nation and the people, truth loses its space to exist and lies become institutionalized tools of governance.
Across politics, economics, and education, the CCP manufactures an illusion of “prosperity” through propaganda, falsified data, ideological indoctrination, and systemic deceit. Yet the more lies accumulate, the more fragile social trust becomes — and the collapse of trust inevitably signals the erosion of the system’s very foundation. Youth unemployment, an anemic economy, suffocated academia, and the suppression of public discourse all reveal a regime that relies on illusions and is now corroding from within.
The article concludes that any political system built on falsehood will eventually be consumed by its own lies. Truth may be suppressed, but it cannot be erased. The moment people refuse to be deceived marks the beginning of the end of totalitarian rule.
The foundation of any regime lies not in military strength but in whether people believe in its legitimacy. Guns can force obedience but cannot command genuine trust. For a government to endure, it must convince the people to believe in what it says — to believe in its system, its values, and its promises. Tragically, the CCP has never possessed such trust. Instead, it disguises “credibility” as a political product and sustains a façade of legitimacy through an endless stream of lies.
The CCP’s ruling philosophy rests on a monopoly over “truth.” It declares itself the sole owner of truth, binding the Party to the nation, the government to the people, and power to justice. Its endlessly repeated slogan — “Without the Communist Party, there would be no New China” — is not merely propaganda; it is the core logic of political brainwashing. When the Party succeeds in convincing the public that “China will collapse without the CCP,” the need for truth disappears entirely.
Thus, lies become institutionalized. Information is censored, public opinion manipulated, history rewritten — even language itself is redefined. People’s thoughts are pruned into a single voice: praise, obedience, submission. When questioning the government is labeled “betrayal” and honesty is punished while silence is rewarded, social trust collapses.
“Serving the people” becomes nothing more than a fig leaf for power.
“Common prosperity” becomes a political slogan for expanding state capital.
“National rejuvenation” becomes mere rhetoric to legitimize one-party rule.
Each slogan is an extension of the system of lies. The CCP does not govern through truth, but through the constant creation of believable illusions. Yet credibility cannot be fabricated indefinitely. The more a country relies on lies, the more violence and fear it must employ. When people no longer believe official news, statistics, laws, or institutions, the fundamental social fabric is destroyed. Once trust collapses, even the strongest military cannot save a regime from rotting from within.
In a totalitarian system, numbers are not facts, but tools of control. GDP growth rates, unemployment figures, household income, fiscal surpluses — indicators originally designed to reflect reality — are transformed into symbols of “political stability.” The authorities care not whether the economy is truly improving but whether the numbers are “obedient.”
The CCP’s economic mythology rests on two pillars: fabrication and control.
The production of falsified data is a top-down institutional conspiracy. Officials at every level know that if the numbers look good, their positions are secure; as long as reports are pleasing, truth becomes irrelevant. Hence the absurd logic emerges: “Reports matter more than reality; numbers matter more than lives.” Local authorities conceal disasters, higher-ups whitewash crises, and the national statistical system becomes a grand theater — the audience weeps with patriotic emotion while the actors know they are performing fiction. A fabricated tale of prosperity becomes the blueprint for the future. This manipulation of numbers is the most sophisticated form of totalitarian deception. By manufacturing prosperity, manipulating statistics, and distorting reality, the regime maintains an illusion of legitimacy. People are not allowed to know “how bad the economy is,” only that “everything is improving.” Society enters a state of collective hypnosis — everyone suspects the truth but must pretend to believe the lie.
A genuine economy must be built on rules, fairness, and transparency. In China, these principles have become taboos. Citizens no longer trust statistics, businesses no longer trust policies, and investors no longer trust the future. The collapse of trust marks the economic endgame.
China’s skylines may still rise and numbers may still appear dazzling, but the foundation has already rotted. The stock market devours small investors, real estate crumbles, unemployment surges, and foreign capital flees — the inevitable consequences of lies. The CCP can fabricate prosperity and suppress truth, but it cannot stop the accelerating collapse.
(Image courtesy of Zhang Yu; photo shows Zhang Yu participating in an anti-CCP protest at the Chinese Consulate in Los Angeles.)
Education should be the purest foundation of a nation. It should cultivate rationality, freedom, and the pursuit of truth. Yet under the CCP, schools have long ceased to be institutions of education; they have become factories of ideology. Textbooks are rewritten. History is erased. Thought is sanitized. From primary school onward, children are taught to “love the Party,” “love the motherland,” and recite political slogans instead of learning to think independently. The CCP repeatedly proclaims “education revitalizes the nation” and “youth are the future,” yet the very thing it fears most is young people with independent minds. Thus, in the soil of education, it plants not knowledge and truth, but obedience and fear.
