作者：张宇 编辑：冯仍 校对：程筱筱 翻译：周敏

你可以在某个时候欺骗所有人，也可以一直欺骗某些人，但你不能永远欺骗所有人。

——亚伯拉罕·林肯

没有哪一个政权能永远靠谎言维系，但中共却试图用谎言去建造一个完整的世界——一个由假新闻、假繁荣、假数据、假承诺所堆砌的幻象国度。中共在政治口号中塑造“伟光正”的形象，在信息审查中封锁真相的裂缝，在舆论机器里制造“人民幸福”的幻觉。可当谎言成为日常语言，真相便成了政治禁忌，而整个国家，也在信任崩塌中缓缓腐烂。

一个政权的力量，不在于军事的力量，而在于它能否让人民相信它的正当性，而中共早已耗尽了这种“政治公信力”。它的医疗体系以“全民医保”为幌子，掩盖资源被权利垄断的事实；它的养老制度以“幸福晚年”为旗号，却让老人们在通胀与谎报中艰难求生；一切制度都在共同编织一场巨大的政治幻觉。

在这个幻觉中，人民被教育去“感恩”虚假的繁荣，被鼓励去“相信”被扭曲的现实。当一个国家以欺骗为常态，它不只是丧失了道德基础，更是在自掘坟墓。因为没有任何谎言能永远取代真相；当信任的最后一根弦被拉断，崩塌的不只是政权的形象，而是整个社会的灵魂。

（图为张宇参加在洛杉矶总领馆门前举行的“习近平病毒头”活动）

中共最擅长的，是把苦难包装成成就，把失败装饰成胜利。在医疗领域，这种谎言达到了病态的精致程度。中共宣称“全民医保”“健康中国”，在宣传片里，医生微笑、病人感恩、制度完美无缺；但现实中的医院门口，却是病人无助的哭声、家属的绝望与医疗账单的重压。

所谓“全民医保”，在本质上不过是一张无法兑现的政治支票。医保报销比例被层层稀释，药价虚高，基层医疗体系早已被权利和资本联手掏空。那些被宣传成“免费”的项目，背后往往隐藏着更深的腐败。对底层百姓而言，看一次病，就是一次家庭经济的坍塌。在“人民健康”的口号下，健康早已成为特权阶层的专属福利。

疫情期间，更暴露了这一体制的谎言本质。面对公共卫生危机，中共选择的不是透明与科学，而是掩盖与欺骗。从最初的封锁信息到强制“清零”的荒唐执行，无数生命在谎言中消失。数据被篡改，死亡被隐瞒，媒体被噤声，医生被“约谈”。那些敢说真话的专业人士，不是被追责就是被消失；而那些制造假象的人，却在新闻镜头前被赞为“英雄”。

医疗体系的腐败不仅在经济层面，更在道德层面。医生与患者之间失去了信任，公立医院成了逐利机器，医护人员工作有了KPI,医患关系被毒化。中共的医疗政策，已经从保障民生的制度，堕落为维稳的工具。它所追求的“稳定”，不是人民健康，而是维持政治形象。在这里，健康不再是人权，而是被权利过滤后的政治数字。

当政府谎报疫情数字，当病人无法知道真相，当“生命”被简化为政绩曲线的一个变量，这个体制的公信力就已经死亡。中共可以用宣传控制舆论，却无法控制人们亲身感受到的痛苦；可以篡改报告，却无法掩盖医院走廊里一张张等不到治疗的面孔。

谎言的毒，不仅腐蚀了制度，也腐蚀了人心。一个政权若连“生命的价值”都可以欺骗，那么它已经不是失误，而是犯罪。中共的医疗神话，本质上就是一个国家对人类尊严的冷血嘲弄。

（图片提供：张宇；图为张宇参加在洛杉矶星光大道举行的集会活动）

在中共的宣传中，老人是“被党温暖守护的一代”，是“国家进步的见证者”。然而，现实中的中国老人，正在经历一种悄无声息的绝望。那种“幸福晚年”的幻象，只存在于中共的宣传片里，而不在空荡的养老金账户中。

中国的养老体系，是谎言与透支叠加的产物。官方反复宣称“养老金发放有保障”，可财政赤字的现实无人能否认。许多地方政府已偷偷挪用养老金补财政窟窿，年轻人被迫用更高的税负去支撑一个濒临破产的系统，而他们自己却知道，等他们老了，或许连这点保障都不会存在。这是一个用未来抵押现实、用谎言掩盖崩塌的制度。

