Los Angeles June Fourth Memorial Museum Holds Annual Conference:Guarding Conscience Behind High Walls with the Faint Light of Pen Tips
Abstract:At the end of the year, participants write greeting cards for Chinese prisoners of conscience living under hardship, paying tribute to heroes who have stood up in the darkness.
Author: Zhou Min Editor: Zhang Yu ManagingEditor: Luo Zhifei Proofreader: Cheng Xiaoxiao Translator: Peng Xiaomei
On December 20, 2025, the annual conference of Humanitarian China was solemnly held at the Los Angeles June Fourth Memorial Museum.
In the cold winter at year’s end, activists and supporters from various backgrounds gathered to continue a tradition filled with warmth—writing Christmas cards for Chinese prisoners of conscience living under difficult conditions.
At the conference site, historical photographs on the walls reflected one another with the greeting cards held in participants’ hands. With solemn expressions, attendees carefully wrote messages of concern and remembrance for those who suffer. These cards were not merely holiday greetings, but also a tribute to those lone heroes who have stood up in the darkness.
During the writing process, participants first thought of Mr. Peng Lifa (also known as Peng Zaizhou). Since his solitary act of courage on Beijing’s Sitong Bridge, which ignited a torch of public conscience, he has remained in a state of enforced disappearance. Attendees expressed their profound respect for this civilian hero on the cards. Although it is uncertain whether these words can evade strict censorship and reach him, people hoped that through this gesture they could tell him: his shout on the bridge still echoes across the ocean, and the world has not forgotten his courage.
Afterward, the granddaughter of Dr. Wang Bingzhang delivered an emotional speech at the conference. As a pioneer of China’s modern democracy movement, Dr. Wang Bingzhang has been imprisoned for more than twenty years. Her speech spoke of a family’s longing and perseverance spanning three generations, bringing tears to the eyes of many in attendance. This torch of faith, passed down by a grandchild over more than two decades, demonstrates that the pursuit of freedom cannot be cut off by iron bars, but instead takes root and grows across generations.
In addition, participants also wrote messages of support for two long-standing legal and civil rights scholars, Xu Zhiyong and Qin Yongmin. Dr. Xu Zhiyong was heavily sentenced for advocating the New Citizens Movement, yet his vision of a “Beautiful China,” articulated in court, continues to inspire those who come after him. Mr. Qin Yongmin, regarded as a “living fossil” of China’s contemporary democracy movement, has been imprisoned multiple times throughout his life, with a total incarceration period exceeding thirty years. His unyielding resilience stands as a microcosm of China’s grassroots resistance spirit.
Although these Christmas greetings are addressed to the present, the thoughts at the scene inevitably turned to the late Nobel Peace Prize laureate Liu Xiaobo. Though Liu Xiaobo can no longer personally open these cards, the nonviolent spirit he advocated—“I have no enemies”—continues to support people as they move forward in darkness. Participants reflected that every pen held in people’s hands today is, in fact, an extension of his wish—to ensure that words are no longer treated as crimes, and that the flower of freedom may one day bloom on its native soil.
A representative of Humanitarian China stated that the annual card-writing campaign aims to break isolation. In this season meant for reunion, these words, infused with the concern of the international community, will become faint points of light, attempting to illuminate the coldest corners and safeguard the still-burning flame of conscience.
Wang Lihua: A Record of the China Democracy Party’s International Human Rights Day Activity in Hawaii
Author: Wang Lihua Editor: Li Jing Managing Editor: Hou Gaiying Proofreader: Cheng Xiaoxiao Translator: Peng Xiaomei
Abstract:Members of the China Democracy Party Hawaii Branch protested the Chinese Communist Party’s various human rights abuses on the occasion of the 76th International Human Rights Day.
On December 10, 2025, marking the 76th International Human Rights Day, several members of the China Democracy Party voluntarily organized a solemn commemorative event in front of the Sun Yat-sen bronze statue in Chinatown, Honolulu, Hawaii. They issued a strong appeal to the world: to pay attention to the continuously deteriorating human rights situation in mainland China and to hold the Chinese Communist authorities accountable for their long-term and systematic violations of human rights.