Higher education fares no better. Universities have become extensions of political power rather than sanctuaries of academic freedom. Professors who speak honestly are dismissed; students who question the system are reported; intellectual diversity has been eradicated. Research funding is tied to political loyalty; academic output reduced to propaganda. A generation of the country’s brightest minds has become its most silent — learning how to navigate lies rather than pursue truth.
And when these young people enter society, they encounter another lie: employment.
Official unemployment remains “stable,” yet millions of graduates’ drift with nowhere to go. “Flexible employment” becomes a euphemism for mass joblessness. Countless young people are forced into food delivery, ride-hailing, livestreaming — using their bodies to fill the systemic void.
The CCP refuses to acknowledge this reality, because youth unemployment threatens the regime’s legitimacy. The media instead urges young people to “endure hardship,” condemns “lying flat,” glorifies civil service exams, and repackages oppression as “self-improvement.” Voices demanding justice are condemned as “negative energy,” and young truth-tellers are told to “stay positive.” This is not education — it is domestication.
When young people no longer believe in the future, the country has no future.
The CCP has robbed education of honesty, robbed youth of direction, and plunged society into collective spiritual emptiness. “Talent revitalization” becomes an empty slogan; “youth as hope” becomes self-deception. In a system built on lies, even the brightest minds are forced into silence.
What is being destroyed is not merely job opportunities but freedom of thought, personal dignity, and an entire generation’s belief in meaning.
Today’s China is wrapped in layers of lies.
Healthcare is a façade; pensions are hollow;the stock market is manipulated; education is indoctrination;employment is misreported; reality is painted over.
What is collapsing is not numbers, but the structure of trust. Lies seep like poison into every vein of the system — corroding values, eroding conscience, extinguishing hope. When a nation’s entire credibility system collapses, the machine may still run, and the lights may remain on, but only the shell is left.
Because the essence of a lie is self-destruction.
A lie demands new lies to cover old ones, until the entire structure spirals into madness. A nation without truth is like a room without air — no amount of decoration can conceal the suffocation. When credibility collapses, people cease believing the government, the system, and eventually each other. What collapses is not only the regime, but the final line of a nation’s spiritual defense.
The CCP may continue to feign strength, fabricate prosperity, and maintain order through coercion. But truth will not sleep forever. It will resurface — in a suppressed night, in the awakening of an ordinary person, in a seemingly accidental spark. Because truth does not belong to a regime. It belongs to human conscience.
When people finally refuse to believe the lies, that moment will mark the beginning of the end of this regime.
Support for Japan’s Defense of Taiwan: A Shared Responsibility and Historical Choice for the Democratic World
San Francisco Pro-Democracy Community Issues a United Declaration
By Miao Qing,Reporter for Opposition Party
Edited by Li Jing Chief Editor: Luo Zhifei
Proofreader: Xiong Bian Translated by Peng Xiaomei
[San Francisco] The year 2025 has witnessed an increasingly volatile international landscape. Tensions in the Taiwan Strait continue to escalate. Japanese Prime Minister Sanae Takaichi stated unequivocally in the National Diet: “A contingency in Taiwan is a contingency for Japan.” This declaration marks not only a profound shift in Japan’s foreign and security policy but also a pivotal moment drawing global democratic attention.
In the face of the CCP’s military expansion, rogue diplomacy, and regional coercion, the United States and Japan have tightened their security cooperation across the Indo-Pacific. Taiwan’s security has become a defining issue for all democratic nations—arguably the most consequential political signal in today’s world.
At this critical turning point, on November 22 at 12 PM PST, the China Democracy Party San Francisco Branch and pro-democracy activists held a demonstration in front of the Chinese Consulate in San Francisco, publicly declaring: “Support Japan’s defense of Taiwan. Call on the global democratic alliance to jointly counter the CCP’s authoritarian expansion.”
This report synthesizes the historical analysis, political judgment, and value positions expressed by the San Francisco pro-democracy community.
I. Japan’s Historic Policy Shift: A Democratic Nation’s Moment of Choice
In November 2025, Prime Minister Takaichi stated that if conflict erupts in the Taiwan Strait, Japan may invoke a “survival-threatening situation,” enabling the Self-Defense Forces to participate in collective defense of Taiwan. This represents Japan’s most significant strategic shift since World War II. The key factors include:
The CCP’s escalating threats toward Taiwan. Airspace incursions, gray-zone coercion, cognitive warfare, and economic intimidation seek to alter the status quo and undermine regional stability.
