After a Natural Disaster, Why Still Cover Up the Truth?
— Viewing the CCP’s Disaster Governance Logic Through the Lens of the Gyirong Mudslide in Tibet
Author: Feng Reng
On August 26, 2026, a sudden, massive mudslide swept into the Gyirong Port in Shigatse, Tibet. Ice, rocks, mud, and torrents surged down from the high mountain gorges, engulfing vehicles, roads, and buildings in the blink of an eye. The footage emerging from the scene was shocking. Those images bore no political color; people saw only the insignificance and helplessness of human beings in the face of natural disasters.
Later, China’s natural resources authorities confirmed that this disaster originated from a high-altitude glacier collapse within Nepal’s borders. After the glacier collapsed, it formed a high-speed debris flow that swept down along the river valley, ultimately evolving into a highly destructive mudslide. From the currently available public professional data, this was first and foremost a severe natural disaster. On this point, there is nothing that needs to be avoided.
What I truly find incomprehensible is that familiar set of practices that reemerged after the disaster occurred.
As of 18:00 on August 29, Chinese official sources announced that on the Gyirong side, 16 people had been killed and 546 people were missing, including a large number of foreign nationals. Thousands of personnel from the People’s Liberation Army, Armed Police, Fire and Rescue Services, Public Security, and engineering rescue teams entered the disaster zone to participate in search and rescue operations. Those rescuers who risked their lives to search for survivors are, of course, worthy of respect. Any normal human being would hope that they could save one more person from the rubble and mud.
However, that rescuers are worthy of respect does not mean the government can operate without oversight. It is precisely in the face of such major disasters involving a vast number of lives that the public has even more of a right to know the full truth.
Comparative imagery published by Tibet Daily shows that after the mudslide struck on Wednesday (August 26), buildings at Tibet’s Gyirong Port had been razed to the ground.
When reading the materials compiled by China Digital Times regarding this disaster, my deepest feeling was not about the disaster itself, but a sense of familiarity that has remained unchanged for years. The disaster had just occurred, footage from the scene was circulating on the internet, and people began inquiring about casualties and the causes of the disaster; soon enough, situations arose where videos could not be forwarded, related articles were deleted, and online discussions were restricted. Subsequently, the police began issuing circulars on so-called “rumor-mongering” cases, with netizens subjected to administrative penalties or “educational reprimands” simply for discussing death tolls and disaster causes.
I do not support anyone intentionally fabricating casualty figures. Rumors during a disaster inflict fresh pain on family members and may also interfere with rescue efforts. However, if a government truly wishes to curb rumors, the most effective method should be to publish the facts in a timely, full, and transparent manner, rather than suppressing on-the-scene information while demanding that everyone accept only the official version.
When full videos cannot be normally circulated, when journalists cannot freely enter the scene, when articles discussing the disaster situation and risks are deleted, and when ordinary people raising doubts about death tolls may also be targeted by the police, then so-called “refuting rumors” is no longer merely about safeguarding facts—it has actually become a government monopoly over the right to interpret disaster information.
This is also a realization that has grown deeper in me over these years.
I lived in China for a long time in the past. Whenever a major accident or public event occurred, the ways in which we ordinary people obtained the truth were often extremely strange. State media said one thing, WeChat groups circulated another, and yet another version appeared on Weibo. When someone uploaded a video from the scene, everyone hurried to save it, because no one knew if it would still be visible half an hour later; when someone wrote an investigative article and it just started spreading in Moments, the link would no longer open by the next day.
Over time, many Chinese people even developed a deeply sorrowful piece of experience: the more rapidly something is deleted, the more everyone actually wants to know what was written inside.
This is not because Chinese people are particularly fond of believing rumors, but because long-term information control has already eroded the government’s own credibility.
If a government is accustomed to releasing only content favorable to itself, then even if it publishes the absolute truth one day, people will instinctively harbor doubts. This outcome was not brought about by foreign hostile forces, nor was it caused by a few netizens spreading rumors; it was caused by one instance of information blockade after another.
This disaster in Gyirong particularly warrants further questioning, because this is by no means the first time a severe disaster has struck here.
In July 2025, a severe flash flood and mudslide had already occurred in the Gyirong region, washing away the Sino-Nepal Friendship Bridge and leaving people missing on the Chinese side as well. Relevant geological research had also previously pointed out that the Gyirong region faces multiple geological risks, including high-altitude collapses, glacial lakes, and mudslides. Now, just over a year later, an even larger disaster has struck again. The public naturally has every reason to ask: After the last disaster, what risk assessments were actually conducted locally? Was the early warning system strengthened? Following the reopening of the port, was there a re-evaluation of the surrounding population density and infrastructure safety? Before such a massive ice collapse and mudslide took place, were there any detectable abnormal signals?
These questions are all very normal. What is regrettable is that in China, many normal questions quickly become so-called “sensitive issues” once they involve government responsibility.
Observing major disasters in China over the years, I have increasingly felt that what the CCP truly cares about is often not just how to conduct disaster relief, but also how to “manage the disaster.” So-called “disaster management” is not merely about mobilizing rescue personnel, restoring roads, and arranging supplies; an even more crucial component is managing public opinion: which numbers are released at what time, which images can appear, which journalists are allowed to interview, which family members can speak out, and which questions cannot be pursued further.
From the Wenchuan earthquake and the Wenzhou high-speed train collision, to the “July 20” torrential rainstorm in Zhengzhou, and to Wuhan during the pandemic, we have already witnessed all too many similar scenes. After a disaster strikes, what appears first are slogans like “leaders attach high importance,” “important instructions issued,” and “all-out efforts organized for rescue,” followed by rescue teams, touching stories, and so-called positive societal energy. As for why the disaster happened, whether anyone derelicted their duty, how many people actually died, and what doubts the family members harbor, these matters are often either pushed to the back or ultimately left unresolved.
The greatest danger of this model is that it gradually allows the disaster itself to become part of political propaganda.
How many people died is no longer purely a question of human life, but may be viewed as a figure that “affects social stability”; journalistic investigation is no longer just reporting, but may be regarded as “generating negative public opinion”; families demanding explanations may also be treated as disrupting disaster relief order; and netizens raising doubts are easily slapped with labels like “spreading rumors” or “passing on rumors.”
If a government must package even natural disasters according to political needs, then what is it truly maintaining?
Obvious not the deceased.
What truly needs to be maintained is the image of a regime that is eternally correct, a government that is eternally forceful, and a society that is eternally stable.
Living in the United States now and looking back at these matters in China, one of my deepest feelings is that whether a government actually possesses confidence is seen not in how powerfully it proclaims itself every day, but in whether it dares to face bad news.
A truly confident government does not fear publishing death tolls. No matter how grim the casualty figures are, they are not the government’s enemy; a truly responsible government does not fear journalists entering disaster areas, because journalists discovering problems is intrinsically part of public oversight; and a government that truly puts the lives of the people first should even less fear family members asking after the whereabouts of their loved ones.
If, after a mudslide occurs, the government—in addition to saving lives as an immediate priority—must also worry about which videos being circulated will “damage its image,” which articles need to be deleted, and which voices must be suppressed, then it becomes hard not to question how much truth actually lies behind the so-called “people first, life first.”
Natural disasters have no political stance.
Glaciers will not cease collapsing because of what kind of system a country practices, nor will mudslides alter their direction because a government promotes “social stability.” What a government can genuinely do after a natural disaster occurs is to minimize casualties as much as possible, fully disclose what has happened to society, and conscientiously investigate which losses could have originally been avoided.
If there was inadequate early warning before the disaster, the early warning system should be investigated; if problems existed in infrastructure planning, accountability for that planning should be pursued; if local officials were derelict in their duty regarding risk assessment, those responsible should bear the consequences. Only these are the things that truly ought to remain after a disaster.
Otherwise, once roads are repaired, bridges are rebuilt, leaders’ condolences have concluded, and the media has ceased reporting, the institutional loopholes that caused massive casualties will remain completely unchanged. A few years later, when another disaster strikes in a different place, the exact same story will play out all over again.
This is what is truly terrifying.
In my view, many disasters in China over the years share a common problem: after the natural disaster ends, a man-made “information disaster” is only just beginning. The actual floodwaters will recede and the mudslides will stop, but the deleted information, the silenced family members, and the unpursued responsibilities may remain buried underground forever.
Therefore, I believe that what should be left behind most from the Gyirong mudslide is not merely a few photos of rescue efforts, nor just a few slogans about “uniting as one.”
What should be left behind are the names of the deceased.
What should be left behind are the true and complete numbers of the missing.
Family members should be allowed to speak about what they went through.
Journalists should be allowed to investigate freely.
And a clear accounting should be given to society, item by item, of what preventive measures were actually taken locally following that disaster in 2025.
If it is ultimately proven that all measures that could be taken had indeed been taken, then society would naturally understand that this was a natural disaster beyond human capacity to prevent. But if dereliction of duty was involved, someone should bear responsibility.
This should originally be the most basic common sense in a modern society.
Regrettably, in China, the public often must pay a price even just to know the truth itself.
Mudslides are natural disasters, but deleting posts is not a natural disaster; glacier collapses are natural phenomena, but punishing netizens who question the disaster situation is not a natural phenomenon; floodwaters washing away buildings cannot be entirely avoided, but preventing society from understanding the full picture of a disaster is entirely an active choice made by power.
Therefore, I always want to ask one question:
Since this is a natural disaster, what on earth cannot be let known to the Chinese people?