中共的社会保障体系，本质上并不为民众服务，而是为政治稳定服务。养老金、医保、低保、补贴，这些原本该属于公共责任的项目，都被权利染上了“政治筛选”的色彩：能顺从者得益，敢质疑者被边缘化。一个政权若连“养老”都要纳入忠诚考核，那它所谓的“人民政府”，实际上只是掌控生老病死的冷漠管理者。

与此同时，城乡差距、地区不均、物价飞涨、医疗负担叠加，让无数老人陷入生活的边缘。有人卖废品补贴生活费药费；有人靠子女借贷做手术，有人独自死在出租屋内数月无人问津。而政府却在媒体上宣扬“银发经济”“老有所养”的政绩。

养老金的数字可以造假，但老人脸上的皱纹不会。那些被掩盖的痛苦，终将在时间的裂缝中暴露。中共可以通过宣传掩饰财政危机，却掩盖不了人心的寒凉。一个连老人都不敢老的国家，一个让人害怕变老的社会，是人性被侮辱的地方。

真正的“幸福晚年”，不来自口号，而来自制度的诚实、政府的责任与社会的信任。而当这些都被谎言所取代时，所谓的“晚年幸福”，就成了荒诞剧的一幕。中共的养老神话，不过是一场集体催眠：让人们在麻木与恐惧中等待老去，在失望与谎言中走向终点。

一个政权，可以靠谎言延长寿命，却无法靠谎言获得永生。

因为谎言的本质，是自我毁灭。

它需要不断制造新的谎言去掩盖旧的谎言，直到整个体系陷入疯狂。

真相或许会被掩盖，但它不会被消灭；信任或许被摧毁，但它终将成为复苏的起点。中共之所以畏惧真相，不是因为真相会让它立刻崩塌，而是因为真相会让人民学会思考——而思考，才是独裁者最害怕的力量。

The CCP is Built on Lies

Author: Zhang Yu Editor: Feng Reng Proofreader: Cheng Xiaoxiao Translator: Zhou Min

“You can fool all the people some of the time, and some of the people all the time, but you cannot fool all the people all the time.”

— Abraham Lincoln

No regime can sustain itself forever on lies, yet the CCP attempts to use lies to construct an entire world—an illusionary kingdom piled high with fake news, fake prosperity, fake data, and fake promises. The CCP shapes an image of being “Great, Glorious, and Correct” in its political slogans, seals the cracks of truth through information censorship, and manufactures the hallucination of “people’s happiness” within its propaganda machine. But when lies become the daily language, truth becomes a political taboo, and the entire country slowly rots amidst the collapse of trust.

The strength of a regime lies not in military power, but in whether it can make the people believe in its legitimacy; the CCP has long since exhausted this “political credibility.” Its medical system uses “universal healthcare” as a front to cover the fact that resources are monopolized by power; its pension system uses the banner of “happy sunset years” while leaving the elderly to struggle for survival amidst inflation and false reporting. All systems are woven together to orchestrate a massive political hallucination.

In this hallucination, the people are educated to be “grateful” for a fake prosperity and encouraged to “believe” in a distorted reality. When a state takes deception as its norm, it does not merely lose its moral foundation; it digs its own grave. Because no lie can forever replace the truth; when the last string of trust snaps, what collapses is not just the image of the regime, but the soul of the entire society.

(Photo: Zhang Yu participating in the “Xi Jinping Virus Head” protest held in front of the Consulate General in Los Angeles)

What the CCP is best at is packaging suffering as achievement and decorating failure as victory. In the field of healthcare, this lie has reached a level of morbid sophistication. The CCP proclaims “Universal Healthcare” and “Healthy China.” In propaganda films, doctors smile, patients are grateful, and the system is flawless; but at the entrances of real-world hospitals, there are the helpless cries of patients, the despair of families, and the heavy burden of medical bills.

The so-called “universal healthcare” is, in essence, nothing more than a political check that cannot be cashed. Reimbursement ratios are diluted layer by layer, drug prices are artificially high, and the grassroots medical system has long been hollowed out by the alliance of power and capital. Behind those projects advertised as “free,” there is often deeper corruption hidden. For the common people at the bottom, seeing a doctor once means the collapse of a family’s finances. Under the slogan of “People’s Health,” health has long become an exclusive benefit for the privileged class.

