1. ChinaAid, “Chinese police detain 11 elderly Christians in latest Early Rain crackdown,” 2026年9月14日。
2. 民生观察，《吴五清沈晓庆被以非法组织传教为由行政拘留》，2026年9月13日。
编辑：赵杰 校对：冯仍 翻泽：沈美花
Why We Need Each Other
Author:Yi Hong
When I attended a Christian gathering for the first time, I knew very little about the Christian faith. Everyone sang hymns together, shared their personal experiences, and testified to their faith. At the time, there were many truths I did not yet understand, but an indescribable joy in that gathering made me want to draw closer and learn more.
Later, I became a Christian and gradually entered into church life. Gathering after gathering, we sang hymns, prayed, read the Bible, and spoke for the Lord—sharing what we had received from Scripture alongside our own experiences and testimonies in faith and daily life. I went from sitting quietly as a listener to becoming an active participant, eventually helping as a pianist during worship gatherings.
Recently, my family went through a difficult period, which gave me a much more concrete appreciation of what it means to say “we need each other.”
Some circumstances came suddenly and were completely beyond my control. Facing the unknown, I too felt anxious and fragile, unsure of what step to take next. Yet during those days, the brothers and sisters around us stood faithfully by our side.
Some prayed for us continuously; some listened as I expressed the deep worries in my heart; some offered encouragement when I was at my weakest; and others provided practical assistance in our daily lives—sometimes a warm meal, a ride, a phone call, or a simple word of care. At times, our situation did not change immediately, but there were people willing to sit and pray alongside me.
These may seem like ordinary, small acts in everyday life, yet they made me realize that church life does not simply end when a meeting draws to a close.
We share fellowship during gatherings, and we support one another in daily life. “Brothers and sisters” is not merely a title; it is a dynamic relationship that can be experienced in real, everyday living.
Because of this personal experience, a recent news report from Chengdu caught my attention, making me pause for a long time.
According to recent news reports, on the afternoon of September 11, 2026, eleven participants were taken away by police during a routine book club meeting held by the Grace Fellowship of Chengdu Early Rain Covenant Church in Wuhou District. The attendees were mostly elderly congregants, most over 60 years old, with some in their 70s. Reports indicate that by September 12, nine had been released, while Wu Wuqing and Shen Xiaoqing were placed under administrative detention for 10 days.
In the past, when I saw news like this, I might have only focused on key terms like “believers,” “gatherings,” or “taken away.” But now, I think of the concrete, individual human beings standing behind those words.
Perhaps, like us, they simply wanted to find a place to sit down, read books, fellowship, and share their lives together. Perhaps some were suffering from illness, some were facing family hardships, or some simply needed to see a few familiar brothers and sisters in moments of vulnerability.
For those who have never stepped into this kind of life, they might ask: Isn’t faith an individual matter? Can’t one just read the Bible and pray on their own? Why is it necessary to gather together?
Now, I have a modest answer of my own.
Of course an individual can hold personal faith. But the faith I have experienced also involves people coming together because of a shared belief. When someone is weak, someone else offers support; when someone faces trials, someone else stays by their side; when someone needs prayer, everyone prays for them together.
It is for this reason that when I see fellow Christians restricted simply for gathering, I begin to contemplate a very simple question:
If a person enjoys the freedom to choose and adhere to their own faith, shouldn’t they also be granted the space to gather, pray, read Scripture, and support one another alongside fellow believers?
I am not a scholar of religious studies, nor do I understand complex laws and policies. I am merely an ordinary Christian who has not been believing for very long.
Yet my own journey has made me understand more deeply why “gathering” is not an optional or dispensable matter for so many Christians.
When I attended my very first gathering, what drew me in was that indescribable joy; today, what makes me cherish gathering even more is that I have personally experienced the comfort and support of mutual fellowship.
This is my simplest understanding of “why we need each other”:
Faith may begin with one person’s belief, but we do not walk this path alone.
News Sources:
1. ChinaAid, “Chinese police detain 11 elderly Christians in latest Early Rain crackdown,” September 14, 2026.
2. Minsheng Guancha, “Wu Wuqing and Shen Xiaoqing Subjected to Administrative Detention on Charges of Illegally Organizing Proselytization,” September 13, 2026.
Editor: Zhao Jie Proofreader: Feng Reng Translator: Shen Meihua
“Jingchu Will Not Remain Silent, Freedom Cannot Be Imprisoned”
— Los Angeles Holds the 803rd Jasmine Action in Solidarity with Hubei Prisoners of Conscience
Reported by Journalists Wang Fu and Zhang Zhijun from Los Angeles
On the afternoon of August 15, 2026, the 803rd “Jasmine Action” was held in front of the Consulate General of the People’s Republic of China in Los Angeles. Members of the China Democracy Party and human rights activists from the Los Angeles area gathered outside the consulate with the theme “Jingchu Will Not Remain Silent, Freedom Cannot Be Imprisoned,” expressing solidarity with Hubei political prisoners, prisoners of conscience, and democracy human rights defenders, while demanding that the Chinese authorities release Zhang Yi, Qin Yongmin, Mao Shanchun, Liu Jiacai, and others, and disclose the whereabouts of human rights defender Yin Xu’an.
At the event site, multiple participants took turns delivering speeches. Li Yuxin, Wang Lijian, Zhang Lei, Jiang Junliang, and others spoke out from various perspectives, including freedom of speech, the plight of political prisoners, personal experiences, and the significance of overseas resistance. Hosts Jiang Junliang and Zhang Lei repeatedly led the participants on site in chanting slogans, bringing the names of Hubei dissidents and human rights defenders—such as Zhang Yi, Qin Yongmin, Mao Shanchun, Liu Jiacai, Yin Xu’an, Wang Baolong, Liu Feiyue, Du Daobin, Liu Yanli, and Fang Bin—to the streets of Los Angeles.
“Political Prisoners, Prisoners of Conscience, and Human Rights Defenders in Hubei Must Not Be Forgotten”
After the rally began, Li Yuxin stepped forward to speak on site.
Instead of starting with fierce political slogans, she brought the topic to a more fundamental question—how a society should treat people who hold dissenting opinions.
Li Yuxin said:
“The true civilization of a society is not judged by how it treats those who agree with it, but by how it treats those who hold different opinions from the regime.”
She expressed that people can certainly disagree with or even criticize a person’s political views, but one cannot deprive a person of freedom simply because they expressed a dissenting opinion.
Li Yuxin then appealed to the outside world not to forget the political prisoners, prisoners of conscience, and human rights defenders of Hubei, and expressed hope that they could obtain basic legal guarantees, including rights such as attorney visits, family correspondence, and visitation.
She said that she hoped even more that one day people would no longer need to risk standing up to speak out for “political prisoners,” because when that day comes, “every Chinese person can speak freely, express their opinions freely, and defend their rights according to law.”
When her speech concluded, applause broke out at the venue.
Wang Lijian: “Release All Political Prisoners”
Wang Lijian, who spoke next, expressed his demands in a more direct manner.
His speech was extremely brief, without long-winded commentary, and instead he shouted continuously:
“Release all political prisoners. Release all prisoners of conscience.”
Subsequently, he shouted political slogans demanding that the Communist Party and Xi Jinping step down.
The terse slogans pushed the atmosphere at the venue into a more intense protest rhythm, bringing the most direct demand of the day’s rally—releasing political prisoners and prisoners of conscience—back to the center of the event once again.
Zhang Lei: Afraid to Speak Out at Home in the Past, Choosing to Stand Up Today
In his speech that day, Zhang Lei spoke more from his personal experiences.
On site, Zhang Lei introduced himself as a member of the China Democracy Party and also a native of Hubei.
He said that when he lived in China in the past, out of fear for his personal safety as well as fear that his family and friends would suffer suppression and implication, he had once been “afraid to stand up and speak out publicly.” After coming to the United States, he decided to change his past silence.
Zhang Lei said:
“Today, as I stand in this beacon nation, I am willing to muster up the courage to protest against the dictatorial regime and express the discontent in my heart toward the dictatorial regime.”
As a native of Hubei, Zhang Lei expressed that the ten Hubei political prisoners of conscience appearing on the poster that day were not all of them, and he specifically mentioned names such as Xiao Shichang and Xu Guangli.
Subsequently, he turned the topic to a question frequently faced in overseas democracy movement activities—does protesting in front of the Chinese consulate ultimately have any significance?
Zhang Lei said that people often ask him: “Every time you stand in front of the Chinese consulate and shout a few slogans, can you really shout the CCP out of power?”
His answer was:
“No, at least it is impossible for it to step down immediately just because we shout a few slogans.”
However, he immediately expressed that this cannot become a reason to stop taking action.
“If everyone chooses silence, chooses to give up, and chooses to believe that their voice has no meaning,” the ultimate result will be that more and more people grow accustomed to silence.
In Zhang Lei’s view, the true value of overseas protests lies not in whether a single rally can immediately change Chinese politics, but in allowing more people to hear different voices, so that the names of those who are imprisoned and unable to speak freely do not disappear.
He said:
“We stand up, not merely to shout slogans, but to allow more people to hear different voices, see the concealed truth, and begin to think independently.”
Zhang Lei also mentioned that he currently has only a little over one thousand followers on social media. He said that even if he can influence only a few dozen or a few hundred people, as long as someone gains more information and begins to judge independently because of it, then these actions will not have been entirely in vain.
“We stand here today, and perhaps our strength is still very small, but at least we did not choose silence,” he said.
Jiang Junliang: “Jingchu Will Not Remain Silent, Freedom Cannot Be Imprisoned”
The speech by Jiang Junliang, another main speaker and host that day, pushed the emotions at the site to a climax.
Standing in front of the Consulate General of the People’s Republic of China in Los Angeles, Jiang Junliang first shouted the theme of the day’s event:
“Jingchu will not remain silent, freedom cannot be imprisoned!”
In his speech, he fiercely criticized the Chinese authorities for handling political dissidents under charges such as “inciting subversion of state power,” while denouncing practices including forced disappearances, secret detentions, and long-term imprisonments.
Jiang Junliang said that their presence in front of the consulate that day was precisely to ensure that the names of those who are detained continue to be heard by the outside world.
Subsequently, he called out their names on site one by one:
Zhang Yi, Qin Yongmin, Mao Shanchun, Liu Jiacai, Yin Xu’an, Wang Baolong, Liu Feiyue, Du Daobin, Liu Yanli, and Fang Bin.
When Yin Xu’an was named, the site directed its question straight at the Chinese authorities, asking: “Where is Yin Xu’an?”
