Abstract:On October 25, 2025, numerous groups gathered in front of the Chinese Consulate in Los Angeles to condemn the CCP’s persecution of dissidents Xing Wangli and Zhang Pancheng, calling on the international community to pay close attention to China’s human rights situation.
On October 25, 2025, outside the Chinese Consulate General in Los Angeles, the Los Angeles Committee of the China Democracy Party, the China Democracy & Human Rights Alliance, and Opposition Party magazine jointly held a protest condemning the Chinese Communist Party’s long-term persecution of Xing Wangli and Zhang Pancheng, calling on the international community to pay urgent attention to their situation.
Chinese citizen Zhang Pancheng has repeatedly been imprisoned for his commitment to freedom of expression and social justice. Fearless in the face of authoritarian power, he exposed social injustices and spoke out for persecuted citizens and prisoners of conscience. He was repeatedly jailed on the charge of “picking quarrels and provoking trouble.” Even after release, he continued to face harassment and surveillance, and was forcibly labeled as “mentally ill.” His ID card and household registration were confiscated, and his freedom of movement was stripped.
In July 2024, he was again placed under criminal detention. He has since disappeared, with no information about his whereabouts.
Another Chinese citizen, Xing Wangli, has spent twenty years defending rights, only to receive a decade of imprisonment and injuries as severe as skull fractures. Over the past two decades, he has been illegally detained for a total of 10 years and 8 months, and was subjected to repeated administrative detentions, illegal house arrests, and “residential surveillance.”
Since 2002, Xing began his difficult journey of rights defense—from handling his own grievances to helping others for years.In 2016, he was violently beaten in prison, causing comminuted fractures of the skull.In 2019, Chinese police even conducted a cross-border operation to seize his son, Xing Jian.
In June 2024, while Chinese Premier Li Qiang was visiting New Zealand, Xing Jian held a protest sign outside Li Qiang’s hotel denouncing CCP tyranny and calling for his resignation. He was assaulted on site by pro-CCP individuals. New Zealand’s major media outlet Stuff reported on the incident. Shortly afterward, Xing Jian’s residence was splashed with feces, and crystalline substances suspected to be methamphetamine were thrown onto the property.
In August 2025, Xing Wangli was once again framed by the CCP with the charge of “picking quarrels and provoking trouble,” and was unjustly sentenced to three years in prison. On that very day, Xing Jian personally attended the protest in Los Angeles to show support for his father.
The photo shows the initiators and hosts of the event: from left to right — He Yu, Zhang Xiaoli in the center, and Zeng Qunlan on the right.
We call on the Chinese government to disclose the current conditions of Xing Wangli and Zhang Pancheng, to safeguard their basic human rights, and to cease all persecution against dissidents and their family members.
Author: Hua Yan Editor: Zhong Ran ManagingEditor: Luo Zhifei Proofreading: Cheng Xiaoxiao
Abstract:A totalitarian system cannot quantify loyalty; loyalty decays over time and eventually transforms into a threat. With no institutionalized mechanism for leadership renewal, power can only be maintained through purges. Yet the tools of purge inevitably become new sources of danger, forcing an escalating loyalty competition and ultimately forming a self-devouring iron law.
The fundamental dilemma of totalitarianism is this:loyalty cannot be quantified, cannot remain constant, and cannot be prevented from turning into a capacity for replacement.
It cannot be quantified—the loyalty that scores full marks today may decrease tomorrow. How can it be measured?It cannot remain constant—time dissolves loyalty. The longer the tenure and the greater the achievements, the more likely one thinks, “I deserve the throne more than he does.”It cannot be prevented from transforming—once someone controls the gun, the purse, or the propaganda apparatus, loyalty itself becomes capital for replacing the leader.
For a rational totalitarian ruler, the only option is to strike first—to purge before loyalty decays into threat.This is not paranoia, but a cold computation of probability.In the totalitarian world, the greatest meritorious servant is the greatest hidden danger; the most loyal insider is the most dangerous potential enemy.Purging one’s own people is not bloodlust—it is self-preservation.It is not an accident—it is an iron law.
Axiom 1: Lifelong Power Monopoly — Threat Emerges From Loyalty
The fundamental feature of totalitarianism is a single leader holding lifelong monopoly over all decision-making.The army belongs to him, the treasury belongs to him, the propaganda machinery belongs to him, and the security apparatus belongs to him—all key resources lead directly to one person.
In this structure, “insiders”—those closest to the center, those with access to secrets, those with the capacity to replace—become more threatening the more loyal they appear.
Loyalty is not static; as time passes it accumulates seniority, ambition, and substitutability.The more meritorious, the more indispensable, the more trusted—the more likely one is to think, at some late hour, “It should be my turn.”
Conclusion:The most loyal will inevitably become the greatest threat.
Axiom 2: No Institutionalized Exit — Renewal Equals Elimination
Totalitarianism rejects term limits and electoral turnover.There is no natural mechanism of succession.The old guard does not leave; the new guard cannot rise.Power solidifies like cement.
Thus, purge becomes the only drainage valve.
Normal political systems rely on institutionalized rotation to maintain circulation.Totalitarian systems have no such channel.Therefore, the only method of leadership renewal is violent removal.
Purges are not the ruler’s personal hobby—they are the unavoidable consequence of institutional vacuum.Without purges, the old guard would hollow out the ruler’s power;with purges, power is restored to the single leader.
Axiom 3: Purging Tools Carry Inherent Backlash
Purges are not carried out personally by the ruler; they require professional executioners—secret police, investigative task forces, anti-corruption squads.
These actors master the craft of persecution; they wield life-and-death authority; they know every loophole, every weakness, every unwritten rule in the system.