At 2:00 p.m. that afternoon, participants stood solemnly in front of the statue of Dr. Sun Yat-sen, holding placards reading “Hold the CCP Accountable,” “Seeking Human Rights Is Not a Crime,” and “CCP Stop Human Rights Persecution,” as well as a banner stating “The China Democracy Party Calls on the World to Pay Attention to Human Rights in China.” Sunlight fell on Dr. Sun Yat-sen’s kind yet resolute bronze statue, while the sea breeze blew gently. The participants maintained serious expressions and chanted in unison: “End one-party dictatorship! Return our human rights and freedom!” “Release all political prisoners!” “The CCP does not equal China!” The slogans echoed through Chinatown, drawing the attention of many overseas Chinese, tourists, and local residents. Quite a few people raised their phones to record this historic moment.
China Democracy Party member Lü Bin was the first to speak. He pointed out that he had personally witnessed numerous shocking cases of human rights violations while still in China. Now that he has set foot on free land, he said, he must bravely speak out for freedom and human rights, shout for those human rights defenders still imprisoned, and call with all his strength for their early release. “As long as the CCP does not release them, we will never stop,” he declared.
（Lü Bin delivering a speech at the scene）
Wearing a black “Stand with Hong Kong” T-shirt, Mr. Zhang Xiaoju, Director of the San Francisco–Sacramento Branch, also participated in the event and delivered a passionate speech on site. He pointed out: “Today, December 10, is World Human Rights Day, a commemorative day established by the United Nations General Assembly to promote and advocate human rights. Yet today, China sits as a member of the UN Human Rights Council—this is undoubtedly a huge irony. Since 1949, the Chinese regime has been systematically violating human rights every single day. Even today, across 9.6 million square kilometers of land, all kinds of human rights abuses continue to occur one after another. Not only that, the CCP has even exported these methods and experiences of repression to the world. Hong Kong today is a vivid example. I stand here today to denounce the CCP’s backward actions and its wanton trampling of human rights.”He then led the crowd in chanting: “Hold the CCP Accountable!”
（Zhang Xiaoju delivering a speech on site）
Finally, Mr. Meng Jiahu, Director of the Hawaii Branch, delivered an impassioned closing statement. He said: support a formal United Nations investigation into allegations of crimes against humanity in Xinjiang, so that the truth is not forgotten; impose targeted sanctions on Chinese officials and entities involved in serious human rights violations; provide emergency asylum and support for human rights defenders within China who continue to speak out; and refuse to recognize any laws and practices that, under the pretext of “national security,” effectively eliminate civil society and press freedom. History has repeatedly proven that silence in the face of tyranny is a betrayal of the next victim.
（Meng Jiahu delivering a speech）
The event lasted nearly one and a half hours. It was peaceful and rational, attracting many local overseas Chinese, residents, and tourists from various countries to stop, watch, take photos, and record videos. Some passersby even applauded on the spot to show their support, with some shouting “Free China” in solidarity.
At the conclusion of the event, the China Democracy Party Hawaii Branch issued a statement:“On International Human Rights Day, we call on people around the world who care about human rights: please pay attention to the human rights situation in China, support the cause of human rights in China, and jointly push for accountability for the CCP’s human rights violations!”
Author: Liu Fang Editor: Li Jing Proofreader: Cheng Xiaoxiao Translator: Lyu Feng
Abstract:This article is dedicated to commemorating the innocent lives lost in the Nanjing Massacre and to discussing this history on the basis of respect for facts.
Whether the Nanjing Massacre occurred is not itself in dispute. What truly requires discussion is how the death toll has been calculated, how it has been interpreted, and how these numbers have been used within political narratives. Any historical conclusion that cannot withstand the most basic tests of population structure and arithmetic has already departed from the realm of historiography and entered that of political instrumentation.