Japan’s transition from a postwar pacifist state to a responsible democratic powerAfter seven decades of democratic development, Japan recognizes that passive defense is no longer sufficient in the face of CCP expansionism.
Democratic nations’ Indo-Pacific restructuringThe US, Japan, Australia, and European democracies are forming a new security architecture. Taiwan is an irreplaceable “freedom node” within this network. Japan’s shift is not an act of aggression—it is a rational and inevitable decision in response to authoritarian expansion.
II. Taiwan Is Not an “Internal Affair”—It Is the Boundary Between Civilization and Authoritarianism
The China Democracy Party San Francisco Branch emphasized: “The Taiwan issue is not a sovereignty dispute—it is a civilizational choice. It is not an ethnic conflict—it is a confrontation of political systems. It is not a regional matter—it is a cornerstone of global security.”
If Taiwan falls to the CCP: The first line of defense for democracies collapses; Global order becomes destabilized; Maritime routes become vulnerable; Democratic nations are forced to retreat strategically; Authoritarian regimes gain momentum for expansion
Defending Taiwan is defending the future of the free world.
III. Voices from the Demonstration: Political Statements from San Francisco’s Pro-Democracy Activists
Below are key viewpoints expressed during the rally:
Gao Yingfen: The Right of Self-Determination Is the Bottom Line of the Democratic World
A long-time activist and event moderator, Gao emphasized:
“Taiwan has proven through elections, media freedom, and open society that democracy is fully achievable in Chinese communities. The essence of the Taiwan issue is the choice of political systems, not ethnicity or territory. Defending Taiwan is defending every Chinese person who longs for freedom.”
Gao Yingfen, Host of the Rally and Member of the China Democracy Party(Photographed by Miao Qing, Opposition Party)
Miao Qing: Taiwan Is the Strategic Pivot of the First Island Chain
Deputy Director of Propaganda and main organizer of the event.
“Taiwan is the core anchor of the free world in Asia. Losing Taiwan would break the global democratic chain. Japan’s defense of Taiwan is not provocation—it is responsible leadership. The CCP’s rogue diplomacy, external infiltration, and internal authoritarianism are the root causes of global instability. Democracies must refuse to kneel to the CCP’s rogue diplomacy.”
Miao Qing, Deputy Director of the Propaganda Department and Event Organizer of the China Democracy Party San Francisco Branch (Photographed by Zhuang Fan, Opposition Party)
Chen Senfeng: Japan’s Role Is Legitimate from Both History and Moral Responsibility
“Today’s Japan is a democratic nation—not the imperial state of the past. A CCP invasion of Taiwan would be an attack on the entire democratic world. Defending Taiwan is defending peace, not creating conflict.”
Chen Senfeng, Member of the China Democracy Party (Photographed by Miao Qing, Opposition Party)
Li Shuqing: Peace Is Not Surrender—It Is Collective Defense by Democracies
“Peace in the Taiwan Strait is the foundation of Asia-Pacific stability. Japan’s cooperation under international law reflects the responsibility of a democratic power. Partnership, not isolation, ensures real security.”
Li Shuqing, Member of the China Democracy Party (Photographed by Miao Qing, Opposition Party)
Li Kai: What the CCP Fears About Taiwan Is Not Land—It Is Freedom
“The CCP’s claim that ‘Taiwan has always been part of China’ is political propaganda for aggression. The CCP’s push for armed unification is not about the Chinese nation—it is about destroying the democratic society of the Chinese people. What terrifies Beijing is not territory—it is democracy, free media, and free citizens. ‘The brighter Taiwan shines, the weaker the CCP becomes.’”
Li Kai, Member of the China Democracy Party (Photographed by Miao Qing, Opposition Party)
Liu Jingtao: The Democratic World Must Give Taiwan Its Strongest Support
Liu Jingtao, a member of the China Democracy Party and Director of the Fremont Chapter of the Party’s San Francisco Branch, delivered a brief yet powerful message:
“Taiwan is a democratic Taiwan. Democratic nations cannot remain silent in the face of the CCP’s threats. Even a single act of intimidation must receive a clear response from the democratic world.” Liu Jingtao shouted: “Fight for freedom in the name of democracy! Fight for freedom in the name of democracy!”
Liu Jingtao, Director of the Fremont Chapter of the China Democracy Party San Francisco Branch(Photographed by Miao Qing, Opposition Party)
Gao Junying: Four Commitments to Protect Taiwan
Support Taiwan in defending democracy
Support Japan’s defense cooperation with Taiwan
Support democratic nations resisting authoritarian expansion
Support the Chinese people in their struggle for freedom
“Taiwan is the frontline of democracy. Defending Taiwan is defending the freedom of all people.”
