The United States Is the Beacon of Democracy in the World
Author: SHI Ji October 12, 2025 Editor: ZHONG Ran Executive Editor: LUO Zhifei Translator: LIU Fang
During World War II, the United States suppressed Japan and forced its unconditional surrender; afterward, Germany was occupied by four powers. The Soviet Union held East Germany, France the Ruhr, Britain a portion, and the United States a portion. In the U.S. zone, America did not torment the Germans to death; it understood that communism aimed to plant the red flag across the world and to eliminate the capitalist system, whereas the United States sought to save the free world and preserve capitalism. The U.S. flew over a thousand tons of supplies daily by military aircraft into its occupation zone. At that time Ludwig Erhard was in charge of the economy and Chancellor Konrad Adenauer worked seamlessly with him; what they pursued was a market economy—that is, capitalism. A market economy can mobilize everyone’s initiative, and the Germans rose to the occasion; by October 3, 1990, Germany achieved national reunification. Even while Germany was still recovering, they already recognized the importance of education: when wages in many sectors had not increased, teachers received several consecutive raises, drawing countless outstanding talents from various fields into education (see the book The Fourth Empire). This laid the strong foundation for Germany’s industry. Germany’s territory is just over 350,000 square kilometers with nearly 90 million people. They live with both dignity and happiness. There is no absolute poverty; they practice a high-tax system—the so-called “taking from the rich to aid the poor.”
For example: if your monthly income is 5,875 euros, you pay 42% in taxes and still retain 3,355.3 euros. In addition, public schooling costs nothing, medical care costs nothing, and many people rent housing because renting is inexpensive. Their social benefits are very attractive.
The so-called poor have a daily income of 160 euros (about 1,200 RMB), while high-income earners make 366.69 euros per day (about 2,750.175 RMB)—a gap of only 2.29 times. By contrast, temporary subway workers in China earn only 2,500 RMB per month, with no room and board included.
Subtracting four days of rest, that is only 96 RMB per day, or 12 RMB per hour. The same is true for street-sweeping sanitation workers (migrant workers). Wages are so low that 30–40 million, or even 40–50 million, ordinary Chinese men cannot find a wife; how many take their own lives daily due to poverty is unknown. This is just one comparison between China and Germany.
The Korean War was first provoked by North Korea’s Kim Il-sung. Had the United States not led sixteen nations to rescue South Korea, the South would not enjoy today’s prosperity and strength. In the end the two Koreas remained divided along the 38th parallel. Back then, the United States issued a harsh warning: if Korea did not continue to demarcate along the 38th parallel, America would use nuclear weapons. Seeing that the U.S. meant business, the Chinese Communist regime did not dare to resist forcefully and had to submit to the original 38th-parallel demarcation.
The United States is an open country; during the Korean War, Japan seized the opportunity to rise and swiftly became a developed industrial nation.
President George Washington of the United States set a good precedent by not seeking a third term.
President Abraham Lincoln, to save Black slaves in the South, issued the Emancipation Proclamation. Today, nations around the world look to the United States; America has become the beacon of democracy in the world. Only a small dozen or so countries still practice dictatorship and despotism—regimes that win no popular support and are destined to perish.
2025 Sees China’s Poorest “Golden Week” in Recent Years
— On How the Political System Is the Genetic Code of the Economic System
Author: Lu Huiwen Editor: Li Zhiyang Executive Editor: Luo Zhifei Proofreader: Xiong Bian Translator: Liu Fang
The 2025 National Day “Golden Week” in China has just ended, and this is perhaps the first time since the term “Golden Week” was coined that the contrast has been so stark—record-high travel numbers, yet record-low economic returns. What should have been the annual economic peak suddenly plunged into the trough, without any warning. Businesses, the state, the media, and the entire tourism industry were caught completely off guard, unable to respond.
As usual, hotels across major tourist cities raised prices during the Golden Week—standard practice for years. Scenic spots also prepared in advance, expecting to “open their doors wide” and earn big, making up for the economic slump earlier in the year. Yet everyone miscalculated. This year’s tourists seemed to have silently agreed: “Hotels raising prices? Then let them stay empty.” Streets were full of tents—stretching like refugee camps in Gaza. Tickets costing over 20 yuan? No one went in—just taking photos at the gate was enough. Restaurants were deserted—people either ate instant noodles or ordered cheap takeout. It’s as if everyone reached an unspoken agreement: spend nothing. And behind this “collective refusal” lies a glimmer of hope: more and more people are waking up.
This kind of “lying-flat” or “resistive” travel will increasingly reflect itself in every aspect of ordinary life. Behind it lies the deep logic connecting the political system and the economic system. Many may not be able to articulate it clearly, but people can feel it. Even the most ordinary Chinese citizens now sense that the economy will not rise again—in plain terms, “there is no hope.”
That sense of hopelessness is spreading across every corner of society. People are selling off their properties (in Beijing, apartments once selling for hundreds of thousands of yuan per square meter are now going for 10% of that). They are not getting married (“It ends with my generation,” many young people say). They are not having children. They are not forcing their kids to compete. Some who receive university admission letters choose not to enroll. Cinemas are empty this holiday season. More people think even Pinduoduo is expensive. More people are on credit blacklists. A deep despair covers the nation. A people who once believed in the afterlife now wryly say: “I’m not coming back in my next life.”