If a regime is so anxious even about the true circumstances of a natural disaster, what it fears is obviously not mudslides, but the truth itself.
Natural disasters can destroy homes and roads, but what can truly destroy a society’s trust is that after a disaster, there are still people trying to bury the truth along with it.
Editor: Huang Jizhou Proofreader: Xiong Bian Translator: Ge Bing
— Niu Tengyu’s Mother Responds to Those Cheering His Unjust Conviction
Author: Mother of Niu Tengyu
Recently, in a bid to display so-called “loyalty” and show off so-called “patriotism,” certain individuals have publicly endorsed the sentence handed down to my son, Niu Tengyu, by the Guangdong authorities—some even claiming that the punishment was too light.
Is this the absolute height of stupidity, or do they harbor ulterior motives?
My son, Niu Tengyu, was wrongly convicted and sentenced by the Guangdong authorities to 14 years in prison. Yet recently, an unidentified individual has been spreading remarks about my son on the internet, stating: “The Guangdong Provincial Government’s verdict against Niu Tengyu is completely fine; he may have been involved in the ‘Hong Kong Anti-Extradition Law Amendment Bill Movement,’ so 14 years is well-deserved.” This person even added: “I actually feel Niu Tengyu’s sentence was too light.”
Evidently, this line of argument not only concocts a new set of “charges” against my son, Niu Tengyu, on behalf of the Guangdong authorities, but also validates the judicial sentence handed down to my son by those same authorities. This person even believes that because my son allegedly participated in the so-called “Hong Kong Anti-Extradition Law Amendment Bill Movement,” a 14-year sentence is already a lenient penalty.
At the end of the day, what this person wants to convey most is likely this: Niu Tengyu allegedly participated in the protests and demonstrations in Hong Kong, making him a major villain who “splits the motherland”—no sentence could be too harsh for him, and a mere 14 years is simply far too light.
However, is this truly the case?
I once demanded that the relevant Guangdong authorities provide, in accordance with regulations, the surveillance footage and case files from the period when my son was subjected to “Residential Surveillance at a Designated Location.” They all refused to provide them, making excuses and stonewalling. To my knowledge, even the medical records from when my son was rushed to the hospital for emergency treatment due to torture were confiscated in advance by the relevant personnel.
If the verdict is truly so able to withstand scrutiny, why are they unwilling to provide these key materials according to the law?
More importantly, Niu Tengyu has never participated in any so-called “Hong Kong protests.” I have made public the judicial decision document issued for this case by the relevant court in Maoming City, Guangdong Province, in which there is not a single word mentioning this matter.
It can be seen from this that even in the original judgment, Niu Tengyu was never convicted or sentenced on the grounds of allegedly “participating in Hong Kong protests” or “inciting separatism.”
How could a charge that does not even appear in the judgment document suddenly become, in the mouth of this person, one of the reasons for Niu Tengyu’s harsh sentence?
Even taking ten thousand steps back, even if Niu Tengyu had indeed participated in some event, the judicial organs should act in accordance with the law to open a case, investigate, prosecute, and explicitly list the facts, evidence, charges, and legal basis in the judgment document, rather than having a stranger on the internet “supplement charges” on behalf of the judicial organs after the fact.
If judicial organs can mismatch facts and charges, alter accusations at will, and hand down arbitrary sentences when handling cases, then the judiciary cannot speak of true fairness and transparency. In the long run, this will only continuously erode societal trust in the law.
From this person’s words, it is not difficult to see that he appears to be extremely “patriotic.”
In his logic, because Guangdong Province is a part of China, being so-called “patriotic” means one must unconditionally support the relevant political and legal, court, procuratorial, and public security organs of Guangdong; as long as one questions the verdicts rendered by these organs, one becomes “unpatriotic.”
What kind of logic is this?
Does loving a country mean one cannot question judicial organs?
Does pointing out miscarriages of justice mean opposing the country?
Does it mean that no matter what a local judicial organ does, it must be supported unconditionally?
I believe it is quite the opposite.
Those who truly wish for this country to become better are the very ones who should demand judicial fairness, demand handling cases according to the law, and demand that any error must be corrected.
Out of unconditional support for the relevant Guangdong authorities, this person seems driven to exert every effort to prove my son, Niu Tengyu, “guilty.” Yet in my view, the issues involved in the original verdict are themselves subject to immense controversy. In order to prove that the heavy 14-year sentence is “well-deserved,” he can only piece together bits and pieces from the internet, take things out of context, and pin various so-called “charges” that never appeared in the judgment document onto Niu Tengyu’s head.
He is actually in a rush to convict on behalf of the judicial organs over matters that were not even recognized in the original judgment.
Unconditionally supporting a local judicial system accused of illegal case handling, torture, and severe procedural violations, and even cheering for what may be miscarriages of justice—is this “loving the country” or “harming the country”?
What truly harms a country is not that someone steps forward to expose problems, but that someone knows full well that problems exist yet continues to cheer for errors.
During the time my son has been trapped in this unjust imprisonment, I have traveled to Guangdong countlessly to defend my rights.
I was once grabbed and threatened by relevant personnel on the street, with the other side even threatening to lock me up, yet I did not shrink back.
In front of the gates of Sihui Prison, I also faced a massive police force, yet I was not afraid.
Over these years, I have encountered all kinds of harassment, threats, and pressure, but I have never once thought of giving up appealing for my son.
Later, I traveled to the Guangdong Higher People’s Court time and time again to negotiate with relevant court personnel. From leaders, judges, and staff members to the security guards at the entrance, many people have dealt with me.
Yet at least in my experience, no one has ever said to my face: “Niu Tengyu is guilty, and a 14-year sentence is completely fine.”
As for the claim that Niu Tengyu “allegedly participated in the Hong Kong protests,” I have never heard such a thing from the handling organs either.
On one occasion, I went to the relevant court in Maoming, hoping to find Judge Zhang Shuming, who was involved in trying my son’s case back then, to directly clarify the issues in the case face-to-face. According to my personal experience, upon learning that I was looking for him, he quickly left his office, and I was ultimately unable to have a face-to-face dialogue with him.
This makes me want to ask all the more:
If a verdict truly stands up to the scrutiny of the law and facts, why can they not calmly face a mother’s questioning?
Another time, after I repeatedly questioned the issues surrounding the case, relevant personnel from the Guangdong Higher People’s Court stated to me: “We will supervise the Maoming Intermediate People’s Court to handle the case in accordance with laws and regulations.”
They did not tell me: “Your son got what he deserved.”
Nor did they tell me: “A 14-year sentence is already a lenient punishment.”
Yet now, an internet user whose exact connection to the case remains unclear is even more resolute than the case-handling organs themselves, and seems eager to add several more charges onto Niu Tengyu on behalf of the judicial organs.
This is not justice.
Nor is this patriotism.
A country truly worth cherishing should first allow its people to pursue the truth, allow a mother to appeal for justice for her child, and allow errors made by judicial organs to be questioned and corrected.
A nation’s rule of law will not be harmed because someone exposes a wrongful conviction.
Quite the contrary: what truly harms the rule of law is choosing to close one’s eyes while fully aware that injustice may exist; and continuing to shout “well sentenced” and “the sentence is still not heavy enough” while knowing full well that power can make mistakes.
If this kind of “patriotism” ultimately turns into cheering for every act of power, then it is not loving the country—it is harming the country.
My stance remains the same:
I am just a mother.
I do not ask anyone to believe me unconditionally; I only demand that the relevant authorities disclose the evidence and handle the case according to law, letting the facts undergo scrutiny, and letting the law undergo scrutiny.
If Niu Tengyu is guilty, please prove it with facts and evidence.
If there is injustice in this case, it should be corrected in accordance with the law.
Only this is a truly responsible attitude toward the country, toward the rule of law, and toward the people.
Editor: Huang Jizhou Proofreader: Xiong Bian Translator: Ge Bing
“Opposition” China Human Rights Watch Newsletter No. 41 (August 22, 2026)
Author: Zhang Weiqing
Featured Persecuted Person in This Issue: Chow Hang-tung, born in January 1985, native place Maoming, Guangdong (born in Hong Kong), barrister, former Vice Chairwoman of the Hong Kong Alliance in Support of Patriotic Democratic Movements of China.
Latest Developments: On August 21, 2026, the High Court of Hong Kong officially found Chow Hang-tung guilty of “incitement to subvert state power” under the Hong Kong National Security Law. The case has been adjourned to next Friday (August 28, 2026) for mitigation and sentencing. Since her arrest in September 2021, she has been held in continuous remand for nearly five years. She currently appears in court wearing full physical restraints, including handcuffs, leg irons, and waist chains, and her correspondence with the outside world is under severe restrictions.
I. Personal Profile
1. Academic Background: Attended Ying Wa Girls’ School in Hong Kong, then went to the University of Cambridge in the UK to study Earth Sciences, continuing into doctoral studies after graduation.
2. Career Transition: In 2010, after witnessing the plight of human rights defenders in Mainland China, she decided to abandon scientific research and returned to study law at The University of Hong Kong.
3. Legal Practice: Officially began practicing as a barrister in 2016, focusing on human rights cases, labor rights, and litigation for marginalized groups.
4. Organizational Leadership: Joined the Executive Committee of the Hong Kong Alliance in Support of Patriotic Democratic Movements of China (Hong Kong Alliance) in 2016, later rising to Vice Chairwoman.
II. Political Stance
1. Advocates for preserving the historical memory of the “June 4th Incident” through legal means such as peaceful commemorations and assemblies.
