慰问被中国当局扣押的各族裔良心犯+ 人道中国年会 | Christmas card signing for prisoners of conscience of all ethnicities detained by Chinese authorities & The Humanitarian China Annual Meeting
For the upcoming holiday season, you are invited to join us in this annual Christmas card signing event for the prisoners of conscience of all ethnicities detained by Chinese authorities. The Humanitarian China Annual Meeting will be held at the same time.
Time: 2025-12-7 (Sun), 2pm to 4pm
Place: Redwood City Downtown Library, Meeting Room
Crying Hong Kong: Accountability for the Next “Anti-China, Destabilizing Hong Kong” Fire Under the National Security Law
Author: Zhang Zhijun Editor: Li Congling Executive Editor: Luo Zhifei Proofreading: Xiong Bian Translator: Lyu Feng
Abstract:After the deadly fire in Hong Kong, citizens’ calls for an independent investigation led to arrests on charges of “incitement,” while all five demands of the Anti-Extradition Movement were comprehensively suppressed. The National Security Law has deepened a regime of fear, eroding free expression and public oversight. As the system refuses mechanisms for self-correction, Hong Kong society has sunk into silence and darkness, allowing tragedies to recur again and again.
On November 26, 2025, a massive fire broke out in Hong Fu Court, a housing estate in Tai Po, Hong Kong, affecting seven residential blocks. What should have been a moment for humanitarian concern followed by a public review was once again dragged into political darkness. When citizens launched a petition calling for the establishment of an independent commission of inquiry, demanding accountability and institutional improvement to prevent future tragedies, such actions should have been the most ordinary civic behavior in any society with a functioning system. Yet on Saturday, the organizer was arrested by the police on suspicion of “seditious intent.”
The four demands were entirely consistent with the rule of law. Instead of prompting introspection from the authorities, the disaster became an opportunity to further suppress free expression.
This is precisely the bleak reality of Hong Kong today:
Freedom of speech is dead; public oversight is dead. The National Security Law has become shackles, tightly fastening shut the mouths of all those willing to speak the truth.
The Office for Safeguarding National Security of the Central People’s Government in Hong Kong even declared the petition a form of “anti-China, destabilizing activity.” Such repression is not sudden, but the cumulative product of a process etched, reinforced, and institutionalized step by step since the 2019 anti–extradition movement.
The 2019 Anti–Extradition Bill Movement saw millions of Hong Kong people put forward five major demands: withdrawal of the extradition bill; the establishment of an independent commission of inquiry into police abuses; withdrawal of the “riot” designation; release of all arrested protesters with no prosecution; and the implementation of genuine universal suffrage.
These five demands were the society’s response to the collapse of institutional trust—the minimum expectations of citizens who had been persistently pressured.
But six years have passed. What is the result?
Only the first item—the withdrawal of the bill—was passively completed, and its meaning had long evaporated. A harsher, more sweeping, appeal-proof, and entirely unaccountable law replaced it: the Hong Kong National Security Law.
It does not mend social fractures; it seals them shut—welding every crack into place and burying freedom in concrete.
The independent commission of inquiry was never established. The police have become an “unquestionable authority.” Six years ago, controversies around police use of force on streets, in subway stations, and on campuses triggered enormous public outcry.
The demand for an independent investigation was meant to reveal facts and assign responsibility—a routine mechanism in any mature rule-of-law society for handling conflicts between citizens and the state.
But in Hong Kong, this demand was categorically rejected.
Even more ironically: in today’s Hong Kong, merely exercising one’s legal rights to make the same request—even in response to a fire or an accident—can lead to charges of “seditious intent” or “endangering national security.”
Since the Anti–Extradition Movement, the definition of “riot” remains, and has even expanded without limit. Ordinary citizens who marched in 2019, hoping to uphold justice, were branded “rioters.” Six years later, the legal environment in Hong Kong is even worse: expressing dissatisfaction with the government online, sharing news, writing slogans, joining a June Fourth memorial, or simply posting in a chat group that diverges from the official narrative can result in imprisonment, detention, or enforced silence.
Large numbers of young people have been arrested, convicted, and imprisoned. Many lives have been permanently altered. These individuals—who should have been the future of society—are instead treated as threats to the state. They received no clemency; they became central targets of political prosecution.
The demand for universal suffrage is now more distant than ever. “Patriots governing Hong Kong” has become the sole political qualification. “Loving Hong Kong” has been reframed as a slogan of subversion. The democratic vision cherished by Hong Kong people has not only failed to materialize—it has retreated further. What has been excluded in this political movement is not merely politicians, but the political rights of an entire generation.
The government never seriously responded to the five demands. Once they were labeled “the root of destructive unrest that must be suppressed,” it became predictable—as those who resisted in 2019 long foresaw—that after the recent fire, when citizens again called for “investigation,” “accountability,” and “institutional reform,” the authorities would respond not with improvement but with repression.
The National Security Law has become an all-purpose shackle of “rule by law.”
Its definitions are vague; “endangering national security” can encompass almost any behavior. “Sedition” may include dissatisfaction with the government, critical commentary on public policies, a poster, a slogan, or a candle. When a law lacks clear limits, power expands infinitely. Its enforcement is opaque; “investigation itself” becomes punishment. In national security cases, police are not required to disclose reasons for arrest; lawyers cannot access core evidence; suspects are almost never granted bail; trials are conducted by designated judges without a jury; and media reporting is restricted. All these features indicate that national security cases operate outside normal legal procedure.
