——Reflections on the Birthday Letter Written by Niu Tengyu’s Mother to Her Son in Prison
Author: Zhang Xiaoli
Editor: Hu Lili Proofreader: Xiong Bian Translator: Ge Bing
Abstract: Niu Tengyu was sentenced to 14 years in prison for the “Vulgar Wiki Case.” On her son’s birthday, his mother wrote a letter expressing her longing and anguish. The letter reflects the controversy surrounding the case and the family’s trauma, while also drawing attention to issues of judicial independence and transparency in China.
March 12 is Niu Tengyu’s birthday.
In a normal family, a birthday should mean reunion, blessings, and laughter. Yet in the reality of China, this day has become one where a mother writes a letter alone. Her son cannot return home, cannot reunite with his family, and can only spend his birthday behind bars.
This letter comes from Niu Tengyu’s mother.
Niu Tengyu, born in the 1990s, is one of the main defendants in the “Esu Wiki Case.” Around 2019, Chinese police launched a large-scale crackdown on individuals associated with the website. On December 30, 2020, the Maoming Court in Guangdong issued its verdict, in which Niu Tengyu was identified as a “principal offender” and sentenced to 14 years in prison.
The reason this case has attracted sustained public attention is linked to allegations that the website contained information regarding the family of China’s top leader, Xi Jinping. According to some public reports and online discussions, the materials allegedly included information about Xi Jinping’s daughter, Xi Mingze, and her relative, Deng Jiagui, which was suspected to have been circulated on the internet. Many observers believe this has made the case particularly politically sensitive.
Since the verdict was handed down, the case has sparked ongoing controversy. The family and some supporters believe there were numerous issues during the investigation and trial process, and for years they have continuously voiced their concerns and filed appeals online in the hope of drawing greater public attention.
Against this backdrop, on March 12 of this year, Niu Tengyu’s mother once again wrote a birthday letter to her son. In the letter, she recalled her son’s childhood birthdays. Back then, he was a lively child who would run and play at home, and every birthday was filled with laughter. Her son’s clear, ringing laughter remains the family’s warmest memory. She had once believed that such happiness would last forever.
Yet fate suddenly changed everything. Now, her son is confined to a cold prison cell. The letter states that whenever she thinks of her son enduring loneliness and suffering in that cramped, dim cell, her heart feels as if it were being pierced by needles. Those once ordinary family reunions have now become a distant dream.
What makes this letter so moving is not only a mother’s longing for her son, but also the fact that it reveals a torn family behind a specific case.
Often, the true wounds left by a case are not merely found in the verdict, but in a family’s long wait. When power lacks oversight and the judiciary lacks transparency, the fate of ordinary people often appears particularly fragile. A young person’s destiny may be easily altered, while a family must spend many years bearing the consequences of that change.
For a long time, the judicial system under the Chinese Communist Party regime has consistently lacked a truly independent environment for trials. Courts, procuratorates, and the public security system operate under political authority, causing the law to often cease being a tool for protecting citizens’ rights and instead become a means of maintaining the order of power. When cases involve politically sensitive factors or key figures in the power structure, so-called legal procedures often struggle to escape the influence of political will.
Under such a system, ordinary citizens have virtually no truly effective avenues for redress. Appeals and petitions often get bogged down in lengthy and hopeless procedures, while the cries of family members pleading for their loved ones are frequently ignored or even suppressed. If a regime cannot tolerate questioning or accept oversight, then the judiciary can hardly truly represent justice.
It is precisely for this reason that Niu Tengyu’s mother’s persistence feels all the more profound and precious. She is neither a political figure nor a public figure; she is simply an ordinary Chinese mother. Yet, in the face of a massive machinery of power, she has chosen to speak out, to document, and to reveal to the outside world the true suffering behind this case.
In many similar cases, the suffering is often borne not only by the individual involved. When a young person is detained for an extended period, an entire family is dragged into a prolonged ordeal. Parents, relatives, and friends are forced to spend every day in uncertainty and anxiety. Behind every case, there are often countless sleepless nights.
Perhaps this birthday letter will not be seen by many, nor will it attract much attention. But today, as I read this letter, my heart was deeply moved.
Because I am a mother too.
When I read the passage where she recalled her son’s childhood birthdays, I felt as though I were seeing the reflection of every ordinary family. Children grow up, mothers watch over them, and families accumulate warmth in their everyday lives. But when such a life is suddenly cut short, the pain a mother must endure is beyond words.
Perhaps I am just an ordinary person among countless readers, and perhaps I cannot change anything. But when I read this letter, I still felt compelled to write it down, so that more people would know: beyond those prison bars, a mother is still waiting.
She is waiting not only for her son’s return, but also for an answer regarding justice and the truth.
Editor:Zhong Ran Proofreader: Cheng Xiaoxiao Translator: Zhou Min
On March 10, 2026, Tibetan communities and supporters in many parts of the world simultaneously held activities to commemorate the anniversary of the 1959 Tibet Uprising. In San Francisco, USA, as one of the venues for the global commemorative actions, Tibetan groups and human rights supporters held a rally and delivered speeches in front of San Francisco City Hall, calling on the international community to pay attention to the human rights and cultural situation in Tibet. Subsequently, participants carried Snow Lion flags and various slogans to march on the streets; the procession marched to the Consulate General of the People’s Republic of China in San Francisco to express protest, and finally returned to Union Square.
On the steps in front of City Hall, 167 portraits of Tibetans are quietly placed. Since 2009, they have followed one after another, using self-immolation—the most tragic method—to express their demands: requesting religious freedom, welcoming the Dalai Lama back to Tibet, opposing cultural assimilation, and pursuing human rights and freedom.
遊行隊伍從三藩市市政廳到中共國駐舊金山領事館
2. Marching procession from San Francisco City Hall to the Consulate of the CCP Country in San Francisco
活動主持人發號施令，遊行隊伍出發
The event host issues orders, and the marching procession sets off.
雪山獅子旗飄揚
The Tibetan national flag fly.
支持藏人的香港人、廣東人團體
Hong Konger and Cantonese groups supporting Tibetans.
三藩市警察為遊行隊伍提供全程護航
San Francisco police provide full escort for the marching procession.
三藩市一市民向遊行隊伍示意
A San Francisco citizen gestures to the marching procession.
藏人及各族受難者遊行至舊金山中領館，聲討中共殘暴統治，發出自由的吶喊
3. Tibetans and victims of various ethnicities march to the San Francisco Chinese Consulate, denouncing the CCP’s brutal rule, emitting a cry for freedom.
鄭永華代表「南粵獨立」團體發表演講
Zheng Yonghua delivers a speech on behalf of the “South Cantonese Independence” group.
施臻營代表US HongKongers Club 發表演講
Shi Zhenying delivers a speech on behalf of the US HongKongers Club.
Supporting the Tibetan People in Front of the Chinese Consulate in San Francisco
Reporter: Miao Qing, The Opposition Party
Editor: Zhong Ran Proofreader: Cheng Xiaoxiao Translator: Zhou Min
On March 10, 2026, on the occasion of the 67th anniversary of the Tibet Uprising Memorial Day, the San Francisco Branch of the China Democracy Party, the China Democracy & Human Rights Alliance, as well as several democracy activists and members of Tibetan groups, held a commemorative rally in front of the Consulate General of the People’s Republic of China in San Francisco to support the Tibetan people’s struggle for freedom and dignity. The theme of the activity was “Free China, Free Tibet,” calling on the international community to continue paying attention to the human rights situation in Tibet and expressing support for Tibetan culture, religion, and ethnic identity.