2. Endorses the five key operational goals of the Hong Kong Alliance: “Release democratic activists, rehabilitate the 1989 democracy movement, demand accountability for the crackdown, end one-party dictatorship, and build a democratic China.”
3. Maintains that peaceful protest and political expression are basic rights of citizens; consistently refuses to plead guilty even in court, opposing prosecution based on speech.
III. Arrest and Sentencing History
1. June 2021: Charged with “inciting others to knowingly take part in an unauthorized assembly” for calling on the public via social media to commemorate June 4th; later sentenced to 15 months in prison (she won an appeal in 2022 overturning the conviction, but the Court of Final Appeal overturned that judgment in 2024 and restored the original conviction).
2. September 2021: Charged with “failing to comply with a notice to provide information” under the National Security Law for refusing to submit Hong Kong Alliance member data to the Police National Security Department; sentenced to 4.5 months in prison.
3. September 9, 2021: Formally charged with “incitement to subvert state power” under the Hong Kong National Security Law, beginning long-term remand.
4. August 21, 2026: Following a 22-day trial, the court officially ruled her guilty of “incitement to subvert state power,” facing a maximum sentence of ten years in prison.
IV. Social and International Evaluation
1. International Condemnation: UN human rights experts, the European Union, the Foreign Ministries of France and Germany, and Taiwan’s Mainland Affairs Council have issued multiple statements condemning the Hong Kong government’s judicial persecution against her.
2. Recognition via Human Rights Awards: Recipient of the Franco-German Prize for Human Rights and the Rule of Law, as well as the “Outstanding Democrat Award” presented by the Chinese Democracy Education Foundation in Taiwan.
3. Human Rights Organization Support: Amnesty International, Human Rights Watch, and other organizations list her as a “prisoner of conscience,” pointing out that the charges against her are punishment for her peaceful speech.
V. Appeals by the Human Rights Watch Department of “Opposition”
1. Strongly condemn the Hong Kong authorities’ political conviction and judicial persecution of barrister Chow Hang-tung. Chow Hang-tung has long been committed to defending fundamental human rights and historical truth; her words and actions fall entirely within the scope of peaceful freedom of expression.
We call for:
2. Immediate Release: Hong Kong authorities should immediately and unconditionally release Chow Hang-tung and drop all political charges against her.
3. Cessation of Ill-treatment: Stop using excessively invasive physical restraints during transportation, and restore her rights to normal correspondence and visits with family and friends.
4. International Attention: The international community should continuously monitor the abuse of the Hong Kong National Security Law and pay attention to rescuing political prisoners held in custody in Hong Kong.
Formaldehyde Cabbage Has Been Poisonous for 14 Years: What Is Truly Poisonous Is a System Lacking Supervision
Author: Feng Reng
Over the past few days, “formaldehyde cabbage” has once again hit the hot search lists on the Chinese internet.
Requirements surrounding this matter are not complex.In August 2026, an independent media blogger named “Yulie Qige” discovered during an investigation in Kangbao County, Zhangjiakou, Hebei Province, that some cabbage buyers were dipping individual cabbages directly into a formaldehyde solution before loading them onto trucks. This was reportedly done to keep the cabbage fresh for an extra two or three days during transport.
After the video spread online, the Kangbao County Government quickly issued an official notice, confirming that the situation reflected in the video was true. They stated that this was an illegal act carried out by buyers to preserve freshness during transportation, that public security authorities had already applied compulsory measures against the relevant personnel and vehicles, and that they had begun tracing the destination of the cabbages involved.
Subsequently, the State Council Food Safety Office, the Ministry of Agriculture and Rural Affairs, and the State Administration for Market Regulation also intervened, requiring all regions to carry out special random inspections and market sweeps targeting easily perishable vegetables such as cabbage.
If the story ended here, it would seem like just another Chinese-style food safety news story that we have long grown accustomed to: online exposure, public outrage, local official announcements, leadership attention, the establishment of an investigation team, a comprehensive inspection, stern handling, and finally the phrase “drawing lessons from this case to prevent similar ones.”
The problem lies precisely in the fact that this “one case” already appeared fourteen years ago.
In 2012, vendors in places like Shandong were exposed for using formaldehyde to keep cabbage fresh; after that, similar cases kept surfacing in Shandong, Hebei, and other regions. Fourteen years later, in 2026, the exact same method, the exact same cabbage, the exact same motive to reduce transit spoilage—and even headlines that barely require editing—have once again reappeared before the public eye. What is even more absurd is that the party who uncovered the problem this time was not the agricultural department, nor the market regulation department, nor official state media equipped with press credentials, investigative authority, and massive editorial teams, but rather an independent media blogger originally known for fishing, collecting trash, and exposing environmental pollution.
Therefore, after reading these reports, what truly unsettled me was no longer those few truckloads of cabbages.
What I want to ask even more is: why does something known fourteen years ago still rely on a passing independent blogger to be rediscovered fourteen years later?
I have lived in China for over forty years and used to work in hotel management. I am no stranger to the sense of helplessness that Chinese people feel when facing food safety issues over all these years. From melamine-contaminated milk powder, gutter oil, Sudan Red dye, and lean meat powder, to the later recurring scandals involving rat heads, lymph-node pork, tanker trucks interchangeably carrying fuel and edible oil, chemical-dipped waxberries, and formaldehyde cabbages—ordinary consumers have been trained into being half-baked food safety experts. When buying vegetables, one must smell them; when buying meat, one must inspect the color; when buying fruit, one must study whether it was soaked in chemicals; and when buying cooking oil, one must worry about what the tanker truck carrying it hauled on its previous trip.
This in itself is a deeply absurd social phenomenon.
Ensuring food safety should inherently be the responsibility of government regulatory bodies, rather than forcing every ordinary citizen to act as a home chemist after going back home.
What is even more noteworthy is that right as “formaldehyde cabbage” caused a shockwave of public outrage, another hair-raising incident was exposed in the south. An investigation by the media revealed that a pest control company in Xiamen—which provided disinfection services to multiple catering enterprises—was suspected of using Dichlorvos for restaurant pest control over a long period. Reports indicated that employees poured Dichlorvos into bottled water containers, tore off the original brand labels, and sprayed it on tableware, tables, chairs, and even environments near food ingredients; reporters conducted rapid testing on residual liquids at some stores after disinfection, and the results came back positive for Dichlorvos. Huli District in Xiamen subsequently established a joint investigation team to perform sampling and evidence collection on the company’s supplies, confiscate inventory, and close down its business premises.
One in the north, one in the south: one involved formaldehyde entering the cabbage transportation chain, and the other involved Dichlorvos entering the catering pest control chain.
We should, of course, hold vendors and enterprises legally accountable. However, if after every food safety incident we ultimately end up with only the explanation of “unscrupulous merchants,” it will forever fail to answer one question: why have the exact same illegal methods been able to exist for so many years?
In fact, it is not as though China does not know how to regulate food.
This happens to be the most ironic part of the “formaldehyde cabbage” incident.
An article reviewing public documents from the General Administration of Customs regarding regulations on produce supplied to Hong Kong found that vegetables supplied to Hong Kong implement a complete, whole-chain regulatory framework covering everything from growing bases, soil, and irrigation water, to pesticide usage records and harvest safety interval periods, all the way to processing enterprise self-checks and customs oversight inspections. Enterprises must register, production must be logged, products must be tested, and issues can be traced back if they arise. In other words, as long as there is a genuine will to regulate, China’s existing administrative power, technological conditions, and testing capabilities are fully capable of establishing quite a rigorous defense line for food safety.
This creates an extremely glaring contrast:
Why is it possible to strictly gatekeep food sent to Hong Kong and overseas, yet impossible time and time again to manage the things ordinary Chinese people put into their stomachs every day?
The answer is not mysterious.
Because at the other end of export products, there is a regulatory agency that cannot be controlled by local Chinese officials. Once a product is found to have issues, it may face returns, destruction, damage claims, lost orders, or even blacklisting. Breaking the law incurs real costs. This external force will not automatically vanish just because a local government states it “attaches high importance to the matter,” nor because an enterprise has connections, nor because the propaganda department wishes to “minimize a major issue.”
What the domestic market lacks most is precisely this kind of supervisory power that cannot be arbitrarily shut down by authority.
China has market regulation departments, agricultural and rural departments, health departments, public security organs, food safety committees, and layers of local governments. On paper, there is no shortage of units responsible for food safety. The Food Safety Law itself explicitly prohibits adding chemical substances other than approved food additives to food; current national standards for food additives do not permit formaldehyde to be used as a food additive. In other words, the problem has never been “a lack of laws,” nor “not knowing formaldehyde cannot be used to soak cabbage.”
The real problem is: who supervises the regulators?
This is also why I believe what is truly worth discussing about “formaldehyde cabbage” goes far beyond food safety itself.
In the past, these types of investigations were the most basic duty of news media. Journalists visited markets, stayed on-site, conducted undercover investigations, gathered evidence, and tracked supply chains to expose the things power was unwilling to let the public know. But the absurd scene we see today is: independent media is conducting undercover investigations into formaldehyde cabbage, while institutional media is interviewing that independent media.
Media veteran Chu Zhaoxin put it very directly: it is not that reporters in institutional media suddenly forgot how to do investigative journalism, but rather that institutional media has long been subjected to excessive control, making it impossible to perform the public oversight function it should carry out, ultimately leading to the gradual atrophy of even its investigative capabilities. This time, “Yulie Qige” first discovered the problematic cabbage from the market, then traced the source, found the site, gathered evidence with drones, and finally managed to approach the acquisition site—thereby completing the very work investigative journalists should have done in the past.