Under the National Security Law, the chilling effect is deliberately built into the system. Once people learn that “someone has been arrested for launching a petition,” they will self-censor and remain silent on public issues.
The government does not need to arrest everyone; it only needs to arrest a few key examples to silence the many.
This is how political fear works. This fear, cultivated on the mainland, has now spread to Hong Kong. One-party rule brings disasters everywhere it extends.
Today’s Hong Kong is no longer the free, open, and outspoken city it once was. It resembles a welded iron gate—still glossy and prosperous on the surface, yet suffocating within.
Independent media outlets have been shut down, frozen, or dismantled; editors arrested; journalists charged with “conspiracy to publish seditious publications.” The city’s former ranking in press freedom has collapsed.
Trade unions, human rights groups, and student organizations have dissolved—not because they wished to disappear, but because they feared they could not survive.
Textbooks have been rewritten; June Fourth erased from history; political expression prohibited on campuses.
A whole generation is growing up in a filtered reality.
Since 2019, hundreds of thousands have left Hong Kong—not seeking better economic opportunities but fleeing fear.
Hong Kong’s greatest failure is no longer economic stagnation but the loss of belief in its own future. Hong Kong is dead.
The recent fire should have prompted institutional reflection: Were there systemic failures? Did officials neglect their duties? Did regulatory mechanisms break down? Should an independent commission be established?
In the Hong Kong of the past, these questions were routine. Whether in ferry collisions, subway derailments, or food safety scandals, society routinely demanded independent investigations—a hallmark of the city’s once-admired governance.
Today, however, people who call for such investigations are arrested, and those who demand accountability are charged with “sedition.”
The society has not changed; it is the system that no longer allows citizens to participate.
Under the iron curtain of the National Security Law, public governance no longer accepts oversight; power no longer needs to explain itself; and people are no longer permitted to ask questions.
Rule of law has collapsed; unmasked authoritarian power stands exposed.
Those who resisted in 2019 foresaw the judicial catastrophe unfolding today. A society without free expression and civic oversight is a society incapable of correcting its mistakes.
No one can warn the government; no media can expose negligence; no citizen dares point out institutional flaws.
Mistakes become habits; habits become systems; systems become instruments of oppression.
The Five Demands mattered precisely because they were the last effort to prevent Hong Kong from descending into darkness.
When these demands were ignored, when the National Security Law became a shackle, when speech was no longer tolerated, tragedies expanded from isolated disasters to the gradual collapse of an entire democratic structure.
The authorities cannot arrest all Hongkongers. There are still those who persevere. The hope for justice comes from people who continue to speak.
Despite immense risk, despite the darkness of the times, someone will always stand up to tell power: the truth must be spoken, responsibility must be pursued, freedom must be defended.
“There are no born heroes—only ordinary people who step forward.”
I will continue writing about today’s Hong Kong for the sake of those who persist, just like the people who filled the streets in 2019, like the countless arrested yet unbowed, like the citizens who still demand investigation and accountability.
This is the city’s undying ember.
Power can silence voices and imprison those who speak, but it cannot extinguish ideas.
As long as someone remembers, freedom will never fully die.
I remember as well.
The arrests following the petition after the Hong Kong fire are only one among countless absurdities under the National Security Law.
What they expose is not merely the arrogance of power but the systemic destruction of civic freedom.
The five demands of the Anti–Extradition Movement may now seem distant, yet they illuminate the root of today’s crisis: no investigation, no accountability, no democracy, no rule of law—only fear and silence.
To denounce is not merely to vent. It is to remind the world: once freedom and oversight are stripped away, tragedies cease to be accidents and become inevitabilities.
Hong Kong is moving down that irreversible path.
“Save Hong Kong”—this cry has echoed from 2019 to the present.
Flames Darken the Ground: An Elegy of Our Era in the Hong Fuk Court Fire, Hong Kong
A Chronicle of a Disaster and a City’s LossBy Miao Qing, Reporter of Opposition PartyEdited by Li Congling · Proofread by Xiong Bian · Translated by Peng Xiaomei
Abstract:The Hong Fuk Court fire resulted in major casualties, exposing the collapse of safety in Hong Kong as regulatory systems fell apart, construction quality deteriorated through corner-cutting, and governance became increasingly mainland-style. The flames illuminated the city’s sense of loss and spiritual decline, becoming a historical warning of the disintegration of public safety and justice in Hong Kong.
Image sourced from the Internet
On the morning of November 26, 2025, an unexpected burst of flame tore open the silence of the city. The exterior wall of a residential tower in Hong Fuk Court suddenly caught fire. Flames climbed rapidly along the scaffolding and protective nets, like a runaway dragon of fire swallowing the entire building. When the first burst of light illuminated the whole neighborhood, Hong Kong—the city that once showed the world order, refinement, and freedom—was also illuminated with cracks it least wished to acknowledge.
As of the time of writing: 128 lives have come to a halt, 84 people are injured, and more than 200 people remain missing. Numbers appear cold in the face of disaster, yet taken together, they outline a darkness Hong Kong has not confronted for many years.
They are numbers—but behind each number is a life abruptly cut off. Hong Kong, the city once called the Pearl of the Orient, appeared especially dim in the glow of the flames.