Scholars have noted that China’s economy has now fallen back to the level of 1999—and this is still not the bottom. It is a sad reality. But China’s economic decline is both irreversible and inevitable. The economic giant built on cheap labor is like the Titanic—people can only watch in horror as it sinks into the abyss.
On the surface, China’s current collapse appears to be caused by Xi Jinping’s incompetence, the decoupling from the U.S., the withdrawal of foreign companies, and massive youth unemployment (which all played a part), but the deeper cause lies in the genetic code of the political system. It is not merely a failed economic plan or a misguided administration—it is that the system itself was born to die young. The political system is the genetic code of the economic system.
Today’s world has two main political systems: Democracy (used by most developed countries), and Authoritarianism (centralized dictatorship). At its core, a political system determines how resources are distributed. Democratic systems protect private property, emphasize fair distribution of economic gains, and operate on democracy, human rights, and relative fairness. Authoritarian systems, on the other hand, are extractive: each level of power drains wealth from the level below it—layer upon layer of exploitation—until most of the national wealth accumulates at the top. As the saying goes: “2% of people own 98% of the wealth, while 98% of people share the remaining 2%.” The top leaves the bottom only enough “survival money” to keep them alive and productive.
This has always been the nature of such regimes. In ancient China, “All under heaven belongs to the emperor”—land, wealth, grain, and jewels all belonged to the ruler. This centralized authoritarianism has continued since the Qin dynasty. In modern times, with advanced technology, the CCP has perfected this ancient model. Through its vast population, ultra-low wages, and extremely long working hours, it turned China into the world’s second-largest economy. Yet the Party’s distribution mechanism concentrated nearly all wealth in its own hands, leaving workers only subsistence crumbs to stay alive. With grand propaganda, it made the world see a “prosperous China” and made generations believe “China is rising.” So people worked tirelessly—believing “hard work brings fortune” and “tomorrow will be better.”
But when an extractive authoritarian system reaches its limit, it becomes even more ruthless. After COVID, China’s grassroots economy was drained dry—even basic survival rations were taken away. People finally realized: hard work doesn’t lead to luck. They saw that elites could get paid without working, that jailed officials still received salaries, that tobacco bureau retirees get 19,000 yuan monthly pensions (several times a normal worker’s pay); they realized their social security contributions were feeding others’ parents; that university graduates now deliver takeout; that “Na Qian” could enter elite universities with 200 points; that state-owned enterprises are inherited like family property. More and more people have awakened to the truth: They are just oxen and horses. The nation’s wealth has nothing to do with them.
People stopped watching state news, stopped believing official statements. They saw their life, property, and jobs could be seized anytime. They saw laws as empty words, justice as voiceless. They lost faith—then they lost hope.
Indeed, this is not the result of a few bad economic policies. The fate of the working class has long been encoded in the CCP’s centralized political system. The rulers seize the nation’s wealth, leaving crumbs in good times; in decline, they take even those crumbs away. That is the nature of the system. Never forget: during the so-called “natural disaster years,” over 40 million starved, while Mao still had his daily portion of braised pork.
People must understand: To survive—to live as human beings—they must abolish this exploitative political structure, overthrow the CCP’s authoritarian regime, and dismantle centralization, so that the people can once again take hold of their own means of living.
Author: Zhang Yu Editor: Li Congling Chief Editor: Luo Zhifei Proofreader: Cheng Xiaoxiao Translated by: Lyu Feng
Zhang Yu, a medical worker who experienced the Wuhan pandemic, recounts her encounters during the lockdown and her reflections after arriving in the United States.
With utmost sincerity, before God and the congregation, I swear lifelong purity, loyalty to my duties, to strive to improve the standards of nursing, to do no harm, to take or administer no harmful drugs, to guard the secrets of my patients and their households, to assist physicians wholeheartedly in treatment, and to seek the welfare of the sick. — The Nightingale Pledge.
I often dream of that city. In my dreams, the sky is gray and pale, the streets are empty, and only the sirens of ambulances echo through the air. That was where I worked for ten years — a renowned tertiary hospital in Wuhan — once full of life and hope. But that year, the air was filled not with the smell of disinfectant, but with invisible fear.
I often dream of those days. We wore thick protective suits, running back and forth between wards and corridors day after day. The masks left deep marks on our faces; our eyes were dry and stung with tears. Every fallen patient meant a collapsed family. We did everything we could, but sometimes, there wasn’t even a chance to say goodbye.
I remember believing then — that as long as we tried our best, there would always be light. But gradually, I realized there were things more toxic than the virus. Some questions could not be asked; some truths could not be told. People had to learn silence, obedience, and to hide their unease with busyness. That was the first time I felt a deep betrayal — not by others, but by the ideals I once swore to uphold.
The wind was bitter that day. I watched the light outside fade as I stood in the emergency room. It was January 23, 2020 — Wuhan, a megacity of 11 million known as the ‘Chicago of the East,’ officially announced its lockdown. Public transport was halted, outbound travel banned, and highways closed. From that moment, the city entered an unprecedented state of isolation.