The pandemic period further exposed the lying nature of this system. Faced with a public health crisis, the CCP chose concealment and deception rather than transparency and science. From the initial suppression of information to the absurd execution of the mandatory “Zero-COVID” policy, countless lives vanished amidst lies. Data was tampered with, deaths were concealed, media was silenced, and doctors were “summoned for talks.” Those professionals who dared to speak the truth were either held accountable or disappeared; while those who manufactured illusions were praised as “heroes” before news cameras.

The corruption of the medical system exists not only at the economic level but also at the moral level. Trust between doctors and patients has been lost, public hospitals have become profit-seeking machines, medical staff have KPIs, and doctor-patient relationships have been poisoned. The CCP’s medical policy has degenerated from a system guaranteeing people’s livelihoods into a tool for “stability maintenance.” The “stability” it pursues is not the health of the people, but the maintenance of its political image. Here, health is no longer a human right, but a political figure filtered through power.

When a government lies about pandemic numbers, when patients cannot know the truth, and when “life” is simplified into a variable on a performance curve, the credibility of this system has already died. The CCP can use propaganda to control public opinion, but it cannot control the pain people feel personally; it can tamper with reports, but it cannot cover the faces waiting for treatment in hospital corridors.

The poison of lies corrodes not only the system but also the human heart. If a regime can even deceive regarding the “value of life,” it is no longer a mistake—it is a crime. The CCP’s medical myth is, in essence, a cold-blooded mockery of human dignity by a state.

(Photo provided by: Zhang Yu; Image shows Zhang Yu participating in a rally held at the Hollywood Walk of Fame in Los Angeles)

In the CCP’s propaganda, the elderly are “the generation warmly guarded by the Party” and “witnesses to national progress.” However, in reality, China’s elderly are experiencing a silent despair. That illusion of “happy sunset years” exists only in the CCP’s propaganda films, not in the empty pension accounts.

China’s pension system is the product of superimposed lies and overdrawing. Officials repeatedly claim “pension payments are guaranteed,” but the reality of fiscal deficits cannot be denied by anyone. Many local governments have secretly misappropriated pension funds to fill fiscal holes; young people are forced to use higher tax burdens to support a system on the verge of bankruptcy, yet they themselves know that when they grow old, perhaps even this bit of protection will not exist. This is a system that mortgages the future for the present and covers collapse with lies.

The CCP’s social security system does not, in essence, serve the public, but serves political stability. Pensions, healthcare, minimum living allowances, subsidies—these items that should belong to public responsibility have all been stained with the color of “political screening” by power: those who comply benefit, while those who dare to question are marginalized. If a regime even incorporates “elderly care” into loyalty assessments, then its so-called “People’s Government” is actually just a cold manager in control of birth, aging, sickness, and death.

At the same time, the urban-rural gap, regional inequality, skyrocketing prices, and the accumulation of medical burdens have pushed countless elderly people to the margins of life. Some sell recyclables to supplement living and medical expenses; some rely on children taking out loans for surgeries; some die alone in rental rooms and go unnoticed for months. Meanwhile, the government touts the achievements of the “silver economy” and “care for the aged” in the media.

Pension figures can be faked, but the wrinkles on an old person’s face cannot. The hidden suffering will eventually be exposed in the cracks of time. The CCP can use propaganda to disguise a fiscal crisis, but it cannot disguise the coldness in people’s hearts. A country where people are afraid to grow old, a society that makes people fear aging, is a place where humanity is insulted.

True “happy sunset years” do not come from slogans, but from the honesty of the system, the responsibility of the government, and the trust of society. When these are replaced by lies, the so-called “happiness in old age” becomes a scene in an absurd drama. The CCP’s pension myth is nothing more than a collective hypnosis: making people wait to grow old in numbness and fear, and march toward the end in disappointment and lies.

A regime can rely on lies to prolong its life, but it cannot rely on lies to gain eternal life.

Because the essence of a lie is self-destruction.

It requires the continuous creation of new lies to cover old ones until the entire system falls into madness.

The truth may be covered up, but it will not be extinguished; trust may be destroyed, but it will eventually become the starting point for recovery. The reason the CCP fears the truth is not because the truth will make it collapse instantly, but because the truth will make the people learn to think—and thinking is the power that dictators fear most.