I. What the Fire Illuminated Was Hong Kong’s Shadow
The burning of the building sounded like a violent symphony, and the cracking of windows and walls felt as though the city’s heart was breaking inch by inch. From afar, the residential block looked like a massive black candle melting in despair through the night. Some people wept uncontrollably on street corners, some ran through the thick smoke searching for loved ones, and some stood silently at a distance—trying to discern whether the fire was consuming the city in their memories: Hong Kong, the free, prosperous, international, and once safest city in Asia. The Hong Kong of “Glory Days.”
When the thick smoke rose above Hong Fuk Court, many Hongkongers’ first reaction was: “How did it become like this?”
In the past, Hong Kong rarely saw fires claiming over a hundred lives, nor large-scale disappearances. Public safety used to be the city’s pride, etched into countless immigrants’ recollections. Yet this night, the speed at which the fire spread, and the extent of the damage carried a sense of “familiar strangeness”—a familiarity rooted in mainland-style construction hazards, regulatory collapse, and systemic disorder.
What the firelight reflected was not only residents fleeing for their lives, but also the fading shadow of Hong Kong’s “glory days.” An elderly resident murmured:“This… is no longer the Hong Kong I knew.”
II. What Used to Be Safety Has Now Become Nostalgia
Hong Kong was once a model of safety among Asian cities. Its engineering standards, regulatory system, media oversight, and civic vigilance were like invisible steel beams holding the city aloft. Today, these fingers are loosening. The flammable materials on the exterior wall, the frightening speed of the fire’s spread, the shocking structural vulnerabilities, and the unclear mainland-style outsourcing and subcontracting—these were all exposed in the flames. The sense of safety that Hong Kong once had, along with transparency, justice, and accountability, were charred black in the night. This pain felt familiar to Hongkongers. It came from the accelerating push toward mainlandization—from a governance logic that places political considerations above human safety—from a “man-made disaster model” that has haunted Chinese communities for decades. Now, this model is creeping into every corner of Hong Kong.
Preliminary investigation shows: Scaffolding materials did not meet fire-prevention standards; Foam insulation panels on elevator lobbies accelerated fire spread; Portions of the fire-safety system were poorly maintained; Widespread outsourcing and subcontracting occurred during repair work.
In the Hong Kong of the past, these problems would have been unthinkable.
Standards, audits, and accountability were the three gates of Hong Kong’s building-safety regime. But after the National Security Law was enacted, the city’s priorities quietly shifted: regime security outweighed public safety; political stability squeezed out technical regulation; media and citizen oversight shrank.
When oversight is suppressed, structural flaws remain open. When construction costs are endlessly cut, inferior materials find room to survive.
Thus, the most “un-Hong Kong-like” tragedy finally occurred.
III. Silent Regulation, Sunken Lives
If the spread of flames is explosive, then silent regulation is a slow form of death. When engineering oversight weakens, when the media cannot ask questions, when civil society cannot speak, when accountability becomes mere posture rather than action, safety begins to sink—like a piece of iron dropping to the ocean floor.
The blaze at Hong Fuk Court was only one explosion at the bottom. Long before this, it had already been smoldering in the dark. Residents had long held complaints: delays in maintenance, unknown origins of materials, layers of subcontracting, communities unable to pursue accountability. These voices found no echo in a tightening political space.
Hong Kong used to be a global model of engineering rigor and public safety: transparent bidding, independent inspections, triple fire-department audits, and the ICAC’s anti-corruption oversight.
Today, all of this is fading quickly. “Mainlandization” is not only a shift in political structure—it is an entire change of governance logic: Regulation follows political directives, not institutional independence; Projects prioritize cost and efficiency, not safety; Public resources go to regime maintenance, not public welfare; Media cannot investigate; Citizens cannot participate. The familiar mainland cycle—cut corners → regulatory gaps → mass casualties → unclear accountability → repeat—is now happening in Hong Kong.
For many Hongkongers, this is the deepest wound: The city’s sense of safety and trust has been quietly removed—like a fire-scorched wall, crumbling at the slightest touch.
IV. What the Flames Scorched Was Hong Kong’s Spirit
At the fire site, a resident picked up a charred piece of metal. It was cold like a silent monument. He said softly: “Hong Kong… is no longer the Hong Kong we knew.” These words cut deeper than the flames. What burned was not only construction material.It was the spirit of Hong Kong—once refined, proud, free, diverse, brave, and unyielding.
That spirit was built over generations: By professionalism and the rule of law during the British era; By the collective effort of Hongkongers around 1997; By the belief system that supported the Pearl of the Orient’s global reputation.
Today, that spirit is being scorched into ash, drifting in the wind. The flickering shadow of the burned tower looked like a mirror reflecting the vanishing silhouette of Hong Kong’s past—more heartbreaking than the flames themselves.
In the old Hong Kong, any minor accident might trigger media investigation.In today’s Hong Kong, reporting “must be cautious,” and accountability “must be gentle.”
When oversight falls silent, accidents find fertile ground.
Every screw loosens faster; every small hazard is quietly buried—until suddenly, a massive fire shocks the world, revealing the ugliness of CCP-style governance.
V. Above the Ashes: Mourning Is a Refusal to Forget
We mourn the dead. But to remember them is also to refuse to forget why they died.