Gao Junying, Member of the China Democracy Party (Photographed by Miao Qing, Opposition Party)
IV. Defending Taiwan Is Defending the Future
The San Francisco rally was not an isolated protest—it was part of a broader awakening among global democracies facing authoritarian expansion. As Taiwan withstands pressure, Asia reshuffles, and global authoritarianism rises, every democracy must answer one question: Do you stand with freedom? Or will you retreat before tyranny?
Defending Taiwan is defending civilization.Defending freedom is defending humanity’s future.
After the rally, participants marched to San Francisco’s Japantown to express gratitude toward the Japanese government and Prime Minister Takaichi for their commitment to Taiwan’s defense.
The Opposition Party will continue reporting on Taiwan affairs, China’s democracy movement, and the broader security landscape of the Indo-Pacific.
Participants in the rally included:Zhao Changqing, Miao Qing, Hu Pizheng, Liu Jingtao, Zhuang Fan, Li Shuqing, Chen Senfeng, He Cong, Gao Yingfen, Zhang Zuo, Wei Renxi, Zhang Shancheng, Lu Zhanqiang, Li Kai, Chen Huailuo, Wang Zhanshi, Gao Junying, Zhao Yu.(Names listed in no particular order.)
Editor: Zhou ZhigangExecutive Editor: Luo ZhifeiProofreader: Cheng XiaoxiaoTranslation: Lyu Feng
The thoughts you tried to lift—or could never lift again—still cling by threads unbroken,and the thousand yearsand the vast skythat once flashed in a single glanceare still trembling.
When the white steedgallops through the city,whispers flood the air—about the wind,about you,and nothing aboutthe night you drifted offshore.
Even if a celestial waterfallwere to pour down,mixing truth into clay,it would hold wateronly by turning toward betrayal,filling the deepand ancientdry well.
—“The silence of whistleblowers is the final alarm before the tower collapses.”
Author: Cao JieEditor: Zhong RanExecutive Editor: Li ConglingProofreader: Cheng XiaoxiaoTranslation: Lyu Feng
Abstract:Under an authoritarian system, truth is sealed, and whistleblowers are punished. From Li Wenliang to Fang Bin and countless ordinary people who dared to speak out, their voices revealed that the tragedy of the pandemic was not an accident of nature but a political inevitability. The piece calls for safeguarding conscience and the courage to speak truth.
A few days ago, I attended the homecoming event of the “China Virus East Coast Tour,” organized by sculptor Chen Weiming and the China Democracy Party. It brought back memories from the early days of the COVID-19 outbreak. Those experiences convinced me even more: in a dictatorship, the silence of the people is mistaken for “stability,” while the bravery of whistleblowers is treated as a “threat.”From the persecution of Li Wenliang to the muted resistance of ordinary citizens locked behind welded doors, the pandemic tragedy in China was not a natural disaster—it was a political inevitability.Today, we must remember those who still dared to shout “danger” before the tower collapsed—they were the last sentinels of conscience.
In a society where “party rule overrides everything,” truth is not used to save people, but to preserve power. When truth becomes taboo, human lives sink to the level of numbers and weeds.
Under the nationwide suppression of early warnings, it wasn’t only Li Wenliang—many ordinary people were dragged into the storm. I, Cao Jie, was one of them.During the first days of the outbreak, I analyzed the virus’s real transmissibility through overseas and civilian channels and issued warnings on social media, urging people around me to protect themselves.
But I received no gratitude.Instead, police detained and interrogated me on charges of “spreading rumors” and “disrupting public order.”My only “crime” was speaking when truth was being blocked.
At that moment, “blowing the whistle” in China became a punishable act.
Li Wenliang was reprimanded for “spreading rumors,” and I, lacking any “official identity,” was labeled as “creating panic.”Though our situations were different and our influence incomparable, the regime’s reaction sprang from the same logic:When truth is seen as a threat, those who speak it become “criminals.”
The pandemic was not an unforeseen catastrophe; it was a long-engineered institutional disaster—because under the Chinese Communist Party’s governance, politics outranks science, stability outweighs truth, and loyalty eclipses life.
That is why, during the crucial early period, doctors were silenced, experts were tamed, and the media was muzzled.The state’s instinctive response was not alertness, but cover-up; not saving people, but maintaining stability.
As a result, the virus spread through lies, cities were locked down by command, and millions of ordinary people lost the right to breathe—trapped between welded iron gates and the collapse of medical access.