The following is an excerpt from my husband’s journal: ‘January 26, 2020, the second day that Juanjuan’s mother (my wife) volunteered on the front line. When the head nurse asked for volunteers, she sought my opinion. I told her she should call her parents. They had already prepared themselves mentally. She hung up and cried like a child. I asked, “Are you afraid?” She looked at our daughter playing on the floor and said, “I’m not afraid of the virus. I’m crying because I might not see my child for months.” I couldn’t hold back my tears either.’
[Photo: Zhang Yu treating patients in Wuhan during the COVID-19 outbreak.]
Gradually, I realized that the pandemic had taken on another meaning. Some questions could not be asked; some truths could not be told. From the first day, hospitals like Hubei Provincial Hospital of TCM, Zhongnan Hospital of Wuhan University, and Wuhan Central Hospital publicly called for donations of medical supplies. Many hospitals confirmed that surgical masks and protective gear could only last three to four more days. Our supervisors told us to stretch our limited resources: six-hour shifts in contaminated areas became twelve-hour ones — no eating, no drinking, no bathroom breaks. Everyone wore adult diapers under their suits. Some even had to use plastic bags as makeshift protection. We used our bodies and lives to build a wall against wave after wave of infection. Sometimes we also faced hostility — verbal abuse or even physical attacks from patients’ families, tearing our suits and causing occupational exposure. It wasn’t the disease that defeated us, but humanity’s darkness.
Those were days without distinction between day and night. Exhausted, we’d sleep wherever we fell. The protective suit became a second skin. Every breath behind the mask reeked of sweat and disinfectant. Opening a patient’s room was like entering a gamble — we never knew if we’d find hope or despair.
Under the tight lockdown, many young people in Wuhan underwent a political awakening. I saw online videos of residents’ doors being welded shut, of enforcers storming into homes for inspections, pushing, hitting even the elderly. Some hoarded food meant for residents. The community markets had long lines and inflated prices. Criticism of the pandemic response was swiftly censored.
The conflict between public authority and personal rights grew more evident. The death of Dr. Li Wenliang, the ophthalmologist who warned of the novel coronavirus, shocked the nation. Detained for ‘spreading rumors,’ he later died from the infection on February 7, 2020, at age 34. His final Weibo post announcing his diagnosis became known as ‘China’s Wall of Tears.’ Millions have since left comments of grief and protest — still ongoing to this day.
That night, as I removed my protective suit, my hands trembled. My reflection looked hollow and drained. I thought of the young nurse I once was — believing medicine could save everything, believing sincerity and compassion would always be understood. I used to think losing faith would be like an explosion; instead, it was a slow collapse — compromise by compromise, silence by silence — until one day you realize you’ve become the quiet one. I didn’t want that. I stood on the rooftop and looked at the distant city lights. It felt as if God was whispering: the pledge to heal isn’t just about saving bodies, but about guarding the part of the heart that refuses to go numb.
On April 8, 2020, Wuhan reopened, but its lockdown model spread nationwide. Over the next three years, China enforced its ‘Dynamic Zero-COVID’ policy.
On November 24, 2022, a fire in a Urumqi apartment killed ten people. The strict lockdown had blocked their escape. Protests erupted — the ‘White Paper Movement.’ People in cities like Beijing and Shanghai shouted, ‘Freedom, democracy, rule of law,’ ‘No more Cultural Revolution,’ ‘Down with dictatorship,’ ‘Xi Jinping, step down,’ ‘Communist Party, step down,’ and ‘Rehabilitate June Fourth.’ Within days, the government abruptly abandoned the zero-COVID policy — the first time in PRC history that mass protests forced a policy reversal.
This showed the anger in people’s hearts. Lockdowns had crushed the economy and led to mass unemployment. Though the protests achieved little concrete change, they left a lasting mark on history.
Five years after the pandemic began, I moved to the United States with my family. I didn’t bring much — just a laptop and clothes still smelling faintly of disinfectant. As the plane took off, I looked back — the city lights glowed, serene and vast, but I knew it hid countless untold stories.
I’ve been in America for six months now. The hospitals here are small, but the air feels lighter — filled with freedom. Doctors argue, nurses question superiors, patients choose or refuse treatment, even challenge doctors’ plans. At first, it felt wrong, like trouble. Now I understand: debate isn’t conflict; expression isn’t offense. It’s trust — the core of medical ethics.
Here, the work of doctors and nurses is no longer blind obedience, but a discipline of listening. I’ve learned to ask: ‘Are you okay?’ ‘I know you’re in pain.’ ‘What can I do for you?’ Once luxuries, these words are now routine. Respect doesn’t require courage — only habit.
I recall what my mentor once wrote on the blackboard: The meaning of medicine is to help people believe that life deserves respect.
[Photo: Zhang Yu participating in the October 4th event.]
Now I can freely stand here and tell the world: I have lost all hope in the Chinese Communist Party’s tyrannical rule. I’ve seen how it enslaves and oppresses people under the guise of ‘serving the people,’ how it drains the nation’s lifeblood, censors speech, and brutally suppresses dissent.