This is the change that warrants the most vigilance.
A healthy society cannot forever rely on a few brave independent media bloggers driving around the country trying their luck.
Today he happened to see someone dipping cabbage, so the whole country started inspecting cabbages; tomorrow someone happened to film a pest control company, so the whole city started inspecting pest control businesses. What about the things that were not captured by cameras? What about the places that did not encounter a “Yulie Qige”? What about the things hidden inside factories, warehouses, cold storage facilities, transport trucks, and restaurant kitchens?
Is the food safety of 1.4 billion people supposed to rely on a random lottery run by a few independent media bloggers?
What is even more terrifying is that in such an environment, the people who expose problems sometimes bear greater risks than the people who create them. Because once food safety becomes a public event, it primarily impacts local image, corporate interests, and officials’ performance records. Thus, in a system that attaches high importance to “public opinion management,” the impulse most prone to arise is not allowing the problem to be fully exposed, but rather controlling its dissemination first; not welcoming journalists to dig deeper, but hoping the trending search topic quickly passes.
This is also a feeling I have developed more and more strongly over the years: if a society fears bad news, bad things do not disappear because of it.
It is simply that no one dares to tell you about the bad things anymore.
After coming to the United States, I felt this even more clearly. The place where food safety is truly reliable lies not in how smart consumers are, nor in the government telling people every day that things are “overall safe,” but in producers knowing someone is inspecting them, regulators knowing someone is supervising them, the media knowing it can investigate, enterprises knowing consumers can sue, and officials knowing that once an incident is exposed, it cannot be ended simply by deleting posts and issuing a boiler-plate notice.
Supervision is not causing trouble for the government.
Supervision itself is part of modern governance.
Similarly, regarding the harms of formaldehyde cabbage, we do not actually need to exaggerate for the sake of criticism. Formaldehyde is indeed a non-edible substance banned from being used in food preservation, and large ingestions can lead to acute poisoning; existing scientific data simultaneously points out that the long-term carcinogenic risk of formaldehyde is mainly related to inhalation exposure. We do not need to fabricate scary stories like “eating one cabbage will cause cancer” to question government responsibility. Because the fact that a chemical substance explicitly banned from entering food was exposed fourteen years ago and still appears in the vegetable transport chain fourteen years later is serious enough in itself.
Therefore, what “formaldehyde cabbage” truly poisons is likely far more than a few truckloads of cabbages. It poisons the public’s trust in food safety, trust in the regulatory system, and a society’s fundamental belief that “if something goes wrong, someone will certainly be held accountable.”
Arresting a few cabbage buyers today is not difficult; closing down a non-compliant pest control company is not difficult. What is truly difficult is answering that sentence that has gone unanswered for fourteen years:
Why are these things always discovered by ordinary people first, and only then does the government “attach high importance” to them?
If a system can only function after public opinion explodes, that is not called effective regulation—that is called crisis PR.
If the media can only interview independent media after exposure by independent media, that is not called news supervision—that is called follow-up reporting.
If an illegal act already shocked the entire nation fourteen years ago, and fourteen years later still requires “drawing lessons from this case” all over again, then what truly needs to be inspected should not only be cabbages, restaurants, and vendors, but the entire regulatory mechanism itself.
China does not lack testing equipment, does not lack law enforcement personnel, does not lack legal clauses, and does not lack a massive administrative system. What China truly lacks is a supervision system that cannot be arbitrarily shut down by authority: independent media, transparent information, an accountable judiciary, space for citizens’ free expression, and a system that truly makes officials and enterprises bear the consequences. Without these, no matter how severe a special rectification campaign is, it may just be a passing wind.
When the cabbage inspections are finished, there will be other vegetables; when formaldehyde is checked, there will be other chemicals; when this company closes, the next company may still appear. Fourteen years ago it was formaldehyde cabbage, and fourteen years later it is still formaldehyde cabbage. If the system itself does not change, what we truly do not know is not whether the next food safety scandal will happen, but simply—
What will happen to be randomly caught on camera next time?
Editor: Huang Jizhou Proofreader: Wang Bin Translator: Shen Meihua
Pursuing Democracy Should Not Be a Crime: Who Has the Right to Decide China’s Future? — Chow Hang-tung’s Persistence
Author: Zhang Zhijun
Abstract: From the 2019 Anti-Extradition Law Amendment Bill Movement in Hong Kong to the implementation of the Hong Kong National Security Law, and to Chow Hang-tung and others being convicted of “incitement to subvert state power,” Hong Kong’s transformation has served as a trajectory for the author’s political awakening. Using the judicial controversy sparked by the slogan “end one-party dictatorship” as an entry point, this article poses a more fundamental question: If the people are the source of state power, do they also possess the right to question, alter, or even peacefully replace the existing political system?
For me, the true political enlightenment was Hong Kong’s 2019 “Anti-Extradition” movement. It was precisely the promulgation of the Hong Kong National Security Law that made me resolutely step onto the path of a political dissident. In the years since, these Hong Kong people have continuously inspired me to press forward on the path of opposing CCP autocracy.
Seeing those Hong Kongers who defended democracy and freedom locked up in prison today—from Gwyneth Ho’s composed fearlessness to Chow Hang-tung’s smile upon hearing her verdict—this strength has given me sufficient courage to face the CCP’s totalitarianism. Ending the CCP’s one-party dictatorship is imperative.
A judgment of over two hundred pages ultimately revolved around a statement that is not complex: “End one-party dictatorship.”
On August 21, 2026, the High Court of Hong Kong ruled that Chow Hang-tung, Lee Cheuk-yan, and the disbanded Hong Kong Alliance were guilty of “incitement to subvert state power.” The court held that “ending one-party dictatorship” targets the ruling status of the Chinese Communist Party, and since this ruling status is stipulated by the current Chinese Constitution as a fundamental part of the state’s underlying system, advocating for the end of one-party dictatorship constitutes “overthrowing” or “undermining” the fundamental system of the state.
On the surface, this is a national security case. Yet when all the convoluted legal jargon is stripped away, the case leaves behind a question older and more fundamental than criminal law: To whom does China ultimately belong?
If China belongs to the people, then the people naturally have the right to discuss whether the Communist Party should continue to govern. If the people are the source of state sovereignty, then the people naturally have the right to advocate for changing the political system. If “all power belongs to the people” is not merely a decorative slogan, then the people must at least possess a most fundamental right—the right to say “no” to those holding state power.
Conversely, if the people have no right to demand that the ruling party step down, no right to request a rotation of political parties, and no right to advocate changing the existing political system, then the concept of “popular sovereignty” faces an unexplainable paradox:
The people are declared masters of the nation, yet they cannot decide who governs the nation.
What Chow Hang-tung questioned was not a technical interpretation of a legal clause, but the source of power. Any political party can believe itself to be the most suitable to govern, can proclaim its historical contributions, and can work hard to win the people’s support; but no political party can, by its own will, transform itself into the perpetual master of the state.
The CCP cannot declare on its own “I represent the people,” and then, “in the name of the people,” stipulate that the people must accept it forever. If it can do so, the logic becomes: because the Communist Party represents the people, the Communist Party must govern; because the Communist Party must govern, it proves that the Communist Party represents the people; and anyone demanding that the Communist Party step down, because they oppose the “Communist Party representing the people,” is defined as opposing the people and opposing the state.
This is a closed political loop. In this loop, power no longer requires continuous authorization from the people; it has pre-emptively declared itself to hold eternal authorization. This is not “governing” in democratic politics; it is a monopoly over political choice.
Can a constitution mandate that a political party can never step down?
What is most worth contemplating in Chow Hang-tung’s case is not whether the Chinese Constitution currently stipulates the ruling position of the Communist Party; there is little dispute over that fact. The real question is: Does the existence of a constitutional provision suffice to prove that this provision is eternally legitimate, and that the people can never advocate for changing it?
If the answer is affirmative, then many autocratic systems throughout human history could receive the most perfect legal defense. Autocracy does not necessarily mean “having no laws.” Many autocratic systems likewise have constitutions, courts, criminal laws, judges, and complex judicial procedures. What truly distinguishes the rule of law from autocracy is not whether a country possesses a book of laws, but whether the law constrains power or serves to prove that power is eternally correct.
The rule of law is not writing the ruler’s will into legal clauses and then declaring that all acts conforming to this will constitute “abiding by the law.” The core of the rule of law is that power itself is bound.
If a constitution can mandate that a specific political party must rule the country forever, while criminal law forbids the people from peacefully demanding changes to this mandate, then the constitution is no longer a supreme law that constrains government; it becomes a political fortress protecting rulers from challenges by the people.
Therefore, the question has never been merely: “Does ending one-party dictatorship violate the current system?” The more fundamental question should be: Do the people have the right to advocate for changing the current system?
If even the act of “advocating for change” is prohibited, the system has effectively declared itself unreformable, irreplaceable, and incapable of being reauthorized by the people. A system that does not allow the people to make peaceful changes ultimately leaves only two possibilities: permanent submission, or violent fracture. A truly wise political system should precisely avoid this.
The reason a democratic system permits opposition parties to exist, permits criticism of the constitution, and permits amendments or even advocate for thorough changes to the political system is not because democracy is weak, but because it understands: allowing the people a peaceful path to alter the system is precisely the most reliable safety valve against society veering into violence.