Refusal to forget prevents the fire from sweeping across another building, another street, another generation. Refusal to forget keeps Hong Kong from sinking into numbness and ashes. Refusal to forget reminds the city that its “glory days” were not poetry—they were reality, built by millions through trust and freedom. Even if today’s Hong Kong seems to have lost the key to that past, it must still be remembered and defended.
The fire at Tai Po burned Hong Kong’s spirit raw.
It marked:— The dispersal of a generation of elites shaped by the British era;— The retreat of professionalism, legal culture, and ethical responsibility;— The collapse of the order and safety the city long took pride in;— The unspeakable pain of the Pearl of the Orient dimming.
This fire did not destroy only a building—It destroyed the “glory days” in Hongkongers’ shared memory.
Conclusion: May Light Be Born from the Ashes
The flames will eventually go out. But the shadows they cast will linger long over Hong Kong’s heart. May this tragedy become a deep scar reminding Hong Kong of its former self—not a city ruled by fear, but a city upheld by freedom, institutions, and justice.
May Hong Kong find light again—not the light of fire, but the light it once possessed, the light that illuminated the future of countless young people. May Hong Kong refuse to fall silent because of pain. May the Pearl of the Orient shine again
On the ruins of Hong Fuk Court, a resident whispered: “This is not a fire problem. It is an era problem.”
We must remember this night, remember the wounds the flames revealed, remember the trust dissipating in the smoke, remember the brilliance Hong Kong’s spirit once had.
May this tragedy be not only Hong Kong’s warning, but the beginning of rebuilding justice, safety, and trust—the only path by which the Pearl of the Orient may shine once more. Not because of flames, but because of freedom; Not because of tragedy, but because of rebirth.
Opposition Party · Report by Miao QingWritten in San Francisco, November 28, 2025
The Sinister Accumulation of Evil in the Sinicized Buddhism
Author: Lu Huiwen Editor: Han Lihua Proofreading: Cheng Xiaoxiao Translation: Lyu Feng
Abstract: This article reviews the transmission of Buddhism into China and traces its evolution under successive regimes up to the present CCP-ruled China. It analyzes how “Chinese-style Buddhism” has been repeatedly appropriated by rulers as an ideological tool for pacifying and domesticating the populace, ultimately becoming an accomplice to authoritarian power.
The Sinicized Buddhism Laden with Transgressions
At the outset, I hesitated for a long time over whether to place such a strong phrase in the title. Yet it seemed that without such an extreme expression, I could not convey the depth of my indignation toward the harm Buddhism has inflicted upon China. Indeed, Buddhism—or more precisely, the Sinicized Buddhism—has caused injuries that reach down to the marrow. Its harms are countless and operate on every dimension.
Buddhism originated in ancient India around the 6th to 5th century BCE as an inconspicuous sect among hundreds of Indian religions. From its origins to the present, it has never developed into a major force within India itself. Around the turn of the Common Era (the Eastern Han dynasty), Buddhism entered China. Initially spread among commoners, it gradually surpassed China’s indigenous Daoism and minority religions such as shamanism. The reason, I believe, lies in the social context of the time: ordinary people needed some form of mass psychology to sustain their war-torn, miserable, and hopeless lives.
At the beginning of the Eastern Han, the Battle of Kunyang (23 CE) took place, followed by sixty years of continuous warfare against the Southwestern tribes, the Xiongnu, and the Qiang (40–100 CE). The suffering of commoners was hellish. In 184 CE, the Yellow Turban Rebellion erupted—a large-scale peasant uprising marking the collapse of the Eastern Han.
Ordinary people bore agricultural taxes and corvée labor (adult men serving either labor or military duty). The chronology itself shows that almost the entire Eastern Han was consumed by warfare—meaning virtually all household males were conscripted. The famous poem “The Fifteen-Year-Old Goes to War” (from Yuefu Shiji, “Hengchui Qu Ci”) laments this misery: “At fifteen I marched to war; at eighty I returned home. On the road I met a villager. ‘Who remains in my house?’ Looking from afar, I saw my home—only cypress trees and clustered tombs.”This is one of the most profound anti-war poems in ancient Chinese literature. In my view, even this poetic depiction is an exaggeration; under such conditions of ceaseless warfare and extreme privation, how many could truly live to eighty?
According to historical and archaeological studies, the average life expectancy in the Eastern Han was roughly 25–35 years (supported by Hou Hanshu reports of epidemics and famine; osteological data show most deaths occurred between ages 20–40).
Buddhism’s Core Message: Accept Suffering, Hope for the Next Life
Buddhism centers on the doctrine of future lives: monks practice asceticism; one suffers now to reap blessings in the next life; one’s own asceticism even benefits one’s children.Theravāda emphasizes self-discipline for personal liberation; Mahāyāna emphasizes spreading the Dharma and “saving all beings”—in essence, persuading everyone to endure hardship together for future salvation.
For people living in an era of constant warfare and epidemics, life was worse than death. Such spiritual consolation easily spread among illiterate and socially marginalized groups. It allowed commoners to accept hunger, disease, war, and death, believing these sufferings to be justified and even beneficial for the next life.
Thus Buddhism—an imported faith—proved more adaptive than Daoism (which requires higher literacy and metaphysical grasp). For ordinary people, Buddhism provided a hope that allowed them to survive.