The moment their mission is complete, they become the greatest holders of secrets—and therefore the greatest threat.The more they know, the greater their potential backlash;the sharper the knife they wield, the more dangerous they become.
Implication:What purges must always purge next are the purgers themselves.If executioners are not eliminated, the ruler can never sleep peacefully.
Axiom 4: In a Loyalty-Dominated World, the Only Way to Prove Loyalty Is Escalating Competition
In a totalitarian system, loyalty cannot be measured or verified.Acts of loyalty fall into a classic prisoner’s dilemma:to remain silent is suicide, for silence is indistinguishable from disloyalty.
Thus, the only observable loyalty is demonstrating harsher repression than one’s peers:more denunciations, more aggressive purges, more extreme acts of obedience.
All participants enter a zero-sum contest:
You purge one person, I purge two.
You destroy the body, I destroy the reputation.
You demote, I execute.
You expel from the Party, I ensure permanent exclusion from public life.
Loyalty ceases to be an inner belief; it becomes an external performance.The sole metric of performance is the scale and brutality of purges.
After each round, survivors must prove they are “more loyal than the rest,”thereby voluntarily escalating accusations, expanding targets, and intensifying punishment.
The loyalty competition has no ceiling;the violence of purges has no upper limit.
Kim Yong-nam, Elder Statesman of North Korea:The Legendary Life of a Three-Generation Courtier
Author: Tuo Xianrun Editor: Peng Xiaomei Managing Editor: Zhong Ran Proofreading: Cheng Xiaoxiao
Abstract:Kim Yong-nam has passed away. Having served Kim Il-sung, Kim Jong-il, and Kim Jong-un, he was the central figure of North Korean diplomacy and a “lubricant” in China–North Korea relations. His death marks the end of an era and the beginning of a more independent “Kim Jong-un era” in Pyongyang’s foreign policy.
Kim Yong-nam, a legendary figure in North Korean politics, recently passed away. China’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs expressed deep condolences, calling him “an old friend of the Chinese people.” As a key interpreter of North Korea’s long-term national strategy, Kim Yong-nam and his family played an indispensable role in the country’s political landscape. His story not only reveals the inner workings of power within North Korea but also illustrates the delicate balance underpinning China–North Korea relations.
In North Korea, the “Paektusan bloodline” of the Kim family—Kim Il-sung, Kim Jong-il, and Kim Jong-un—forms the core of power. But another “Kim family”—the Kim Yong-nam clan—has remained consistently influential. This family is often seen as an evergreen pillar of North Korean politics, having survived multiple purges during Kim Il-sung’s rule. Kim Yong-nam had two younger brothers: Kim Ki-nam and Kim Tu-nam. The three brothers each made their mark in diplomatic, propaganda, and military affairs respectively.
Such was the reputation of the Kim Yong-nam family that a popular saying circulated among the North Korean public: if a young man hopes to rise quickly without effort and enjoy lifelong security, the best path is to marry a woman from the Kim Yong-nam lineage. This is not an exaggeration—the family served as a foundational pillar of the Kim dynasty, comparable to Zhou Enlai’s role for Mao Zedong. Yet, unlike Zhou—whose relationship with Mao was often strained by suspicion—Kim Yong-nam enjoyed unconditional trust from Kim Il-sung, Kim Jong-il, and even Kim Jong-un.
There is debate regarding Kim Yong-nam’s birthplace. North Korean official sources claim he was born in Korea, emphasizing his “legitimate” origins. But records from the Japanese occupation period indicate he was born in Liaoning Province, China. Regardless, before the outbreak of the Korean War, he had studied in Heilongjiang and entered the war as a Chinese volunteer soldier, serving as a Korean-language translator.
His career quickly became opaque. Between entering Korea in 1950 and the armistice talks in 1953, he was already sent by the Workers’ Party of Korea to the Soviet Union for advanced diplomatic training. This suggests that during the war he was transferred from the Chinese volunteer system into the North Korean government apparatus, rapidly gaining trust. The author speculates this could only have happened through senior intervention—possibly due to long-standing family ties or marriage connections with the Kim Il-sung clan.
After returning in 1956, Kim Yong-nam immediately became a section chief in the International Department of the Workers’ Party—equivalent to a high-ranking official in China’s Central Foreign Affairs Office—responsible for overall diplomatic intelligence. This was highly unusual during the intense political purges of the era. Between 1956 and 1957, Kim Il-sung purged the Yan’an faction and Chinese-background cadres, many of whom were demoted or exiled. Yet Kim Yong-nam emerged unscathed and continued to rise, becoming vice minister of the International Department by 1961.
Kim Yong-nam became the mastermind of North Korea’s foreign policy. During the Sino–Soviet split, he managed affairs with the Soviet Union and Eastern Europe, skillfully navigating the divide despite his Chinese background. He was not only Kim Il-sung’s diplomatic strategist but also later aided Kim Jong-il and Kim Jong-un.During Kim Il-sung’s era, he was effectively the second-most powerful figure in maintaining China–North Korea relations. In the 1980s, when relations soured between Kim Il-sung and Deng Xiaoping, Kim Yong-nam helped mediate tensions and ensured Chinese aid continued. After Kim Il-sung’s death in 1994, he chaired the funeral committee and facilitated Kim Jong-il’s succession.
After the 1998 constitutional revision, he became President of the Presidium of the Supreme People’s Assembly—the nominal head of state—while Kim Jong-il retained military control. At the 2008 Beijing Olympics, he represented North Korea as its official head of state.