“We are not trying beliefs”—why does it still feel like beliefs are being put on trial?
The Hong Kong government emphasized that the court is judging actions, not political beliefs; the authority’s position is that the defendant is not on trial for believing in democracy, but because her actions crossed the line of lawful expression, constituting incitement to subvert state power by unlawful means. This is naturally the official stance that must be recognized when understanding the case.
However, Chow Hang-tung raised a sharper question: If a person’s actions become criminal precisely because these actions continuously express the political goal of “ending one-party dictatorship,” then how much substantive difference remains in claiming “not trying beliefs”? It is like a state saying: You are entirely free to believe that capitalism is better than socialism; but if you publicly advocate for the abolition of socialism, that constitutes subversion.
Formally, it does not forbid you from “thinking it in your mind.” But if political beliefs can only exist within human minds and cannot be spoken, written, organized, or peacefully disseminated, then so-called freedom of thought retains only an extremely impoverished meaning:
You may possess thoughts, on the condition that these thoughts never become public action. Yet political freedom has never meant “permitting people to keep silent in their minds.” True freedom of thought must include freedom of expression, freedom of expression must include the freedom to persuade others, and freedom of association itself implies that people can organize for common political goals. Otherwise, “freedom” ultimately reduces to the state allowing each individual to secretly hold differing opinions in private spaces. This also explains why the six words “end one-party dictatorship” carry such crucial symbolic weight in this case.
Because it forces people to confront an unavoidable question: In today’s Hong Kong, can a person still publicly believe that China should have a future that is not permanently monopolized by the Communist Party? Opposing a political party is not equivalent to opposing a country.
One of the most effective narratives of autocratic politics is the continuous blurring of boundaries between “Party,” “Government,” “Country,” “Nation,” and “People.” Consequently:
Opposing the Communist Party is gradually interpreted as being anti-China;
Opposing the government is interpreted as being anti-state;
Demanding political reform is interpreted as endangering national security;
Criticizing leaders is interpreted as attacking the entire nation.
From the perspective of modern political theory, these concepts must be strictly distinguished. A country is older than any political party, and it should endure longer than any political party. A political party is merely a political organization competing for public power. China did not become China because the Communist Party took power after 1949, nor do the Chinese people exist as Chinese people because of the Communist Party.
A person can love their country deeply while strongly opposing the political party governing it. It can even be said that precisely because a person believes the country belongs to all its people, they have reason to oppose any political party claiming the country as its permanent political asset.
Logically, there is no necessary link between “the Communist Party stepping down” and “the destruction of China.”
When the United States changes governments, the United States still exists;
When the ruling party in the UK rotates, the UK still exists;
When Taiwan realized rotations of political parties, Taiwanese society did not disappear because of it.
The peaceful transfer of power is an important achievement of modern political civilization. Binding a single political party’s ruling status to the survival of the nation exposes a deep-seated insecurity: if a political party truly believes the people support it, what it should fear least is letting the people choose. Ballots prove political legitimacy far better than any propaganda.
National security cannot become an infinitely expanding concept.
All countries have the right to protect national security. No free society allows espionage, terrorism, armed rebellion, or foreign military sabotage. But the most dangerous aspect of national security law lies in the immense capacity for expansion contained within the words “national security.” Without strict boundaries, protecting national security can gradually turn into protecting government security, and from protecting government security into protecting ruling party security, ultimately even becoming the protection of a specific political ideology from being challenged.
In the end:
The downfall of a political party is viewed as the demise of the nation;
Criticism of a political system is viewed as an attack on national security;
The people demanding that power be subject to choice are viewed as endangering the country.
At this point, the concept of national security has undergone a fundamental transformation. It no longer primarily protects the people from real dangers, but begins to protect power from challenges by the people. This is also why Chow Hang-tung’s case possesses a significance far beyond her personal fate. She did not plead in her defense that she “actually didn’t oppose the Communist Party that much,” nor did she try to explain that “end one-party dictatorship” was merely a harmless slogan.
On the contrary, she directly admitted: she simply believes one-party dictatorship should end. And she further maintained: believing this should never be a crime. This defense is far more thorough than technical legal arguments, because she refused to accept the prosecution’s pre-set premise—as if demanding an end to one-party dictatorship were itself a political fault requiring explanation, apology, or mitigation.
The true dignity of law does not come from compelling everyone to obey.
Perhaps the most memorable sentence in Chow Hang-tung’s defense statement is: “When the law insists on opposing conscience, the only loser will be the law, and the only thing losing legitimacy will be the law.” This sentence touches upon the oldest distinction between “legitimacy” and “legality.” An act violating written law does not automatically conclude the discussion on justice. Otherwise, those who helped slaves escape during the era of slavery were criminals; those who violated segregation laws during the era of apartheid were criminals; many historical dissidents, journalists, and pro-democracy activists were all “lawbreakers” in the legal sense of their times.
When history subsequently evaluated these people, it did not merely ask: “Did they violate the law back then?” History further asks: What kind of law was that?
Law naturally requires stability; otherwise, society cannot function. But the reason law deserves obedience is not merely because police, prisons, and state machinery stand behind it. The deep authority of law stems from people believing that it at least strives to uphold a fairness higher than power itself.
If a law only demands that the people obey the rulers, but does not demand that the rulers submit to the supervision of the people, then the harsher such a law is, the more it exposes its distance from the spirit of the rule of law.
This is also the greatest difference between “governing the country according to law” (Rule by Law) and “using law to constrain power” (Rule of Law). The former can merely mean rulers utilizing law to govern the people. The latter means: law is first and foremost a rein around the neck of power.
What truly unnerves power about the June 4th candles is not just history.
The significance of the Hong Kong Alliance holding the June 4th candlelight vigil for over thirty years cannot be understood solely as mourning the deceased. Mourning itself is a political act, because memory signifies a refusal to accept the state’s monopoly over history. That people in a society still light candles every year means the state can control textbooks, control television, and delete internet information, yet remain unable to completely dictate what the people should remember.
Hong Kong was for a long time the only place within Chinese territory able to publicly commemorate the 1989 events on a large scale, and the annual Victoria Park candlelight vigil of the Hong Kong Alliance once drew vast public participation.
Why would a single candle inspire fear? Because behind it lies a question that power finds most difficult to answer: If the government’s actions that year were correct, why cannot the people discuss them publicly? Truly secure history does not rely on forbidding memory to sustain itself.
Similarly, a truly secure system does not rely on criminal penalties to prevent people from discussing an alternative system.
What the Chow Hang-tung case leaves behind in the end is not “who won the lawsuit.”
A court can find a person guilty. A state can lock a person in prison. But a state cannot resolve a question of political philosophy through a single judgment: Why does the Communist Party possess a natural right to rule 1.4 billion people forever? “Because the Constitution stipulates so” is not the ultimate answer. Because the people can continue to ask: Then where does the authority of the Constitution come from? If the answer is the people, then why cannot the people demand to amend it? If the people cannot demand amendments, then who ultimately possesses supreme power?
This chain of logic ultimately returns to the initial question: Does the country belong to the people, or do the people belong to the country? Chow Hang-tung chose the former answer. She believes that state power must be “locked back in the cage of democracy,” that the people are not appendages of the state machine, but should be the true masters of the state. A person can naturally disagree with her. One can believe China is currently unsuitable for democracy, can believe the Communist Party governs well, can believe a one-party system is more efficient, or can even publicly debate with her whether “ending one-party dictatorship” is a good proposition.
However, the way a civilized society resolves such disagreements should be: let her speak, and let those who oppose her speak. Then let the people judge. It should not be giving one side a microphone and the other side a prison cell. This is the most unsettling aspect of the Chow Hang-tung case. It touches not a mere political slogan, but a most fundamental boundary of a civilized society: Do the people have the right to peacefully envision a country different from today’s?
If the answer is negative, then the cost of so-called stability is the prohibition of the future. If a system must mandate that the people cannot imagine its end, cannot advocate its end, and cannot organize to promote its end, then what such a system truly fears may never be so-called “subversion.” What it fears is choice. For as long as the people still possess choice, “perpetual rule” can only be a wish, never a right. Thus, the real proposition Chow Hang-tung insists upon is not merely “ending one-party dictatorship.”
At a deeper level, it is: No political party has the standing to declare itself eternally irreplaceable by the people. From the current interpretation of the National Security Law by the Hong Kong courts, her actions have been adjudicated as criminal; this is today’s legal reality. But legal reality is not the endpoint of historical discussion.
From the perspectives of popular sovereignty, freedom of political expression, and the most fundamental principles of the modern rule of law, peacefully commemorating “June 4th,” peacefully criticizing the ruling party, and peacefully advocating for a democratic system and political party rotation ought to belong to political expression. They should not, simply because their objective touches the ruling position of the governing party, automatically transform into criminal offenses.
The strongest proof of a nation’s strength is not how many critics it can silence, but that even if someone stands on the street demanding the rulers step down, the nation still possesses enough confidence to answer: Then let the people decide. Therefore, what Chow Hang-tung ultimately insists upon is an extremely simple principle: A nation may have political parties, but political parties cannot possess the nation. The people can choose the Communist Party, but they must also possess the right not to choose the Communist Party. Otherwise, the word “people” remains nothing more than a title repeatedly used by power, and the word “democracy” remains nothing more than a promise that can never be fulfilled.