For any autocratic ruling class, this mass self-consolation was a heaven-sent gift. Why wouldn’t they seize it? Consequently, rulers began promoting Buddhism. To this day, this foreign religion has flourished across China—wherever Buddhism thrives, one finds deep social suffering. Meanwhile, Christianity—naturally emphasizing individual rights and human dignity—has consistently faced suppression.
Early Political Co-optation: Kumārajīva versus Xuanzang
Shortly after entering China, Buddhism became politicized. No ruling class would ignore such a convenient free anesthetic for the populace.
Xuanzang, after his pilgrimage, received lavish royal favor. But Kumārajīva—one of the world’s four great translators of Buddhist scriptures—was persecuted for refusing political co-optation. His suffering was severe, and Chinese historical records preserve only a few hundred words about him—effectively erasing this globally significant Buddhist master.
Kumārajīva was born in Kucha (modern Kuqa, Xinjiang). His father was an Indian Brahmin monk; his mother a princess of Kucha. From childhood he studied Buddhism and achieved profound insight. Kucha thus became a key transit point for Buddhism’s entry into China. Fluent in Indian languages, Sanskrit, and Chinese, Kumārajīva became a crucial bridge between Indian and Chinese Buddhism. He translated major scriptures such as the Diamond Sutra, Lotus Sutra, and Vimalakīrti Sutra, and his thought influenced Dunhuang’s Mogao Caves and Maijishan Grottoes.
Kumārajīva translated Sanskrit scriptures into Chinese. Xuanzang, by contrast, produced transliterations—attempting to mimic Sanskrit sounds with newly coined Chinese characters, many incomprehensible because corresponding sounds did not exist in Chinese. Thus Xuanzang was essentially a “parrot” trained to reproduce foreign phonetics, yet he became a royal favorite and cultural icon.
Why the “parrot” was exalted and the sage erased? The reason lies in Kumārajīva’s defiance of political authority. His followers outnumbered the emperor’s subjects. The ruler, Lü Guang, wished to harness Kumārajīva’s charisma for political legitimacy. But Kumārajīva repeatedly refused. Lü Guang, impatient and crude, subjected him to public humiliation—forcing him to ride a crazed ox in front of crowds, intoxicate him to break monastic discipline, and imprison him naked with a woman to break his vow of chastity. All this sought to destroy his saintly image, erode public faith, and break his resistance.(Here one can see the historical precedent for political smear tactics.)
Despite immense torment, Kumārajīva did not yield. After seventeen years of captivity, famine, cannibalism, and war, he finally reached Chang’an in 401 CE. There, under Later Qin ruler Yao Xing—who admired him—he was installed at Caotang Temple and produced a large corpus of translations that shaped East Asian Buddhism.
Yet even as one of the world’s four greatest Buddhist translators, Kumārajīva was marginalized in Chinese historiography because he resisted serving political power.Xuanzang, on the contrary, ingratiated himself with the throne and was elevated into literary canon—Journey to the West being based loosely on his image.
This reflects a long-standing political logic in Chinese history:Those who obey prosper; those who resist perish.
Buddhism as a Barometer of Popular Suffering
Across Chinese history, periods of extreme social misery almost always coincide with the popularity of Buddhism. When Christianity entered China, it happened to be during periods of economic growth. Conversely, in recent years as China’s economy has deteriorated and approached collapse, Christianity has been increasingly suppressed—preaching has been criminalized, and pastors imprisoned.
China is nominally not a theocracy, yet the flourishing or suppression of religion reflects political conditions with remarkable precision.
Originally, Buddhism encouraged compassion, mercy, and inner cultivation. Yet in China it was transformed into a doctrine teaching the ruled that only by enduring suffering could they secure a favorable rebirth; that enjoying blessings now would bring misfortune later, or exhaust their children’s good fortune. Such ideas—deeply rooted in folklore—have shaped the cultural psychology of self-abnegation, passivity, and resignation.
Thus Buddhism became a mechanism for psychological subjugation. From customs to festivals, language to daily life, Sinicized Buddhism permeates Chinese culture.
Examples of Cultural Penetration
Karma and retribution: People believe “good is rewarded, evil punished,” and await cosmic justice while rulers plunder unrestrained.
“Suffering is a blessing”: Ordinary people work fourteen-hour days, endure 996 or 007 schedules without protest, believing hardship builds future fortune.
Vegetarianism as moral purity: Many equate eating meat with “killing life,” leading to widespread qi-blood deficiency uncommon in Western populations.
Leniency toward wrongdoing: The saying “A butcher who lays down the knife becomes a Buddha” undermines rule of law and valorizes mercy over legal accountability.
Meanwhile, the ruling elite enjoys unimaginable wealth—for example, online rumors about Xi Jinping’s alleged daughter Yang Lanlan’s staggering allowance of 135 million RMB—numbers beyond ordinary comprehension.
Reincarnation: Sufferers console themselves that enduring hardship ensures rebirth as humans, while corrupt officials will be reborn in lower realms. Thus they enter a self-reinforcing loop of resignation.
Past-life karma: Enormous inequality—retired cadres earning tens of thousands while farmers receive less than 200 RMB—gets justified as “previous-life karma,” pacifying resentment.
Burning incense and worship: Amid economic downturn and suffocating control, people attribute misery to “unlucky years” rather than structural oppression. Donations and incense fuel monastic elites rather than improve living conditions.