According to statement by the organizers, Yin Xu’an hails from Daye, Hubei, and was intercepted under stability maintenance measures while traveling to Beijing to seek medical treatment, after which all trace of him was lost. Participants of the activity therefore demanded that relevant Chinese departments make his whereabouts public.
Jiang Junliang subsequently put forward three explicit demands for the day:
Immediately and unconditionally release Zhang Yi, Qin Yongmin, Mao Shanchun, and Liu Jiacai; immediately release Yin Xu’an’s whereabouts to the public; and immediately stop the persecution of political dissidents and rights defense citizens.
Name After Name Brought to the Streets of Los Angeles
As the event continued, hosts Jiang Junliang and Zhang Lei began to take turns introducing the Hubei figures supported by this rally.
The two first mentioned Zhang Yi. On-site speeches stated that Zhang Yi had participated in local democratic activities in Wuhan around 1989, and today has been detained once again.
Next was Qin Yongmin.
Zhang Lei stated at the scene that Qin Yongmin is a representative figure in Hubei’s democracy movement, and specifically spoke of his long-term prison experiences.
Jiang Junliang then introduced Mao Shanchun, with the organizers stating that he has long paid attention to human rights and rights defense affairs, and is currently serving a sentence.
Immediately after, the two once again shouted the names of Liu Jiacai and Yin Xu’an.
When talking about Yin Xu’an, Zhang Lei raised his voice and questioned:
“Yin Xu’an, where on earth are you?!”
Outside the consulate, name after name was read out continuously.
The organizers stated that through this approach, they hope to allow these people—who face restrictions, surveillance, detention, or are already finding it difficult to speak out publicly within China—to continue being seen by overseas society.
Figures such as Fang Bin, Liu Feiyue, and Du Daobin Also Became Targets of Solidarity
The individuals supported in this event were not limited to those still serving sentences.
The event site also mentioned Hubei democracy and human rights defenders such as Wang Baolong, Liu Feiyue, Du Daobin, Liu Yanli, and Fang Bin.
In his speech, Jiang Junliang spoke of Liu Feiyue founding “Civil Rights & Livelihood Watch” and long focusing on grassroots society and human rights issues in China; at the same time, he mentioned Du Daobin’s experience of expressing political views online during the early development of China’s internet.
Zhang Lei then spoke of Liu Yanli, as well as Fang Bin, who recorded local conditions through video during the Wuhan epidemic.
The event hosts believed that even if some individuals have already been released from prison, they may still face continuous political and social pressures, and therefore should likewise not be forgotten by the outside world.
From the Identity of Hubei Natives to Overseas Resistance
A relatively distinct feature at the venue that day was that “Hubei” appeared not merely as a geographical concept.
From “Jingchu” in the event’s theme to the names of Hubei dissidents repeatedly read aloud by speakers, and to Zhang Lei recounting his transformation as a Hubei native from “not daring to speak out publicly” to publicly protesting in front of the Los Angeles consulate, “Hubei” became a main thread connecting participants at the venue with the plight of political prisoners inside China.
For these activists living in the United States, they cannot directly alter those cases taking place in China, but they attempt to keep the names of the relevant individuals in the public eye through continuous rallies.
As Zhang Lei stated on site, a single protest cannot immediately change a regime.
However, he believed: “We cannot do nothing simply because it will not step down immediately.”
This sentence also served as a common footnote to the speeches of multiple participants that day.
“As Long As There Is Still One Prisoner of Conscience in Prison, We Will Not Stop”
As the event neared its conclusion, Jiang Junliang once again appealed to the international community to maintain continuous concern for the plight of Chinese political prisoners and prisoners of conscience.
Zhang Lei spoke out to dissidents residing in China, saying that they are “by no means isolated islands,” and that overseas activists will continue to focus on their situation.
The two once again read aloud: Zhang Yi, Qin Yongmin, Mao Shanchun, Liu Jiacai, and Yin Xu’an.
Jiang Junliang said that as long as there are still prisoners of conscience in prison, and as long as there are people who lose their freedom because of expressing their views, their protest will not stop.
Under the afternoon sun, outside the Consulate General of the People’s Republic of China in Los Angeles, the 803rd Jasmine Action gradually drew to a close.
From Li Yuxin’s calm statements on freedom and dignity, to Wang Lijian’s terse and direct protest slogans; from Hubei native Zhang Lei recounting his experience from fearful silence to speaking out publicly, to Jiang Junliang reading aloud time and again the names of detainees and rights defense activists, different voices ultimately converged into the same slogan on site: “Jingchu will not remain silent, freedom cannot be imprisoned!”
Before the event ended, Jiang Junliang once more expressed the hope that all prisoners of conscience can return home safely.
He said: “Today’s solidarity rally ends here, but our mission has just begun.”
Subsequently, the 803rd Jasmine Action concluded amidst the shouting of slogans by the participants on site.
Editor: Zhao Jie Proofreader: Feng Reng Translator: Ge Bing
— Zhu Yufu’s Reminiscences of the Democracy Movement
Reporters: Shen Meihua, Jia Jia
Abstract: Zhu Yufu personally experienced the Cultural Revolution, the Hangzhou Democracy Wall, the 1989 Democracy Movement, and the preparation and establishment of the China Democracy Party. He was imprisoned three times, serving over sixteen years in jail. Recalling the past in his late years, his sole purpose is to preserve the history of the democracy movement, ensuring that future generations remember those who paid the price for democracy.
Profile
Zhu Yufu, a native of Hangzhou, Zhejiang Province, is a longtime participant in the mainland Chinese democracy movement, one of the early key figures in the China Democracy Party, and the founder of the publication The Opposition Party (Zai Ye Dang).
Beginning in the late 1970s, Zhu Yufu participated in the democracy movement in the Hangzhou area. He witnessed the ideological unfreezing following the end of the Cultural Revolution, took part in creating the Hangzhou Democracy Wall, and in June 1998, engaged in the preparation and development of the China Democracy Party. Over the following decades, he was subjected to surveillance, detention, and sentencing multiple times due to his political activities, enduring three prison terms totaling more than sixteen years.
Zhu Yufu’s life experience is closely intertwined with the development of China’s democracy movement since the Reform and Opening-Up era.
In his late-life memoirs, he places special emphasis on preserving history. He hopes to record the events he personally experienced and the people around him who participated in the democracy movement, so that coming generations will know who stood up during those gradually receding years, what they did, and what price they paid for it.
I. Ideological Awakening Caused by the Cultural Revolution
Zhu Yufu’s political awareness can be traced back to the Cultural Revolution. In 1966, before finishing primary school, classes were suspended due to the movement. He joined a “reading group” formed by friends who were high school graduates that year, beginning his lifelong intellectual reflection. During the darkest period of the Cultural Revolution—the “Clearing of the Class Ranks” campaign—his father, who had served in the Republic of China’s Presidential Office, was persecuted and committed suicide. This enabled Zhu to see more deeply into the autocratic nature of the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) regime.
In 1971, under the status of a “child who can be educated” (children of targeted political categories), Zhu Yufu was sent “down to the countryside” to engage in the most arduous agricultural labor. He read extensively, made wide contacts, and maintained his capacity for calm observation and independent thinking.
After the end of the Cultural Revolution, Hu Yaobang began rehabilitating a vast number of wrong, false, and unjust cases while advocating for the emancipation of the mind. Zhu Yufu waited for the right opportunity and actively threw himself into social activities.
During that era, a massive influx of historical legacy issues began to surface. Many people had suffered criticism, persecution, or death during the Cultural Revolution, and their families began demanding political rehabilitation and the restoration of their reputations.
Zhu Yufu recalls that the walls near the Hangzhou Municipal Government were once covered with various big-character posters (dazibao).
Some families had relatives who were beaten to death or hounded to death during the Cultural Revolution; others had suffered years of injustice due to political issues. Following the conclusion of the Cultural Revolution, they finally began to make public appeals, hoping the government would grant them justice.
These sights left a profound impression on the young Zhu Yufu.
He gradually came to realize that the problems left behind by the Cultural Revolution were not merely individual tragedies of a few families, but were tied to the entire political system and the way power was exercised.
This became a perspective he consistently held in later years:
If a society cannot truly reflect on the Cultural Revolution and cannot clean up the systemic causes that produced political disasters, then similar tragedies could still happen again.
He dedicated himself to eradicating the fertile soil that generated the Cultural Revolution.
II. Voice of America and the Outside World
In that era of highly restricted information, overseas radio broadcasts became an important channel for some Chinese people to learn about the outside world.
Zhu Yufu recalls that he and several friends around him listened regularly to overseas broadcasts such as Voice of America (VOA).
During the Cultural Revolution, listening to so-called “enemy stations” could carry severe consequences, yet people still took the risk to listen secretly.
By 1978 and 1979, the political environment in China began to shift. News of the Xidan Democracy Wall in Beijing, as well as local unofficial publications and democratic activities across the country, gradually reached Hangzhou through overseas radio broadcasts.
Zhu Yufu and his friends frequently gathered to discuss:
What was happening in Beijing?
What had the overseas media reported today?
Where should China be heading?
This information invigorated them immensely.
For the first time, they clearly realized that in Beijing, people were already publicly discussing democracy, freedom, human rights, and accountability for the Cultural Revolution.
Thus, an idea began to form:
If a Democracy Wall could appear in Beijing, why couldn’t Hangzhou have one too?
III. The Hangzhou Democracy Wall
Around late 1978 and early 1979, Zhu Yufu and his friends began attempting to post big-character posters in Hangzhou.
At first, everyone was extremely cautious.
After a draft for a poster was written, several people would sit together to review it repeatedly, checking which words might “cause trouble” and which sentences might be used by the public security police as a basis for prosecution. As a “safe mode,” the posters directed their criticism toward ordinary citizens, under titles like A Glance at National Character, Parts I, II, and III.
Zhu Yufu, however, felt that such articles were overly cautious. The ignorance of the Chinese populace was caused by the autocratic tyranny’s “policy of keeping the people ignorant.” The spearhead of their fight for democracy should be aimed at the “Far-Left Line” that launched and led the Cultural Revolution.
He recalled that on one occasion, friends handed him a draft to transcribe. As he copied it, he felt the original wording was “neither warm nor cold.” So he simply did not follow the original draft completely, but reorganized the language according to his own thoughts instead.
As a result, after this batch of posters was put up, it generated a massive response.
The next day, when they returned to the site, they saw a large crowd gathered before the wall.
Some were reading intently, some were discussing, and others pulled out fountain pens or ballpoint pens to write down their feelings and thoughts at the bottom of the posters.
His friends were extremely nervous.