In China, power stands above law; the government acts like bandits without restraint. The CCP governs through lies and violence, wielding fear and control like a cult. Its slogans about a ‘community of shared future for mankind’ and ‘communist liberation of humanity’ violate human civilization and universal values, harming people worldwide.
As long as the CCP exists, democracy and freedom are impossible in China. If every Chinese person truly wishes for human rights, democracy, and liberty, there are no shortcuts, no detours — only the hard path of toppling dictatorship. Only then can we attain the blessings of freedom and democracy.
Author: Zhang Zhijun Editor: Li Congling Chief Editor: Luo Zhifei Proofreader: Cheng Xiaoxiao Translated by: Lyu Feng
In the ’10·9 Zion Church Case’, the CCP’s cross-provincial arrests of pastors and church closures expose its fear and repression of independent faith. The Zion Church’s perseverance demonstrates the strength of conscience and freedom, calling upon the international community to support persecuted believers and defend religious liberty and human rights.
On October 9, 2025, Beijing’s Zion Church once again became a victim of CCP tyranny. At least thirty pastors and coworkers were detained or went missing, worship venues were sealed, church property confiscated, and some clergy families threatened and harassed. This cross-provincial campaign spanned Beijing, Shanghai, Zhejiang, Shandong, Guangdong, Guangxi, and Hainan. The church called it the ’10·9 Zion Church Case’—one of the most severe persecutions against China’s house churches in recent years.
From the ’12·9 Early Rain Case’ in 2018 to the present ’10·9 Zion Case’, the CCP’s systemic repression of China’s house churches reveals its profound fear of independent spiritual power and exposes the authoritarian logic that views religious freedom as a political threat.
As a fellow Christian, I feel deep anguish.
Beijing Zion Church was founded in 2007 by Pastor Jin Mingri. In just over a decade, it grew into one of China’s most influential urban house churches, with about 1,500 members. Despite years of suppression, Zion Church continued to spread the Gospel both online and in person, establishing over one hundred branches in nearly forty cities across the country. Even during the pandemic and amid successive political crackdowns, Zion Church persevered, becoming a model and a blessing for China’s house churches.
Yet this faithfulness and resilience did not bring tolerance or understanding; instead, it made them a ‘political risk’ in the CCP’s eyes.
In China, any spiritual power independent of the state is regarded as a potential threat. The existence of house churches challenges the monopoly of the state-sanctioned ‘Three-Self Patriotic Church’ and undermines the CCP’s total control over society and belief.
The so-called ‘religious management’ is, in essence, a systematic form of political repression—closing worship places, confiscating property, arresting pastors, intimidating believers, and threatening families. All this proves that in China, religious freedom is not a right but a privilege that can be revoked at any time. Those who persist in conscience and faith risk becoming victims of the machinery of power.
Even more alarming, this persecution has been used by the CCP as a bargaining chip in international politics.
Amid strained U.S.–China relations, the CCP has turned the imprisonment of Christians and restrictions on religious activities into tools of foreign pressure. Zion’s pastors and believers have been forced into an unjust political game. Using believers as hostages and trading religious freedom for diplomatic leverage is a blatant desecration of both international norms and moral conscience.
Historically, China’s house churches have persevered under oppression. Pastor Wang Yi once wrote in ‘My Declaration: Faithful Disobedience’: ‘Faithful disobedience is the most rational response to an evil regime.’ What house churches uphold is not political confrontation but loyalty to God—an expression of conscience and faith. Yet the CCP continues to politicize religion, disguising arrests of pastors and disappearances of believers as ‘stability maintenance measures’ and exploiting these acts to ma…
This blatant political manipulation exposes the CCP’s brutal and unscrupulous logic of governance.
Since 2018, the persecution of house churches has escalated—from forced closures and property seizures to banning online preaching, coercing pastors to sign ‘political pledges,’ and expanding surveillance. Even during the pandemic, online gatherings were restricted, believers interrogated, and meetings banned.
The ’10·9 Zion Church Case’ represents the culmination of this repression—cross-provincial arrests and joint intimidation bringing all religious freedom under the control of state violence. In the CCP’s eyes, religion is no longer the conscience of society or the comfort of souls but a political risk and a diplomatic tool.
This logic corrodes China’s religious ecosystem and sends a dangerous signal to the world: when faith and human rights are politicized, when pastors and believers become instruments of trade, the moral foundation of a regime collapses.
While the international community advocates for human rights and religious freedom, the CCP challenges these universal principles by arresting pastors and harassing families—using fear to suppress dissent and manipulate diplomacy. Such acts expose its moral bankruptcy on the global stage.
Yet tyranny has not destroyed faith.
Zion Church and its coworkers continue to sustain ministry networks and spread the Gospel nationwide. Even at the cost of freedom and peace, they bear witness to the power of conscience and belief. Their endurance reminds the world that power can restrain the body but not the soul; oppression can silence churches but cannot extinguish faith. Where there is persecution, there is revival. Amen.
The ’10·9 Zion Church Case’ also shows that the CCP’s use of believers as political hostages is a direct affront to international ethics and fundamental human rights.