Rituals for the dead: When the actor Yu Menglong reportedly died under suspicious political circumstances, the public, unable to seek justice, resorted to reciting scriptures to Kṣitigarbha. Lacking rights and legal recourse, people fall back on Buddhism—which explains why Buddhism must serve politics. Had Kumārajīva understood this, he would have enjoyed endless wealth.
Conclusion: The Structural Violence of Sinicized Buddhism
Buddhism permeates Chinese life so deeply that it functions as a political technology—an invisible force dissolving crises of rule. Its role in governance has often surpassed that of armies.
The greatest crime of Sinicized Buddhism is that it does not help people become better individuals—it helps them become better sacrifices, and willingly so.
[Editor’s Note] The views expressed in this article are solely those of the author and do not represent the editorial stance of this magazine.
Abstract:This article analyzes the governing logic that sustains the CCP’s dictatorial system. It argues that the regime’s legitimacy does not originate from genuine public trust but from its absolute monopoly over truth, information, and language. When the Party presents itself as the sole representative of the nation and the people, truth loses its space to exist and lies become institutionalized tools of governance.
Across politics, economics, and education, the CCP manufactures an illusion of “prosperity” through propaganda, falsified data, ideological indoctrination, and systemic deceit. Yet the more lies accumulate, the more fragile social trust becomes — and the collapse of trust inevitably signals the erosion of the system’s very foundation. Youth unemployment, an anemic economy, suffocated academia, and the suppression of public discourse all reveal a regime that relies on illusions and is now corroding from within.
The article concludes that any political system built on falsehood will eventually be consumed by its own lies. Truth may be suppressed, but it cannot be erased. The moment people refuse to be deceived marks the beginning of the end of totalitarian rule.
The foundation of any regime lies not in military strength but in whether people believe in its legitimacy. Guns can force obedience but cannot command genuine trust. For a government to endure, it must convince the people to believe in what it says — to believe in its system, its values, and its promises. Tragically, the CCP has never possessed such trust. Instead, it disguises “credibility” as a political product and sustains a façade of legitimacy through an endless stream of lies.
The CCP’s ruling philosophy rests on a monopoly over “truth.” It declares itself the sole owner of truth, binding the Party to the nation, the government to the people, and power to justice. Its endlessly repeated slogan — “Without the Communist Party, there would be no New China” — is not merely propaganda; it is the core logic of political brainwashing. When the Party succeeds in convincing the public that “China will collapse without the CCP,” the need for truth disappears entirely.
Thus, lies become institutionalized. Information is censored, public opinion manipulated, history rewritten — even language itself is redefined. People’s thoughts are pruned into a single voice: praise, obedience, submission. When questioning the government is labeled “betrayal” and honesty is punished while silence is rewarded, social trust collapses.
“Serving the people” becomes nothing more than a fig leaf for power.
“Common prosperity” becomes a political slogan for expanding state capital.
“National rejuvenation” becomes mere rhetoric to legitimize one-party rule.
Each slogan is an extension of the system of lies. The CCP does not govern through truth, but through the constant creation of believable illusions. Yet credibility cannot be fabricated indefinitely. The more a country relies on lies, the more violence and fear it must employ. When people no longer believe official news, statistics, laws, or institutions, the fundamental social fabric is destroyed. Once trust collapses, even the strongest military cannot save a regime from rotting from within.
In a totalitarian system, numbers are not facts, but tools of control. GDP growth rates, unemployment figures, household income, fiscal surpluses — indicators originally designed to reflect reality — are transformed into symbols of “political stability.” The authorities care not whether the economy is truly improving but whether the numbers are “obedient.”
The CCP’s economic mythology rests on two pillars: fabrication and control.
The production of falsified data is a top-down institutional conspiracy. Officials at every level know that if the numbers look good, their positions are secure; as long as reports are pleasing, truth becomes irrelevant. Hence the absurd logic emerges: “Reports matter more than reality; numbers matter more than lives.” Local authorities conceal disasters, higher-ups whitewash crises, and the national statistical system becomes a grand theater — the audience weeps with patriotic emotion while the actors know they are performing fiction. A fabricated tale of prosperity becomes the blueprint for the future. This manipulation of numbers is the most sophisticated form of totalitarian deception. By manufacturing prosperity, manipulating statistics, and distorting reality, the regime maintains an illusion of legitimacy. People are not allowed to know “how bad the economy is,” only that “everything is improving.” Society enters a state of collective hypnosis — everyone suspects the truth but must pretend to believe the lie.
A genuine economy must be built on rules, fairness, and transparency. In China, these principles have become taboos. Citizens no longer trust statistics, businesses no longer trust policies, and investors no longer trust the future. The collapse of trust marks the economic endgame.
China’s skylines may still rise and numbers may still appear dazzling, but the foundation has already rotted. The stock market devours small investors, real estate crumbles, unemployment surges, and foreign capital flees — the inevitable consequences of lies. The CCP can fabricate prosperity and suppress truth, but it cannot stop the accelerating collapse.
(Image courtesy of Zhang Yu; photo shows Zhang Yu participating in an anti-CCP protest at the Chinese Consulate in Los Angeles.)