After Kim Jong-un returned from Switzerland, Kim Yong-nam’s younger brother Kim Tu-nam—a KPA general—served as his military mentor. Kim Yong-nam himself provided diplomatic guidance, including involvement in paving the way for U.S.–DPRK summits. Another brother, Kim Ki-nam, controlled the propaganda apparatus. Together, the three brothers formed a foundational support system for the Kim dynasty.
The family’s meteoric rise is striking: all three were sent to the Soviet Union for study in the 1950s and quickly rose to power upon their return. Kim Ki-nam moved from being a professor at Kim Il-sung University into the central propaganda department. Kim Tu-nam advanced from deputy commander of artillery forces to Kim Il-sung’s “military secretary,” and later became director of the Kim Il-sung Memorial Hall, continuing to advise Kim Jong-un.Kim Yong-nam’s Chinese background made him a crucial “lubricant” in China–North Korea relations. When Pyongyang leaned toward distancing itself from Beijing, he helped mediate; when Beijing contemplated reducing support, he worked to secure continued assistance.He was not a Chinese spy but a loyal servant of the Kim dynasty whose upbringing simply positioned him as a stabilizing force between the two nations.
Yet his death marks the end of an era. Since his retirement in 2019, North Korean diplomacy has shown signs of greater independence: signing military agreements with Russia, sending personnel related to operations in Ukraine, and exploring direct talks with the U.S. These developments reflect a shift toward autonomy and equality in its foreign policy. China’s influence over North Korea is likely to further diminish.
Kim Yong-nam’s passing ushers North Korean diplomacy fully into the “pure Kim Jong-un era.”For the CCP, this is not good news—North Korea may now negotiate more independently with South Korea and the United States. Yet in a broader sense, this transition was inevitable.
As a veteran statesman who served three generations of the Kim dynasty, Kim Yong-nam’s extraordinary life is not only a microcosm of North Korean politics but also a reminder that the dynastic transmission of power is often shaped as much by family networks as by political design.
Abstract: This article recalls Hong Kong’s former freedom and prosperity, reflects on the profound social transformations after the 2019 Anti–Extradition Bill Movement, expresses deep concern and mourning over the erosion of freedom of speech, the rule of law, and civil rights, and calls for remembering that freedom must not be forgotten.
When dawn arrives, we shall reclaim this Hong Kong.Children of the era march together for justice and revolution.May democracy and freedom endure for all ages—I pledge that glory will return to Hong Kong.— “Glory to Hong Kong”
I still remember the first time, as a child, that I glimpsed Hong Kong through a pirated VCD: neon lights flickering across the streets, detectives in trench coats, singers with cigarettes hanging from their lips, and that familiar melody that lodged itself in my heart—“Forgive me for being unruly all my life and loving freedom.”Back then, Hong Kong was not merely a city to me, but a way of life—a symbol of freedom, modernity, civility, and openness.In an era when information was blocked by walls, Hong Kong was a window through which we “peeked” at the world.
But as I grew up, especially since March 2019, when the topics of “freedom” and “democracy” began disappearing from Hong Kong’s news; when I saw students in the Occupy movement suppressed, protesters in the Anti–Extradition Bill movement demonized; when the eight words “Liberate Hong Kong, Revolution of Our Times” were criminalized—I suddenly understood that the Hong Kong which had embodied liberty and democracy in my imagination had already died.
I watched that once-glittering international metropolis—its glow of freedom extinguished—turn into a rubber stamp beneath the red flag, and I felt heartbroken.And what is even more tragic is that its death is not solitary; it is part of the long night falling over the entire Sinophone world. When freedom is trampled, when thought is domesticated, when fear becomes normalized, every one of us, in some sense, becomes another Hong Kong.
Many people think Hong Kong is still lively: crowds surge through Causeway Bay, Victoria Harbour’s nightscape remains brilliant, and the lights of the financial district are dazzling. The MTR still runs on time, malls remain upscale, and tourists continue buying tax-free cosmetics and luxury goods. Everything on the surface appears unchanged.
But real change always begins in places unseen.
Journalists who once dared to ask hard questions no longer appear on camera; university campuses are draped with banners of “National Security Education,” replacing student-union manifestos; libraries remove stacks of political books, and even old issues of Apple Daily have become “dangerous items.”Even street graffiti has grown timid—only blurry traces of “light” and “freedom” remain, gradually washed away by the rain.
The Chinese government tells the world that Hong Kong still enjoys “One Country, Two Systems”; state television shows a Hong Kong that is “prosperous and stable.”Yet every Hongkonger knows—this is merely stage-set prosperity.
I once believed that Hong Kong would forever keep its own rhythm: a unique blend of East and West, classical and modern.But now, Mandarin fills the streets, red flags appear everywhere, and even the intonations of Cantonese in public broadcasts have become more “disciplined” and monotonous.A free city has been transformed into an obedient “special administrative region.”The police are no longer guardians of public order but enforcers of the regime.Government officials act according to Beijing’s directives, no longer representing the voices of the people…
(Image from the Los Angeles Freedom Sculpture Park)
In 2019, Hong Kong became a city ignited simultaneously by anger and hope.That summer, even the air on its streets felt scorching. Umbrellas, helmets, and masks became new symbols, and young people used their bodies to resist the machinery of power. The slogan they shouted—“Liberate Hong Kong, Revolution of Our Times”—was not a provocation but a cry for help, an awakening born from being pushed to the edge.
It began with what seemed like a single ordinary amendment: the revision of the Fugitive Offenders Ordinance.But everyone understood that it was a bridge leading straight toward authoritarianism. Once passed, anyone could be extradited to the mainland for trial—journalists, teachers, lawmakers, or simply an ordinary citizen who had posted a message of dissent.And so a million Hongkongers took to the streets. The procession stretched farther than the eye could see. Black clothing formed a continuous sea, and waves of shouting rolled through the city. It was a moment of civic resurrection.