The international community must respond—support persecuted pastors and believers, call for their release, and urge the CCP to respect freedom of religion and basic human rights.
Only through collective global action can the CCP understand that hostage tactics against believers are immoral and doomed to fail.
Today’s Zion Church and all of China’s house churches bear witness through suffering to the global cause of religious liberty. They remind the world that freedom of conscience and belief is a God-given right no government can revoke. If the CCP continues to use pastors and believers as political pawns, it will face moral condemnation and historical judgment.
Tyranny may suppress outward worship, but it cannot stop the spread of faith; it may imprison bodies, but it cannot conquer souls.
In the tense context of U.S.–China relations, the CCP’s politicization and instrumentalization of faith are particularly shameful. Pastors and believers have become pawns in political negotiations—their faith and freedom traded as currency.
The international community must stand firm: religious freedom is inalienable; pastors must not become hostages; believers’ safety must never be used as political leverage.
The courage and perseverance of Zion Church will become a symbol of religious freedom in China and the world. The CCP’s intimidation and persecution will only make its regime more isolated and fragile.
The power of faith will ultimately triumph over despotism and tyranny.
As Scripture says: ‘If the world hates you, remember that it hated me first.’ — John 15:18
The suffering of Zion Church is the suffering of all China’s house churches and the universal Body of Christ. Their endurance and faith remind the world that religious freedom must never be trampled, human dignity must never be exploited, and political expediency must never override sacred conscience.
Under global scrutiny, if the CCP continues to treat believers as hostages, its authoritarian nature will only become more exposed. The perseverance of Zion Church and other house churches is not only an indictment of tyranny but a call to the world’s conscience: Freedom, Dignity, Faith—these are core values that no regime can take away.
God will comfort the persecuted, and the CCP will face final judgment.
[Photo: Pastor Jin Mingri’s detention notice — a Chinese police document dated September 26, 2025, absurdly stating that the detention occurred on October 12, 2025.]
‘If one member suffers, all suffer together; if one member is honored, all rejoice together.’ — 1 Corinthians 12:26
The more the CCP persecutes the church, the more believers around the world unite to revive it.
[Photo: On October 11, 2025, Forward Church in the U.S. prays for persecuted Christians of the Zion Church.]
[Photo: On the same day, Christians across the United States hold online prayer meetings for the Zion Church.]
From Liberty Sculpture Park: A Nationwide Journey to Hold the CCP Accountable for the CCP Virus
Author: Huang Mingfa Editor: Han Li ExecutiveEditor: Liu Fang Proofreader: Cheng Xiaoxiao Translator: Liu Fang
In September 2025, the “Hold the CCP Accountable for the CCP Virus” motorcade, initiated by Chen Weiming and Jin Xiuhong, set out from Liberty Sculpture Park in California. Over 31 days, it traveled through more than 20 states and dozens of cities across the United States, calling for accountability and compensation for the CCP’s responsibility in the pandemic, and warning American society to stay alert to its infiltration and transnational repression. The convoy received warm welcomes and official recognition from Texas state officials and U.S. congressmen, who emphasized the importance of distinguishing between the CCP and the Chinese people.
On September 6, 2025, we launched the “Hold the CCP Accountable for the CCP Virus” national convoy campaign at Liberty Sculpture Park. Led by Mr. Chen Weiming and Ms. Jin Xiuhong, and joined by over 30 steadfast anti-dictatorship activists including myself, Zhang Zhenzhen, and Yuan Zegang, the campaign aimed to hold the CCP responsible for the pandemic, to urge the U.S. government to assist both American and Chinese victims in obtaining fair and lawful compensation, and to remind kind-hearted Americans to remain vigilant against the CCP’s infiltration and transnational oppression. We also hoped our American friends would support China’s progress toward rural self-governance and a decentralized, free, and democratic modern state—preventing another human tragedy like the CCP Virus.
The convoy departed on the afternoon of September 6 and concluded on October 7 in front of the Chinese Consulate in Los Angeles. With the theme “Xi Jinping Virus,” we traveled through more than 20 states and dozens of cities across the U.S. Among them, Washington, D.C.—the nation’s capital—left the deepest impression on me. Though its size and population are far smaller than New York City’s, Washington’s political influence is indisputable. This perhaps reflects the vision of America’s Founding Fathers in building a decentralized republic with limited government.
In Midland, Texas, we were warmly welcomed and praised by the city’s mayor and two Texas state legislators. Even more excitingly, on September 13, we were invited to Capitol Hill by Congressman Chris Smith, Co-chair of the Congressional-Executive Commission on China. Although he was unable to meet us in person due to a voting session, he sent the Commission’s Director to greet us on his behalf. We felt no disappointment—on the contrary, Congressman Smith later expressed deep regret and, on September 24, invited another influential lawmaker, Congressman John Robert Moolenaar, Chairman of the House Select Committee on the Chinese Communist Party, to meet with us personally. On September 28, the Chief of Staff from Missouri also received our delegation warmly. These experiences clearly demonstrated that our campaign had earned genuine recognition from America’s political elite.