At noon that day, participants from different ethnic groups and backgrounds held slogans and Snow Lion flags, gathering in front of the Chinese Consulate. They shouted slogans such as “Free Tibet,” “Free China,” and “Stop CCP Repression” to commemorate the large-scale protest action launched by the Tibetan people in Lhasa on March 10, 1959. This protest was ultimately suppressed by the CCP military with force, causing a large number of civilian casualties and forcing the Tibetan spiritual leader, the 14th Dalai Lama, into exile abroad.
Scene of the activity supporting the Tibetan people’s struggle for freedom and dignity (Photo: Miao Qing)
Historical Review: The Heroic and Tragic Memory of the 1959 Tibet Uprising
The event began with a speech by Lobsang, President of the Tibetan Association of Northern California. He stated that March 10 is not just a date in history; for Tibetans around the world, it is a day of remembrance, resistance, and determination.
Lobsang recalled that 67 years ago today, the Tibetan people bravely stood up to defend their home, culture, and their spiritual leader—His Holiness the 14th Dalai Lama—against the forced occupation by the Chinese government. At that time, tens of thousands of Tibetans held a peaceful assembly in Lhasa, but the Chinese military responded with brutal force, suppressing it with artillery bombardment and indiscriminate shooting at innocent protesters, resulting in thousands of deaths and even more injuries.
This tragedy forced His Holiness the Dalai Lama into exile in India, followed by tens of thousands of Tibetans who also embarked on the path of exile. However, the majority of Tibetans remained in Tibet, continuing to guard their faith, culture, and ethnic identity under extremely difficult circumstances.
Current Situation of Tibet Under Long-term Oppression
In his speech, Lobsang pointed out that in the following decades, the Chinese government carried out systematic destruction in Tibet. A large number of temples and cultural institutions were destroyed, natural resources were plundered, the fragile ecological environment of the plateau was damaged, and historically more than one million Tibetans lost their lives due to political movements and suppression.
He also mentioned that the situation in Tibet today remains deeply worrying. News of arbitrary detention, torture, and the deaths of political prisoners continues to emerge. Meanwhile, China has established a massive boarding school system; it is claimed that nearly one million Tibetan children have been forced to separate from their families. In these schools, the Tibetan language, religion, and traditional culture are suppressed, while Mandarin education and political indoctrination have become the main content.
Lobsang stated that this education system not only threatens the continuity of Tibetan culture but has also triggered increasing attention and criticism from the international community.
International Community’s Attention to the Tibet Issue
In recent years, the international community’s attention to the Tibet issue has increased. The U.S. Congress passed relevant resolutions clearly stating that the issue of the Dalai Lama’s reincarnation is a purely religious matter and should be decided entirely by Tibetan traditions, rather than being subject to interference by the Chinese government.
The resolution also authorized relevant funds to be used to refute the Chinese government’s false narratives regarding Tibetan history and culture, and urged the Beijing government to engage in dialogue without preconditions with representatives of the Dalai Lama and elected Tibetan leaders.
In addition, in February 2026, the U.S. government appointed Riley Barnes as the new Special Coordinator for Tibetan Issues, responsible for coordinating U.S. policy on Tibet, focusing on human rights, religious freedom, and promoting dialogue between the Chinese government and Tibetan representatives.
Lobsang believes these measures send an important message to the world: the international community has not forgotten Tibet.
Paying Tribute to Tibetans Who Sacrificed for Freedom
At the end of his speech, Lobsang paid tribute to all the martyrs who sacrificed for the freedom of Tibet and expressed respect to those Tibetans imprisoned for persisting in their faith and ethnic identity.
He said the struggle of Tibet is not just about land or politics, but about human dignity, the survival of a culture, and the right of a nation to live freely according to its own traditions and beliefs. For 67 years, Tibetans have experienced immense suffering, but their spirit has never been destroyed.
“As long as Tibetans still exist, the hope for a just and dignified Tibet will always exist.” Lobsang finally shouted “Bod Gyalo” in Tibetan and chanted “Long Live His Holiness the Dalai Lama,” expressing expectations for the future.
Scene of Lobsang, President of the Tibetan Association of Northern California, delivering a speech (Photo: Miao Qing)
The Voice of Young Democracy Activists: Cross-ethnic Conscience and Responsibility
Subsequently, Cui Yunxing, Vice Minister of the Activity Department of the San Francisco Branch of the China Democracy Party, took the stage to speak. He opened with the Tibetan greeting “Tashi Delek” and stated that he was standing here today as a Chinese youth who supports Tibet.
In his speech, Cui Yunxing raised a question: “As Han Chinese, why should we support Tibet? Why should we stand up and speak out loudly?” Citing the famous quote by German Pastor Martin Niemöller, he pointed out that when persecution happens to others, if people choose silence, then when persecution finally descends upon themselves, no one will be able to speak for them. Therefore, when others face injustice and oppression, silence cannot be exchanged for freedom.
He stated that the Chinese Communist Party oppresses Tibet, Hong Kong, Uyghurs, Mongolians, and Taiwan, and these oppressions are often carried out in the name of the “State.” As Han Chinese, there is even more responsibility to oppose this injustice. “When we stand up, it is not only for others but also to regain our own conscience and dignity,” he said. Chinese and Tibetan people should stand side by side and fight for a common free future.
He finally shouted: “Free Tibet! Free China! Let us unite, speak the truth, and uphold justice!”
Scene of Cui Yunxing, Vice Minister of the Activity Department of the San Francisco Branch of the China Democracy Party, delivering a speech (Photo: Miao Qing)
China Democracy Party Members Support Tibet
Miao Qing, Vice Minister of the Propaganda Department of the San Francisco Branch of the China Democracy Party, stated in an interview at the event site that everyone is gathered here today to commemorate the cry for freedom made by the Tibetan people on March 10, 1959.
He pointed out that for over sixty years, Tibet’s faith, culture, and dignity have been suppressed for a long time, but the spirit of pursuing freedom has never been extinguished. “As people who pursue democracy and human rights, we stand with the Tibetan people, oppose persecution, and defend freedom of belief and national dignity.”
At the end of his speech, he called for all ethnic groups in China to unite. “When Chinese people learn to stand up for other ethnic minorities, we are actually saving ourselves,” he said. Without a free China, Tibet cannot truly obtain freedom; and without a free Tibet, it is impossible for China to realize freedom. He hopes that one day the sunshine of freedom will not only shine on the snow-covered plateau but also on the whole of China.
Miao Qing, Vice Minister of the Propaganda Department of the San Francisco Branch of the China Democracy Party, at the activity site (Photo: Zhuang Fan)
Common Destiny Among Exiles
China Democracy Party member Chen Senfeng stated in an interview that March 10 is not only an important memorial day for the Tibetan people but also a common memory for all those who oppose totalitarian rule.
He said many participants are themselves people in exile abroad due to political persecution. “We are all political refugees under the CCP’s totalitarian tyranny. Today we stand with the Tibetan people, fighting side by side against oppression and speaking out together for freedom and democracy.”
Chen Senfeng stated that the fates of the people of Tibet, Hong Kong, Taiwan, and mainland China are closely linked in a sense. “Free China, Free Taiwan, Free Hong Kong, Free Tibet” is both a slogan and an expectation for the future.
China Democracy Party member Chen Senfeng at the activity site (Photo: Miao Qing)
Supporting the Tibetan People’s Right to Self-determination
China Democracy Party member Zhuang Fan stated in an interview that he came to the site to stand with his Tubo (Tibetan) compatriots to jointly resist the CCP regime.
He believes the CCP regime is a dictatorial system established with the support of the Soviet Union and cannot truly represent the Chinese people. He pointed out that the CCP not only carries out cultural suppression in Tibet but also implements strict political control over hundreds of millions of people in mainland China.