Appendix: Chow Hang-tung’s Court Statement
1. A 206-page judgment, saying this and that, boils down to one thing: pursuing democracy is a crime.
2. I do not believe any political party can privately transfer the sovereignty of the nation, declaring on its own that it is the choice of the people, declaring on its own that it is the sole leadership, and then further claiming that everyone has a legal obligation to support its self-proclaimed throne. Such so-called law is merely a synonym for tyranny.
3. Believing that autocracy is wrong and democracy is right—if that is not a conviction, what is it? Even if the court and the government keep chanting incantations claiming we are not on trial for our beliefs, it cannot change the fact that under this judgment, those who believe in the concept of “ending one-party dictatorship” no longer have a place to stand. In the eyes of such “law,” holding this thought is already unconstitutional, illegal, and an original sin. Even if we are merely doing something entirely legitimate, such as commemorating June 4th, it becomes a crime simply because of the “incorrectness” of our thoughts themselves.
4. But the law cannot control anyone’s thoughts. Not only can it not control them, when the law insists on opposing conscience, the only loser will be the law, and the only thing losing legitimacy will be the law.
5. To be human requires a bottom line, and the law requires one too. The distinction between democracy and autocracy is the most important bottom line of all, because under autocracy, there is no rule of law. When the court completely hollows out the factual reasons and the right-and-wrong behind the demand to “end one-party dictatorship,” blindly emphasizing the will of the regime and the so-called duty to abide by the law, it is equivalent to saying that living under Nazi Germany conferred a legal duty to exterminate Jews—a claim just as absurd. Such a practice will only strip the law of its soul for manifesting fairness, reducing it to a puppet driven by power.
6. What caused tragedy after tragedy under Nazi rule and totalitarian rule was precisely this attitude of asking no questions of right or wrong, but asking only for obedience. And current courts, as well as the state, are walking down the same dangerous old road. In fact, with the advancement of technology, the enhancement of state power, and the state becoming a recognized “major power,” the danger today is only more severe than back then.
7. As citizens, we have a responsibility to lock state power back into the cage of democracy, fulfilling our duties as masters of the country to control and supervise it. Doing so is not only to seek justice for past harms, but also to prevent even greater disasters from happening again. Blindly fattening a state machine that we cannot control in the name of national security, eroding humanity and conscience, will make future tragedy a matter of time.
8. Therefore, ending one-party dictatorship is an unavoidable responsibility for our generation of Hong Kongers and Chinese people. This matter must be completed by ourselves; it can only be completed by ourselves, and no outsiders can do it on our behalf.
9. This is my sincere thought and conviction, and it is far from being my conviction alone—the 30 years of candlelight in Victoria Park have already proven this. “End one-party dictatorship” is the people’s bottom line; it is a universal demand. When the law overestimates itself to challenge it, it will only bring humiliation upon itself.
10. The court pretends the issue is not disseminating thoughts, but so-called spreading hostility. But the conviction to “end one-party dictatorship” has never needed to rely on any us-versus-them mindset or incitement of hatred to sustain itself. We need only speak reason and facts to gain the support of all who understand reason.
11. Because autocracy itself is already the greatest and most obvious injustice. It disregards everyone’s equality and autonomy, forcing down an unreasoned order of rule, downgrading free citizens into slaves without choice. Ending one-party dictatorship is merely reclaiming the dignity that human beings deserve as human beings. And any person who is not pretending to be asleep should be able to understand this truth.
12. Only those who cannot make sense through reason need to rely on mobilization through hatred all day long, whereas we do not need to at all; only those completely lacking in confidence will see hostility in everything, whereas we will never view the world that way. We have absolute confidence in what we believe and what we persist in. Just because autocracy relies on hatred to maintain its rule does not mean everyone must use its playbook, nor does it mean the world truly revolves around hatred. Convictions in equality and justice, and respect for humanity and truth, have always been stronger and more enduring forces than hatred.
13. Conviction is an existence that cannot be calculated or traded. To beg for leniency or apologize for everything one believes in is the most hypocritical thing, and an insult to everyone who holds the same conviction. Therefore I will not do it; I cannot do it. Even the executioners who carried out the massacre have not come forward to apologize—when is it our turn?! Even if the world is turned upside down, we should not apologize for the wrong things done by the regime, making ourselves part of that inversion.
14. Regarding everything in the past, I refuse to use the language and concepts of crime to analyze how serious or non-serious what we did was. If the court really wants a reference, it can ask the Office for Safeguarding National Security led by the Communist Party; they truly know how to look at efforts to strive for democracy and human rights through the lens of crime. Moreover, they have unhesitatingly stated that this case is serious in nature and must be severely punished, not feeling at all that they are interfering with judicial independence. In any case, if the court ultimately judges us as belonging to “serious circumstances,” I will take it as a compliment to us, because it means we actually accomplished something.
15. To be able to find a mission one believes in and partners with whom one can fight side by side is the happiest thing in life. Therefore, regarding the path I have walked together with the Hong Kong Alliance and the people of Hong Kong, I have zero regrets. It is only hard on my family and the people who love me; the only subjects from whom I must ask forgiveness are them.
16. As for the future, whether inside or outside prison, I will continue to work, learn, enrich myself, and make various attempts toward releasing democratic activists, vindicating the 1989 democracy movement, holding accountable those responsible for the massacre, ending one-party dictatorship, and building a democratic Hong Kong and China, until the day democracy arrives. This is a promise I have publicly made countless times, a solemn oath I swore to the victims amidst the sea of candles. And I do not intend to be a person who breaks my word.
17. If doing so makes me a perpetual criminal, if the law truly cannot accommodate our convictions, then I would rather be a criminal than a person who betrays conscience. I will walk this unfinished democratic path together with all Hong Kongers who refuse to accept their fate.
18. Candlelight like a sea, human hearts becoming waves. Crashing against the shore into dust, never at peace until injustice ends.
Editor:Geoffrey Jin Proofreader: Xiong Bian Translator: Shen Meihua
本文涉及秋雨圣约教会的事件资料，参考 Human Rights Watch（人权观察）于2026年1月6日发布的《中国：再次逮捕地下基督教会成员》。该报道记载，中国当局拘捕了成都秋雨圣约教会六名成员，并提及教会负责人李英强在德阳住处被警方带走。其余内容为作者个人信仰经历与感想。
作者简介
Yi Hong，现居美国的华人基督徒。成为基督徒时间不长，目前仍在信仰中学习和成长，愿意记录自己在信仰生活中的经历与思考。
编辑：Gloria Wang 校对：熊辩 翻译：沈美花
When Faith Is No Longer Just a Distant Word
Reflections on the Early Rain Covenant Church Incident
Author: Yi Hong
Abstract: After becoming a Christian, a church news report that once felt distant began to carry a different weight. Moving from the gatherings and mutual support of Chinese-speaking saints in Northern California to a growing concern for the situation of Chengdu’s Early Rain Covenant Church, the author re-examines the meaning of religious freedom: those seemingly ordinary acts of reading the Bible, praying, and gathering together are not something to be taken for granted, but a daily life to be cherished.
A while ago, I read a report concerning Chengdu’s Early Rain Covenant Church. The report mentioned that in January 2026, the church’s leader, Li Yingqiang, was taken away by police from his residence in Deyang, and several church members were also detained or summoned.
If this had happened in the past, such news would have felt very distant to me.
Back then, I was not yet a Christian. Whenever I occasionally saw news about churches or Christians, I might have viewed it merely as a social event happening to someone else. Once I read it, it quickly faded from my mind.
However, after becoming a Christian, when I came across such news again, I realized my feelings were no longer the same.
Not long ago, I attended a perfecting training for Chinese-speaking saints in Northern California. The several-day session revolved around the theme of “Building the Dwelling Place of God.” As a new believer, I am still gradually learning many truths and cannot say that I have a profound understanding yet. But there was one point that gave me a much more practical realization than before: faith is not just about what a person believes in their heart; it gradually penetrates every part of our lives.
During the training, I saw many people from different places and diverse lines of work sitting together to learn and fellowship because of their shared faith, while also caring for and supporting one another in their daily lives.
This helped me begin to understand that while an individual can believe in God in their heart, the life of faith often becomes concrete within human connection. Reading the Bible together, praying, and holding gatherings—things that used to seem ordinary to me—slowly took on a different meaning.
It was precisely after having these experiences that, when I thought about the report on Early Rain Covenant Church again, I no longer just thought of a few names in a news article.
The people in those reports are actually ordinary individuals. They have their own families and lives, and just like many Christians, they read the Bible, pray, gather together, and support one another in their faith.
I do not know them personally, nor have I experienced what they have gone through, so I cannot speak on their behalf about how they feel. Yet, this news prompted me to earnestly consider a question that had previously seemed somewhat abstract to me: What does it actually mean for an ordinary person to be able to freely hold their faith and live according to it?
In the past, I might have thought that religious freedom simply meant “a person can choose what to believe.”
Only now have I come to realize that it also exists within many very ordinary things—being able to read the Bible and pray with peace of mind, being able to meet normally with fellow believers, and being able to express what one believes in daily life.
When all of this can occur freely, it is easy for us to take it for granted.
However, when I see some Christians facing pressure simply because of their gatherings and faith, I begin to realize: these seemingly normal routines are actually a precious blessing to be cherished.
Those days in Northern California allowed me to see more clearly the mutual building up and support among people within the faith; meanwhile, the report regarding Early Rain Covenant Church led me to reconsider my own faith from another perspective.
I have not been a Christian for very long, and I am still learning about many issues.