Education should be the purest foundation of a nation. It should cultivate rationality, freedom, and the pursuit of truth. Yet under the CCP, schools have long ceased to be institutions of education; they have become factories of ideology. Textbooks are rewritten. History is erased. Thought is sanitized. From primary school onward, children are taught to “love the Party,” “love the motherland,” and recite political slogans instead of learning to think independently. The CCP repeatedly proclaims “education revitalizes the nation” and “youth are the future,” yet the very thing it fears most is young people with independent minds. Thus, in the soil of education, it plants not knowledge and truth, but obedience and fear.
Higher education fares no better. Universities have become extensions of political power rather than sanctuaries of academic freedom. Professors who speak honestly are dismissed; students who question the system are reported; intellectual diversity has been eradicated. Research funding is tied to political loyalty; academic output reduced to propaganda. A generation of the country’s brightest minds has become its most silent — learning how to navigate lies rather than pursue truth.
And when these young people enter society, they encounter another lie: employment.
Official unemployment remains “stable,” yet millions of graduates’ drift with nowhere to go. “Flexible employment” becomes a euphemism for mass joblessness. Countless young people are forced into food delivery, ride-hailing, livestreaming — using their bodies to fill the systemic void.
The CCP refuses to acknowledge this reality, because youth unemployment threatens the regime’s legitimacy. The media instead urges young people to “endure hardship,” condemns “lying flat,” glorifies civil service exams, and repackages oppression as “self-improvement.” Voices demanding justice are condemned as “negative energy,” and young truth-tellers are told to “stay positive.” This is not education — it is domestication.
When young people no longer believe in the future, the country has no future.
The CCP has robbed education of honesty, robbed youth of direction, and plunged society into collective spiritual emptiness. “Talent revitalization” becomes an empty slogan; “youth as hope” becomes self-deception. In a system built on lies, even the brightest minds are forced into silence.
What is being destroyed is not merely job opportunities but freedom of thought, personal dignity, and an entire generation’s belief in meaning.
Today’s China is wrapped in layers of lies.
Healthcare is a façade; pensions are hollow;the stock market is manipulated; education is indoctrination;employment is misreported; reality is painted over.
What is collapsing is not numbers, but the structure of trust. Lies seep like poison into every vein of the system — corroding values, eroding conscience, extinguishing hope. When a nation’s entire credibility system collapses, the machine may still run, and the lights may remain on, but only the shell is left.
Because the essence of a lie is self-destruction.
A lie demands new lies to cover old ones, until the entire structure spirals into madness. A nation without truth is like a room without air — no amount of decoration can conceal the suffocation. When credibility collapses, people cease believing the government, the system, and eventually each other. What collapses is not only the regime, but the final line of a nation’s spiritual defense.
The CCP may continue to feign strength, fabricate prosperity, and maintain order through coercion. But truth will not sleep forever. It will resurface — in a suppressed night, in the awakening of an ordinary person, in a seemingly accidental spark. Because truth does not belong to a regime. It belongs to human conscience.
When people finally refuse to believe the lies, that moment will mark the beginning of the end of this regime.
Support for Japan’s Defense of Taiwan: A Shared Responsibility and Historical Choice for the Democratic World
San Francisco Pro-Democracy Community Issues a United Declaration
By Miao Qing,Reporter for Opposition Party
Edited by Li Jing Chief Editor: Luo Zhifei
Proofreader: Xiong Bian Translated by Peng Xiaomei
[San Francisco] The year 2025 has witnessed an increasingly volatile international landscape. Tensions in the Taiwan Strait continue to escalate. Japanese Prime Minister Sanae Takaichi stated unequivocally in the National Diet: “A contingency in Taiwan is a contingency for Japan.” This declaration marks not only a profound shift in Japan’s foreign and security policy but also a pivotal moment drawing global democratic attention.
In the face of the CCP’s military expansion, rogue diplomacy, and regional coercion, the United States and Japan have tightened their security cooperation across the Indo-Pacific. Taiwan’s security has become a defining issue for all democratic nations—arguably the most consequential political signal in today’s world.
At this critical turning point, on November 22 at 12 PM PST, the China Democracy Party San Francisco Branch and pro-democracy activists held a demonstration in front of the Chinese Consulate in San Francisco, publicly declaring: “Support Japan’s defense of Taiwan. Call on the global democratic alliance to jointly counter the CCP’s authoritarian expansion.”
This report synthesizes the historical analysis, political judgment, and value positions expressed by the San Francisco pro-democracy community.
I. Japan’s Historic Policy Shift: A Democratic Nation’s Moment of Choice
In November 2025, Prime Minister Takaichi stated that if conflict erupts in the Taiwan Strait, Japan may invoke a “survival-threatening situation,” enabling the Self-Defense Forces to participate in collective defense of Taiwan. This represents Japan’s most significant strategic shift since World War II. The key factors include:
The CCP’s escalating threats toward Taiwan. Airspace incursions, gray-zone coercion, cognitive warfare, and economic intimidation seek to alter the status quo and undermine regional stability.
Japan’s transition from a postwar pacifist state to a responsible democratic powerAfter seven decades of democratic development, Japan recognizes that passive defense is no longer sufficient in the face of CCP expansionism.
Democratic nations’ Indo-Pacific restructuringThe US, Japan, Australia, and European democracies are forming a new security architecture. Taiwan is an irreplaceable “freedom node” within this network. Japan’s shift is not an act of aggression—it is a rational and inevitable decision in response to authoritarian expansion.