Before 1937, Nanjing, as the capital of the Nationalist government, had a population approaching one million. As the military situation deteriorated rapidly, the government relocated southward, troops withdrew, schools were closed, and factories moved inland. Large-scale evacuation unfolded swiftly. Those leaving the city were predominantly young and middle-aged men, making Nanjing one of the cities with the most thorough evacuations nationwide—directly altering both the scale and structure of the city’s population.
Multiple independent third-party records provide highly consistent assessments of Nanjing’s population immediately before and after its fall. In December 1937, the International Committee for the Nanking Safety Zone stated in official documents that approximately 200,000 civilians were concentrated within the Safety Zone. Official telegrams from U.S. diplomatic personnel estimated the city’s population at between 200,000 and 250,000. German nationals responsible for Safety Zone affairs, as well as several missionaries and medical workers, reached similar conclusions based on shelter capacity. These sources were independent of one another, yet none ever cited a figure of 500,000—still less the claim that “300,000 civilians within the city were killed.”
From this, the first set of basic facts can be established: the total number of civilians inside Nanjing was approximately a little over 200,000.
The second unavoidable fact concerns the scale of survivors. After the Japanese army entered the city, the Nanjing Safety Zone did not immediately collapse; it continued to operate, concentrating and protecting approximately 200,000 civilians. These survivors were not abstract figures inferred after the fact, but concrete populations with documented residences, rations, and administrative records. Any narrative of Nanjing must acknowledge that at least around 200,000 civilians were clearly recorded as having survived within the city.
A third body of evidence lies in the population return and basic social recovery that occurred after the initial occupation period. This reality stands in evident tension, at the sociological and demographic levels, with the claim that a massacre of 300,000 civilians took place within the city. As hostilities subsided and conditions stabilized, some residents who had previously fled gradually returned, and the city began to function again. Some scholars note that population return alone cannot determine the scale of deaths; however, if a civilian massacre on the order of 300,000 had occurred within a short period, its social consequences would not be limited merely to population reduction. It would necessarily manifest as long-term, systemic obstacles to recovery: massive labor shortages, broken chains of production and services, and persistent terror induced by extreme violence, strongly suppressing any willingness to return. The expected outcome would therefore be slow return and prolonged dysfunction. Yet when the prewar population base, Safety Zone survivor records, and subsequent population return are considered together, Nanjing did not display the enduring social disorder commensurate with such a massive massacre. Basic living order was maintained, and social operations gradually resumed. This reality cannot be used to “prove” a specific death toll, but within the established population framework, it further weakens the plausibility of high death estimates in the context of the city proper.
When these facts are examined together, the contradiction becomes clear: the total number of civilians in the city was only a little over 200,000; approximately 200,000 were explicitly recorded as survivors; and postwar population return also occurred. Under these conditions, the claim that “300,000 civilians were killed within Nanjing city” is arithmetically untenable. To sustain this claim, one would have to assume that the city once contained far more than 500,000 civilians, or deny the existence of Safety Zone survivors, or treat returning residents as having appeared out of thin air—assumptions for which no contemporaneous evidence exists.
It is precisely here that the Chinese Communist Party’s narrative introduces a key premise: that there were once “500,000 civilians” within Nanjing. This figure does not appear in Safety Zone documents, diplomatic telegrams, or on-site records from 1937. It more closely resembles a population assumption retroactively constructed to accommodate a predetermined conclusion, its function being to create arithmetical space for the figure “300,000.”
To avoid the contradictions that follow, related narratives increasingly blur statistical boundaries, mixing city and countryside, civilians and soldiers, prisoners of war and routed troops, combat deaths and non-combat deaths—ultimately compressing deaths of different natures and responsibilities into a single emotionally charged integer. This approach is not historical scholarship, but a political narrative strategy.
More troubling still is the de facto monopoly this narrative exerts over numerical discussion. Any questioning is swiftly transformed into moral or political accusation; methodological issues are equated with ideological positions; evidentiary debate is excluded from the public sphere. In such a context, history is no longer permitted to be examined—it may only be repeated.