But at least now, when I see such news again, I will not simply read it and turn to the next page as I used to.
Because those words that once felt so far away from me—faith, prayer, gathering, church—have now step by step entered my life.
And I have come to understand that being able to believe freely, and to live out what one believes in the course of an ordinary life, is not a minor thing to be taken for granted, but a freedom worthy of deep appreciation.
Source Details:
The event information concerning Early Rain Covenant Church in this article refers to the report “China: Underground Christian Church Members Arrested Again” released by Human Rights Watch on January 6, 2026. The report records that Chinese authorities detained six members of Chengdu’s Early Rain Covenant Church and mentions that church leader Li Yingqiang was taken away by police from his residence in Deyang. The remainder of the text reflects the author’s personal faith experience and reflections.
Author Bio:
Yi Hong, a Chinese Christian currently residing in the United States. Having become a Christian relatively recently, the author is still learning and growing in faith, and wishes to document personal experiences and thoughts within the Christian life.
Editor: Gloria Wang Proofreader: Xiong Bian Translator: Shen Meihua
First Arrival in Hong Kong: From “Living Room Bureau Chief” to Hired Hand
I finally met my maternal grandfather for the very first time in my life. He had seen a tiny black-and-white photograph of me, while I had seen many large, color photographs of him. The two of us sized each other up, confirming once again that we shared a relationship, yet neither of us looked like the other.
My grandfather looked just like a foreigner—a fact proven even further when he later traveled all over Mainland China. Wherever he went, crowds would gather to watch him; whenever he saw women with bound feet, he would chase after them, snapping photos and filming with his camera.
Let alone meeting for the first time, before this I didn’t even know he existed in this world. Learning about my grandfather was something that had only happened a few years prior. Once, after getting into an argument with a classmate on the way home from school, the other kid suddenly blurted out that my grandfather was a “US-Chiang [Kuomintang] spy” currently stationed in Hong Kong. I said that was impossible—my mother’s side of the family never had anyone around.
Afterward, I felt something was off; without a grandfather, how could there be a mother? I was determined to get to the bottom of it when I got home. I asked my mother, “Do I have a grandfather?”
“Yes.”
“Where on earth is he right now?”
“In Hong Kong.”
Hearing this felt like a bolt out of the blue, and I couldn’t help but burst into loud crying.
My father’s family was labeled as capitalists who “exploited others,” and now my mother’s family turned out to be another unclear case of “colluding with foreign forces.” Good heavens, how could I be so unlucky in this lifetime?
My mother kept explaining to me that all of this was done to protect me, and that the other child’s parents must have peeked at our confidential personnel files (dangan). At that time, we lived inside the compound of a mainland university. Although it was a place where intellectuals gathered, families with overseas connections were still relatively rare; it was considered a relatively open-minded institution within a conservative city.
After Nixon visited China, the entire country—from top to bottom, from the coastal regions to the inland—gradually opened its doors. My mother then began applying to visit relatives in Hong Kong. I truly could not understand her motive: having no feelings whatsoever toward my grandfather, why would she want to go to that place where “people eat people and spit out the bones”?
When my mother returned from Hong Kong, many people in the campus compound found excuses to visit her. She was always so cautious, constantly possessing a knack uncommon in ordinary people: preventing the other party from achieving their goal—prying into the situation in Hong Kong—while protecting herself and her family, all without offending anyone.
Many color photos appeared in our home. Compared to our original black-and-white photos, they were so starkly different, like “items used by giants.” In the photos, my mother wore lipstick and high heels, posing beside airplanes, on cruise ships, and in front of skyscrapers. How could the mother I faced every single day look just like the wife of a foreign head of state?
I remember one day in the last century, while on a flight between Beijing and Hong Kong, the large screen in the cabin was playing a female singer’s concert performance. The general meaning of the lyrics was about when that unfortunately separated “child” could return to the embrace of the “mother,” while the background displayed prosperous views of Hong Kong’s skyscrapers. It formed a sharp contrast with mainland cities, and I thought to myself: how fortunate this “unfortunate child” actually was!
This was my first day in Hong Kong. I had to get up very early in the morning because I was the “Living Room Bureau Chief” (Tingzhang)—going to sleep later than anyone else and waking up earlier than anyone else. This was the “brutal” reality I had only learned about a few hours prior.
Back then, people in my situation going to Hong Kong could be said to carry a mission: to go and “inherit an estate.” Before me, a boy from our compound had left; his grandfather owned a rubber plantation in Malaysia, and rumor had it he was also going to inherit an estate. The Municipal Public Security Bureau gave a green light to all such cases without exception.
I remember my grandfather once delivered a family letter to the Public Security Bureau. In it, he introduced himself as having been born at the turn of the century—in 1900. He graduated from the Special School of Taxation, originally called the Beijing Customs College, and later served as an official in the Customs Service. He owned his own business in Hong Kong and was also enthusiastic about participating in various social charity donation activities.
I remember that letter he wrote: besides using traditional Chinese characters, he was always pedantically quoting classical literary phrasing (zhi-hu-zhe-ye), sounding entirely like a wealthy person. In Hong Kong, he didn’t have to live in temporary squatter huts built on the hillsides or in government public housing (resettlement estates); he owned his own building with an elevator, and it wasn’t a traditional tenement building (Tong Lau) either, naturally giving off the aura of a rich man.
Back then, elevators included those operated by yourself and those operated by an operator for you. The self-operated ones were more upscale, but on every floor, you had to open and close the door yourself when using it; I remember the door was a folding gate made of iron and bamboo.
I wonder how many fellow netizens have ever visited the homes of poor people in Hong Kong back in that era. Many temporary houses built on the mountains were the type where it rained heavily outside and lightly inside, and the women of the household needed someone to accompany them just to go to the toilet.
Even if you were lucky enough to win the lottery and move into public housing, not every floor had an elevator stop. People often queued for the lift, and it might not even take you to the floor you wanted. The space for each family was extremely cramped; a cloth curtain was pulled across every doorway—using this method just to catch a breath of air. The public corridors were filled with the clatter of pots, pans, bowls, and ladles, alongside the shouting and scolding between parents and children.
Remember: the truly poor did not live in “public housing,” but in those “cage homes.”
My grandfather was a playboy (wan-ku zi-di); apart from traveling the world, he always spent every last penny. However, he had a stamp collecting hobby and had even established the “Kowloon Stamp Company,” which old-timers in Hong Kong should still remember.
He had a tiny shop no bigger than a piece of dried tofu in the bustling area of Causeway Bay. Stamp collectors often frequented the spot, and it also attracted some primary and secondary school students after school. It turned out that stamp collecting was a hobby for any budget—there were stamps that were dirt cheap, and others that were terrifyingly expensive.
The stamp shop was a member of an international organization and would periodically receive mail parcels containing the most common, generic, and cheapest stamps from all over the world. The incoming stamps were still attached to the cut-off portions of envelopes, tied together with rubber bands in bundles of one hundred. We needed to use warm water to separate them, just like in other cottage workshops.
Back then, people also brought in “rare gem stamps” for consignment or trade. Those included China’s “The Whole Country is Red” as well as Britain’s “Penny Black” and “Penny Red.” These tiny stamps can easily be worth millions of US dollars or euros, tens of millions of RMB today, but back then they could only be exchanged for a single color television set.
It was obvious that my trip to Hong Kong had consumed the state’s precious foreign exchange: twenty Hong Kong dollars. I finally faced the reality before my eyes: my grandfather was not poor, but he was by no means rich either. My original dream of “inheriting an estate” was thus completely shattered.
Party Pawn—The Secret History of the CCP’s Export of Revolution (Part VI)
Infiltrating the United States: From Chinatown to the Black Panther Party
Author: Tuo Xianrun
In 1970, Huey Newton, leader of the Black Panther Party, was released from prison and bought a plane ticket to China.
He stayed in China for ten days, met Zhou Enlai, visited factories, schools, and communes, and witnessed a thriving, prosperous socialist country. After returning to the United States, he did something that confounded everyone: he announced that the Black Panther Party was renouncing armed revolution and would no longer seek to overthrow the U.S. government.
Just a year prior, he had been a fanatical admirer of Mao Zedong, treating the Quotations from Chairman Mao Tse-tung as a Bible and viewing the Chinese Revolution as his model. While he was in prison, other members of the Black Panther Party went on pilgrimages to China, meeting Mao Zedong and top CCP leaders, regarding China as the spiritual homeland for all oppressed people across the globe.
Why did he change so drastically upon his return?
Many claimed his temperament had undergone a shift, that prison had altered him, or that he had begun abusing drugs. These explanations all sound plausible, yet none hit upon the true reason. The true reason was that in Beijing, Zhou Enlai delivered a piece of news to him: China was about to improve its relations with the United States, China would no longer support the Black Panther Party’s armed revolution, and economic aid would be cut off accordingly.
Newton returned from China not as a man who had undergone a personal transformation, but as a man who had received an eviction notice. Knowing that his backer had pulled out, he had no choice but to forge a new path on his own.
This story must be told from the very beginning.
The CCP’s strategic footprint in the United States began much earlier and ran far deeper than most people realize. In 1927, following the split between the Kuomintang and the Communist Party, a group of CCP members in the U.S. applied to join the Communist Party USA (CPUSA). The CPUSA established a dedicated organ for this purpose called the Chinese Bureau. Headquartered in San Francisco, it was nominally placed under the direction of District 13 of the CPUSA in San Francisco, but in reality, it operated as an underground network targeting Chinese immigrants and overseas Chinese in the United States.