Students held signs reading “Stand with Hong Kong, Oppose the Extradition Bill.” Young women handed out masks and water at MTR exits. Elderly people stood silently on sidewalks, raising their hands in quiet gestures of encouragement.This was Hong Kong at its gentlest—and its strongest.
But gentle resistance was soon met with violence. Tear gas exploded in the narrow alleys; white smoke filled the air; screams echoed. People collapsed, people were dragged away, people shielded each other with umbrellas. When the batons came down, no one could distinguish justice from “maintaining order” anymore.Reporters’ cameras were blocked, coverage was altered.Television declared, “Rioters disrupt social stability,” but everyone on the ground knew that those labeled “rioters” were only children who wanted a city where they could speak safely.
“Liberate Hong Kong, Revolution of Our Times”—these eight words became the last testament of freedom.The government labeled them “secessionist,” but the world remembered them. They were printed on banners, on the foreheads of the arrested, and in the hearts of every tearful Hongkonger.
In the end, the movement did not win.On June 30, 2020, without sufficient deliberation in the Legislative Council, the Hong Kong National Security Law was imposed at midnight. Hong Kong officially entered the “red era.”The flags in the streets changed color, school curricula were rewritten, and the tone of news headlines shifted. Everything became different overnight.
I still remember how eerily quiet Hong Kong felt in those days.No celebrations, no noise.People simply began deleting old posts on their phones. Some changed their profile pictures; some wiped their photo albums; some shut down their social-media accounts.It was as if everyone lowered their heads—preparing to be tamed.
(Image from the Los Angeles Freedom Sculpture Park)
From that moment on, Hong Kong became “obedient.”Protests vanished, slogans disappeared, and even street music grew tame.Artists changed their styles, publishers revised their topics, and everyone understood what could be said—and what had to be forgotten.The Hong Kong government called it “restoring order”;the Chinese Communist Party called it “returning to the right path.”But I know all of it was simply another name for “submission.”
Hongkongers began to emigrate—wave after wave, like a receding tide.Some left for London, others for Taipei, and some came to the very city where I live.They carried their luggage and their familiar Cantonese accents, yet the stories they told were all the same: “Hong Kong is gone.”
Sometimes, when I look at news footage of Central, the familiar neon lights still flicker, but I can no longer believe in their reality.It is a city rewritten by the CCP’s authoritarian power—still called Hong Kong, though its soul has long since been replaced.
It has been forced to forget its own language, history, and convictions;forced to learn praise, loyalty, and silence.That is no longer Hong Kong—but a “doll” crafted by the Chinese Communist Party.
Hong Kong’s story is not only Hong Kong’s story.It is a mirror reflecting how CCP authoritarianism devours a city, a people, and eventually the soul of an entire civilization.
The CCP’s method of domination has never relied on destruction—it relies on assimilation.It does not need bulldozers or guns.It only needs to alter language, rewrite textbooks, shut down newspapers, and take over schools.It teaches people to grow accustomed to fear, accustomed to silence, accustomed to pretending they are free within safe boundaries.Once self-censorship becomes instinct, the regime no longer needs surveillance—because every person has already become their own guard.
What makes CCP authoritarianism terrifying is that it does not simply rule land; it aims to rule the human mind.It trains people to accept submission, to accept forgetting, to accept lies as common sense.Once memory is erased, tragedies can be rewritten as “success stories.”This is its most insidious power.
Some say Hong Kong was a “rebellious child,” but to me, Hong Kong was simply a place brave enough to dream.For decades, it proved that a Chinese society could indeed uphold freedom and the rule of law.Now that experiment has been crushed.This is not Hong Kong’s failure—it is the victory of authoritarianism.
Sometimes I wonder:If even Hong Kong could not be defended, where else can we speak of freedom?On what land can we still believe in truth, dignity, and the independence of thought?
Although Hong Kong’s freedom has been taken, the sparks it left behind will not be extinguished.The CCP can seal streets, shut down newspapers, and censor speech—but it cannot destroy memory.These memories are hidden in the dreams of exiles, in confiscated newspaper margins, in gatherings in small overseas towns, and in the echoes of dispersed crowds.
Those young people who shouted slogans, those journalists who were arrested, those scholars who fled abroad—they are continuing to write the meaning of the “Revolution of Our Times.”They are rebuilding media in exile, translating books, documenting truth.
They ensure the world remembers:Hong Kong has not died—it continues in another form.
(Image courtesy of Zhang Yu; the photo shows Zhang Yu participating in a rally held in front of the Chinese Consulate in Los Angeles.)
Abstract:Totalitarian regimes rely on the “atomization” of society to weaken connections among individuals. Religion, with its spiritual power and organizational coherence, threatens this model and is therefore tightly controlled. Religious freedom is feared because it sparks individual conviction and the courage to resist power—shaking the very foundations of totalitarian rule.
A totalitarian regime requires a highly atomized society—one in which individuals exist like isolated “atoms,” cut off from family, community, and religion, unable to form cohesion or organized power. Religion, as a spiritual bond, connects independent individuals and forges a powerful collective will capable of saying “no” to totalitarian power. Thus, it is treated as an inherent threat. Religion offers a moral and spiritual order independent of the political system—it appears separate yet fundamentally challenges the totalitarian order. This is the core reason totalitarian regimes fear religious freedom.
Precisely because religion has the power to gather hearts and link individuals, it becomes the most dreaded obstacle to totalitarian rule. To undermine religion’s influence, totalitarian systems seek to construct the opposite kind of society: one stripped of connection and stripped of faith—an atomized society.