——香港自民党成立现场纪实

作者：冯仍 编辑：李晶 校对：林小龙 翻译：周敏

时间：2025年12月27日｜地点：1300 John Reed Ct, City of Industry, CA 91745

12月27日下午，City of Industry 的会场里坐着两排人。前排多是流亡港人，约二十位；后排与两侧则是声援团体成员，约三十位。舞台背景板上用中英双语写着：“香港自民党成立暨香港未来研讨会”。灯光打在那行字上，像把一个曾经被迫沉默的议题，硬生生重新照亮。

（图为发起人廖文浩阐述政治愿景；右侧为中国民主党联合总部主席郑存柱）

这场活动的核心不是“仪式感”，而是“恢复发声”。对许多人而言，香港的政治空间早已被挤压到几乎无处落脚：政党解散、媒体噤声、公共表达被定性为风险。也正因为如此，“成立”本身变成了一句宣告——不是庆典，而是拒绝消音。

发起人廖文浩在台上阐述政治愿景。他回顾香港在1997年后逐步恶化的处境，并将2020年《国安法》视作分水岭：自由法治从此急剧倒退，朋友入狱、组织被迫停止运作，许多人只能离开家园。他把这种变化称为对承诺的背弃与对社会的清算。

当天，活动现场发布《香港自由民主党（HKLDP）创党宣言》。宣言的措辞强硬，但结构清晰，几乎是按“行动清单”写成：其一，主张以“国际线”推动外交游说与公共倡议；其二，强调对践踏人权者进行制裁追责；其三，将“无条件释放香港政治犯”置于突出位置，并以“光复公义，自决未来”作为号召语。宣言试图把香港议题从“地方争议”重新放回“国际人权与制度责任”的框架之中。

研讨会期间，来自声援团体的代表发言。中国民主党联合总部主席郑存柱强调，在民主法治社会，政治主张属于宪法保护的言论自由范畴；香港人提出政治诉求，应当被尊重与保护。他同时回顾港人多次移民潮的历史背景，指出《国安法》后自由空间坍塌，是推动新一轮流亡潮的重要原因之一。

（图为中国民主党党员梁振华对香港自民党发起人廖文浩提问）

我在现场也作了临时发言。我说：“我是来自中国的流亡者，也是中国民主党成员。今天香港自民党成立，不是仪式，是香港人拒绝被消音的宣告。创党宣言讲得很清楚：第一，无条件释放所有香港政治犯；第二，对践踏人权者制裁追责；第三，香港必须走向自决未来，让香港人自己决定命运。中共撕毁承诺、以恶法镇压香港，这不是治理，是清算。我们今天站出来，就是要让世界继续看见真相、继续行动。”

（图为中国民主党党员冯仍现场发言）

发言结束后，会场短暂安静了一秒，随后掌声响起。那不是热闹的掌声，更像是一种确认：确认彼此仍在，确认这件事还值得被讲，确认“未来”不是被允许才拥有，而是要靠行动去争取。

对外界来说，这也许只是一场规模不大的海外集会；但对经历过恐惧与噤声的人而言，它更像一次“重新把话说出来”的练习——把宣言、诉求与行动路线摆上桌面，接受质询，也接受记录。香港的处境并没有因为一场活动而改变，但至少在这个下午，有人选择不再把香港当作过去式。

In Los Angeles, a Group of Hongkongers Put the “Future” Back on the Table

—— On-the-scene Documentary of the Founding of the Hong Kong Liberal Democratic

Party

Author: Feng Reng Editor: Li Jing Proofreader: Lin Xiaolong Translator: Zhou Min

Time: December 27, 2025 Location: 1300 John Reed Ct, City of Industry, CA 91745

On the afternoon of December 27, two rows of people sat in a meeting hall in the City of Industry. The front row consisted mostly of exiled Hongkongers, about twenty in total; the back row and the sides were members of solidarity groups, numbering about thirty. The stage backdrop was inscribed in both Chinese and English: “Founding of the Hong Kong Liberal Democratic Party & Symposium on the Future of Hong Kong.” The lights hit those words, seemingly forcibly re-illuminating an issue that was once forced into silence.

(Photo: Initiator Liao Wenhao expounding on the political vision; on the right is Zheng Cunzhu, Chairperson of the Joint Headquarters of the China Democracy Party)

The core of this event was not “a sense of ceremony,” but “the restoration of voice.” For many, Hong Kong’s political space has long been squeezed to the point where there is almost nowhere to stand: political parties have disbanded, the media has been silenced, and public expression has been characterized as a risk. Precisely because of this, the “founding” itself became a declaration—not a celebration, but a refusal to be muted.