Upon returning, everyone blamed Zhu Yufu:
“The original text was not written so fiercely. Why did you add so much on your own? Doing this will bring ruin upon us all!”
Zhu Yufu accepted their criticism, but this incident also made him even more convinced:
As long as someone dares to publicly write down what ordinary people think in their hearts but do not dare to say, there will be people who respond.
Every day, he felt compelled to visit the Democracy Wall to check if new posters had appeared, or if there were comments left by others on his own posters. Through these written comments, he made many new friends.
Sometimes, even late at night, he would take a stroll over there. On one fine spring night amid a drizzle, he met a new friend near the Democracy Wall whom he would never forget.
He said that the feeling of needing to go check the Democracy Wall every day was almost “like going to see a lover”—if he didn’t go check it for even a single day, he felt uneasy.
IV. From Big-Character Posters to Printed Dissemination
On one occasion, near the Democracy Wall, Zhu Yufu noticed someone copying down a big-character poster by hand.
He recognized the person—a young farmer from the suburbs of Hangzhou. A few years earlier, Zhu Yufu had often taken his camera to the rural suburbs to interview the “Three Olds”: old landlords, old counter-revolutionaries, and old rightists. This young man had served as his guide.
Only after speaking with him did Zhu learn that he had been entrusted by an elderly Rightist in his village to transcribe these articles. Because the old man did not dare to visit the site himself for fear of being discovered by the police, he could only ask someone else to copy them down on his behalf.
This incident gave Zhu Yufu an epiphany:
Since there were people who needed to copy these word for word, why couldn’t the big-character posters be printed out?
If printed into pamphlets or leaflets, they would not only be convenient to carry, but also much easier to disseminate.
He immediately rushed to discuss it with his friends.
However, his friends were terrified.
They believed the police were eager to scrape the posters off the wall to use as evidence; printing them into pamphlets would be equivalent to handing the police physical proof (“corpus delicti”).
This reflected the danger faced by the participants of the Democracy Wall at that time and the real dilemma of each individual:
On one hand, they wanted to expand the dissemination of democratic thought;
On the other hand, they were well aware that such actions could bring imprisonment upon themselves.
V. April Fifth Monthly
Due to his reckless “dangerous creativity,” his friends, unable to tolerate it any longer, kicked Zhu Yufu out of their social circle.
Zhu Yufu paced aimlessly under the Democracy Wall like a “homeless dog.” Suddenly, his eyes lit up: a long row of mimeographed journals had been posted on the Democracy Wall—April Fifth (Si-Wu).
That was a collection of poems mimeographed and printed around the Qingming Festival in 1976 by a group of cadre children, who used mourning for Zhou Enlai as a vehicle to denounce the “Gang of Four.” Back then, Zhu Yufu had written to contact them. The leader was the son of a Public Security Bureau chief, writing under the pen name “Bian Qi.” Because their parents’ generation had suffered humiliation during the Cultural Revolution, they had risen up to resist and were subsequently suppressed. Now that times had changed, there were few onlookers standing before the journal.
Just as Zhu Yufu was about to leave, someone called out to him. The person told him that at 6:30 p.m., “Bian Qi” wanted to meet him at First Park by West Lake.
After meeting, “Bian Qi” said that since he was studying in the Political Science Department at Hangzhou University, he wanted to hand over the management of April Fifth to Zhu Yufu, alongside his friends in his think tank and the printing equipment.
After taking over, Zhu Yufu immediately recruited the Democracy Wall activists he had met over time into the journal’s editorial board. Keeping the original name, they published the first civil journal (min-kan) of the Hangzhou Democracy Wall.
It became an instant hit, winning widespread admiration. Shortly thereafter, another group of friends led by Fang Xinghua and Wang Donghai published Zhejiang Tide (Zhejiang Chao), and the friends who had previously distanced themselves from Zhu Yufu also published The Tolling Bell (Chen Zhong). A group of youth from the arts community—Liu Zhiqun, Hu Tianma, and Zhuo Gang—came to join April Fifth. Considering the cruelty of politics and not wishing for these youngsters to take risks, Zhu Yufu suggested they publish a more neutral journal on their own; thus, they published Firefly (Yinghuochong). For a time, the Hangzhou Democracy Wall surged with momentum, gathering great strength.
VI. Detention and Investigation for “Participating in Turmoil”
When the student movement in Beijing arose in 1989, Zhu Yufu was serving as the head of the Trade Union Working Committee at the Jianggan District Housing Administration Bureau in Hangzhou. The District General Trade Union assigned a task to every trade union: to quietly collect evidence on anyone participating in the movement so that criminal liability could be pursued later. At that time, martial law had not yet been declared in Beijing, but the CCP was already laying the groundwork to settle accounts after the autumn harvest.
In private, Zhu Yufu went to Wulin Square at night with several friends to visit the students. At the time, the students were relatively naive and very wary of social figures entering their domain; nevertheless, he brought a camera on his back to shoot footage and joined Chen Weijian in donating money to the students. Together with other friends, he organized solidarity marches.
On May 18, his wife’s birthday, he accompanied her to West Lake to film videos. On the way, they encountered a demonstration organized by his university classmates’ news unit. He stopped to film the footage and played it for his colleagues in the trade union office the next day. After “June Fourth,” he was reported. The Jianggan District Public Security Sub-bureau placed him under “shelter and investigation” on the charge of “participating in turmoil.” Because his video screening occurred prior to martial law in Beijing, he was released after twenty-seven days of detention. To maintain political correctness, his work unit stripped Zhu Yufu of his trade union leadership position and demoted him to the grassroots level.
Zhu Yufu recorded this incident in his memoir That Year of Eighty-Nine, though the article published online back then can no longer be found.
VII. Preparing to Establish the China Democracy Party
Entering the 1990s, Zhu Yufu’s political participation gradually shifted from expression of ideas during the Democracy Wall period toward more explicit organizational activities.
In February 1998, Wang Bingzhang quietly returned to China from overseas, traveling everywhere to ignite sparks and calling on everyone to form a party. Almost everyone in China thought it was too dangerous and no one responded; however, Zhu Yufu believed they should break the ban on political parties.
In April, Wang Donghai asked Zhu Yufu for his views on founding a party. Zhu spoke at length, saying it was worth a try.
In May, Wang Youcai attended the centenary celebration of Peking University, was turned back to Hangzhou by relevant authorities, and after synthesizing information from multiple sources, prepared to organize the China Democracy Party.
In June, the preparation for the China Democracy Party began in Hangzhou, Zhejiang. Zhu Zhengming named it the “China Democracy Party” and drafted the Declaration of the Founding of the China Democracy Party.
Zhu Yufu recalled that at 1:00 p.m. on June 25, 1998, Wang Youcai, Wang Donghai, and Lin Hui went to the Zhejiang Provincial Civil Affairs Department to submit registration materials.
Zhu Yufu recalled that he was the only person there to see them off that day. The scene of shaking hands with the three of them one by one at East Taiping Lane below Wang Donghai’s apartment remains vivid in his memory.
Because no one knew whether they would be able to return safely after going in, that farewell carried a tragic and heroic tone.
To this day, Zhu Yufu clearly remembers Wang Youcai’s parting entrustment: if they didn’t come back, Zhu should find ways to rescue them and carry on the work of the China Democracy Party.
Throughout the afternoon, Zhu Yufu remained deeply anxious about their safety, repeatedly calling Wang Donghai without getting through.
Past five o’clock, Zhu Yufu finally got in touch with Wang Donghai and learned that the three had returned home safely, and that the materials had been accepted by the relevant department, which indicated they needed to “study” the matter.
However, the very next day, Wang Youcai was called in for questioning by the local police station.
The public security officers began asking:
Why establish the China Democracy Party, and who participated?
Why establish this organization?
The activities of the China Democracy Party thus rapidly entered the view of public security organs.
However, as reports were submitted up through the administrative hierarchy, they were ultimately vetoed by Li Zemin, then Secretary of the Zhejiang Provincial CCP Committee. Perhaps he hesitated for fear of damaging Sino-U.S. relations during their honeymoon period; or perhaps because so many unjust and wrong cases from the Cultural Revolution had drawn criticism, no political prisoners had been detained in local prisons for seven or eight years. To this day, Wang Youcai feels grateful toward Li Zemin and lists Li Zemin as an important figure in the establishment of the China Democracy Party. While suppressing the China Democracy Party, Jiang Zemin harshly criticized Li Zemin (see Jiang Zemin’s On the Three Represents) and removed him as Secretary of the Zhejiang Provincial Party Committee.
VIII. Two Different Approaches Within the China Democracy Party
Regarding what kind of political party the China Democracy Party should become, there were significant disagreements among participants. According to Zhu Yufu’s recollection, the party model envisioned by Wang Youcai was relatively moderate and had a certain threshold for membership: “Let alone a political party, even company recruitment has a threshold—how could any Tom, Dick, or Harry just join at will?”
Zhu Yufu, on the other hand, took a different path.
He later described it as:
Wang Youcai wanted to create “highbrow art” (yangchun baixue), whereas he himself was practicing “grassroots politics” and “street politics.”
Zhu Yufu said that because Wang Youcai was brought to the Cuiyuan Police Station by the Xihu Political Security division for investigation immediately after returning home from registration, and was subsequently placed under soft house arrest, he was no longer able to carry out party operations.
Meanwhile, overseas pro-democracy figures led by Wang Bingzhang paid close attention to the party-founding activities in China. Wang Bingzhang called Zhu Yufu almost every day, urging him to strike while the iron was hot and expand the China Democracy Party before Bill Clinton’s visit ended: “Go into the streets, recruit every single person you see, build momentum—that way you won’t be easily extinguished.”
However, the domestic situation at the time was that almost nobody cared about politics; everyone was busy making money. Zhu Yufu stood entirely alone; even to distribute flyers, no one would accompany him. He could only bite the bullet and go out to the streets alone carrying the Declaration of the Founding of the China Democracy Party. Unsurprisingly, while distributing flyers, he was arrested by plainclothes police officers.
The Public Security Bureau reported the matter up through the chain of command, but no officer was willing to make a definitive ruling, so they had to release him after 48 hours of “detention for questioning.” He was the second person to be arrested because of the China Democracy Party after Wang Youcai.
After returning home, Zhu Yufu felt deeply that a single tree could not make a forest. In his view, if the Democracy Party were merely a platform for a few intellectuals to discuss politics, it could hardly become a true social democracy movement.
Ordinary workers, farmers, the unemployed, small vendors, and people from all walks of life—so long as they identified with democratic ideals—should all have the right to participate in politics.