Zhuang Fan stated: “The CCP plundered the land of the Tubo people and tore apart our homes. In Tibet, it carries out cultural genocide; in mainland China, it oppresses 1.4 billion people. This machine, which maintains its rule by relying on terror and stability maintenance, is essentially an illegal regime.”
At the same time, he called on the international community to no longer have illusions about the dictatorial regime and clearly expressed support for the Tibetan people’s right to self-determination. He emphasized that the future of Tibet should be decided by the Tibetan people themselves.
China Democracy Party member Zhuang Fan at the activity site (Photo: Miao Qing)
The Cry for Freedom Continues
As the activity neared its end, participants once again shouted slogans such as “Free Tibet” and “Down with CCP,” and observed a moment of silence to pay tribute to the Tibetan people who sacrificed in the 1959 Uprising.
Many participants stated that although decades have passed since the Tibet Uprising, the pursuit of freedom and human rights has never become outdated. As long as the world remains concerned, the voice of the Tibetan people will not be completely suppressed.
The Snow Lion flags and slogan placards fluttering in the sunlight became a unique sight in San Francisco that day. For the participants, this is not just a commemorative activity, but an expression of belief—no matter where they are, the voice pursuing freedom and dignity will not be silent.
Participants at the rally shouted in unison: Long live Free Tibet, Free China!
Scene of the activity supporting the Tibetan people’s struggle for freedom and dignity (Photo: Miao Qing)
Author: Huang Weike Editor: Hu Lili Proofreader: Xiong Bian Translator: Ge Bing
Abstract: This is a true story. The author’s grandfather, a self-made businessman in old Shanghai, was labeled a “capitalist” after the founding of the People’s Republic of China. He suffered persecution, had his home ransacked, and faced social discrimination during the public-private partnership campaign and the Cultural Revolution. The author’s own fate was also affected as a result.
“Are capitalists considered ‘cadres’?” This was a question that plagued me throughout my childhood, and to this day, I still have no answer.
I was the only male grandson in my family’s generation, meaning I was the one who could carry on the family name. But my grandfather didn’t like me. I heard that the year I was born, he was dismissed from his position due to the “public-private partnership” campaign.
I believe he felt he’d been deceived after liberation. After the business he’d built from scratch was taken over by the government through public-private partnership, the new owners learned the ropes of running it and eventually pushed him out—despite his relatively high salary.
Because this happened around the same time I was born, I became a “harbinger of bad luck”—what Shanghainese call “bringing bad luck.”
Back then, everyone had to fill out countless forms, and every form had a section for “family background.” Every time this came up, there would be a heated argument at home. My uncles argued that my grandfather should be classified as a “cadre,” since he not only invested in the business but also managed it.
But in reality, he should have been listed as a “capitalist” or “bourgeoisie”—terms that sounded as taboo back then as “AIDS” or “rapist,” and often there wasn’t even enough space to write them out. We were limited to two-character categories: “worker,” “peasant,” “clerk”… .
Because of the “immoral deeds” he committed alone, the generations that followed had to suffer. I had no share in the “glory and wealth” of those days, yet it fell to me to bear the stigma.
Having grandfather and grandson under one roof should have been a good thing, but he disliked me, and I disliked him—and so we remained at an impasse every day.
It turned out there were other reasons why Grandfather was so gloomy all the time; as time went on, I learned more and more.
It wasn’t until 1950 that the sounds of gunfire from the siege of Shanghai reached us, but he had already bought a ticket to Singapore. When his mother heard he was going abroad, she swore she would throw herself against the wall and die right in front of him.
My great-grandmother had taken him in from an orphanage and raised him to adulthood. He had amassed a “small fortune” through hard work or luck—how could he possibly abandon his family and friends? Compounded by the government’s all-out propaganda campaign promoting “the merits of exploitation,” Grandpa decided to stay on the mainland to continue fulfilling his filial duty.
The nightmare went far beyond “exploitation”; he soon discovered his “sins” were far more grave. It turned out that even among Shanghai’s capitalists, there was a distinction between “legal” and “illegal”—and he belonged to the latter category.
In those turbulent times, to protect his family, Grandpa wanted to buy a handgun to keep at home. Back then, buying a gun required joining an organization, so he filled out a form. Because Grandma objected, the gun stayed at home for only one night.
And just like that, Grandpa found himself inexplicably enrolled in a “reactionary organization” (probably the “Three Youth Corps”), facing exile to Xinjiang. The propaganda at the time claimed “Xinjiang is a wonderful place,” where “you can eat as much as you want,” but the people of Shanghai remained skeptical.
The whole family—young and old, men and women—turned out at the train station to see him off. The children knelt on the platform, their cries filling the air. Grandfather knew what lay ahead—the odds were stacked against him—and as he waved to his family, it felt as though he were “marching bravely to his death.”
Just then, a neighborhood cadre he knew appeared and asked, “How did you end up here?” Grandpa replied, “I’m an illegal capitalist.” Because he was generally a kind man, this “official”—who frequently traveled between the two places—told him firmly, “You don’t qualify; you can’t go!”
By then, the train had already begun to move. His luggage was being tossed piece by piece onto the platform, so he had no choice but to jump off the train. Thanks to this serendipitous encounter with his “savior,” Grandpa’s story of Xinjiang never came to pass, and he later had the chance to die in Shanghai.
As mentioned earlier, Grandpa didn’t end up going to “Singapore” because of his stubborn mother, and later he didn’t go to “Xinjiang” because of a kind-hearted cadre. Although both places start with the character for “new,” had he gone to either one, the outcome would have been worlds apart.
Ever since I was a child, I’ve been curious: Grandpa was an orphan. How did he manage to amass such a fortune in Shanghai’s “International Settlement”? There must have been some “shady” dealings involved.
That’s how our generation was raised: Zhou Bapi would mimic a rooster’s crow in the dead of night, sending people out to work in the fields before dawn; Liu Wencai would use a mercury-tipped scale to shortchange tenants in his rent-collection courtyard.
No matter how much love the previous generation gave us, because of what we learned in school, we viewed them with a skeptical, even “hostile” gaze.
I remember once asking my mother-in-law, “Why don’t you ever wear gold or silver jewelry, when other women do?” She replied, “If I’d had that habit back then, I would have been crushed under the weight of all that gold and silver” (she said it with such conviction).
Was the family really that wealthy? Yes. My mother-in-law said that in their old house on Hunan Road, the landing of the staircase was large enough to set up a banquet table. Later, when their financial situation deteriorated, they moved to a smaller house on “Daxi Road” (today’s “Yan’an Road”) .
A few years ago, when I returned to Shanghai, I made a point of visiting the house where I grew up and took a photo there (see picture).
Back then, our family was in dire financial straits, and we often had to sell off some of our belongings. Even under such harsh material conditions, my grandmother still saved the best things for me, while my grandfather placed particular emphasis on my studies.
Back then, Shanghai had entrance exams for elementary school. One question featured two photos: one of the moon and the other of the sun. I heard that some children mistook the sun for an edible “flatbread.”
My grandfather even had me fill out the parent information form myself. I could not only write my parents’ names but also their workplace addresses, including the two difficult characters “師範” (China still used traditional Chinese characters at the time).
I gradually realized that Grandpa was a good man. The cultural foundation he laid for me—which, looking back today, feels as solid as “reinforced concrete”—brought me many honors, even though it was only during my early elementary school years.
Back then, I wondered to myself: Why did Grandpa used to “exploit” others?
Grandpa never spoke a word about his “exploitative” past.
Driven by my curiosity, and with so many family members, I pieced together Grandpa’s “rise to wealth” story.
I sensed that there was almost no element of “exploitation,” or very little. If there was any, he exploited Americans more than he did Chinese people.