This selective fixation stands in stark contrast to the long-term silence surrounding mass deaths under CCP rule. The famine caused during the Great Leap Forward was labeled “three years of natural disasters,” with policy responsibility systematically erased. Deaths resulting from concealment, censorship, and repression of information during the early stages of the COVID-19 pandemic were quickly de-responsibilized and de-politicized. These lives lack sustained, public accounting, are not allowed to be seriously questioned, and are far from receiving institutional commemoration. Within this selective memory, Nanjing is continually magnified, becoming a safe object for deflecting responsibility and mobilizing emotion.
When Nanjing is repeatedly emphasized and endowed with a “non-negotiable” number, what truly demands scrutiny is no longer merely historical detail, but motive itself. Why does a regime obsessively amplify deaths caused by others while maintaining long-term silence—or even systematic erasure—of mass deaths under its own rule?
In such a narrative, Nanjing ceases to be a historical event for understanding the brutality of war and is transformed into a political instrument, used to manufacture hatred and divert attention. Victims are abstracted into numbers and symbols; history is frozen into an expression of emotion and a test of loyalty. This constitutes a second exploitation of the dead of Nanjing and a shared injury to all victims who are denied the right to be remembered.
Author: Zhao Lingjun Editor: Wang Mengmeng Managing Editor: Luo Zhifei Proofreader: Xiong Bian Translator: Lyu Feng
AbstractCentered on Jimmy Lai’s decision to refuse departure from Hong Kong and instead accept imprisonment, this article examines the moral and historical significance of what appears, under authoritarian rule, to be an irrational choice of “return and steadfastness.” Through a comparative reflection on Jimmy Lai, Alexei Navalny, and Pastor Kim Myung-il, the article argues that when language is monopolized by power, the human body and one’s fate themselves become indelible evidence. Their sacrifices may not immediately alter reality, yet they constitute the heaviest testimony of our time.
Amid sustained global attention, the Jimmy Lai case has finally entered a critical stage of adjudication.Mr. Lai has been convicted on three charges, including “collusion with foreign forces” and “conspiracy to publish seditious materials.” Having been detained for more than five years and subjected to a total of 156 days of hearings, Mr. Lai has at last been formally saddled with criminal charges imposed by the Chinese Communist Party. Mr. Lai maintains his innocence; however, the three judges designated under the National Security Law have found him guilty.
Although the final sentence has yet to be announced, it is widely believed that the charge of “collusion with foreign forces and incitement to subvert state power” alone is sufficient to warrant life imprisonment. Mr. Lai is approaching eighty years of age, and the physical toll of prolonged incarceration has already become evident. Under the present political reality, there is scarcely any prospect of his regaining freedom.
And yet Mr. Lai has clearly prepared himself to face any outcome with equanimity.
In truth, this has always been his choice.
In the history of contemporary political persecution, there is a choice that appears again and again, and yet never fails to unsettle the conscience:knowing full well that imprisonment—or even death—lies ahead, one still chooses to remain, or to return.
Mr. Jimmy Lai is precisely someone who made such a choice.
As one of Hong Kong’s most internationally renowned media figures, he was by no means without an exit. He was a highly successful entrepreneur, possessed immense personal wealth, and held a British passport. Leaving Hong Kong would not have been difficult for him; continuing to speak out from overseas was entirely possible. Yet at the critical moment when Hong Kong’s freedoms were rapidly collapsing, he declined the advice of close friends, chose to stay, and was ultimately arrested and imprisoned.
On the eve of his detention, he gave an interview at his home in Kowloon to a BBC journalist. When the reporter attempted to ask—or rather, to remind him—whether he would remain in Hong Kong or move elsewhere to live, he answered calmly before the question was even finished:
“In prison.”
He said:
“Here, I am living calmly; in prison, I am living meaningfully.”
That was not a spontaneous remark. It was the clear self-understanding of a wise elder, fully aware of the path that lay ahead of him.
“To live meaningfully” was not a declaration of passion, but a lucid and solitary road of return.
That road leads to prison, to judgment, and also to history.