Therefore, he attached greater importance to street dissemination and grassroots development. He began searching for talent: first approaching his old comrade-in-arms from the Democracy Wall period, Wang Rongqing. Wang Rongqing was smooth in handling affairs and possessed business talent, adept at coming up with ideas; however, he also maintained contact with the Political Security officers, occasionally “feeding them information” while conveying their intentions back to the group—this was his “safe mode.” “At this time, two former subordinates of Wang Youcai—Zhu Zhengming and Wu Yilong—came to find Zhu Yufu, forming the preliminary framework of the Zhejiang Preparatory Committee for the China Democracy Party. Zhu Yufu then approached Mao Qingxiang, who lived nearby and readily agreed to join. Finally, they invited Li Xi’an from the Democracy Wall period; these six individuals held up the entire operation”— Zhu Yufu said.
This also caused the activities of the Zhejiang China Democracy Party to undergo a complete shift from the initial registration period, fundamentally altering Wang Youcai’s original intent—something that left Wang Youcai harbor resentment and unable to fully let go.
Zhu Yufu emphasized that, in his view, the history of the China Democracy Party cannot simply be written as “three specific people registered a party.”
Registration was certainly important, but for a political party to truly form, it required many subsequent individuals to continuously organize, propagate, recruit members, and bear political risks for it.
Zhu Yufu quipped that it was his “usurping of party power” and taking the initiative to pursue a different line that created the situation that followed.
IX. Distributing the Declaration of the Founding of the China Democracy Party
To expand their influence, Zhu Yufu began personally distributing materials such as the Declaration of the Founding of the China Democracy Party.
He recalled that on that day, he brought a stack of declarations to a busy intersection in Hangzhou.
He parked his motorcycle nearby and began handing them out to passersby.
Without regard to age, nor specially selecting targets.
Just as he finished distributing the materials in his hand and was about to leave, a young man suddenly stood in front of his vehicle and said to him:
“Don’t leave.”
Zhu Yufu’s immediate reaction was:
This man is a plainclothes police officer; I am about to lose my freedom.
He immediately picked up a telephone from a roadside vendor’s stall and called Wang Donghai.
He stated that he was distributing the Declaration of the Founding of the China Democracy Party and was currently being detained by plainclothes police, about to be taken to the Public Security Bureau.
The only thing he entrusted Wang Donghai with was to go tell his wife at dinnertime: “Don’t wait for me to come home for dinner today.” Shortly thereafter, he was taken away and placed under detention.
This was June 30, 1998. Wang Donghai passed the news of Zhu Yufu’s arrest to Frank Lu Siqing of the “Information Center for Human Rights and Democratic Movement in China.” Lu Siqing drafted and issued a press release. The next day was the first anniversary of Hong Kong’s “Handover”; almost all newspapers, radio stations, and television stations in Hong Kong broadcast this news. This could be considered blowing the very first whistle for Hong Kong’s future.
This was also the first public activity of the China Democracy Party.
X. The Lai Jinbiao Incident
In Zhu Yufu’s memoirs, there is another person whose name he believes deserves to be preserved—Lai Jinbiao.
Lai Jinbiao was a Hangzhou native who fled to San Francisco many years later. Zhu Yufu recalled that in the early Hangzhou democracy movement, Lai Jinbiao was a representative of ordinary Hangzhou citizens actively participating in the China Democracy Party’s activities.
At that time, after news of the Chinese democracy movement was broadcast via Voice of America, it attracted considerable attention in places like First Park by West Lake in Hangzhou.
Large numbers of retired elderly citizens often gathered among the trees there.
Sitting in the woods, people exchanged various current news items, paying particular attention to local activities of the China Democracy Party in Hangzhou.
Lai Jinbiao frequently gave public speeches there, commenting on the significance of establishing the China Democracy Party and explaining basic civil rights to the crowd.
Because he spoke in Mandarin, some mistook him for a “student from Beijing,” and an informant reported him to the local police station.
According to Zhu Yufu’s recollection, Political Security personnel subsequently arrived at the scene and observed nearby. They judged that this person was a “big fish” from Beijing, prompting the chief and deputy chief of the District Political Security Division to personally make the arrest. After Lai Jinbiao finished his speech and left, the two Political Security chiefs took him away and sent him to the police station.
Someone on site witnessed this process and rushed to inform Zhu Yufu.
Upon learning of this, Zhu Yufu immediately brought a small radio and rushed to the police station.
Due to past work relationships, he was relatively familiar with some of the local staff, allowing him to wait nearby.
When the Voice of America broadcast time arrived, he turned on the radio.
In that day’s news, the very first item was the report of Lai Jinbiao being taken away.
Zhu Yufu later recalled that this moment left a profound impression on him:
An ordinary person was taken away for publicly expressing political opinions on the streets of Hangzhou, but very quickly, the entire world could know his name through the radio.
This made him realize more and more clearly:
Public expression itself is a way to break through information blockades. It also brings immense solace to those who are arrested.
Editor: Zhong Ran Proofreader:Mao Yiwei Translator: Shen Meihua
San Francisco Rally Protests CCP’s New Exit Regulations, Calls for an End to Transnational Repression
Author: Lyu Xiaojing
On September 13, 2026, pro-democracy activists rallied in front of the Chinese Consulate General in San Francisco to protest the new exit-entry regulations, pressuring of family members, and transnational repression. (Photo for this article provided by Robert)
Abstract: San Francisco pro-democracy activists protested China’s exit controls and transnational repression, exposing the reality that overseas dissidents live under a cloud of fear while their domestic relatives face pressure, and calling for an end to holding freedom hostage through family ties so that the Chinese people may truly possess the right to leave fear behind.
[San Francisco Dispatch] On the afternoon of September 13, 2026, as China’s new “Regulations of the State Council on the Administration of Exit and Entry” was set to take effect on September 15, the San Francisco Headquarters of the China Democracy Party and the Chinese Democracy Education Foundation held a “TTT ACTION | Truth Action” rally in front of the Chinese Consulate General in San Francisco. Participants organized the activity around three main themes: “Protest Exit Controls, Oppose Pressuring Family Members, and Call for an End to Transnational Repression,” while repeatedly asking: “You have left China, but has the control left you?”
At the rally site, several pro-democracy activists criticized the Chinese Communist Party’s continuously expanding power and control, drawing on cases from recent years as well as their own personal experiences. They stated that when a person is already in the United States yet still worries whether a single word or a protest might bring pressure upon their parents, spouse, or children far away in China, then this political pressure has already crossed national borders and extended fear overseas.
The activity was co-hosted by Democracy Party members Li Xiaolin and Guo Zhijun, who first introduced the background of this action. They pointed out that the focus on site was not merely a new exit-entry regulation, but three interconnected questions: Can a citizen freely leave their own country? When a person expresses opinions overseas, why might the pressure fall upon their family members back home? When a person has already arrived in the United States, why do they still feel fear because of political expression?
The two hosts subsequently introduced cases such as those of Luo Daiqing, Lee Ming-che, Zhang Yadi, Gao Shen, Gui Minhai, and Chen Youlin, summarizing them into a alarming risk trajectory: “Overseas Expression — Domestic Retribution — Family Pressure — Cross-Border Control.” Guo Zhijun further stated that one must not treat similar controls as matter-of-fact simply because they have “existed all along in the past.” “It has always been like this” is not a proof of reasonableness, much less a justification for silence. He called on those who have already arrived in a free society not to continue bowing to fear.
Li Xiaoyan, who hails from Henan, turned “pressuring family members” from an abstract political concept into a reality currently endured by a mother.
She stated that on March 1 of this year, her 19-year-old daughter, an undergraduate medical student, was preparing to depart from Shanghai Pudong International Airport for Japan to inspect the medical faculties of Kyoto University and Osaka University, when she was suddenly taken away for questioning while queuing for exit clearance. Her daughter later informed her that the officers repeatedly grilled her on whether she was planning to “go to the United States to find her mother.” Meanwhile, the child’s father in China had also been approached and interrogated multiple times by Domestic Security Bureau (Guobao) officers, who inspected his mobile phone and chat records.
When speaking of how frightened her daughter was at the time and how she could not help weeping, Li Xiaoyan also shed tears on site.
She emphasized that when overseas individuals speak out for freedom, democracy, and human rights, their parents, spouses, and children in China may bear the pressure as a result, which is precisely the primary reason why she urges the international community to pay attention to transnational repression.
“Do not turn parents, children, and other family members into tools of political pressure! What we strive for is freedom, and we also hope our families can enjoy that freedom.”
Zheng Yun, Secretary-General of the San Francisco Headquarters of the China Democracy Party, drew upon her own multi-year personal experience to recount how political pressure crosses national borders.
She recalled that after the “709 Lawyers Crackdown” occurred, because she had maintained online contact with relevant individuals and her child was still young, she fled China with her family in fear. After arriving in the United States, she once believed she had finally obtained freedom.
However, once she began participating in public activities in the United States, pressure gradually fell upon her younger brother back home. Zheng stated that Domestic Security Bureau (Guobao) officers approached her brother multiple times for talks, demanding that he persuade her to cease her activities or risk jeopardizing his job; relevant personnel even carried photographs of her participating in events in the United States to inquire about her status with others.
This experience made her realize: a person can leave China, but the shadow of authoritarian rule does not stop at the border. Pressuring domestic relatives is becoming another tactic to force overseas dissidents into silence.
Zheng Yun stated: “Although we are afraid, we cannot stop speaking out. Because if none of us speak out, those inside China will have even less of a way to make their voices heard.”
Lyu Xiaojing, Deputy Director of the Publicity Department of the San Francisco Headquarters of the China Democracy Party, directed her criticism at another more covert form of political pressure—the pressuring of domestic relatives of overseas dissidents!
She stated that for some Chinese living abroad, even after arriving in a free society, they are still unable to truly escape fear and must constantly worry about their relatives back home. A single phone call received by parents can induce anxiety, having family members summoned for questioning instills fear, and even routine communication with relatives via WeChat requires repeatedly pondering which words are safe to say and which are not.
She questioned on site: “We are clearly already in the United States, so why must we, when speaking a single sentence, still worry about our parents thousands of miles away?”
She declared: “We cannot allow family affection to become a tool to force us into silence, nor can we allow political suppression to cross national borders and extend into a free society!”
Guo Pan, a member of the China Democracy Party, stated in her speech that the freedom to leave the country should inherently be a basic right, rather than a privilege determined by power and requiring “bestowal.”
She criticized the multi-layered vetting process and the pressure exerted on family members, arguing that when family affection is weaponized to force an individual into silence, what is harmed is not merely the freedom of exit and entry, but the most fundamental dignity of an ordinary family.