Ordinary Americans were even more supportive. Many stopped to take photos with us and gave us a thumbs-up in approval—gestures that allowed us to feel, up close, the kindness and warmth of the American people.
Our 31-day “Hold the CCP Accountable for the CCP Virus” campaign concluded successfully. We hope that through this journey, the American public will remember the CCP’s evil and the devastation caused by the virus, and recognize that the Chinese people are not the same as the Chinese Communist Party—Chinese citizens remain slaves under Xi Jinping’s tyranny. This is both a fact and the truth.
— In Memory of Zou Wei’s Father, an Indictment of the CCP’s Cruelty —Executive
Editor: Luo Zhifei Proofreader: Cheng Xiaoxiao Translator: Liu Fang
(Before his arrest, Zan Aizong (center) and Zou Wei (right) at Zhu Yufu’s home)
On October 6, 2025, Zhu Yufu of the China Democracy Party Zhejiang Committee learned that Zou Wei’s father, Zou Fuming, had passed away in Hangzhou. Zou Wei, who has been detained, was unable to attend his father’s funeral.
On the same day, the Zhejiang Committee of the China Democracy Party issued an obituary:
“Mr. Zou Fuming, father of China Democracy Party Zhejiang Committee member Zou Wei, passed away in Hangzhou at 6:35 p.m. on October 6, 2025, at the age of 87. Zou Wei was arrested on July 13, 2024, in Haining, Zhejiang Province, for holding a memorial at the Qiantang River to mourn Nobel Peace Prize laureate Liu Xiaobo. On July 20 of the same year, he was criminally detained by the Gongshu Branch of the Hangzhou Public Security Bureau on suspicion of ‘picking quarrels and provoking trouble’ and has been held at the Gongshu District Detention Center in Hangzhou. On September 19, 2025, the Gongshu District Court held a trial but has not yet delivered a verdict. Zou Wei is unable to bid his father a final farewell or attend the funeral. This is hereby notified to colleagues and friends at home and abroad.”
Zou Wei was arrested and imprisoned by the Chinese Communist authorities for commemorating Nobel Peace Prize laureate Liu Xiaobo at the sea. The case was heard in mid-September this year but remains unadjudicated.
Family and kinship are the most fundamental emotional bonds of society and an important measure of the rule of law and civilization. In democratic nations, even convicted prisoners usually retain the right to family contact and compassion, reflecting judicial independence, transparency, and institutional humanity.
However, while the Zhejiang democracy activist Zou Wei remains detained for political reasons, his father’s death prevented him from attending the funeral. This is not only a personal and family tragedy but also a reflection of the Chinese Communist regime’s systemic destruction of humanity, family rights, and social trust.
Zou Wei has long been engaged in democratic advocacy and constitutional reform. Because of his efforts to promote multiparty competition, he has repeatedly crossed the CCP’s political red lines. His inability to say farewell to his father exposes once again the CCP’s institutional logic—placing power above humanity and family ethics. Zou’s inability to attend the funeral is not an isolated incident but part of a long-standing, institutionalized pattern of political repression. The CCP habitually treats family ties as instruments of political control, depriving dissidents of family rights to exert psychological pressure and enforce isolation, thereby achieving long-term social control.
Historically, the CCP has consistently interfered in the families of political dissidents, forming a systematic pattern of oppression. Nobel Peace Prize laureate Liu Xiaobo was denied the chance to visit his dying mother or bid her farewell. Human rights defender Huang Qi was not allowed to attend his mother’s funeral while in detention. Blind activist Chen Guangcheng was long under house arrest, and his family was strictly restricted during major life events. These cases show that the CCP uses the deprivation of family rights as a tool of political control—inflicting psychological pressure to weaken resistance and ensure absolute obedience. The core logic of its autocratic system is power supremacy and total submission. Family affection, as a symbol of individual autonomy, is perceived as a potential threat. Such institutionalized deprivation harms not only individual mental health but also erodes social trust and moral foundations, creating an enduring atmosphere of fear and insecurity across society.
The CCP’s interference with family and kinship extends beyond psychological manipulation and is codified through legal and administrative instruments. For example, the Criminal Procedure Law of the People’s Republic of China and the Regulations on Detention Centers grant authorities broad discretionary powers, making detainees’ visitation and communication rights— and their ability to attend major family events—subject to political judgment rather than judicial independence. This expansion of administrative power directly led to the Zou Wei incident and reflects the lack of judicial independence and effective human rights protection in China’s legal system. In such a system, when power and family ethics collide, kinship becomes the casualty of political control.
A comparison with democratic societies reveals a stark contrast. In countries governed by the rule of law, prisoners may apply for temporary release to attend funerals or visit critically ill relatives, and such applications are reviewed by independent judicial bodies, free from political interference. In the United States, the Federal Bureau of Prisons allows inmates to apply for compassionate leave to attend family funerals under supervision. In Japan, the Prison Act permits temporary leave for inmates to visit sick or deceased relatives. European countries similarly guarantee inmates’ family rights by law, ensuring that dignity cannot be arbitrarily stripped away. In Taiwan, even political detainees may be granted temporary leave for major family events. These practices show that institutional independence, legal restraint, and transparent review mechanisms are essential to protecting family rights and human dignity.