Before arriving in Shanghai, Grandpa had lived in an orphanage run by a Buddhist temple. He was fortunate enough to be adopted by the Huang family and brought to Shanghai, but he had no money and absolutely no business connections.
His first job was at a trading company run by Americans, which required him to learn English to communicate with his superiors. To support his mother, he began parroting English phrases.
Grandfather did, however, possess one truly unique talent: he had exquisite calligraphy skills, his brushwork as flawless as the calligraphy manuals sold in bookstores—a skill he likely honed during his time at the monastery.
Later, he developed a passion for Peking Opera; not only could he sing, but he could also play the erhu.
Once he had saved a little money, he would host “private performances” during festivals, inviting a group of Peking Opera stars and amateur enthusiasts to his home. As the host, he would perform both singing and playing the erhu, which set him apart from other businessmen in Shanghai.
Back then, he ran a warehouse that stored not only small daily necessities but also surplus goods shipped from the United States. Savvy merchants were reluctant to sail empty ships to Shanghai to restock, so they often shipped items with no immediate buyers.
The goods in the warehouse were often loose or damaged, and a certain percentage of loss was allowed. My family told me that whatever was in the warehouse was what we had at home; we never had to worry about food or daily necessities,
because warehouse rent increased over time. American merchants would often abandon their inventory to offset their overdue rent—once it was a warehouse full of cotton, another time a warehouse full of coal.
My grandfather thus engaged in “business without capital” and “struck it rich” in this way.
Someone of my grandfather’s “social background” was inevitably a “participant” in every political campaign. The events that affected him most were the People’s Commune movement and the Cultural Revolution.
The “People’s Commune” movement spread from the countryside to the cities, while the “Cultural Revolution” moved from the cities to the countryside.
During the People’s Commune movement in Shanghai at that time, they needed a lot of property to set up schools, and they always tried to “talk and persuade” my grandfather. I’ve always wondered how they managed to get him to willingly sign the papers and “donate” part of his property.
“Exploitation” is a crime in itself, one that should be punished by imprisonment. Now, instead of sending you to prison, they simply ask you to give up a portion of your ill-gotten gains—which means that tomorrow, ten strangers will move into your home.
I still remember living on the second floor; the original living room and dining room had disappeared, and even the balcony was used as a living space. The greatest luxury was that our family had a private kitchen downstairs, while other families had to share one among five or six households.
Back then, housing was extremely scarce in Shanghai. Our family’s garage was converted into a two-story unit, with one family living upstairs and another downstairs—even the boiler room was occupied by a family.
As a child, I lived on the second-floor balcony. Whenever I played the violin and kept time, the “working-class” neighbors on the balcony below would shout and yell.
Later, when Shanghai implemented its housing policies, the property was technically returned to its original owners, but not a single penny in rent was paid. Because the housing management office required the owners to cover all the repair costs accumulated over the years, the owners actually ended up “owing money.”
There was a peculiar phenomenon back then: the stairwells, hallways, kitchens, and bathrooms were very dim, yet there were many light switches and pull cords. When I was a child, my greatest fear was accidentally turning on someone else’s light.
The neighbors back then were one kinder than the next, but also one poorer than the next; being “petty and nitpicky” was simply a matter of necessity.
China’s largest political movement of the last century—the “Cultural Revolution,” a decade-long catastrophe—finally began. It was a summer in 1966; it felt like the sky had suddenly darkened. The streets of Shanghai were filled with Red Guards dressed in military uniforms, though without rank insignia or cap badges.
The elderly and children who usually sat outside to cool off all sensed that something ominous was in the air that day—that something major was about to happen.
Chanting the slogan “Destroy the Four Olds, Establish the Four News,” the Red Guards urged everyone to bring out anything associated with feudal superstition or Western culture. People on the streets were busy smashing statues of deities and pianos.
My family brought out all our statues of Bodhisattvas and Guanyin; even our red, green, and yellow “Long Live the Leader” rice bowls and plates were not spared. We had to carry them to the middle of the street and smash them to pieces. To this day, I still remember that piercing sound.
Men and women on the streets were in a panic, unsure which of their belongings constituted the “Four Olds”; the Red Guards had become the de facto judges.
People wearing gold-rimmed glasses were stopped by the Red Guards; their glasses were forcibly removed and stomped to pieces. Many begged to keep the “innocent” lenses, so that those with severe myopia could still hold two pieces of glass on their way home.
There were also strict requirements for the length of men’s and women’s pant legs: men’s must be no shorter than six inches, and women’s no shorter than four inches. Any pant legs that didn’t meet these standards were cut off, leaving men and women on the streets wearing split-legged pants.
The resourcefulness of the people of Shanghai was beyond imagination. Many who were at work at the time used the telephone to alert one another, allowing them to unpick the seams of their pant legs in advance.
I later learned that Mao Zedong had already lost power in Beijing and had come to Shanghai to “mobilize the masses for revolution.” He later published “My Big-Character Poster.”
The Red Guards vowed to “smash the old world to pieces and create a new one.” In the end, even the old man couldn’t take it anymore and was forced to hit the brakes, declaring, “Use the past for the present; use foreign things for China.”
The streets were littered with smashed statues of Guanyin and burning pianos and records—it looked just like a scene from “World War II.”
Grandpa’s expression was very somber; I felt I saw “the end of the world” in his eyes. Little did I know that in the end, it would become “his own end.”
The “Cultural Revolution” had begun, and life grew increasingly difficult. Should we return to our parents’ home in the mainland? They were intellectuals, the “stinking ninth category”—it was better to stay in Shanghai.
Around this time, Grandpa also found work. Every day, he would deliberately dress like a “Old-School Gentleman” (known in Shanghainese as “Lao Dik”), humming tunes as he swept the streets.
I passed him every day on my way to and from school. I still remember him in his light-colored suit and those three-tone pointed-toe leather shoes trimmed with crocodile skin.
My afternoon job was writing revolutionary slogans. The alley residents didn’t want the Red Guards, but they insisted on this capitalist—so I was in charge of folding and cutting the paper before writing.
By then, the grain and coal shops had already stopped delivering to “Five Black Categories” families. I was very young, but I actually figured out how to make a handcart out of a wooden plank and four bearings to haul heavy loads.
Later, we lost even the right to use honeycomb coal (which Shanghainese call “coal cakes”). We’d buy coal, crush it into fragments, and then mold it into coal balls using yellow mud.
I was not yet ten—my hands were too small and weak—so the coal balls I made didn’t burn long. Shanghai winters are damp and cold, and my hands became red and swollen, covered in frostbite.……
Back then, I believed suffering was inevitable; after all, that was how my grandfather had “exploited others” in his day.
But what I found most unbearable as a young child—aside from the neighbors—were the cold stares and humiliating remarks from strangers whenever I walked down the street carrying rice and coal.
There was a popular saying across the country at the time: “Father is dear, mother is dear, but none as dear as Chairman Mao.” I’ve never been entirely convinced by it, largely because of the following two incidents (which have kept me thinking).
One of our neighbors was also a member of the bourgeoisie. I saw her take a large plastic-bound “Little Red Book” (Quotations from Chairman Mao) on a picnic; after it rained, she placed it on a rock and sat right on top of it.
Grandpa also pointed at a portrait of Chairman Mao and said, “I’m a good person; he’s a bad person.” Because of these “reactionary words and deeds,” I often couldn’t sleep at night.
Apart from the violent clashes that occurred everywhere, “home raids” in Shanghai might be considered another distinctive feature—something today’s young people would find hard to imagine.
“Home raids” meant a group of people would come to your house, ransack your belongings, and take away anything of value, completely disregarding the national constitution’s principle that “private property is sacred and inviolable.”