So what exactly is an “atomized” society? Simply put, it removes every person from all horizontal, trust-based, autonomous communities, turning them into isolated, helpless “atoms” who can only rely on state power. In such a society, there is no family loyalty, no neighborhood mutual aid, no fellowship in churches or temples, no civil associations—only the isolated individual facing the state. And the individual is always weak.
Religion is the natural enemy of atomization. Churches, mosques, temples, synagogues—these are not cold administrative units but living communities. Believers call each other brothers and sisters, share joy and bear suffering, and form bonds that surpass blood, geography, and class. Once such bonds are formed, the state can no longer impose total “one-on-one” control over individuals.
Why does totalitarianism fear these communities so much? Because an atomized society is the most fertile soil for totalitarian rule. Only when individuals lose all intermediate affiliations will they see the state as their only “family,” and the leader as their only “father.” A totalitarian regime does not want citizens—it wants subjects devoid of dignity, each a malleable “screw” in its machinery. The communities created by religious freedom are the greatest obstacle to this project of turning people into obedient subjects.
To overcome the obstacles posed by religion, totalitarian regimes employ a specific technology of rule. Totalitarianism itself is a kind of secular religion. It has its own doctrine of original sin (class enemies, inferior races), its own redemption (revolution, racial purification), its own eschatology (communist utopia, thousand-year empire), its sacraments (struggle sessions, Nuremberg rallies), and its martyrs. It demands fanatic devotion, sacrifice, and even suicidal loyalty from its followers.
Yet the earthly utopias promised by totalitarianism never come true. Stalin’s “New Soviet Man” ended in famine and gulags; Hitler’s “Thousand-Year Reich” collapsed in twelve years; the CCP’s promises of “common prosperity” and “national rejuvenation” are still trapped under the shadows of surveillance cameras and barbed wire. Religion, by contrast, offers a “vertical hope”: it does not promise the elimination of suffering but gives suffering meaning; it does not promise heaven on earth but points toward a heavenly city. The resilience of this hope is something no totalitarian utopia can replicate.
What totalitarian regimes fear most is the loss of their monopoly over the production of meaning. Totalitarianism needs you to believe that “history ends with our ideology,” but religion tells you, “History is in God’s hands.” Totalitarianism needs you to kneel before the leader’s portrait, but religion says, “All idols are false before God.” In this direct ideological confrontation, totalitarianism has never been the victor.
Even more threatening is the universalism inherent in religion, which is naturally anti-totalitarian. Totalitarianism depends on dividing the world into enemies—class enemies, racial enemies, civilizational enemies. Christianity teaches “love your enemies”; Buddhism teaches compassion for all sentient beings. These teachings directly dissolve the tension upon which totalitarian rule depends. During the 1989 democratic revolutions in Eastern Europe, Leipzig’s St. Nicholas Church gathered punks and old Party members alike for Monday peace prayers—an act that pulled the rug from under totalitarian “enemy politics.”
Conclusion
Totalitarian regimes fear religious freedom not because religion threatens public safety, but because religious freedom exposes the hypocrisy and fragility of totalitarian power. It reveals the regime’s dependence on atomizing individuals and shakes its monopoly over the spiritual realm. Under totalitarianism, religion may be “tolerated,” but only in a mutilated, controlled form—used as a prop to claim, “freedom of belief,” rather than a genuine acknowledgment of human dignity and inner freedom.
To defend religious freedom is not to privilege one doctrine over another. It is to ensure that no person is forced into ideological uniformity; not because theology is above the secular, but because faith provides the final sanctuary against totalitarian domination; not for religion’s sake, but so that those whose connections have been severed can rebuild community and regain dignity.
Author: Lin Yangzheng Editor: Zhou Zhigang Executive Editor: Zhong Ran Proofreader: Lin Xiaolong Translator: Liu Fang
Abstract: This article reveals what constitutes an advanced world and what constitutes a backward one. It exposes the mechanisms of ideological brainwashing and mind control in China’s totalitarian system, calling on young people to safeguard free thought and resist assimilation, to spread truth through point-to-point communication, to remain clear-minded and independent, and to meet the future—toward the stars and the sea—with freedom and creativity.
This is a fractured world. Once, when one side of the Earth was landing on the moon, the other side was engulfed in the Cultural Revolution. And today, on one side of the planet, ChatGPT has helped us fulfill the childhood dream of a “universal library,” while controllable nuclear fusion, artificial intelligence, and brain-computer interfaces are propelling humanity into an era that looks like science fiction. On the other side of the Earth, people still live under a red terror where speaking out leads to imprisonment. Dictators still indulge in the ancient fantasy of immortality. Ordinary people do not even own their bodies—organs can be harvested at will by the ruling class. One world is as advanced as a sci-fi future; the other is as backward as a feudal past.
Advancement and backwardness show themselves in every aspect of life. The advanced world treats its children and teenagers—the carriers of the future—as its most precious treasure. Society does everything possible to create an environment where children can explore freely and grow naturally. Schools end at three o’clock in the afternoon, encouraging students to engage abundantly in sports, play, and exploration. Education begins with human nature; teachers identify each student’s strengths. A supportive, loving environment allows children to flourish and naturally learn about the world and themselves. In the backward world, schools are reduced to totalitarian indoctrination machines of red fascism. From elementary school to high school, from wearing the red scarf to weekly flag-raising ceremonies, to military training, to ideological and political classes—brainwashing permeates every corner of China’s state-run education system. Meanwhile, days are filled with endless homework and continuous exams. Schools glorify competition and mindless exertion: “Increase your score by one point, defeat a thousand others,” “If studying doesn’t kill you, study harder until it does.” They ignore children’s basic needs, their physical, cognitive, and emotional development. Middle and high school students sit mechanically in chairs for hours on end—no play, no sports, no rest, not even sufficient sleep. The shared goal behind it all is to cultivate obedience, strip young people of independent thought, and turn them into mindless “hand-raising machines.” Having heard only one voice their entire lives, they subconsciously mistake propaganda for universal truth—and eventually grow into the regime’s loyal base, the so-called “little pinks.”