The greatest evil of dictatorship is not how often it kills, but how it numbs people to death itself.From lockdowns to “zero-COVID,” every man-made calamity was packaged as a triumph of a “people’s war.”The elderly who died because they could not receive timely care, the young people who took their own lives under confinement, the mothers driven to despair in isolation—all were absorbed into the category of “controllable.”The CCP hides suffering behind statistics and crushes grief with slogans.
A regime that treats human life as expendable can never create true safety. It can only erect one collapsing tower after another.
In the film The Fool Who Lives in the Dangerous Building, an elderly man refuses to leave a dilapidated, collapsing block. He insists on defending truth and dignity, while those around him—dulled by long habits of silence—mock him for his “stubbornness.”But when the tower finally collapses, people realize he was not a fool—he was the last person who remembered what human dignity meant.
From Li Wenliang to Fang Bin, and to countless ordinary individuals like myself who instinctively tried to warn others—we may not share the same level of influence, but we all attempted to send out a faint alarm when the building began to shake.They knew it was dangerous but still spoke; they knew speech was forbidden but insisted on speaking the truth.This was the final whistle of rational society.
Yet the authoritarian regime fears not the virus, but the uncontrolled spread of truth.To such a system, people do not need to know—only to obey.Society does not need alarms—only propaganda.
Today’s China remains a “crumbling tower”—glossy on the surface, rotten in its foundations.The CCP can seal every mouth, but it cannot seal the memory of history.Every citizen forced into silence is a potential whistleblower; every suppressed cry will eventually echo again.
As an ordinary person, my experience is not unique. It is a mirror of an entire generation—anyone may pay a price simply for offering a well-intentioned warning.This trial belongs not to one individual, but to an entire people.
The true danger to a nation is not a pandemic, nor the economy, but when truth-tellers grow fewer—and more fearful.When whistleblowers are seen as enemies, the people become blindfolded prisoners.And when a regime reduces human life to numbers and builds walls of lies around itself, it will ultimately meet its end beneath the ruins of its own deception.
We remember whistleblowers and the repression they faced not to revisit tragedy, but to protect the clarity of the future.True commemoration is not silent flowers—it is the courage to continue speaking out.
When power erects towers from lies, truth becomes the only salvation.And when the people all become “fools,” the nation will finally awaken.
Abstract:It took the British more than a century to transform Hong Kong from a remote fishing village into a modern city respected across Asia and the world. Yet the Chinese Communist Party destroyed it all within just a few years.
The shell remains, but the soul is gone.Looking at that red taxi, I suddenly realized that a city can truly become like the walking dead—its body still standing, yet its soul extinguished.
The British spent over a century turning Hong Kong from a small, remote fishing village into a modern metropolis admired throughout Asia and even the world.Rule of law, freedom, integrity, efficiency—these were never empty slogans, but the fruits of civilization accumulated through generations of Hong Kong people under British governance.They formed the foundation that allowed Hong Kong to stand shoulder to shoulder with the international community.
And yet the Chinese Communist Party destroyed all of this in just a few short years.
Walking through the streets of Hong Kong today, even the neon lights have dimmed. The bustling, vibrant energy of the past has vanished completely. The entire city feels as if its blood has been drained, leaving behind a pool of stagnant water.
The cohort of professionals nurtured during the Hong Kong–Britain era—lawyers, doctors, journalists, financial leaders… the backbone that the British invested heavily in and spent decades cultivating—has either been imprisoned or has left with their families. Their vacated positions were swiftly filled by “loyalists” from mainland China, whose mission is not to build a city but to maintain stability, obey orders, and execute political tasks.
Even the soundscape of the streets has changed. In the past, walking through Hong Kong meant hearing Cantonese interwoven with English—a rhythm uniquely its own. Now it is drowned out by loudspeakers blaring Mandarin, as if the entire city is being reformatted. Even the air carries a strange, unfamiliar scent.
Civilization never fears time; it fears deliberate destruction.History has shown again and again that once a society falls under the shadow of communism, civilization almost inevitably regresses. Like a corrosive agent, it eats away at the most precious institutions, values, and spirit of a place—turning openness back into closedness, the rule of law back into rule by men, hope back into oppression and fear.
Today’s Hong Kong stands as the clearest—and saddest—testimony to this pattern.The streets are still there, the skyscrapers still stand, the red taxis still drive by. The exterior appears intact, yet the soul that once allowed Hong Kong to stand tall in the world has been hollowed out.
Civilization is not made of buildings, nor of GDP figures.It is made of human dignity, freedom, moral boundaries, and courage—of a society’s willingness to let every individual live in their own way.
The Hong Kong of the past possessed all of this. Today, only its fading echo remains.But a soul never truly dies.It lives scattered within every Hongkonger who still remembers, refuses to forget, and insists on living as a free person.
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