A group of children of high-ranking officials from Beijing, known as the “Joint Action” (shortened to “Lian Dong”), came to Shanghai to raid the homes of any prominent figures at will. I heard that beating people with the metal buckles of belts was also their invention.
The trash bins in our neighborhood were right in the middle, and back then, we would often see jewelry boxes and mahjong sets there—some people had moved their gold and silver treasures to safety, while others had simply thrown them into the trash.
Villa No. 12 belonged to the owner of a dye factory and was occupied by an elderly man and a housekeeper. The Red Guards raiding the home discovered that the housekeeper, named Ju Hua, was hiding gold and silver treasures for her employer. They ordered her to stand on a stool and beat her until she was screaming in agony; the bamboo stick they used to beat her even split open.
Our home was ransacked for three full days. The Red Guards were quite polite when they arrived—perhaps because they weren’t familiar with this “boss” who had long since been fired, or maybe they’d heard that Grandpa had once treated his employees well.
But the Red Guards quickly found the gold and silver treasures Grandpa had hidden—inside the bamboo poles used for hanging laundry and in the coal ash from the stove at night. It turned out these were the most popular hiding spots back then.
My grandmother-in-law quickly handed over all the jewelry she had hidden. The Red Guards employed an effective method of coercion, saying, “The old man has already confessed. Are you going to go to prison for him? He’ll just find other women out there.”
Before the raid, I was also assigned a task: to hide a “fire oil diamond.” I wrapped it around a leftover ball of yarn. Whenever the Red Guards turned the yarn drawer upside down and scattered it all over the floor, I would go pick up the yarn and put it back in place.
This became the only treasure our family managed to save. Later, we sold it at a bargain price through a friend in the countryside, which allowed the whole family to “strike it rich” once more—enough to travel to Suzhou and Hangzhou, where we ate well and enjoyed ourselves.
I remember that final evening: they gathered around a large round table, using a “money scale” to weigh and tally the gold and silver jewelry. The inventory listed the quantities and weights, as if they were being turned over to the state treasury.
The subsequent house raids in Shanghai were conducted in a more “official” manner, carried out by Red Guards from the work units rather than the student Red Guards of the early days. Zhou Enlai’s government work report stated that the goods seized in Shanghai were not enough to build an airport—so “they looted things and still thought it wasn’t enough”?
Later, the confiscated goods were returned, but they had to be sold to the state at prices that were a joke.
I suppose I was the first witness to the “cruelty” of the capitalists. I can say with confidence that at least not everyone was like that.
Grandpa had always been kind to everyone, whether they were strangers or acquaintances. Back then, there were many refugees from Anhui fleeing famine in Shanghai, and Grandpa would give them whatever food and supplies were left in our home.
There was also a young cobbler near our doorstep. He had a baby face, and his family was extremely poor because he had so many children. Grandfather would tell me to give him small items from our home.
Not only with people, but even with animals, Grandfather was always like this. Back then, people in Shanghai had no entertainment and enjoyed fighting crickets (Shanghainese call them “miji”). He told me this game was too cruel.
In those days, no one would befriend my grandfather; anyone who approached him was suspected of having the wrong political stance. Yet he actually befriended a few stray cats, bringing them home at night to eat our leftovers.
Now that I’m getting on in years, I still feel a deep sense of fear when I think of those stray cats’ glowing green eyes in the darkness.
After the Cultural Revolution ended, my uncle and I went to the countryside in Zhejiang to visit our family’s former servants. To get there, we had to take a long-distance bus; after arriving at the county bus station, we still had to ride a bicycle for over half an hour.
My uncle met “Water Buffalo,” who had grown up with him. Back then, Water Buffalo was just a child; his father was in charge of leading several laborers who took care of the Huang family’s every need.
Water Buffalo led us back to his home from the village entrance, and I finally had the chance to meet someone who had been directly exploited.
Shuiniu’s father asked my uncle, “How has the young master been lately?” My uncle replied that he had passed away long ago. On the spot, the man collapsed to the floor from the stove, crying out in anguish, “He was a good man!” After that, he told many stories about my grandfather.
This was an “assessment” of his exploiter by the exploited—I could hardly believe my eyes or my ears.
During the Cultural Revolution, a “chicken blood therapy” became popular in Shanghai, which involved drawing blood from young roosters and injecting it into people.
Neighbors began raising chickens one after another. Their kitchens were too cramped, so they moved the chicken coops into our kitchen.
I asked my mother-in-law why we couldn’t get the chicken blood injections, and she replied that we had no clinic. Yes, our entire family had no access to medical care whatsoever.
Grandfather, suffering from long-term untreated hypertension, was left paralyzed on one side after a stroke. When he was hungry, he would slap his thigh and cry out, “Three fen for a flatbread!”
My parents kept writing letters urging me to leave Shanghai and return to the mainland as soon as possible; my father simply couldn’t bear the overwhelming barrage of big-character posters.
His charge was “raising his son in a bourgeois family to nurture a scum of the exploiting class.”
After waiting for several months, someone finally agreed to take me by train back to Sichuan. At the time, the train would stop overnight in Xi’an, and a child of my age couldn’t possibly travel alone.
Grandpa’s condition showed no signs of improvement, yet he still hobbled his way to the entrance of the alley to see me off. Both grandfather and grandson knew this would be our “last farewell”…
One day shortly after returning to the mainland, I came home from school for lunch to find a brief telegram on the table. The whole family sat in silence.
I looked at my father and thought to myself: If you cry, I’ll cry too (my tears were already ready). To my surprise, my father “didn’t cry.”
Not at all! He was simply letting his tears flow inward (people back then actually had that ability). I’m sorry, but I could only manage to remain silent.
I’ve decided to post a photo of Grandpa here, believing that there is no privacy in heaven.
Grandpa, whether you were a capitalist or a cadre, I miss you!
Rejecting Transnational Tyranny: Defending the Boundaries of Freedom Through a Lawsuit in a Los Angeles Court
Author: Zhao Wenlong
Editor: Zhou Zhigang Proofreader: Xiong Bian Translator: Ge Bing
Abstract: On March 10, 2026, a hearing began regarding Wu Xian, the head of security employed by the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) consulate. The author calls on U.S. judicial authorities to severely punish the CCP’s violent suppression and put an end to its transnational repression.
On March 10, 2026, a group of people dressed in plain clothes and with determined expressions gathered in front of the Clara Shortridge Foltz Criminal Justice Center in Los Angeles. They were not there to observe an ordinary criminal case, but to launch a legal counterattack against agents of the CCP’s infiltrating forces on this land of freedom.
This hearing against Wu Xian, the security chief hired by the Chinese Consulate, is by no means a simple lawsuit over a physical altercation; it is a head-on clash concerning “long-arm jurisdiction” and “transnational suppression”: When the CCP attempts to transplant the violent methods it uses to run rampant domestically onto the streets of the United States, how will the front lines of justice fight back?
Agents of Violence: The CCP’s New Mask of “Transnational Suppression”
For a long time, the CCP’s thuggish organization has continually reinvented its methods of persecution overseas. From early-stage surveillance by secret agents, to smear campaigns using online trolls, to the current practice of openly hiring local security forces to inflict physical harm on peaceful protesters.
In this case, Wu Xian is accused of spraying pepper spray at peaceful Chinese Democratic Party members and verbally abusing them. Such behavior is by no means accidental. The pepper spray released is not merely an irritating liquid; it is the arrogance of totalitarianism. The logic is this: as long as one acts on the orders of the CCP, one can disregard local laws and openly use force in a civilized society, attempting to intimidate those who dare to speak the truth. This violence carried out through proxies is a crucial link in the CCP’s chain of “transnational repression,” aimed at exporting fear across the globe.