The choice did not arise from miscalculation, nor from emotional impulse, but from a sober and weighty judgment.
I. Why Not Leave?
Under authoritarian systems, “leaving” is often regarded as the rational choice.Safety, freedom, the ability to continue speaking out—these reasons appear unassailable.
But the real question is this:when all those with capacity and influence choose to leave, what remains for those who stay?
What is left behind is not only risk, but the forced burden of being labeled “losers” or “the abandoned.”Power completes the hollowing-out of society precisely through this mechanism.
Jimmy Lai refused to let such logic prevail. He said: I cannot leave. Once I leave, it would damage the credibility of Apple Daily and undermine the unity of the democratic movement. This responsibility must be borne by me.
His decision to stay signified a clear stance:not that he was unable to leave, but that he refused to allow “departure” to become the only legitimate choice.
II. When the Body Becomes Evidence
In totalitarian environments, language is the first thing to be distorted and emptied of meaning.Terms such as “rule of law,” “order,” “stability,” and “national security” are endlessly repeated, yet constantly redefined—until they ultimately serve dictatorship itself.
When language loses credibility, human experience becomes the final form of evidence.
Jimmy Lai’s arrest makes one thing unmistakably clear:the so-called “governing Hong Kong according to law” is not the law restraining power, but power commandeering the law.
His trial, in the most direct way possible, also demonstrates this reality:a Hong Kong that once prided itself on the rule of law and freedom has, in just over two decades of CCP rule, rapidly fallen—economic vitality eroded, the legal order collapsing, freedoms extinguished. As a result, all of the CCP’s justifications regarding Hong Kong’s freedom and prosperity appear increasingly hollow before global public opinion.
III. Parallel Roads of Return: Mr. Navalny and Pastor Kim Myung-il
They came from different countries and different faiths, yet they made the same choice.
Alexei Navalny, the Russian opposition leader, after being poisoned and successfully treated, could have chosen to remain in Germany—staying with his family and continuing his struggle by other means. Yet he returned to Russia nonetheless. He knew perfectly well that what awaited him would be imprisonment, and possibly an even grimmer fate. Still, he chose to go back.
Because he understood this: if opposition can exist only in exile, then power has already secured the moral high ground.
His death ultimately laid bare the true nature of Russia’s political system.
In China, by contrast, Pastor Kim Myung-il confronted a different form of oppression. He could originally have chosen to remain in the United States, serve as a pastor there, live comfortably, and stay close to his family.
Yet he chose instead to return to China, where religious freedom is strictly controlled and even systematically dismantled. Fully aware of the constant risk of arrest, he continued to shepherd his congregation, preach, and bear witness.
Pastor Kim’s choice did not arise from political mobilization, but from faith itself. After his arrest, when speaking with visitors, he said that in the past, when he saw other pastors or preachers being detained, he felt powerless and deeply torn; now that he himself had been arrested, he instead felt a sense of calm.
By living out his faith with his own life—through fearless sacrifice—he gave profound expression to what it means to “die for the truth.”
They all understood this:if truth can be proclaimed only in places of safety, it loses its transcendence.
IV. Were Their Sacrifices “Worth It”?
This is a question that cannot be avoided.
Judged by immediate outcomes, their choices did not bring about instant change:Hong Kong did not regain its freedom.Russia did not move toward democracy.China’s space for religion and free expression remains severely constrained.
If measured solely by short-term effectiveness, these sacrifices might seem “not worth the cost.”
But history has never been composed of outcomes alone.The light they cast, however, will guide many out of darkness.
V. An Erasable Meaning That Cannot Be Erased
What authoritarian power most longs to manufacture is a consensus of submission:that lowering one’s head is rational,that silence is maturity,that survival matters more than dignity.
The very existence of Jimmy Lai, Alexei Navalny, and Pastor Kim Myung-il renders this narrative morally bankrupt.
They did not resort to violence, nor did they seek personal gain.They simply refused to cooperate with lies and insisted on truth.
For this very reason, they cannot be completely smeared—and they cannot be easily forgotten.