II. Taiwan Is Not an “Internal Affair”—It Is the Boundary Between Civilization and Authoritarianism
The China Democracy Party San Francisco Branch emphasized: “The Taiwan issue is not a sovereignty dispute—it is a civilizational choice. It is not an ethnic conflict—it is a confrontation of political systems. It is not a regional matter—it is a cornerstone of global security.”
If Taiwan falls to the CCP: The first line of defense for democracies collapses; Global order becomes destabilized; Maritime routes become vulnerable; Democratic nations are forced to retreat strategically; Authoritarian regimes gain momentum for expansion
Defending Taiwan is defending the future of the free world.
III. Voices from the Demonstration: Political Statements from San Francisco’s Pro-Democracy Activists
Below are key viewpoints expressed during the rally:
Gao Yingfen: The Right of Self-Determination Is the Bottom Line of the Democratic World
A long-time activist and event moderator, Gao emphasized:
“Taiwan has proven through elections, media freedom, and open society that democracy is fully achievable in Chinese communities. The essence of the Taiwan issue is the choice of political systems, not ethnicity or territory. Defending Taiwan is defending every Chinese person who longs for freedom.”
Gao Yingfen, Host of the Rally and Member of the China Democracy Party(Photographed by Miao Qing, Opposition Party)
Miao Qing: Taiwan Is the Strategic Pivot of the First Island Chain
Deputy Director of Propaganda and main organizer of the event.
“Taiwan is the core anchor of the free world in Asia. Losing Taiwan would break the global democratic chain. Japan’s defense of Taiwan is not provocation—it is responsible leadership. The CCP’s rogue diplomacy, external infiltration, and internal authoritarianism are the root causes of global instability. Democracies must refuse to kneel to the CCP’s rogue diplomacy.”
Miao Qing, Deputy Director of the Propaganda Department and Event Organizer of the China Democracy Party San Francisco Branch (Photographed by Zhuang Fan, Opposition Party)
Chen Senfeng: Japan’s Role Is Legitimate from Both History and Moral Responsibility
“Today’s Japan is a democratic nation—not the imperial state of the past. A CCP invasion of Taiwan would be an attack on the entire democratic world. Defending Taiwan is defending peace, not creating conflict.”
Chen Senfeng, Member of the China Democracy Party (Photographed by Miao Qing, Opposition Party)
Li Shuqing: Peace Is Not Surrender—It Is Collective Defense by Democracies
“Peace in the Taiwan Strait is the foundation of Asia-Pacific stability. Japan’s cooperation under international law reflects the responsibility of a democratic power. Partnership, not isolation, ensures real security.”
Li Shuqing, Member of the China Democracy Party (Photographed by Miao Qing, Opposition Party)
Li Kai: What the CCP Fears About Taiwan Is Not Land—It Is Freedom
“The CCP’s claim that ‘Taiwan has always been part of China’ is political propaganda for aggression. The CCP’s push for armed unification is not about the Chinese nation—it is about destroying the democratic society of the Chinese people. What terrifies Beijing is not territory—it is democracy, free media, and free citizens. ‘The brighter Taiwan shines, the weaker the CCP becomes.’”
Li Kai, Member of the China Democracy Party (Photographed by Miao Qing, Opposition Party)
Liu Jingtao: The Democratic World Must Give Taiwan Its Strongest Support
Liu Jingtao, a member of the China Democracy Party and Director of the Fremont Chapter of the Party’s San Francisco Branch, delivered a brief yet powerful message:
“Taiwan is a democratic Taiwan. Democratic nations cannot remain silent in the face of the CCP’s threats. Even a single act of intimidation must receive a clear response from the democratic world.” Liu Jingtao shouted: “Fight for freedom in the name of democracy! Fight for freedom in the name of democracy!”
Liu Jingtao, Director of the Fremont Chapter of the China Democracy Party San Francisco Branch(Photographed by Miao Qing, Opposition Party)
Gao Junying: Four Commitments to Protect Taiwan
Support Taiwan in defending democracy
Support Japan’s defense cooperation with Taiwan
Support democratic nations resisting authoritarian expansion
Support the Chinese people in their struggle for freedom
“Taiwan is the frontline of democracy. Defending Taiwan is defending the freedom of all people.”
Gao Junying, Member of the China Democracy Party (Photographed by Miao Qing, Opposition Party)
IV. Defending Taiwan Is Defending the Future
The San Francisco rally was not an isolated protest—it was part of a broader awakening among global democracies facing authoritarian expansion. As Taiwan withstands pressure, Asia reshuffles, and global authoritarianism rises, every democracy must answer one question: Do you stand with freedom? Or will you retreat before tyranny?
Defending Taiwan is defending civilization.Defending freedom is defending humanity’s future.
After the rally, participants marched to San Francisco’s Japantown to express gratitude toward the Japanese government and Prime Minister Takaichi for their commitment to Taiwan’s defense.
The Opposition Party will continue reporting on Taiwan affairs, China’s democracy movement, and the broader security landscape of the Indo-Pacific.
Participants in the rally included:Zhao Changqing, Miao Qing, Hu Pizheng, Liu Jingtao, Zhuang Fan, Li Shuqing, Chen Senfeng, He Cong, Gao Yingfen, Zhang Zuo, Wei Renxi, Zhang Shancheng, Lu Zhanqiang, Li Kai, Chen Huailuo, Wang Zhanshi, Gao Junying, Zhao Yu.(Names listed in no particular order.)