The Shield of the Law: The First Amendment of the U.S. Constitution Is Inviolable
The core of what makes the United States a bastion of democracy lies in its utmost respect for freedom of speech and the right to peaceful assembly. The First Amendment explicitly states that the government shall not deprive the people of their right to assemble peacefully and petition the government.
As demonstrated by the Chinese Democratic Party members protesting outside the courthouse, they were exercising the legitimate rights granted to them by the U.S. Constitution. The use of force by the security chief employed by the Chinese Consulate is, in essence, a challenge to U.S. judicial sovereignty. If citizens peacefully demonstrating on the streets of Los Angeles can be arbitrarily abused by agents of the CCP without consequence, then American democracy will exist in name only.
The hearing on the morning of March 10 is not only an opportunity for the victims to defend their individual legal rights, but also a critical moment for the U.S. judicial system to demonstrate its independence and impartiality. Supporting this lawsuit means upholding the fundamental principle that everyone on this land can speak freely without fear of violent retaliation.
An Awakened Struggle: From Silence to Wielding the Weapons of the Law
This photograph captures a historic moment: Democratic Party members standing in front of the courthouse, holding signs reading “Political Violence From China Is Not Welcome Here” and “Stop CCP Transnational Repression.”
This represents an awakening among democratic forces overseas. Faced with the CCP’s persecution abroad, we no longer merely denounce and endure; instead, we have learned to utilize the legal tools of free societies to bring the perpetrators hiding in the shadows to justice. This shift from street protests to court proceedings is a mature form of democratic participation and the most effective response to totalitarian organizations.
The CCP is accustomed to buying off proxies with money and intimidating opponents with violence, but what it fears most is the light of the rule of law shining on its shadowy dealings. When proxies like Wu Xian are forced to face legal sanctions in the United States, the CCP organization behind him will also feel unprecedented pressure—here, power cannot stand above the law.
Conclusion: Justice Will Ultimately Return to the Land of Freedom
The CCP’s overseas infiltration, much like its domestic rule, is rife with thuggish behavior and secretive dealings. But this is Los Angeles, not Beijing; here, there are independent courts, not judges who take orders from the Party.
We strongly urge the U.S. judicial authorities to severely punish such acts of violence suspected of transnational suppression. Every can of pepper spray fired at protesters must be met with a legal summons. At the same time, we pay tribute to all Chinese democrats who have stood up in the face of intimidation. Your gathering before the courthouse is not only a quest for justice for the victims, but also a defense of that sacred and inviolable red line for all who cherish freedom.
Freedom does not perpetuate itself; it requires every citizen to bravely stand up and say “NO!” in the face of tyranny’s encroachment.
Integrity Under Shackles: The Jimmy Lai Case and the CCP’s Desperate Rush Toward Ruin, as Seen Through the Los Angeles Protests
Author: Zhao Wenlong
Editor: Zhou Zhigang Proofreader: Xiong Bian Translator: Ge Bing
Abstract: On February 15, 2026, members of the China Democracy Party gathered in front of the Chinese Consulate in Los Angeles to show solidarity with Jimmy Lai. This article analyzes why the CCP fears Jimmy Lai.
On February 15, 2026, under the bright yet chilly Southern California sun, a group of members of the China Democracy Party gathered in front of the Chinese Communist Party Consulate in Los Angeles. In their hands, they held photographs of Jimmy Lai—the nearly 80-year-old, white-haired guardian. This was not merely a show of solidarity across the Pacific; it was a clash of civilizations between free will and totalitarian oppression.
As a member of the China Democracy Party who has long followed Chinese politics and the human rights situation in China, I must point out: The Jimmy Lai case is not only the “funeral” of the rule of law in Hong Kong, but also the desperate, frantic rush of the CCP—a dictatorial organization—driven by extreme fear in the face of modern civilizational values.
Fabricating Charges: When Press Freedom Becomes a “Threat to National Security”
Jimmy Lai, a self-made entrepreneur, could have spent his twilight years enjoying his grandchildren and living out his days in peace. But he chose to stay. The Apple Daily, which he founded, was once a beacon of Hong Kong’s spirit of freedom, yet today it has become what the CCP calls an “anti-China base.” The CCP is subjecting him to a political trial under the so-called Hong Kong National Security Law, accusing him of “colluding with foreign forces.”
How utterly absurd! In a healthy society, media oversight of the government and engagement with the international community are the most normal aspects of democratic functioning; but in the CCP’s narrative, any independent voice that refuses to kneel or sing in unison is branded a “traitor.” Jimmy Lai’s trial is not a judgment on the crimes of a single individual, but a judgment on the press freedom, freedom of speech, and judicial independence that Hong Kong once possessed.
The Dictator’s Fear: Why Are They So Afraid of an Old Man?
The root cause of why the CCP’s gangster organization persists in politically persecuting Jimmy Lai despite severe sanctions from the international community lies in its deep-seated, extreme fear of “the truth.”
Jimmy Lai represents an unyielding moral force. He once stated plainly: “I am a man of faith; I cannot go against my conscience.” For a regime that relies on lies to maintain its rule and on fear to subjugate its people, this steadfastness rooted in faith and conscience is a threat that makes it tremble more than any weapon. By sentencing Jimmy Lai, the CCP is attempting to send a message to the world through an act of “making an example of him”: within the reach of its power, no soul beyond its control will be tolerated.
However, this high-pressure rule precisely exposes the fragility of the CCP regime. A strong nation does not need prisons to imprison thought; only a dictator who is weak at heart and lacks legitimacy needs to destroy an elderly man in his twilight years to maintain his so-called “stability.”
Global Solidarity: The Forces of Justice Gather in Los Angeles
The significance of the protest on February 15 of this year extends far beyond the action itself. When members of the China Democracy Party chanted “Hong Kongers are innocent, CCP release them” outside the Chinese Consulate in Los Angeles, they were effectively mending the front lines of freedom that the CCP had attempted to sever.
For a long time, the CCP has sought to reduce the Hong Kong issue to a matter of “internal affairs,” attempting to use a nationalist narrative to mask its anti-human and anti-freedom nature. But the protesters in Los Angeles have shown the world through their actions: the pursuit of freedom is a universal human trait. Whether in Victoria Harbour or on Santa Monica Beach, the voices opposing tyranny and demanding the rule of law transcend national borders. Jimmy Lai is not merely Hong Kong’s Jimmy Lai; he is an unwavering banner within the global democratic camp.
Conclusion: History Will Ultimately Convict the Dictators
We, the China Democratic Party, hereby strongly demand that the CCP regime: immediately and unconditionally release Jimmy Lai! Cease the political persecution of Hong Kong’s pro-democracy activists, human rights lawyers, and all prisoners of conscience.
Dictators may be able to shut down newspapers, block the internet, and even throw righteous men into deep dungeons, but they can never imprison the human heart’s yearning for light and freedom. The historical judgment seat has long been set up. Just as Jimmy Lai has demonstrated his resilience in prison, those who are truly guilty are not those who pursue freedom, but the dictatorial henchmen hiding behind the iron curtain who foolishly attempt to turn back the wheels of history.
Mr. Jimmy Lai, please take care of yourself. Colleagues around the world stand with you, awaiting the dawn. The CCP’s tyranny will eventually crumble, and the spirit of freedom will, like the sunshine of Los Angeles, ultimately illuminate the land of China.