Guo Pan said with emotion: “Family members must not become tools of pressure; family affection will not tolerate being taken hostage by the intimidation of power!”
Yang Chaoquan, a member of the Democracy Party, focused his attention on the vetting power involved in the new regulations.
He pointed out that when whether the purpose of exit and entry is “genuine and lawful” requires examination, what warrants the greatest vigilance is: who defines what is “lawful”? And how is such power constrained?
Yang Chaoquan stated that he is not opposed to normal border security management, but is concerned that “security” and “legality vetting” will be used to selectively restrict those who dare to speak out.
He summarized this danger in a single sentence: “Legalizing fear and institutionalizing control.”
Another feature of that day’s activity was that two members of the China Democracy Party chose to express their demands directly in English to the local and passing American public on site.
In his English speech, Democracy Party member Chang Guodong stated that no one should be forced to choose between speaking out freely and protecting their family. Even after coming to the United States, some people still worry that their speeches will ultimately cause their parents and relatives back home to pay the price.
As his speech reached its climax, he emphasized in a resounding voice:
“My voice belongs to me! My future belongs to me! My freedom belongs to me! No government can own my voice and my conscience!”
Subsequently, he led the crowd on site to chant loudly:
“NO MORE FEAR! FREEDOM NOW! STOP CCP CONTROL!”
The waves of protest rose higher following his call.
Kang Jiaming, a member of the China Democracy Party, likewise chose to speak in English. He specially explained that the reason he spoke in English was that he hoped passing English-speaking members of the public on site could understand: “Why we are standing here, and what we are ultimately protesting against.”
Kang Jiaming stated that passports should not become chains for an authoritarian regime to control its people, and family members should even less become tools of political pressure. He called for an end to transnational repression and emphasized that while people can leave China, political control cannot follow them across national borders; freedom must travel further than fear.
Multiple Pro-Democracy Figures Speak Out in Succession to Protest Dictatorship and Transnational Repression
During the event, Luo Yanli, Guo Jianxin, Gao Zhibin, and Zhao Ming, among others, also spoke successively from different perspectives, expressing opposition to China’s exit-entry policies and protesting against the CCP’s dictatorial rule.
As one participant after another stepped up to the microphone, shouts resounded continuously at the scene:
“Oppose Exit Controls!”
“Oppose Pressuring Family Members!”
“Stop Transnational Repression!”
“STOP TRANSNATIONAL REPRESSION!”
These slogans also echoed the core demands set forth in the day’s hosting draft: true freedom means not only being able to cross a national border, but even more so, being able to shed fear after crossing that border.
Collective Recitation of the United States Declaration of Independence: “We Are Free and Independent People”
The event ultimately reached its climax. Pro-democracy activists at the scene collectively recited relevant passages from the Declaration of Independence of the United States:
“All men are created equal.”
“They are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.”
During the recitation, people once again emphasized that governments derive their just powers from the consent of the governed; when a long train of abuses and usurpations evinces a design to reduce the people under absolute despotism, it is the right of the people to throw off such despotism and to provide new guards for their future security and freedom.
Finally, everyone at the site jointly declared:
“We are free and independent people.”
From Li Xiaoyan tearfully recounting her daughter’s encounter, to Zheng Yun recalling the pressure borne by relatives in China; from Lyu Xiaojing questioning “why someone in the United States must still worry about their parents when speaking,” to Chang Guodong and Kang Jiaming directly speaking out to American society in English—the experiences of different individuals that day ultimately converged on the same question:
When a person has left China, should they also have the right to truly leave fear behind?
Protesters stated that national borders can define the boundaries of a state, but they should not become lines that authoritarian power arbitrarily crosses; family affection should not become leverage to threaten dissidents, and passports should not become chains to control the people.
List of pro-democracy activists who participated in this event: Zheng Yun, Hu Pizheng, Li Xiaolin, Liu Jingtao, Guo Zhijun, Guo Jianxin, Lyu Xiaojing, Kang Jiaming, Guo Pan, Li Xiaoyan, Luo Yanli, Gao Zhibin, Zhao Ming, Yang Chaoquan, Yao Rongtao, Zhou Qilu, Wu Zhichuang, Chang Guodong, among others (names listed in no particular order).
Event interview speeches and on-site silhouettes.
Editor: Zhong Ran Proofreader: Mao Yiwei Translator: Ge Bing
From “Internal Exit Bans” to Institutionalized Restrictions: What Has China’s New Exit-Entry Regulation Truly Changed?
Author: Feng Reng
Abstract: China’s new exit-entry regulation is not a sudden return to “national isolation,” but rather a further institutionalization of exit ban powers. Broad grounds such as national security, industrial security, and technological security, coupled with digital data inspections, are tightening a power network that restricts citizens from traveling abroad.
On September 15, China’s new exit and entry management regulations officially came into force. Over the past few days, many people on the internet have been discussing this matter. Some say whether China is starting to “shut its doors to the world,” while others consider such claims an exaggeration, pointing out that ordinary people can still travel, study abroad, and visit relatives as usual, and that people are still crossing the border normally every day.
I believe that if we merely debate whether China has begun “shutting its doors to the world” since September 15, we risk overlooking the real issue. I do not believe that following the implementation of these new regulations, Chinese people will suddenly all be unable to go abroad, nor do I think that starting tomorrow, airports will see large numbers of ordinary people being turned away. However, what truly concerns me about these regulations is that the Chinese government now possesses an increasing number of tools regarding whether an individual can leave China, and many exit bans that were once undisclosed and opaque are being written into the institutional framework step by step.
Exit bans in China have in fact existed for a long time and are nothing new. Over the years, we have frequently seen rights defenders, lawyers, dissidents, religious figures, and even families of political prisoners suddenly discover that they cannot leave China when preparing to depart. Some know in advance that they are restricted, while others only find out that they have been subjected to an exit ban when scanning their passports at the airport. What is most problematic is that, in many instances, those affected have no idea who made the decision, why the restriction was imposed, or when it might be lifted.
In these new regulations, several conditions under which Chinese citizens can be restricted from leaving the country have been articulated more explicitly. For example, those who receive administrative detention for obtaining exit-entry documents through fraudulent means or for illegal exit and entry can be banned from leaving the country for six months to three years. If Chinese citizens engage in certain activities abroad that are deemed to endanger national security and interests, they may also be restricted from departing after returning to China. In addition, the new regulations have introduced provisions such as “industrial security” and “technological security”—if relevant authorities determine that an individual has violated regulations on export controls or technology import and export management, and that this “may endanger national industrial security or technological security,” they may likewise decide to prohibit that individual from exiting the country.
When I read up to this point, the first thought that came to my mind was, how on earth is “may endanger” defined? What kind of person is considered to be endangering technological security? And what kind of behavior counts as endangering industrial security? Is there actually a clear standard between an ordinary enterprise technician and a so-called key technician? If these standards themselves are extremely broad, the ultimate deciding authority still rests with the relevant departments themselves.
This is also why the Taiwanese authorities recently issued a specific reminder to certain Taiwanese businesspeople, corporate executives, semiconductor professionals, and high-tech personnel operating in mainland China to be mindful of potential exit risks. Of course, this does not mean that these individuals will definitely be restricted after entering China, nor does it imply that all tech personnel will become targets of exit bans. However, when the justifications available to the government continue to expand, this risk itself warrants close attention.
Another point that concerns me deeply is mentioned in Article 3 of the new regulations, which states that immigration management authorities, when verifying identities and application reasons, may require the individuals concerned to provide relevant documents, materials, and information such as “digital data.”
The two words “digital data” look quite ordinary, but what do they actually encompass? Does WeChat on a mobile phone count? Do emails count? Does content posted on social media count? Do photos, contacts, chat logs, and cloud files count? None of these are explicitly specified in the text of the regulations.
Nowadays, a person’s life is largely contained inside a mobile phone. Whom you contact, what activities you have attended, what religion you practice, what political views you have expressed, or even whom you have interacted with overseas—all of these can leave digital traces. If these things are increasingly linked to exit clearance examinations in the future, then border inspections are no longer merely checking a passport and a flight ticket; they may well be inspecting the person itself.
Furthermore, Article 6 is a clause in the entire regulation that I believe demands particular attention. It opens by stating that if the government decides to prohibit a person from exiting the country, it should, in principle, inform the individual in writing of the facts, reasons, legal basis, and avenues for legal remedy regarding the denial of exit. This ought to be the baseline expectation and represents the most fundamental procedural safeguard.
However, it then adds a clause stating that if there are circumstances that may endanger national security or impede criminal investigations, the individual may not be notified.
The issue comes back once again to those few words: “national security.” In China over recent years, the scope of national security has continued to expand. Religion can involve national security; journalists can involve national security; lawyers can involve national security; corporate technology can involve national security; and overseas contacts can likewise be interpreted as matters of national security. If the government can, on the one hand, restrict a person from departing, and on the other hand, withhold the specific reasons under the pretext of national security, then how much room for real appeal does that individual actually have left?
If a person does not even know why they are forbidden to leave, how can they prove their own innocence? Which department should they turn to? What materials should they submit? When will the restriction be lifted? If even these most basic pieces of information remain unclear, then the so-called legal remedy easily becomes nothing more than empty talk.
I have always felt that many of China’s current problems stem not from a lack of laws, but from the fact that laws are multiplying, the tools in the government’s hands are increasing, while ordinary people grow increasingly powerless when facing such authority. Nowadays, exit management incorporates an expanding array of concepts—national security, industrial security, technological security, risk prevention, and digital data—each of which may appear justifiable when viewed in isolation.
Cracking down on fraud, I support. Combating human smuggling, I also consider necessary. Protecting genuine state technological secrets is likewise unobjectionable. The government advising citizens against traveling to war zones or fraud compounds is equally understandable.
The real issue, however, is that when all these justifications ultimately concentrate in the hands of administrative agencies, who is there to constrain such power? Who will guarantee that “for security” will not gradually turn into “for control”? Who will guarantee that what is targeted today as fraud will not tomorrow be directed against religious figures, the day after against dissidents, and later expand to include even more ordinary people?
Therefore, I do not want to simply describe these new regulations as “China beginning to shut its doors to the world on September 15.” Such an assertion is actually quite easy for the authorities to refute. They can easily cite airport statistics to show everyone that many Chinese people are still going abroad normally every day, international students are still departing, tourists are still traveling, and business personnel are still making trips.
However, the real issue is not at all whether everyone can leave.
The real issue is: when the government wants to prevent a specific individual from leaving, does it possess far more tools than in the past, and are these tools becoming increasingly institutionalized?