From a theoretical perspective, family rights are a direct manifestation of human nature and an important indicator of the relationship between power and law. In authoritarian states, power demands absolute obedience, whereas kinship represents individuality and independent emotion. Under a system that suppresses family rights, the regime subsumes family relations into its control mechanism to weaken dissidents’ psychological resilience. Psychological research shows that deprivation of family connection causes lasting trauma, loneliness, depression, and anxiety, harming not only the detainee but also their family members. Socially, such institutionalized control breeds fear, undermines social cohesion, and destroys trust. It leads to self-censorship, civic disengagement, and a long-term crisis of institutional trust that ultimately weakens national governance.
From the perspective of political philosophy, the right to family connection is an integral part of the social contract. The social contract theory holds that state power must exist to protect citizens’ rights and dignity. When the state deprives individuals of fundamental human rights—such as the right to family—it forfeits its moral and legal legitimacy. The Zou Wei case demonstrates how the CCP weaponizes detention to strip away family rights, violating the foundational principles of the social contract and turning state power into an instrument of oppression against personal freedom and family ethics.
From a sociological perspective, authoritarian deprivation of family rights produces deep structural consequences. Family is the cornerstone of social trust; when that trust is undermined, citizens’ confidence in public institutions collapses. The result is a chain reaction—self-censorship, civic apathy, and declining cooperation—culminating in a long-term crisis of social trust. This deterioration affects not only politics but also education, economy, and culture, eroding efficiency, creativity, and the vitality of society as a whole.
The Zou Wei incident also highlights the role of the international community in monitoring human rights abuses under the CCP regime. Protection of dissidents’ family rights is not merely a domestic legal issue but one of international law and global moral oversight. Judicial independence and the rule of law are fundamental to preventing such tragedies. Only when power is restrained can family rights be shielded from political manipulation. International legal mechanisms, public opinion, and NGOs can exert external pressure on authoritarian states, compelling them toward greater caution. Such pressure should not stop at condemnation but extend to sustained monitoring through reporting systems, UN inquiries, and global human rights frameworks.
Family rights are not only basic human rights but also a key indicator of a society’s civilization and legal maturity. If the CCP regime cannot guarantee these rights, its claimed “civilization” is nothing more than a façade. Zou Wei’s inability to attend his father’s funeral stands as a stark example of the regime’s cruelty and its denial of humanity. In democratic societies, family rights are safeguarded by independent judicial institutions; dignity cannot be arbitrarily denied. A father has died, yet his son remains imprisoned—this is not merely a personal tragedy but a manifestation of institutional coldness.
For China to achieve genuine rule of law and civilization, the law must stand above political power, and humanity, kinship, and dignity must become the moral core of governance rather than tools of control.
The funeral of Zou Wei’s father is a silence before prison bars—and an indictment of the CCP’s cruelty. Only when humanity is restored to the center of the system can such tragedies cease to recur. At present, demanding judicial independence and transparency under CCP rule is futile.
Only by ending the dictatorship can true change begin.
Biography of Zou Wei
Born in 1968, a native of Hangzhou, Zhejiang Province. He is a key member of the Zhejiang Committee of the China Democracy Party (commonly referred to as the “Zhejiang Democracy Party”), a human rights activist, and a current political prisoner in China.
Committed to the ideals of democracy and freedom, Zou Wei became an active participant in the democratic movement in the Hangzhou region at an early stage. When pro-democracy activists in Zhejiang took great personal risks to overcome government suppression and established the Zhejiang Committee of the China Democracy Party, he publicly identified himself as a “Zhejiang Democrat.” Because of his persistent involvement, he has been repeatedly summoned and had his home searched by police.
On January 12, 2012, following the Wukan Incident in Lufeng City, Guangdong Province — a landmark protest in which villagers escalated economic grievances into demands for political rights — dozens of Hangzhou police officers raided Zou Wei’s home. They confiscated his personal computer, address book, USB drives, and any items deemed “valuable,” and took him away for interrogation.
On November 20, 2023, Zou was detained again after publicly protesting the suspicious death of Jiangsu dissident Sun Lin (also known as Sun Bin), who was reportedly beaten to death by police in Nanjing. Zou held a sign calling for justice and co-signed an open letter titled “To the Nanjing Municipal Government: Clarify the Truth About Sun Lin’s Death.” He was soon taken into custody by the Gongshu District Public Security Bureau in Hangzhou. Police also searched both his residence and his mother’s home.
On March 17, 2024, during the fourth anniversary of the “death” of COVID-19 whistleblower Dr. Li Wenliang, Zou once again held a sign in commemoration. Around the time of the CCP’s National People’s Congress sessions, he was subjected to “forced travel” (a common police tactic to remove dissidents from sensitive locations). After returning to Huzhou City, he posted online about his forced travel and surveillance, for which local police summoned and reprimanded him.