A Comparative Analysis of Socialist and Capitalist Systems
Author: Wang Xiaofei Editor: Hu Lili Proofreader: Xiong Bian Translator: Zhou Min
In modern political economy, socialism and capitalism are two institutional models with far-reaching influence. Socialism emphasizes social equity, wealth redistribution, and the dominant role of the state in the economy; capitalism, meanwhile, emphasizes private property rights, market competition, and individual freedom. While the two systems have different emphases in their theoretical goals, they have presented distinctly different economic performances and social impacts in historical practice. Through the analysis of historical experience and economic operating mechanisms, it can be found that the socialist system has many structural problems in practice, while the capitalist system demonstrates stronger advantages in promoting economic development, incentivizing innovation, and safeguarding individual freedom.
First, from the perspective of economic efficiency, socialist systems often face the problem of insufficient efficiency in resource allocation. Traditional socialist economic models are centered on state planning, where the government uniformly determines production targets, resource allocation, and price systems. Although this system can theoretically avoid market failures and economic fluctuations, in actual operation, governments often find it difficult to accurately grasp complex market information. The economist Friedrich Hayek once pointed out that the market price system itself is an information mechanism capable of reflecting changes in supply and demand and guiding resource allocation. When prices are determined by administrative orders rather than market competition, resource allocation often becomes unbalanced, leading to phenomena of overproduction or shortages. By contrast, the capitalist system relies on market competition to determine resource distribution. In the process of pursuing profit, enterprises and individuals continuously improve technology and reduce costs, thereby driving an increase in overall economic efficiency. Market mechanisms can quickly reflect changes in supply and demand through price signals, allowing resources to flow to the most efficient fields. Historical experience shows that most highly developed economies adopt market-centered market economic systems, such as the United States, Western European countries, and Japan. These countries are generally world leaders in terms of economic growth rates, technological innovation, and standards of living.
Second, regarding innovation and technological development, capitalist systems are usually more advantageous. Innovation often requires freedom of thought, competition mechanisms, and material incentives. In a capitalist system, entrepreneurs and researchers can obtain economic rewards through innovation; this incentive mechanism encourages people to continuously explore new technologies and business models. From the Industrial Revolution to the modern information technology revolution, a vast number of important innovations have been generated within market economic systems, such as the development of internet technology, smartphones, and the artificial intelligence industry. Relatively speaking, in highly socialized economic systems, innovation often relies on government-led research institutions or state-planned projects. Although this model can concentrate resources to achieve breakthroughs in certain specific fields, the overall innovation ecosystem usually lacks diversity and flexibility. When enterprises lack competitive pressure and profit incentives, the motivation for technological updates is also reduced. Therefore, in the long run, the socialist system is often less effective than the capitalist system in driving broad technological innovation.
Third, regarding political and social freedom, the capitalist system is usually combined with democratic politics and individual freedom. Capitalism emphasizes private property rights and individual right of choice; this institutional environment provides a foundation for the development of civil society. Individuals can freely choose their professions, invest, start businesses, or express opinions; these freedoms not only contribute to social vitality but also promote economic development. Many capitalist countries have established relatively sound legal systems and mechanisms of checks and balances to prevent the excessive concentration of power. In the historical practice of some socialist countries, because the state occupies a dominant position in the economy and resource distribution, political power also tends to be highly concentrated. When the government simultaneously controls political and economic resources, social supervision and power-balancing mechanisms may be restricted. The concentration of power easily leads to the expansion of bureaucracy, a decline in administrative efficiency, and even problems of corruption. This structural risk causes the socialist system to face significant challenges in political governance.
Furthermore, from the perspective of individual incentives, the capitalist system places more emphasis on the relationship between effort and reward. In a market economy, an individual’s income is often related to their labor, skills, and the value they create. This differentiated reward can incentivize people to improve work efficiency, learn new skills, and take entrepreneurial risks. Conversely, if a system overemphasizes equal distribution, it may weaken the motivation for individual effort, thereby affecting the overall level of productivity.
Of course, it must be pointed out that the capitalist system is not without problems. For example, issues such as the widening gap between rich and poor, financial crises, and market monopolies also need to be regulated through government policies. Therefore, modern capitalist countries usually alleviate these problems through means such as social security, tax regulation, and public services, forming what are known as “social market economy” or “welfare capitalism” models.
Overall, historical experience indicates that the capitalist system possesses clear advantages in promoting economic growth, driving technological innovation, and safeguarding individual freedom, while the socialist system in practice often faces problems of insufficient efficiency, imperfect incentive mechanisms, and excessive concentration of power. The development of future society may not rely entirely on a single institutional model, but rather find a balance between market mechanisms and government regulation.
What Would China Be Like Today if Chiang Kai-shek Had Not Failed?
Author: Wang Xiaofei Editor: Hu Lili Proofreader: Xiong Bian Translator: Zhou Min
Historical development is often full of contingency and complexity. In the mid-20th century, China underwent profound political and social transformations, and the outcome of the Chinese Civil War altered the direction of China’s development. If history had yielded a different result—supposing the Nationalist Government led by Chiang Kai-shek had achieved victory in the Civil War—then today’s China might present a developmental path completely different from reality. By comparing the political systems, economic policies, and international environments of that time, a certain degree of analysis can be applied to this historical hypothesis.
First, regarding the political system, if the Chiang Kai-shek government had continued to rule in Mainland China, China might have gradually formed a political model transitioning from an authoritarian system toward constitutional democracy. During the Chiang Kai-shek era, the Nationalist Government had nominally formulated the Constitution of the Republic of China and proposed the goal of gradually realizing constitutionalism. Although this system was not truly implemented under the environment of war and political struggle, looking at the subsequent development of the Taiwan region, the Kuomintang (KMT) regime did indeed complete a transition from authoritarian rule to a democratic system under specific historical conditions. Therefore, some historians believe that if the Nationalist Government had continued to rule the Mainland, China might have experienced a political development path similar to that of South Korea or Taiwan—namely, a strong government first driving economic development, followed by the gradual opening of the political system.
Second, regarding economic development, China might have integrated into the global market economy system much earlier. The economic policies during the Nationalist Government period generally leaned toward the development of a market economy and private enterprise. If these policies had continued, China might have gradually established an industrial system dominated by the private economy in the second half of the 20th century and attracted more international capital into the Chinese market. Considering China’s massive population and abundant labor resources, it is possible that China, like Japan, South Korea, and Taiwan, could have achieved rapid economic growth through export-oriented industrialization. Such a developmental path might have allowed China to become an important global manufacturing and trade center much sooner.
Third, regarding social structure, Chinese society might have displayed different changes. The land policies of the Nationalist Government period differed from the later model of Land Reform; if the Nationalist Government had continued to rule, the rural land system might have been adjusted through gradual reform rather than through large-scale political movements to achieve redistribution. This approach might have reduced social upheaval, but it also might have resulted in a slower pace of rural reform. Consequently, changes in China’s urban-rural structure might have been more incremental.
Furthermore, regarding international relations, if the Chiang Kai-shek government had continued to rule China, it is highly likely that China would have become an important ally of the Western bloc during the Cold War. The United States and its allies might have provided China with more economic and military support, thereby driving China’s economic and industrial development. Under these circumstances, China might have participated in international organizations and the global trade system much earlier and played a major role in the Asia-Pacific region.
Of course, this historical hypothesis also contains many uncertain factors. China has a vast territory and a large population; even under the same system, the developmental paths of different regions might have had huge discrepancies. At the same time, factors such as issues left over from the war, social inequality, and the structure of political power could all have influenced the direction of China’s future development. Therefore, there is no single possible outcome in history.
Overall, if the Chiang Kai-shek government had not failed in the Civil War, China might have advanced along another developmental road: politically, it might have experienced a gradual transition from authoritarianism to democracy; economically, it would have integrated into the global market system earlier; and in international relations, it would have been closer to the Western bloc. However, all of this remains merely speculation at the level of historiography. History has already happened, and the actual path of development has shaped today’s China. Reflecting on this hypothesis is meaningful primarily in helping people understand how historical choices influence a nation’s future.