I believe this is precisely what we should be paying attention to.
The person restricted today might be a dissident, tomorrow a pastor, the day after a technician, and later on, perhaps just an ordinary person deemed by some system to “pose a risk.” Out of 1.4 billion people, those subjected to exit bans may forever remain a tiny minority, but for that person who arrives at the airport only to suddenly discover they cannot leave, that reality is one hundred percent.
They may hold a passport, possess a valid visa, and have already purchased a flight ticket—with every formality appearing completely in order—yet standing before the border control counter, that single gate simply will not open.
I believe that true freedom in a country is not merely permitting a person to live, work, and earn a living domestically, but also includes a crucial standard: when an individual no longer wishes to remain here, do they retain the right to leave?
The government can, of course, restrict criminal suspects from fleeing according to law, and it can also restrict certain individuals from exiting the country under clearly defined legal conditions. However, such authority ought to have very explicit boundaries; it should inform the affected party of the reasons, the duration of the restriction, and the legal basis, while offering that individual a genuine opportunity to seek appeal and legal remedy.
If you can be kept in the dark even about why you cannot leave, then what ultimately remains is likely only the government possessing sole discretionary authority, while ordinary citizens can only accept the outcome. After September 15, China’s airports will not suddenly erect an iron wall, and the vast majority of people will probably still be able to cross the border normally.
What I worry about, however, is that an increasingly tight net is taking shape.
It will not descend upon everyone all at once, nor does it need to encompass everyone.
It only needs to descend upon a particular individual whenever the government deems it “necessary.”
And by the time that person actually discovers it, they may already be standing right in front of the border control counter at the airport.
Editor: Hu Lili Proofreader: Cheng Xiaoxiao Translator: Ge Bing
—The 806th Jasmine Action Protests the New Version of the “National Defense Mobilization Law” in Front of the Chinese Consulate in Los Angeles
Reported by Journalists Wang Fu and Zhang Zhijun
Abstract: On September 5, the 806th Jasmine Action was held in front of the Consulate General of the People’s Republic of China in Los Angeles. Participants protested the newly revised “National Defense Mobilization Law,” pointing out the imbalance between citizens’ rights and obligations.
On the afternoon of September 5, 2026, the 806th “Jasmine Action” took place in front of the Chinese Consulate General in Los Angeles. Participants staged a protest against the recently revised and passed “National Defense Mobilization Law of the People’s Republic of China,” raising demands such as “oppose the intensification of full-scale mobilization” and “refuse to become cannon fodder for war.” They also linked the “National Defense Mobilization Law” with the concurrently passed “Healthcare Security Law,” questioning whether citizens’ rights and oversight of public power have received reciprocal protection while ordinary citizens’ legal obligations are continually being clarified and reinforced.
The event that day was organized and planned by Kang Yu, who also served as the spokesperson, with Wang Fu serving as the person in charge, and Jiang Junliang and Zhang Lei serving as hosts.
Jiang Junliang: We Must Speak Up for Those in the Mainland Who Cannot Make Their Voices Heard
After the event began, host Jiang Junliang first extended greetings to the participants on site, overseas Chinese, and the media. He stated that everyone gathering in front of the Chinese Consulate in Los Angeles that day to hold the 806th Jasmine Action hoped to speak up for those in mainland China who cannot publicly express their opinions.
The core issue of this rally was the recently passed, newly revised “National Defense Mobilization Law.”
Speakers at the scene maintained that people should particularly pay attention to the social mobilization system constructed by the new law, because modern warfare involves not only the military and weaponry, but also transportation, energy, communications, healthcare, data, enterprises, and vast amounts of civilian resources.
Jiang Junliang emphasized at the scene that national defense service cannot be simply understood as “joining the military” in the traditional sense. According to the text of the event host script, it also includes supporting and guaranteeing military combat operations, preventing and providing relief for war disasters, and assisting in maintaining social order.
He specifically directed his criticism at “supporting and guaranteeing military combat operations,” arguing that this means once a war actually breaks out, ordinary citizens could also be directly dragged into the war support system.
Zhang Lei: Why Don’t Ordinary People Have the Right to Refuse War?
Host Zhang Lei subsequently brought the issue directly down to ordinary families.
In his speech at the scene, he asked why an ordinary person approaching retirement age, after working, paying taxes, and raising a family for decades, could still be incorporated into the national defense service system.
Zhang Lei questioned: “Does an ordinary person who has worked hard all their life and only seeks a peaceful and stable existence not even have the right to refuse being dragged into war?”
He further criticized that, in his view, if decisions to go to war are not made by ordinary people, yet the loss of life, property damage, and other social costs caused by war are primarily borne by ordinary people, then a severe imbalance exists between the power to decide on war and the toll paid for war.
At the same time, materials distributed at the event specifically pointed out that the relevant age range for national defense service—males aged 18 to 60 and females aged 18 to 55—did not appear for the first time in this legislative revision.
Zhang Lei also proactively noted in his script that similar age stipulations already existed in the old law from 2010. He maintained that what truly deserves attention this time is not merely the age numbers, but rather that the new version of the law further institutionalizes a comprehensive mobilization system encompassing national defense mobilization preparation, data, reserve troops, strategic materials, and civilian resources.
Kang Yu: When the People Are Needed, Obligations Are Emphasized—When They Are Not Needed, Who Will Guarantee Their Rights?
Kang Yu, the organizer, planner, and spokesperson for the day’s event, connected the “National Defense Mobilization Law” to the daily lives of ordinary people.
In his speech, Kang Yu criticized that under the current political system, ordinary citizens lack genuine decision-making power over many major public affairs, yet when the state requires societal resources, it continuously emphasizes individual “obligations” and “responsibilities.”
He addressed the problems facing ordinary families, such as unemployment, healthcare, and eldercare, contrasting these issues with national defense mobilization.
Kang Yu stated: “When they need you, they tell you this is an obligation, this is a responsibility.”
Yet when ordinary people face unemployment, lack sufficient money to seek medical treatment, or encounter difficulties in eldercare, he maintained that many of these real-life pressures ultimately still have to be borne by families themselves.
Kang Yu subsequently directed the issue further toward war.
He argued that ordinary people lack sufficient choice in major national political decisions during normal times, yet once a war breaks out, they may be required to undertake national defense obligations; this very imbalance between rights and obligations was the precise reason they took to the streets to protest that day.
At the end of his speech, he called out repeatedly: “Oppose forced mobilization! Oppose turning ordinary people into cannon fodder for war!”
From the “National Defense Mobilization Law” to the “Healthcare Security Law”
The significance of the on-site discussion that day did not remain entirely focused on the question of war.
The “Healthcare Security Law,” which entered the public eye around the same time as the new version of the “National Defense Mobilization Law,” also served as another entry point for participants to observe the current relationship between the state and the individual in China.
Materials from the event maintained that on the surface, the two laws belong to entirely different domains: one involves national defense, while the other involves healthcare. However, when observed together, one can see that state power is penetrating more deeply into areas such as societal resources, individual responsibilities, healthcare security, and information.
Regarding the “Healthcare Security Law,” participants did not deny the intrinsic importance of establishing a universal healthcare security system. The question they truly raised was:
Since the law can explicitly stipulate ordinary people’s obligations to participate in insurance and pay fees, should the state not also undertake equally explicit responsibilities to ensure that healthcare funds are secure and transparent, and to enable different social groups to obtain more equitable healthcare security?
The event materials specifically mentioned the actual disparities in benefits existing among different categories of medical insurance, different regions, and medical institutions at different tiers in China.
Taking rural families as an example, the materials pointed out a real-world contradiction: the more severe a patient’s illness is, the more necessary it often becomes to enter large hospitals for treatment; yet at the same time, the medical expenses borne by the family may also grow higher and higher.
Therefore, event participants questioned: “Since contribution payment emphasizes that everyone shares responsibility, why can’t healthcare protection be more equitable?”
They maintained, “It is not difficult for the law to demand that the people fulfill their obligations; what is truly difficult is allowing rights to be equally guaranteed as well.”
Zhang Lei questioned the legislative process: “Can 158 person-times represent the entire nation?”
Beyond the law itself, Zhang Lei and Jiang Junliang also directed the on-site discussion toward the issue of public participation in the newly revised National Defense Mobilization Law.
The host script of the event cited public data stating that during the period when the draft revision was open for public feedback, the National People’s Congress Network of China received 541 suggestions submitted by 158 person-times.
Zhang Lei specifically brought up this number at the scene, after which Jiang Junliang picked up the topic.
Jiang Junliang questioned whether, for a law that could affect China’s massive population, enterprises, and social resources, a direct online feedback of such scale is sufficient to reflect genuine and adequate social discussion.
The two hosts maintained that the truly important issue is not whether “soliciting public opinion” exists in form, but whether ordinary citizens can genuinely participate in major public policy discussions and exert actual influence on final decision-making through institutional channels.
From the Scene in Los Angeles to Chinese Society: Two Starkly Different Voices
Around the two laws, the Chinese officialdom and overseas dissenters have formed starkly different analytical perspectives.
The Chinese official explanation for the newly revised National Defense Mobilization Law mainly focuses on improving the national defense mobilization system, adapting to changes in the national security environment, and enhancing national defense mobilization capabilities; for the Healthcare Protection Law, the officialdom emphasizes perfecting the universal medical insurance system, ensuring the safety of the medical insurance fund, and safeguarding the legitimate rights and interests of insured individuals.
Meanwhile, the protesters standing in front of the Chinese Consulate in Los Angeles on September 5 focused more on another set of questions:
When national security conflicts with individual rights, where is the boundary of power?
Who has the authority to decide on war?
Who should bear the cost of war?
How much responsibility can the state legally demand that the people assume?
When the rights of ordinary people are infringed upon, through what institutional channels can they truly hold those holding public power accountable?
These also became the common issues pointed to by several speakers that day.
“This Life Belongs to Ourselves”
As the event drew to a close, the host’s speech returned from grand themes of war and politics back to the single life of an ordinary person.
Jiang Junliang noted in the host script that the span from age 18 to 60 covers almost the entirety of a person’s long journey through schooling, employment, marriage, establishing a family, raising the next generation, and gradually entering old age.
The event concluded with a final emphasis:
“This life belongs to ourselves; it belongs to our parents, our loved ones, and our children.”
Zhang Lei subsequently stated that on that day, they were speaking out not only for themselves, but also for the peace of their relatives back home and of the next generation.
In front of the Chinese Consulate in Los Angeles, the 806th Jasmine Action ultimately concluded amidst slogans of protest.