On July 13, 2024, the seventh anniversary of Liu Xiaobo’s death, Zou, together with independent writer Zan Aizong, Zhuang Daohe, and fellow democrats Mao Qingxiang and others — a total of seven participants — held a sea memorial at the mouth of the Qiantang River in Haining, Zhejiang Province, to honor Liu Xiaobo. Some photos of the ceremony were later shared online. In the early morning of the next day, six of them were detained by Hangzhou police. Five were released after being interrogated and warned, but Zou Wei and Zan Aizong remained under detention due to the upcoming Third Plenary Session of the 20th Central Committee of the CCP in Beijing. Both were subsequently subjected to further “forced travel.”
After returning home, on July 20, 2024, Zou and Zan were formally criminally detained by the Gongshu District Public Security Bureau on the charge of “picking quarrels and provoking trouble.” On August 29, 2024, the Gongshu District Procuratorate approved their formal arrest on the same charge.
Zou Wei and Zan Aizong were later indicted. Their trial took place on September 19, 2025, but no verdict has yet been announced.
Zou Wei is currently detained at the Gongshu District Detention Center (also known as Banshan Detention Center), located at No. 342-68 Banshan Road, Gongshu District, Hangzhou, Zhejiang Province, Postal Code 310011.
Author/Editor: Zhong Ran Editor-in-Chief: Luo Zhifei Proofreader: Feng Reng Translator: Lyu Feng
In September 2025, a shocking accident occurred in Shaoxing, Zhejiang. On the night of September 13, after the last metro train had been withdrawn, four cleaning workers were struck by a train returning to the depot for inspection while crossing the tracks of Line 2. Three were killed and one injured. The incident was not reported until eleven days later, on the 24th, and the official announcement was perfunctory. The internet quickly fell silent. In the eyes of the authorities, three lost lives were not even worth mentioning.
Anyone who follows social news knows this was not an isolated event. Similar tragedies have occurred repeatedly.
On August 7, 2018, in the Youshan Meidi Community of Longhua District, Shenzhen, two workers were cleaning a drainage culvert when a sudden rainstorm hit. Torrential floodwater poured into the conduit, sweeping one worker away. His body was found the next day in the Guanlan River downstream.
On April 10, 2019, Shenzhen was hit by heavy rains again. About 25 workers in Luohu and Futian Districts were cleaning drainage ditches when a sudden flood struck. More than ten were swept away; 10 were confirmed dead and one missing.In both cases, heavy rain warnings had already been issued by meteorological authorities. Yet, on the eve of the downpour, their supervisors still ordered the workers to proceed.
In July 2023, Jiang Meihua, a 66-year-old greening worker in Nanjing, was swept away by surging floodwater while taking shelter from the rain in a culvert. Her body was found three days later downstream. She died on duty, yet no one was held accountable—instead, state media portrayed her as a “heroic sanitation worker.” Under totalitarian logic, to die serving the regime is to be glorified.
That same year in May, in Bijie, Guizhou, six teachers were ordered by their superiors to wade into a river to collect pebbles to decorate the school grounds for an upcoming inspection. When the upstream hydropower station suddenly released water, the river rose rapidly, and two drowned. Later, the school denied issuing such orders but failed to explain why teachers were in the river during work hours.
China’s so-called “angels of the streets”—sanitation workers—may truly become angels by accident.In 2013 in Yunnan, 2013 in Changchun, 2014 in Hohhot, 2014 in Shenzhen, 2014 in Zhengzhou, 2015 in Beijing, and 2017 in Harbin, the same tragedy recurred: street cleaners, working early mornings or late nights, were struck and killed by speeding vehicles.Cities awaken every morning, but these workers may never see the next sunrise.
A chain of deaths reveals the real condition of China’s working class: danger is routine, protection is a lie.Safety supervision is a façade; early warnings stop at office doors; responsibility is subcontracted layer by layer.Workers sign temporary contracts, earn meager wages, and bear all the risks of death.When accidents occur, the media report them for three days, the public pays attention for a week, and then silence returns—compensation is perfunctory, officials are “suspended for investigation,” and the system “learns a lesson.” Then everything continues as before.
What’s worse is the cold-bloodedness of the government. Obsessed with “miracles of development,” military parades, and glossy propaganda, it shows no concern for the flesh and blood of its people.Ordinary lives are mere production costs.Behind the Shaoxing driverless metro tragedy lies a totalitarian system’s mechanized meat grinder; behind the Guizhou teachers’ drowning, the abuse of power and blind subservience to bureaucratic inspections.
The bureaucracy flatters upward and pursues vanity projects, yet is cruelly indifferent to the people—especially those at the bottom. In the eyes of the regime, their lives are worthless; a few dead mean nothing.At the “September 3rd Parade,” the government can marshal tens of thousands with precision, yet cannot ensure the most basic safety of life. This is not a question of capability but of values: protecting ordinary people’s lives is never part of their plan.
These workers, teachers, and cleaners left behind no heroic last words and will never be recorded in official chronicles.Yet their deaths remind us: a society that fails to protect the weak and treats death as routine reveals the truth behind its so-called prosperity.
The true measure of a city’s development is not its skyscrapers or subways,but whether those who sweep the streets, dredge the drains, and trim the greenery can return home safely.
We must not become sacrificial individuals under totalitarian rule.What we need is a country that puts life first and builds its foundation on human dignity.