Reflections of a Chinese Scholar on Political Systems, Power, and the Future
Author: Guo Quan Editor: Zhong Ran Proofreader: Xiong Bian Translator: Zhou Min
From a Student of the “Class of ’89” to a Long-term Thinker on Political Systems
If one were to summarize Guo Quan’s life trajectory in a single sentence, it might be: a person’s continuous reflection on systems for over thirty years.
Over the past decades, his identity has constantly shifted—university student, worker within the “system” (government/state enterprise), scholar, university teacher, and later, a public figure continuously expressing political views.
Yet, behind these changing identities, his thoughts have always revolved around a single question: How should China’s political system operate?
From the university campus of 1989 to subsequent academic research and later public expression, this question has run through his entire life.
1989: A Generation’s Political Memory
In 1987, Guo Quan entered university. Two years later, the 1989 student movement broke out in China.
Although he was not in Tiananmen Square in Beijing at the time, but was instead participating in local activities elsewhere, that period of history became an important starting point for the formation of his political consciousness. Recalling that time, he says: “The university students of our generation have all, to some extent, experienced that history.”
On the university campuses of that era, political discussion was not rare. Many students were exposed for the first time to discussions regarding democracy, systems, and national governance. For many, it was an intellectual enlightenment. Guo Quan believes that this enlightenment does not end upon graduation.
When students enter society, these reflections often re-emerge in new ways.
Entering Society: Systemic Issues in Reality
After graduating from university in 1990, Guo Quan entered enterprises and the government system to work. Real society was completely different from campus life.
Through grassroots work, he began to encounter various specific issues—administrative decision-making, social contradictions, and public affairs. Through these practical experiences, he gradually formed a judgment: many problems are not merely management issues, but systemic issues. “If they are not solved through democratic means, many problems simply cannot be resolved,” he says. In his view, an autocratic system can indeed improve efficiency in certain situations, such as in resource concentration and administrative decision-making. However, in the long run, a power structure lacking institutional checks and balances easily generates new contradictions.
These reflections prompted him to return to academic research.
The Academic Path: Searching for Systemic Answers
In 1993, Guo Quan was admitted to Nanjing University to pursue a Master’s degree in Sociology. Sociological research provided him with new analytical tools.
In sociological theory, a system is not just a political arrangement, but also a way for society to operate. Systems determine how society coordinates interests, resolves conflicts, and forms public rules. “A democratic system is actually a social operation mechanism,” he says.
After completing his Master’s degree, he entered the Nanjing Municipal Court to work. Judicial practice became another window for him to understand social issues.
During his time at the court, he handled a large number of cases and social disputes. Many cases appeared to be legal issues on the surface, but at a deeper level, they reflected contradictions within the systemic structure. This experience led him to gradually form the view that many social conflicts can ultimately be traced back to systemic problems. While working at the court, Guo Quan continued to pursue a PhD in Philosophy. From 1996 to 1999, three years of philosophical research became an important stage in the formation of his thought. Philosophical training allowed him to begin thinking about political issues from a more macro perspective. In his view, politics is not just a matter of institutional design, but also a matter of values and ideological systems.
“Politics and philosophy are inseparable,” he says. Without reflection at the philosophical level, politics can easily move toward extremes.
During this period, he gradually formed political ideas centered on freedom and democracy and began to systematically study the developmental history of modern democratic systems.
The Formation of a Concept: Multi-Party Elections
In his early research and writing, Guo Quan—like many researchers of political theory—often used concepts such as “democracy,” “freedom,” “constitutionalism,” and the “rule of law” to discuss political systems. But as his research deepened, he gradually developed a new reflection on these terms.
In real-world politics, these concepts often possess significant room for interpretation. Different political systems and different political traditions all use these terms to describe their own institutional arrangements. Even in some highly centralized power structures, one can still see expressions like “democracy” and “rule of law.”
In Guo Quan’s view, this conceptual ambiguity causes many political discussions to remain at an abstract level. Therefore, in the large number of articles he published later, he began to gradually use a more specific and more easily identifiable concept to express his political stance—
Multi-party elections.
In Guo Quan’s view, multi-party elections are the most direct hallmark distinguishing a democratic system from an autocratic one. He wrote in an article:
“The simplest way to judge whether a country truly implements a democratic system is to see whether genuine multi-party elections exist.”
In his view, if political power can be generated through publicly contested elections, and if different political forces can participate in the competition, then power has the possibility of being constrained by the system.
Conversely, if political competition is institutionally restricted, then even if terms like “democracy,” “freedom,” and “constitutionalism” appear in institutional texts, it is very difficult to form a genuine political competition mechanism.
In another article, Guo Quan further explained this viewpoint. He believes that in modern political systems, the core of democracy is not just the election itself, but whether power can be replaced through institutionalized competition.
“A true democratic system is, in essence, a system of competition for power.”
In his view, the significance of multi-party elections lies precisely here. It is not just a method of election, but a systemic arrangement that ensures political power must face social choice.
Therefore, Guo Quan repeatedly emphasizes a judgment: if a real political competition mechanism is lacking, then concepts like democracy, freedom, and constitutionalism may be given different interpretations by different power structures.
It was precisely on the basis of this reflection that “multi-party elections” gradually became the core keyword in his political discourse.
Suggestions for Young People: The Power of Writing and Expression
During the interview, Guo Quan mentioned the importance of writing many times.
He says that starting from 2007, he maintained a habit of writing nearly one article every day. Except for the period he spent serving a prison sentence, this habit basically never ceased. In his view, writing is not only a form of personal record-keeping but also a way to participate in public affairs.
“If thoughts are not expressed, they cannot enter public discussion,” he says.
He once wrote in an article: “The progress of a society often begins with the expression of ideas.”
When talking about young people, Guo Quan believes that expression itself is an important form of public participation. If a society lacks ideological exchange and public discussion, it is very difficult to form true consensus and progress.
Therefore, he encourages young people to think more, write more, and express their own views more. Whether through articles, research, or public discussion, letting thoughts enter the social field of vision is, in itself, a way to promote social progress.
At the same time, however, he also reminds that expression does not necessarily mean fierce confrontation. In a realistic environment, rational, restrained, and continuous expression is often more powerful.
“Expressing a viewpoint does not necessarily require using a forceful manner,” he says. “The important thing is to express continuously, while also learning how to protect oneself.”
In his view, the intellectual space of a society is often formed slowly through long-term, unceasing expression. For an individual, maintaining independent thought and expressing it in an appropriate manner is, in itself, a way of participating in the process of history.
Conclusion: A Question Still Continuing
Thirty-plus years ago, Guo Quan was still a student who had just entered a university campus.
Thirty-plus years later, he is still thinking about the same question—political systems and the future of society.
During this time, Chinese society has undergone tremendous changes. Economic development, urban expansion, and technological progress have all profoundly changed the face of this country. But in Guo Quan’s view, a deeper question has always existed: how a nation’s system shapes its future.
As the interview concluded, he mentioned that for those who care about public affairs, expression and reflection themselves possess meaning.
“Changes in a society often start from thoughts,” he says.
Perhaps, for many people, discussions regarding systems, politics, and the future remain full of controversy. But historical experience also constantly reminds people that a country’s path of development is never decided all at once; rather, it is gradually formed through continuous discussion, experimentation, and choice. In this process, different voices and different reflections will all become part of the social memory.
Guo Quan’s story is perhaps just one of those ways of expression.
As for the question of China’s future path, it remains a matter for time, history, and the many more people who are still thinking.