From Kang Yu’s questioning regarding the relationship between ordinary people’s survival pressures and state obligations, to Jiang Junliang’s concerns over the universal war mobilization system, and further to Zhang Lei’s inquiries into war decision-making, public participation, and individual rights of choice, the day’s protest had in fact transcended a single National Defense Mobilization Law.
The National Defense Mobilization Law and the Healthcare Protection Law—one involves war, and the other involves the birth, aging, illness, and death of every individual—yet the event participants ultimately raised the exact same question:
When the law tells the people ever more explicitly “what you must undertake,” can the law also tell those in power equally explicitly and effectively what they cannot do to the people?
Editor: Zhou Zhigang Proofreader: Mao Yiwei Translator: Ge Bing
From the Chained Woman to Sun Meihua: On Institutional Inaction
Author: Ge Bing
Abstract: The article exposes the Chinese Communist Party’s indifference toward human life. The root cause of the tragic experiences of the Chained Woman and Sun Meihua lies in the passivity and duty-neglect of primary-level governance in searching for missing persons, protecting women, and assigning accountability. The primary objective of the Communist Party is never advance prevention, but post-event stability maintenance.
The 2022 “Chained Woman” incident in Feng County, Xuzhou, Jiangsu Province, was like a dull knife that sliced open the public’s trust in primary-level governance. The video images of a woman chained up in a dilapidated shed, suffering from mental illness and having given birth to eight children, rapidly spread across the internet. The authorities initially denied human trafficking, emphasizing a “legal marriage” and mental illness, and only admitted to multiple resales under public pressure while handling the relevant personnel.
Four years later in 2026, another case came to light involving Sun Meihua, a highly educated woman from Beijing who had been trapped in the countryside of Heze, Shandong Province, for over twenty years, resulting in a mental breakdown and an inability to care for herself. She was ultimately brought back by her family through netizens’ investigations and DNA matching, rather than being rescued through proactive screening and intervention by relevant government departments. From the Chained Woman to Sun Meihua, despite the span of time, the paths of victimization are strikingly similar: disappearance, resale or confinement, long-term abuse, official passivity, and information control. These individual cases are not isolated tragedies; rather, they expose a form of systemic inaction—the delay, evasion, and selective blindness of the system when protecting the most vulnerable.
First, this inaction is manifested in the long-term acquiescence to and post-event remedy for human trafficking and illegal detention. The Chained Woman (Xiao Huamei) was trafficked from Yunnan to Jiangsu, passed through multiple hands, and ultimately remained locked in chains for years at the Dong family home. The local government’s initial announcements attempted to “domesticate” and “pathologize” the issue, acknowledging the human trafficking chain only after provincial intervention. Meanwhile, Sun Meihua disappeared for twenty-six years after leaving her highly educated family within Beijing’s Second Ring Road, only to reappear in the Shandong countryside. Known to villagers as “Aunt Long” (Long Shen), she endured long-term confinement and torment, eventually suffering a mental breakdown and incontinence. Her return depended on a self-media blogger trading a mobile phone for an ID card and netizens assisting in the search for relatives, rather than the public security authorities proactively screening missing persons databases or primary-level officials conducting periodic checks on abnormal household registrations. Both cases demonstrate that within the intermingling of rural clan networks and primary-level governance, trafficked women are frequently “digested” into local family members, while household registration, childbirth, and daily control serve as fig leaves for established facts. The system should block these chains through missing persons registries, cross-regional joint investigations, and regular visits to vulnerable groups; instead, it often launches investigations only after public outrage erupts. This “post-event reactive” governance is essentially an abandonment of advance prevention and mid-process intervention.
Secondly, this inaction is manifested in the downplaying of victims’ rights and interests alongside the excessive prioritization of “stability.” In the Chained Woman case, early official reports evaded the essence of human trafficking. In subsequent judgments, Dong Zhimin was sentenced to nine years in prison for abuse and illegal detention, while other involved individuals received sentences ranging from eight to thirteen years—a outcome widely perceived by the public as lenient, with insufficient accountability for the long-term sexual assault and reproductive exploitation. In Sun Meihua’s case, information was swiftly suppressed on certain platforms, related discussions were diluted or deleted, and no systematic official report or accountability has yet been issued. The shared logic behind both cases is clear: if individual suffering threatens to trigger widespread questioning of primary-level duty-neglect, the priority is to “cool down” public discourse rather than perform a thorough reckoning. In terms of institutional design, primary-level performance evaluations frequently emphasize “preventing incidents” over “proactive action,” leading officials to turn a blind eye to blatant anomalies (such as a mentally impaired woman being chained or a woman with an outside accent remaining out of contact for a long time). Although laws contain provisions against human trafficking and for the protection of women, their enforcement relies on whistleblowing and public opinion momentum rather than normalized, proactive law enforcement. Consequently, victims suffer a double injury: first being privately confined, and subsequently being neglected by the public system.
From a deeper perspective, this inaction stems from a structural imbalance. The urban-rural divide, gender power asymmetries, and deficits in primary-level governance capacity compound one another. Marriage squeeze in rural areas and skewed sex ratios have fostered a “wife-buying” gray market in certain regions; once a trafficked woman enters a closed village, information blockades and clan protection make seeking help nearly impossible. When someone like Sun Meihua, who hailed from an educated, high-intellectual family, could remain missing for over twenty years, the plight of ordinary rural girls is even easier to imagine. The system ought to plug these loopholes by improving the national missing persons network, strengthening proactive inspections by primary-level civil affairs and women’s federations, and enforcing mandatory verification of abnormal household registrations and births; instead, it frequently chooses silence in the name of “local autonomy” and “mitigating social conflict.” Although official disciplinary actions and court verdicts followed the Chained Woman incident, no fundamental reform of the systemic prevention mechanism has materialized. Sun Meihua’s case proves once again that civic forces remain the last line of defense. When the system places “not causing trouble” above “saving lives,” inaction evolves from isolated dereliction of duty into a structural trait.
To be sure, this cannot be attributed simply to the indifference of individual officials. Limited resources, a large backlog of historical cases, and high law enforcement costs are all real constraints. However, these constraints cannot serve as excuses for long-term inaction. A system that claims to be people-centered should naturally prioritize the safety of the most vulnerable. The ordeals of the Chained Woman and Sun Meihua demonstrate that the existing mechanisms are slow to react, deficient in accountability, and lacking in transparency when confronted with cross-regional, long-concealed abuses. What netizens can accomplish through DNA matching and cross-provincial search efforts should be executed far more efficiently and proactively by the official system. If every revelation continues to depend on accidental video footage and civic persistence while the system merely manages post-event firefighting and information control, then similar tragedies will inevitably recur on a periodic basis.
From the Chained Woman to Sun Meihua, what the public sees is not only the shattered lives of two women, but also the absence of the system at critical junctures. Inaction is not a neutral state of “having done nothing”; rather, it is an active evasion of responsibility. It leaves victims to endure in the dark for additional years or even decades, causes family members to lose their loved ones through agonizing waits, and casts doubt on society’s promise to “protect the weak.”
Genuine action requires placing prevention at the forefront, normalizing verification processes, making accountability rigorous, and treating public disclosure as a fundamental duty. Only through such measures can the system transform from being “driven by public opinion” into “proactively safeguarding.”
Otherwise, the next time a “Chained Woman” or “Aunt Long” comes to light, what will be tested remains the conscience of civil society rather than the self-awareness of public power. What society needs is not repeated post-event shock and brief public discourse, but a system that truly embeds “preventing the recurrence of tragedy” into the logic of its daily operation.
Only when inaction is systematically corrected can those locked-away lives truly attain liberation and dignity.
Editor: Zhou Zhigang Proofreader: Cheng Xiaoxiao Translator: Ge Bing
At the age of 28, I became obsessed with lure fishing in the wild, spending every single day of that year under the Wuhan Yangtze River Bridge. I originally thought fishing would bring me a bit of peace and quiet, but I never expected it to show me what true despair really looks like. On the Yangtze River Bridge, people jumping off—I am truly not exaggerating—during peak periods, there were five or six in a single night. The moment that splash sounded, my heart trembled. Summer was when it happened most; only when it turned cold in winter did it decrease slightly. I remember the first time I saw someone jump off the bridge. I was completely stunned at the time, utterly panicked, watching helplessly as a person fell from the bridge, hit the water, and was gone… It would be a lie to say I didn’t feel awful; my chest felt suffocated, and I even dreamed about it when I went to sleep at night. But later, I actually grew numb. It wasn’t that I was cold-blooded; I had simply seen it too many times, and my heart had gone numb. How hard must a person’s life be to drive them to this point? In this society, as they live, they truly cannot see any way out. Furthermore, some people out there spend all day shouting about the benevolence of the Party, but have you seen those who cannot go on living? Have you truly seen them? Have you with your own eyes watched someone jump off a bridge? If you haven’t, then stop talking about how “time is quiet and smooth.” If it is truly quiet and smooth, it’s because someone paid for it with their life. If you stood under the Yangtze River Bridge fishing, you probably wouldn’t be able to shout anything about “quiet and smooth.”
Looking back now, what truly made me resolve to leave was perhaps not just how strong a rebellious spirit I possessed. It was something I could never have imagined would change my life at the time: in the year I turned twenty-eight, I learned lure fishing. Originally, I just wanted an extra hobby so that when I had free time, I could stand by the riverbank, fish for a while, and escape the trivialities of life. I did not expect that those days would later become a part of how I came to understand life, understand fear, and understand why I had to go.
By the banks of the Yangtze River in Wuhan, time and time again, I saw with my own eyes people jump from the bridge. I did not know their names, I did not know where they came from, and even less did I know what they had experienced before. I only knew that this was not a story in the news, but a real human being who once, like us, lived their own life. I called the police; I encountered times when the phone lines were busy and could not get through no matter what. Later, I also witnessed scenes where no one around made a phone call anymore, including myself. I posted on Douyin, questioning why the emergency police hotline would be busy at times like that. It reached a million views, only to be shadowbanned and have its comments deleted. What frightened me was not just what was happening before my eyes, but that sense of powerlessness—knowing that someone needed help, yet not knowing what on earth you could possibly do. To this day, I still keep two videos I shot myself. Whether those people were later recorded or entered into relevant statistics, I have no way to verify. But I am unwilling to let them end up as nothing more than a video clip swiped past by others. A person who came into this world should not leave behind only the phrase: “Someone jumped off the bridge.”
Since I was eighteen or nineteen, I began getting involved with technology for bypassing internet censorship. I made free tools, and later participated in a lot of related technical support and maintenance. I wanted to give people the opportunity to access different information, while also hoping I could safely pursue a career I liked, earning money to give my family a good life.