Faced with such a divided world, we can no longer pretend to be ignorant. We were born in an era where we can see both the light and the darkness. We know that true civilization is not built on slogans—it is built on every free soul. Our generation of young people may not be able to change the entire nation right away. But we can begin by refusing to be assimilated—by guarding the space for independent thought in our hearts. Because when a person begins to think, to question, to ask “why,” he is no longer a slave.
So what can we do as young people who choose to stay awake?
First, start by protecting yourself. Here, protecting yourself means protecting your clear mind, your intact body and soul, your independent judgment, and your free will. This is not only for the sake of your own freedom, but also to preserve the spark of clarity and thought. We must clearly recognize that the so-called “path to success” in China—college entrance exams, elite universities, big tech companies, 996 work culture—requires decades of self-suppression beginning in childhood. Youth, creativity, and thought are all locked inside the iron cage of the system. True success is to become a person with a free soul.
When schools demand that ideological classes replace independent thinking, when flag-raising ceremonies become symbols of loyalty, when military training is used to instill obedience— remember: your mind is not their territory. You have the right to resist indoctrination and defend your inner freedom.
Protecting yourself also means protecting the integrity of your body and spirit. Do not let endless night classes and homework consume your youth. Do not let test drills replace creativity. Do not let numbness replace curiosity. Preserve time for sleep, movement, play, and exploration—this is the living rhythm every young person deserves.
Of course, in such an environment, staying awake will be labeled “rebellion,” and refusal will be treated as “wrong.” Because the entire school system, like society at large, is rigid and governed by power and hierarchy. They do not allow children to ask questions, nor do they allow individuals to live at their own pace. But remember—true education makes people free, not obedient.
If possible, seek your parents’ understanding. Let them know that you are not avoiding learning—you are protecting your personhood. With their support, you can reclaim more room to breathe and explore.
Where conditions permit, self-directed learning, homeschooling, and interest-based exploration are all ways to resist rigid schooling and reclaim agency over your own growth. Such choices may seem small, but they are acts of non-violent, non-cooperative resistance. They take reason and freedom—not anger—as their weapons. When more and more people defend their independent will through action, resistance will quietly accumulate power. Revolutions do not begin with shouting slogans—they begin when individuals insist on being themselves.
Second, spread ideas of freedom through point-to-point communication. Point-to-point communication means sharing ideas about freedom and anti-authoritarianism in small, private circles—offline or through safe online channels. This concept comes from Peng Lifa’s “Guide to Bringing Down Xi,” and among the methods it proposes, this is arguably the least risky.
In practice, this means: Tell everyone around you about the harms of China’s system. When your teacher finishes an ideological class, talk to your classmates during break about real political events. When you seek your parents’ understanding, explain to them the CCP’s historical atrocities. Spread the truth to everyone within your social circle who might pass it on. One person’s power may seem small, but remember—every awakened individual may pass on truth to their entire network. This is an exponential process. Each truth you spread may influence hundreds or thousands in the future. A single spark can start a prairie fire; once a critical mass is reached, society can change overnight.
In this process, what matters is being factual and logical. The CCP’s firewall blocks truth, leaving only lies in the public sphere. But lies cannot suppress truth; truth becomes clearer through debate. This process itself is a real PBL (project-based learning) rooted in real-world issues—far more meaningful than drowning in exam drills.
Do not fear that doing this might endanger you. Fear is normal—even adults feel fear before a dictatorship. Dictatorships rely on spreading fear to force self-censorship, fragmenting resistance into grains of sand. But remember, point-to-point communication is safer precisely because it is hard to detect. They can monitor public speeches and the internet, but they cannot plant cameras in your classroom conversations, in your living room, or in whispered exchanges. Whispers are the safest form of resistance.
And remember this: Article 17 of China’s Criminal Law states that except for eight serious violent crimes, minors under sixteen bear no criminal responsibility. Which means their usual charges—“picking quarrels,” “inciting subversion,” and so on—cannot be used against you. All they can do is “criticize and educate” you or threaten you with “affecting future government recruitment” or “school expulsion.”
To those of us who are awake, such threats are laughable. Joining the government and becoming part of that system—becoming complicit with it—is a disgrace in itself. Being expelled from school may even liberate you from indoctrination, freeing you from endless exams and allowing you to explore what truly interests you. A human being is a thinking reed. By safeguarding free thought, you safeguard the fire that lights the future.
Third, our future is the sea of stars. This is true both physically and spiritually. Our future holds infinite possibilities. Perhaps one day we will spend a week-long vacation on Mars, or freely learn everything about the universe in a holographic world. Today, AI has already defeated human champions in Go and chess. ChatGPT can help us learn nearly anything. In the future, artificial intelligence may surpass humans entirely in mechanical memory. All repetitive work may be replaced completely by AI. Only thinking, imagining, exploring, and creating will remain uniquely human. Do not let anyone—any power, any system—take away these most precious human abilities. They are what distinguish human beings from machines and slaves.
Let us look up at the stars. The tyranny and oppression on Earth are but brief flickers in the river of the universe. Dynasties and eras rise and fall like fireworks; from the echoes of stone tools to the roar of steel, it is all but a single breath in cosmic time. Totalitarianism and despotism are born in this breath—and in the next, they return to dust. The bone-club thrown by ancient apes had not yet fallen to Earth when it transformed into a starship capable of crossing the galaxy. Only freedom and creativity are lights of human civilization capable of crossing time.