Conclusion: Those on the Road of Return
They do not ask those who come after them to replicate their path, for sacrifice has never been an obligation.Yet it is precisely because some are willing to bear the heaviest cost that those who follow still retain the freedom to choose whether to stand upright.
On the road of return, some depart, some fall silent, and others go back.
Jimmy Lai and other great martyrs chose return and steadfastness.And that choice itself has already become the clearest—and heaviest—annotation of our time.
Zhao Lingjun (Frank), Saturday, December 20, 2025, Canada
Dangerous Countries as Paradise, Safe Countries as Hell — The CCP’s Travel Logic
Abstract:China encourages its citizens to travel to dangerous destinations such as Russia and Cambodia, while issuing travel warnings against one of the world’s safest countries—Japan. This reflects the Chinese Communist Party’s need to maintain its rule through propaganda and ideological conditioning, thereby legitimizing its own oppressive governance.
Author: Mao Yiwei Editor: Hu Jing Proofreader: Xiong Bian Translator: Lyu Feng
Recently, a peculiar trend has suddenly swept across China. No sooner had visa-free entry to Russia been announced than propaganda surged as if following orders, flooding screens with calls of “Go now! It’s especially safe!” Cambodia has been praised in much the same way. One is a country plagued in reality by rampant telecom fraud and kidnappings; the other is a country where artillery fire continues daily along the front lines, with the war not yet over. Yet both are being touted as the most worthwhile tourist destinations on Earth. Anyone unfamiliar with the facts might truly believe they are idyllic vacation paradises.
Yet paradoxically, places such as Japan, South Korea, Europe, and the United States—countries with good public security, mature institutions, and stable tourist experiences—are portrayed like ferocious beasts. “Unsafe,” “anti-Chinese,” “absolutely don’t go”—such phrases resurface in domestic discourse every few months. Even Japan, one of the countries with the lowest crime rates in the world, is depicted as fraught with danger in their narrative.
A basic common sense is this: a normal country does not encourage its citizens to travel to war zones, nor does it urge people to flock to places with chaotic public security and weak institutions. Yet in reality, the Chinese Communist Party not only fails to warn people, but actively pressures them to go.
This is not because those places are safe, but because—those are places where the authorities feel confident you will not “see the world clearly.”
If you truly go to Japan, to the United States, to Europe, what you encounter—press freedom, social order, and the structure of the rule of law—is enough to tear open a crack in decades of propaganda. But if you go to Russia or Cambodia, the chaos and corruption you witness instead make you less likely to question the so-called “Chinese model.” Propaganda is not designed for your experience; it serves their political needs.
The greatest irony is that recently, I have repeatedly come across accounts on social media of Chinese tourists being extorted by corrupt police in Russia—fined under the pretext of “not having a residence permit.” How could tourists from a visa-free country possibly have a “residence permit”? This is naked extortion. The world has long known that police corruption in Russia is nothing new, yet domestic propaganda never mentions it even once, because that would undermine the carefully crafted image of a “friendly brotherly nation.”
Thus an absurd contrast emerges: the places the CCP desperately promotes are riddled with traps, while the places it fiercely tries to stop you from visiting are in fact the safest.
And this contrast was foreshadowed long ago at home. Passports of large groups—civil servants, teachers, banking system employees, and state-owned enterprise staff—are centrally confiscated, depriving them of the freedom to travel abroad. The justification is always the same mechanical phrases: “involving state secrets,” “unified management.” But everyone knows the truth: it is not about preventing leaks; it is about preventing them from seeing what the free world actually looks like.
That is why it must constantly exaggerate danger, manufacture fear, and distort reality—so that you recoil from truly normal countries; while at the same time lavishly praising those countries whose narratives it can control, making you believe you have “gone out to see the world,” when in fact you are merely circling within a larger information cage.
What it calls “danger” is often nothing more than freedom;what it calls “safety” is often the real risk.
The world is not as the CCP describes it—and what the CCP fears most is that you might go and see the real world for yourself.