The first secretary of the Chinese Bureau was Shi Huang. Shi Huang was no ordinary party worker; he was later dispatched to Cuba to assist in establishing the Communist Party of Cuba, and upon his return, he was sent to Moscow for training before entering the system of the Hong Kong Seamen’s Union. In that era, the Hong Kong Seamen’s Union was one of the CCP’s most crucial intelligence and organizational networks overseas, serving as a key channel through which the CCP extended its reach into overseas Chinese communities.
The second key figure of the Chinese Bureau was Xu Yongying. In 1928, he founded the Chinese Workers’ Club in San Francisco, an event considered the formal beginning of the CCP’s mass movements in the United States. He later joined the Institute of Pacific Relations as a research fellow, utilizing the cover of this academic institution to influence the perceptions of the American intelligentsia and political circles regarding China. After returning to China, he entered the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and served as the Director-General of the Department of American and Australian Affairs.
The third individual was even more interesting: Ji Chaoding. A graduate of Tsinghua University, he joined the CPUSA Chinese Bureau after studying in the United States, while simultaneously infiltrating the financial system of the Nationalist Government through the network of the CPUSA. He became a secretary to H. H. Kung, got along famously with T. V. Soong, and played bridge with Soong Ai-ling every week. Within the Nationalist Government’s financial system, he accomplished something with far-reaching consequences: he spearheaded the determination of the currency exchange rate in former occupied areas following the victory in the War of Resistance.
At the time, the black-market exchange rate between the puppet currency in the occupied territories and the Fabi (legal tender) stood at roughly eighty to one, but Ji Chaoding persuaded T. V. Soong to establish an official, mandatory exchange rate of two hundred to one. This meant that the savings of ordinary people in the occupied zones shrank by nearly seventy percent overnight. Takeover officials from the Nationalist Government discovered that by bringing Fabi to the occupied territories, exchanging it at the two-hundred-to-one rate for puppet currency, and then buying cheap gold, real estate, and commodities to transport back to the Nationalist rear areas, they could reap multi-fold profits. Corruption was thus institutionalized; under the impact of this exchange rate, the economy in Nationalist-controlled areas rapidly collapsed, and the hearts of the public were completely alienated.
Later, historians commented that Ji Chaoding helped the CCP win the Chinese Civil War with a single exchange rate. He was a man of great merit to the CCP, but as some have said: Ji Chaoding was a benefactor to the CCP, yet a perpetrator of crime against the Chinese nation. He passed away very early, in 1963, without living to see enough people understand what he had actually done.
From Shi Huang to Xu Yongying to Ji Chaoding, these three individuals outlined the foundational logic of the CCP’s strategic layout in the United States: using the CPUSA as cover to build organizational networks, employing academic institutions and news media as channels to shape public opinion, and infiltrating the interior of the Nationalist Government to directly undermine the rival’s foundation. These three lines operated simultaneously and in tandem with one another, while the actual masterminds behind the scenes were Zhou Enlai and Dong Biwu—the two men at the very apex of the CCP’s intelligence apparatus.
After 1933, the Chinese Bureau ceased engaging in superficial party affairs and explicitly transformed into an intelligence organization and an agency for building clandestine bases. They established their roots in New York because New York possessed a vast population of Chinese immigrants, the network of the Hong Kong Seamen’s Union, and the protection of the CPUSA—a fertile soil in which to cultivate deep operations. Flushing, built upon this foundation and nurtured over decades of operation, became what it is today.
Following the rise of McCarthyism, the Communist Party USA suffered severe suppression within the United States, and open party activities virtually ground to a complete halt. The CCP’s forces in the United States transitioned into an even deeper underground, continuing their existence under the guise of secret societies, native place associations, labor organizations, and cultural groups. Layer was nested within layer; viewed from the outside, they appeared to be ordinary Chinese community organizations, and only the core personnel on the inside knew their true affiliation.
In the 1960s, Mao Zedong came to believe that he was already positioned to replace Stalin as the leader of the world revolution, and the CCP initiated the export of revolution on a global scale. Within the United States, this impulse found an unexpected outlet: the Black Civil Rights Movement.
The CCP’s strategy of playing the “Black card” did not begin with the Black Panther Party. As early as 1959, the Black writer W. E. B. Du Bois visited China, meeting with Mao Zedong, Zhou Enlai, and Chen Yi. In 1961, Robert F. Williams, a leader of the NAACP, was indicted for advocating Black armed self-defense and fled to Cuba. In 1965, upon the invitation of Mao Zedong and Zhou Enlai, he traveled to China, took refuge in Beijing, and lived there for several years. The connections between these individuals and the CCP served as a prelude to the relationship that later developed between the Black Panther Party and China.
The Black Panther Party was founded in 1966 by Huey Newton and Bobby Seale. Newton was a fanatical admirer of Mao Zedong; he did not begin by reading the Selected Works of Mao Zedong, but rather started with the Quotations, becoming increasingly obsessed as he read until he turned Mao Zedong Thought into the ideological foundation of the Black Panther Party. Where the Black Panther Party’s funding originated has always remained a mystery. The official narrative claims they went to pro-China bookstores in San Francisco, purchased copies of Quotations from Chairman Mao Tse-tung at twenty cents each, and resold them on the UC Berkeley campus for one dollar each, making an eighty-cent profit per copy to purchase firearms.
This explanation is laughable to an astonishing degree. Making an eighty-cent profit per copy meant that buying a single shotgun, which cost seventy to eighty dollars, would require selling nearly a hundred copies. At its peak, the Black Panther Party maintained uniform attire and standardized weaponry, provided free breakfast to twenty thousand children daily across nineteen cities in the United States, and operated free clinics, legal aid, and community patrols. This money was not made by selling copies of the Quotations.
In 1963, Mao Zedong issued a public statement supporting the African American civil rights movement, framing it as an integral part of the global anti-imperialist struggle. When the Cultural Revolution broke out in 1966, the CCP began promoting armed revolution worldwide; it was precisely at this historical juncture that the Black Panther Party was established, receiving substantive support from China. While no public record exists detailing specific financial figures, judging by the operational scale of the Black Panther Party, this support was undoubtedly real.
In the eyes of FBI Director J. Edgar Hoover, the Black Panther Party posed the greatest threat to internal security in the United States. Hoover’s judgment was not without foundation, as the Black Panther Party was engaged in something truly dangerous: the battle for hearts and minds. Through programs providing free breakfasts, free medical clinics, and legal aid, the Black Panther Party established a genuine mass base within impoverished Black communities. This—far more than the firearms in their hands—was what struck genuine terror into the government.
Then, in 1971, Newton traveled to China, and upon his return, he announced the renunciation of armed revolution.
An internal split immediately erupted within the Black Panther Party. One faction viewed Newton as a traitor to the revolution and refused to accept this transition. Eldridge Cleaver, then exiled in Algeria, publicly broke with Newton over the phone and was subsequently expelled from the party. The other faction followed Newton’s path of transformation, embarking on a course of community service and electoral politics; Bobby Seale later ran for mayor and state governor, ultimately transitioning into a conventional Democratic politician.
This process of fragmentation coincided precisely with the timeline of improving Sino-American relations. In 1971, Henry Kissinger made his secret visit to China, and in 1972, Richard Nixon visited Beijing, signaling the start of normalization between China and the United States. China no longer needed to maintain an armed subversion force inside the United States; having fulfilled its mission, the Black Panther Party was quietly abandoned.
Yet, the CCP’s strategic footprint in the United States did not vanish as a result; it merely adopted a different form.
In 1978, an organization named I Wor Kuen announced its dissolution, and that same year, a new organization called the League of Revolutionary Struggle was established, presenting itself as a purely domestic American organization with no ties to the CCP. In 1985, this organization merged with several other pro-China groups to form the Freedom Road Socialist Organization. This organization continues to exist to this day, with its members participating under covert identities and keeping their party affiliations unpublicized—a textbook operational model of an underground party.
Even more direct is the Chinese Progressive Association in California. This organization was established in San Francisco by I Wor Kuen, who were sent from New York, with their roots in New York tracing back to the Chinese Bureau. Having survived to this day, the Chinese Progressive Association in California remains one of the most important pro-China Chinese organizations on the West Coast of the United States. Alicia Garza, one of the co-founders of the Black Lives Matter movement, founded an organization called the Black Futures Lab; the sole fiscal sponsor of this lab was none other than the Chinese Progressive Association in California.
From the Chinese Bureau in the 1920s, to the Black Panther Party in the 1960s, to Black Lives Matter in the 2010s, this line is continuous—it is no accidental coincidence, but rather the varying manifestations of the very same network across different eras.
Xi Jinping later detonated this network prematurely. The Black Lives Matter movement erupted in 2020, its timing heavily coinciding with the sharp deterioration of Sino-American relations, and the U.S. intelligence community quickly realized that external forces were pushing behind the scenes. The CCP had originally intended to play this card at the most critical juncture over the Taiwan Strait issue to create domestic chaos within the United States, drain the energy of its government, and suppress its political will to intervene in the Taiwan Strait. Instead, it was deployed prematurely in a presidential election, exposing decades of strategic layout to the view of U.S. intelligence agencies.
This operation caused catastrophic losses to the CCP’s long-term calculations—equivalent to taking a bomb meant to be detonated at the most critical moment, and using it merely to intimidate a neighbor’s dog.
Editor: Huang Jizhou Proofreader: Kong Xiangqing Translator: Ge Bing