What we must do is guard that light—guard our hunger for truth and the unknown—so that we are always ready to welcome the new era that belongs to a free humanity. Only a free soul can truly sail toward the sea of stars.
Author: Xiao Qin-Yuan Editor: Gloria Wang Executive Editor: Liu Fang Proofreader: Xiong Bian Translator: Liu Fang
The valiant rider urges his steed onward, his restless will unrestrained. With royal duty in his heart, he crosses the southern plains and distant ridges. Across scorched and endless lands, his iron hooves thunder beneath the vast sky. With a sweeping blade he clears the wilds, his sword-aura stirring all around. Banners blaze beneath the sun, and war drums roar up to the heavens. A hundred battles hold no fear; his bold spirit pierces the clouds. Though yellow sands may cover all, his life remains evergreen. Through seasons cold and warm he pursues his great dream, journeying long with heaven and earth.
The New Language of the Fourth Plenary Session: Self-Reliance, Preparing for War While Building — The Era Is Tightening
Author: Tuo Xianrun Edited : Li Kun ManagingEditor: Liu Fang Proofread: Lin Xiaolong Translated : Xiaomei Peng
Abstract:By examining the subtle shifts in wording within the CCP’s communiqué from the Fourth Plenary Session, this article interprets the emerging direction of China’s political, economic, and military landscape. The changes reveal an increasingly closed, defensive, and tense regime preparing for long-term confrontation with the outside world.
It’s that time again—reading and dissecting the Party communiqué.Ten days ago, some confidently predicted that the Fourth Plenary Session would bring a major upheaval—that Xi Jinping would step down. I merely smiled. Now that the dust has settled, Xi remains firmly in power, and the Party and the army continue to “unite closely around the core.” In the televised footage, everyone sat stiffly at attention—except Zhang Youxia, who calmly flipped through the report. Some called him the “anti-Xi commander,” but that’s absurd. Only those trusted to the bone dare to appear relaxed when everyone else walks on eggshells.
Many people dislike the Communist Party so much that they refuse to read its communiqués, dismissing them as hollow slogans and clichés. That’s a mistake. The emptier the era, the more truth hides between the lines. In this communiqué, several words and phrases—quietly reintroduced after decades—reveal much about China’s direction.
“Economic Self-Reliance” These four words have not appeared in central government documents for decades. In the past, officials spoke only of “food security.” Now, they speak plainly of economic self-reliance. This is not propaganda—it is a forecast. Beijing has realized that in the next five years, or longer, China will face sustained sanctions and isolation. Self-reliance is not a voluntary retreat—it’s a rehearsal for forced seclusion. For a country dependent on exports, shifting to self-reliance means restructuring everything—from raw materials and supply chains to financial systems. The revival of supply cooperatives, regional grain security plans, and domestic energy systems—once quiet bureaucratic operations—are now written into official policy. This is an open admission that China is preparing for “being cut off.”In the coming years, the focus of China’s overseas intelligence work will shift—from stealing technology to building covert logistics networks: smuggling materials, bypassing sanctions, and conducting secret settlements. Quietly, China is entering an “Iranization” phase of transformation.
“Fighting, Preparing for War, and Building Simultaneously “Many claim this phrase is new—it isn’t. It first appeared in PLA Daily in 1962, when China was also reeling from famine and internal purges. What is new is its appearance in a central plenary communiqué, elevating it from a military slogan to a Party-wide consensus. “Fighting” refers to internal struggle; “Preparing for war” refers to external confrontation; “Building” refers to holding the line economically. Together, they revive the logic of the 1960s: political struggle institutionalized, military readiness normalized, economic hardship entrenched.
When a regime begins to use this kind of language in its formal documents, it signals the start of a permanent wartime posture—both politically and psychologically.
“Advancing National Unification” Previously, the term used was “promoting” or “facilitating” unification. Now it has shifted to “advancing.” This subtle change marks a major turn in attitude. The phrase “peaceful reunification” has disappeared entirely. The message is clear: “If unification can be achieved peacefully, so be it; if not, it will still be achieved. “The Taiwan issue is no longer a diplomatic topic—it has been moved to the military agenda.
Meanwhile, purges within the military continue. Entire branches, like the Rocket Force, have been wiped out; dozens of Central Committee members expelled. Some still fantasize about a “pro-anti-Xi” faction within the army—but they misunderstand China’s political DNA. In this system, those promoted beyond normal rank die the fastest. They have no faction—only one patron, the man who promoted them. And when that patron no longer needs them, their fall is swift and merciless. This is not palace intrigue—it’s the regime’s self-defense mechanism. It survives through constant purges and perpetual internal struggle.
Today’s CCP is retracing the path of the 1960s: Economic self-isolation, political purification, and military fear. The next Five-Year Plan—“The 15th Plan”—already defines its priorities: economic self-reliance，simultaneous struggle, mobilization, construction，advancing national unification. Together, these form a single word: tight. The state tightens; society tightens; thought tightens; and daily life tightens. The air grows thinner, speech more dangerous.
What Can We Do? Perhaps nothing—except to think about how to live in an age of tightening. Not to flee the storm, but to survive a little longer, and stay a little clearer. Because when a country begins to talk about “self-reliance,” and emphasizes “struggle and preparation for war,” it means it no longer trusts the world—or its own people. It trusts only control.
The gears of history are turning backward. Some still dream of reform; others still applaud slogans. But history has already spoken: The greatest danger is not fanaticism—it is silence.
So no, the Fourth Plenary Session brought no “new message”. Only the return of an old path—this time, without the disguise.