I don’t want to write myself off as someone who was never afraid and always resolute. I have my own convictions, and there are also many things I cannot bear to lose. I still remember during the COVID lockdown, that neighbor who suffered a sudden illness and urgently needed to go out for medical care. In order to allow him to get out to see a doctor, I drove my vehicle and smashed through the lockdown barriers at the entrance of our residential compound, and was summoned for questioning multiple times afterward because of it. What I was thinking at the time wasn’t about making some extraordinary gesture; I simply felt that the person was already sick and needed to see a doctor first. As for other matters, they were not the priority.
Those people who jumped off the Yangtze River Bridge, that neighbor who needed medical care, and the things that later happened to me personally—they slowly connected together in my memory. They made me care more and more about a simple question: when an ordinary person encounters an insurmountable hardship, whom can he turn to for help, and can he actually get a response?
By August 2024, I was taken away by the police myself. In the past, standing by the river, I felt fear and regret on behalf of strangers. Later, I began to feel fear for the future of myself and my family. That kind of fear required no grand explanations; it was very concrete. I didn’t know whether I would lose my freedom again, didn’t know if I would still be able to return home next time, and even less did I know how many more times my wife and daughter would have to worry about me.
In December 2024, I received another summons notice, requiring me to report to Xiajin, Shandong on December 16. My prior experiences made me worry that going there this time would lead to being detained again, and worry that I might be separated from my daughter for a long time. This became the direct cause of my decision to leave immediately. The facts of a case can be written into legal documents, timelines can be organized into spreadsheets, and summons notices can be scanned into archives; but when a father thinks about the possibility of not being able to watch his daughter grow up, that kind of fear is difficult to fit into written expressions. I want to watch my daughter grow up, walk her to school, and listen to her talk about those trivial little things in her growth. I want a day to come when she turns back to look for her dad, and I will be right there where she can see me.
Afraid of losing freedom again, afraid of my family bearing more, afraid that days I originally thought were taken for granted would suddenly never be recovered again. When I say I am afraid, it doesn’t mean I know for certain what will happen in the future, but rather that I am increasingly unable to part with the possibility of living together with my family. I didn’t leave because I wasn’t afraid; it was precisely because I was afraid, because I still had loved ones to care for, and because I still wanted to live on happily, that I decided to leave.
These matters, when written down, take up only a few lines of text. But for me, what they separate are two different lives: on one side are the familiar language, streets, and hometown; on the other side is the foothold I must start searching for anew. If one could live in stability, who would easily be willing to leave behind everything they have grown familiar with?
Now that it is 2026, all one can hear every day is that the economy is poor, with people complaining that they can no longer earn money. I do not know the current situation of every family, nor can I explain the lives of those who have passed away. I just cannot help but worry: for those who were already struggling to survive two or three years ago, is it even harder for them now? For an ordinary family, whether life is good or not ultimately comes down to concrete matters—whether a job can be kept, whether next month’s rent can be met, whether one dares to see a doctor when a family member falls ill, and whether one can buy the things a child needs.
What I long for is nothing more than for a person, after a busy day, to be able to eat a meal in peace; for parents, when facing their children, not to always have to hide their hardships; and for someone in distress, when calling out for help, to be able to hear a useful response. I have already left, but I have not, because of leaving, stopped aching for the people there. Nor do I hope for my hometown to become even harder, just to prove why I decided to leave in the first place. Quite the contrary, I hope that one day, the things that once frightened me will become fewer, and the reasons that make people willing to stay will become more.
I wish to see the ordinary people there living stable lives, I wish to hear relatives and friends say that life has improved, and I wish to know that when someone encounters hardship, they receive timely help. Because my heart is still tied to that place. Because those people—whether I know them or not—all have their own families, and all have lives they cannot bear to let go of.
To speak of these things now is already an afterthought. I have no grand concluding remarks, leaving only a small, ordinary, and very sincere wish: May those in need of help not be met with disappointment time and time again. May those struggling to survive gradually await a turnaround in life. And especially, may my compatriots in the motherland suffer a little less bitterness in the days ahead, and enjoy a little more stability, and a little more of a tomorrow worth looking forward to. May “living well” not have to be a wish that a person can only achieve by exhausting all their strength.
Editor: Huang Jizhou Proofreader: Wang Bin Translator: Ge Bing
From “Knowing the Law” to the Abyss: The Prison Cry of an 89 Democracy Movement Participant
How the CCP’s Laws Serve as a Fig Leaf for Its Rulers
Firsthand Account by: Wang Lijun
In the CCP’s official grand narrative, “governing the country according to law” has always been a loudly touted slogan. However, for any ordinary Chinese person who has truly experienced the pressure of the CCP’s judicial machine, these eight words are nothing more than a fig leaf used to cover up dictatorial and violent rule. My personal experience stands as a prime example of the cruel truth beneath this “fig leaf.”
In the early summer of 1989, a wave of democracy swept across the entire nation. Shiyan was a Third-Front city with a urban population of only a little over 300,000 at the time. Although this “Auto City”—built around the Dongfeng Motor supply chain—was far from Beijing, it was no longer staying silent. Home to multiple institutions of higher education and tens of thousands of passionate young students and intellectuals, it let out a cry of resistance.
At the time, I was working in the Research Administration Department of Hubei Automotive Industries Institute. Initially, due to my father’s earnest warnings, I maintained caution toward political movements. However, the news of gunfire in Beijing on the night of June 4, 1989, completely shattered my illusions and silence. “How could they actually open fire?” Unable to sleep all night, I made my choice amid tears and rage.
On June 5, wearing a black armband to mourn my compatriots, I rushed onto the streets alongside the students. In Shiyan’s Youth Square, slogans like “Give Us Back Our Compatriots!” and “Blood Debts Must Be Paid in Blood!” echoed to the skies. The protest march rapidly grew from several hundred people at the start to tens of thousands. Seeing common citizens cheering on the protesting students and even shouting “Stand up!”, I felt immense pride—at a time of national crisis, I chose to step forward. To support the students protesting in front of the Final Assembly Plant, I pawned my own watch to a shopkeeper in exchange for water and steamed buns to satisfy their hunger.
As the moment of reckoning arrived, the CCP’s ugly face of “settling accounts after the event” was exposed without reservation. A so-called “Double Clean-up” (cleaning up thoughts and cleaning up class ranks) movement was launched across the entire university, requiring “everyone to pass the test, everyone to state their position.”
Faced with this grand test of human nature, there were flatterers and hypocrites. Even worse were people like Lai Fumei, the head of the Student Affairs Department, who openly declared at a general assembly that he was “infiltrating the students on behalf of the Party organization.” Confronted with such shameless behavior, we all denounced him as a “shameless scoundrel.”
When it came to my turn to state my position, I refused to tell lies. Facing my department leader’s inducement that “Communists must tell the truth,” I expressed my fundamental stance without reservation, quoting Mao Zedong: “Those who suppress student movements never come to a good end!” However, this truthful statement born of conscience instantly turned into a weapon stabbed into me. The leader silently noted down this remark in a little notebook and reported it up through the ranks, level by level. Soon after, police from the Political Security Section of the Dongfeng Motor Company Public Security Department came knocking on my door. Facing a policeman slapping the table and clamoring to make an arrest, I, still harboring illusions about the CCP’s laws at the time, argued on strong grounds: “Did you make the nation’s laws? I haven’t broken the law!”
The other party’s reply was simple and crude: “If I say you’ve broken the law, you’ve broken the law. I can arrest you anytime!”
I used to believe that I “knew a bit about the law.” There was a popular saying circulating in society: I don’t steal, I don’t rob, and I don’t oppose the Communist Party; who can do anything to me? But when the police came to my door and forcibly demanded to enter and search the house, I stood on grounds of reason and demanded to see a “search and arrest warrant.” During interrogation by the Political Security Section, I admonished the handling officers with righteous indignation: “Your attitude toward me today is discrimination against China’s democracy movement. Aren’t you worried that when we are rehabilitated in the future, we will settle accounts with you?”
However, under a dictatorial system, so-called search warrants, procedural justice, and freedom of speech were all inferior to a single sentence from a leader or a single letter of report from a petty person.
In the face of instigation by petty individuals within the system, retaliation by local bureaucrats against “loss of control,” and strict orders handed down from top leadership, legal provisions were a mere formality. At the end of December 1989, upon learning that I was about to be arrested, I was still half-doubting and harboring illusions, thinking they would at most lock me up for a few days just to teach me a lesson. I thought that if I ran outside to hide for a few days, things might blow over. So I packed up some temporary daily necessities, climbed over a wall to escape, and roamed the edges of the earth. Twenty days later, I was betrayed and arrested, landing in prison. The person who betrayed me was an electrician in the Infrastructure Construction Section of the Dongfeng Motor Company Thermal Power Plant named Yin Weimin. By chance, I had once heard him chatting with others, boasting about his close ties with the Public Security Bureau. Driven to utter helplessness during my flight, I called him to ask for help. He said, “How big a deal could it be for you?” He added that he was going on a business trip to Ningbo in a few days and needed to discuss certain matters with me face-to-face, asking me to come to his house immediately—where I was caught on the spot by police ambushed in his home. For his meritorious service in betraying me, he was immediately admitted to the Party and exceptionally promoted to Chief of the Infrastructure Construction Section.
I entered hell and suffered endless torture in prison, while he gained a promotion.
As a young teacher holding a regular university degree, harboring a sense of justice, and dutifully conducting scientific research, I became a total victim of this political movement simply because I spoke a few words of truth, shouted a few slogans, and offended a few opportunistic scoundrels.
“Before being arrested, I fully believed in China’s laws; but after being arrested, my mindset was completely upended. China’s law is just a fig leaf… one could even say China has no law at all. They have the final say and can arrest whoever they want.” Recalling this period of history brings me immense pain.
My encounter is not an isolated case, but a microcosm of tens of thousands who suffer persecution under the CCP regime. My case shocked the Hubei Automotive Industries Institute of that year, as well as the entire Auto City. People passed it from mouth to mouth: “Teacher Wang was harmed by petty scoundrels.”
This personal experience, still soaked in blood and tears after decades, reveals an ironclad fact to the world once more: in the CCP’s dictionary, there is no true rule of law, but only the arbitrary exercise of power and the brutal suppression of dissenters. The so-called law is draconian rule for the common people, while for the ruling class, it is nothing more than a scrap of paper that can erase basic human rights at any moment.
Edited by: Zhang Zhijun Proofread by: Wang Bin Translated by: Ge Bing
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