Author:Zhang Yu Edited: Li Zhiyang ManagingEditor: Hu Lili Proofread: Lin Xiaolong Translated:Xiaomei Peng
Abstract:Once the “Pearl of the Orient” and a symbol of freedom and the rule of law, Hong Kong has fallen under the weight of authoritarian control, becoming a cautionary tale of lost liberty. Taiwan must take heed: only by upholding democracy and freedom can it avoid repeating Hong Kong’s tragedy and safeguard its dignity and future.
In the 21st century, East Asia is witnessing a profound struggle between freedom and tyranny.Two decades ago, Hong Kong stood as the brightest beacon in this contest—renowned for its openness, rule of law, press freedom, and vibrant civil society. Yet within just a few decades, the glow of that pearl has been dimmed by political darkness. What was once promised as “fifty years without change” proved to be nothing more than an illusion. Protests were crushed, the press silenced, and elections stripped of fairness. Step by step, Hong Kong was pushed into an abyss of fear and silence.
Geographically, Hong Kong and Taiwan lie close. Politically, however, both are now placed on the same chessboard. Beijing seeks to replay the Hong Kong script with Taiwan—promoting “peaceful reunification” through a mix of economic seduction and political coercion, trying to lure Taiwan into accepting a “pre-designed future. “But Hong Kong has already shown that the formula of “One Country, Two Systems” is merely a transition toward One Country, One System. The promise of autonomy was always destined to collapse.
When the streets of Hong Kong can no longer echo with the cry of “freedom,” it is time for the people of Taiwan to ask: Where will our future lead?
After more than a century of British rule, Hong Kong was handed over to China in 1997. In the Sino-British Joint Declaration, Beijing solemnly pledged that Hong Kong would enjoy a “high degree of autonomy” and that its way of life would remain unchanged for fifty years.
At the time, many Hong Kongers believed they could preserve their freedoms while benefiting from China’s economic rise. The world, too, saw “One Country, Two Systems” as a novel compromise between authoritarianism and liberty.
Yet within two decades—especially after Xi Jinping’s rise to power—those promises were torn apart.
In June 2014, China’s State Council issued a white paper declaring that under “One Country, Two Systems,” Hong Kong’s autonomy must be “subordinate” to the central government, and that its Chief Executive must be “patriotic.” It was the first unmistakable signal that Beijing intended total control.
That August, the National People’s Congress imposed the infamous “8.31 Decision,” excluding public and party nominations for the Chief Executive election—a move widely condemned as a “fake democracy”. This decision ignited the 79-day Umbrella Movement, as Hong Kongers peacefully occupied streets demanding genuine universal suffrage.
On December 15, police cleared the protest camps; Beijing and the Hong Kong government refused to compromise. The failure of the movement was a heavy blow to Hong Kong’s youth, revealing Beijing’s growing interference and the erosion of free speech, assembly, and judicial independence. For young graduates facing skyrocketing prices, stagnant wages, and widening inequality, despair replaced hope.
From 2014 to 2019, Hong Kong citizens repeatedly took to the streets, demanding liberty and the rule of law—but faced only batons, tear gas, imprisonment, and censorship. Under the pretext of “national security,” the CCP crushed the city’s autonomy.
Independent media were shut down—Apple Daily and Stand News silenced.Universities were purged of dissenting scholars. Ro-democracy lawmakers were disqualified. Even ordinary social media posts could be prosecuted as “inciting subversion.”
Hong Kong’s younger generation, once proud to call themselves “Hong Kongers,” now speak in whispers or flee abroad. Freedom’s death was not an explosion—it was a slow suffocation. When a society loses even the right to complain, its soul begins to die.
Today, neon lights still flicker, and the financial towers still stand, but this is not the same Hong Kong. It is now a city under fear and surveillance—a laboratory of authoritarian control. What it has lost is not only political freedom, but also human dignity and moral conviction.
In East Asia, Taiwan remains one of the few places with genuine democratic elections, independent media, and a vibrant civil society. Every vote shapes the direction of power, and every protest reflects the voice of the people. From the Sunflower Movement to the rise of diverse civic debates, Taiwan embodies openness and pluralism—a living symbol of freedom in the Chinese-speaking world.
Yet freedom is never synonymous with safety. China’s growing pressure now looms larger than ever—through economic infiltration, disinformation campaigns, military intimidation, and diplomatic isolation. The CCP aims to weaken Taiwan’s confidence and force it into dependency and submission.
Within Taiwan, opinions differ on the path forward. Some advocate maintaining the “status quo,” hoping that ambiguity will preserve peace. Others call for “official independence,” arguing that only clarity can defend sovereignty. Still others cling to the illusion that economic exchange will yield political goodwill.
But Hong Kong’s experience has already shattered that illusion: those who bargain with dictatorship end up consumed by it.
Taiwan now stands at a critical juncture. One path means preserving a fragile status quo and praying for restraint from across the strait; the other means taking the risk of asserting independence but preserving dignity and autonomy. Hong Kong’s tragedy makes the stakes clear: when a people lose the right to choose, they lose their freedom. Taiwan’s choice will determine not only its own future, but also whether freedom can truly survive in the Chinese-speaking world.
When Hong Kong’s streets fell silent, the slogan still echoed: “Liberate Hong Kong, Revolution of Our Times. “It was more than a political chant—it was a cry for dignity, a declaration of humanity. Hong Kong has been devoured by tyranny. Its shouts of defiance have been silenced, its promises turned to ash.But Hong Kong is not a failed city—it is a betrayed city. Through its suffering, it has taught the world a bitter truth: Those who compromise with dictatorship will, in the end, be devoured by it.