Initiator Liao Wenhao stood on stage to expound on the political vision. He reviewed the gradually deteriorating situation in Hong Kong after 1997 and viewed the 2020 “National Security Law” as a watershed: since then, freedom and the rule of law have regressed sharply, friends have been imprisoned, organizations have been forced to cease operations, and many have had no choice but to leave their homes. He referred to this change as a betrayal of promises and a liquidation of society.

On that day, the event released the “Founding Manifesto of the Hong Kong Liberal Democratic Party (HKLDP).” The wording of the manifesto was tough, but the structure was clear, written almost like an “action list”: First, it advocates for the “International Line” to promote diplomatic lobbying and public advocacy; second, it emphasizes sanctions and accountability for those who trample on human rights; third, it places the “unconditional release of Hong Kong political prisoners” in a prominent position and uses “Restore Justice, Self-determine the Future” as its rallying cry. The manifesto attempts to reframe the Hong Kong issue from a “local dispute” back into the framework of “international human rights and institutional responsibility.”

During the symposium, representatives from solidarity groups delivered speeches. Zheng Cunzhu, Chairperson of the Joint Headquarters of the China Democracy Party, emphasized that in a democratic and rule-of-law society, political views fall within the scope of freedom of speech protected by the constitution; when Hongkongers put forward political demands, they should be respected and protected. He also reviewed the historical background of the multiple waves of migration from Hong Kong, pointing out that the collapse of the space for freedom following the “National Security Law” is one of the important reasons driving the new wave of exile.

(Photo: China Democracy Party member Liang Zhenhua questioning Liao Wenhao, the initiator of the Hong Kong Liberal Democratic Party)

I also gave a spontaneous speech at the scene. I said: “I am an exile from China and a member of the China Democracy Party. The founding of the Hong Kong Liberal Democratic Party today is not a ceremony; it is a declaration by Hongkongers refusing to be silenced. The founding manifesto states very clearly: First, the unconditional release of all Hong Kong political prisoners; second, sanctions and accountability for those who trample on human rights; third, Hong Kong must move toward a self-determined future, letting Hongkongers decide their own destiny. The CCP tore up its promises and suppressed Hong Kong with evil laws; this is not governance, it is liquidation. We stand up today to ensure the world continues to see the truth and continues to take action.”

(Photo: China Democracy Party member Feng Reng speaking at the scene)

After the speech ended, the hall fell silent for a brief second, followed by a burst of applause. It was not the applause of a lively celebration, but more like a form of confirmation: confirming that each other is still there, confirming that this matter is still worth speaking about, and confirming that the “future” is not something possessed only when permitted, but something to be fought for through action.

To the outside world, this may just be a small-scale overseas gathering; but for those who have experienced fear and silencing, it is more like an exercise in “speaking out again”—putting manifestos, demands, and action plans on the table to be questioned and to be recorded. Hong Kong’s situation did not change because of one event, but at least on this afternoon, some people chose to no longer treat Hong Kong as a thing of the past.

作者：何愚 编辑：程伟 校对：冯仍 翻译：戈冰

习近平独裁政府长期以来试图通过“一带一路”、对外巨额资金投放，以及与一系列威权国家和政权的深度合作，构建其所谓的“人类命运共同体”。这一概念在官方话语中被包装为“合作共赢”，但在现实操作中，更像是一种以政权互保、利益交换和地缘政治对抗为核心的国际网络。

在这一过程中，习近平独裁政府不断拉拢国际独裁政权，以经济援助、能源合作和政治支持作为交换条件，试图扩大自身影响力。同时，围绕这一体系，也不断出现涉及毒品、情报渗透、贿赂等跨国犯罪与腐败指控，甚至支援和挑唆别国和组织恐怖行动、战争和事端，严重侵蚀民主国家的政治与社会安全。中国这种支援别国和组织恐怖行动的行为从来都把自己隐藏起来。

但这一妄想正在走向破裂。2026年1月2日，美国政府采取迅速而精准的行动，抓捕了长期被指控利用国家机器从事毒品贩运、并与习近平独裁政府保持密切合作的委内瑞拉“伪总统”马杜罗。值得注意的是，此次行动发生时，习近平独裁者代表团正好在访问马杜罗政权，时间点极具象征意义。这是美国政府抓捕本拉登以来又一次非常成功的打击恐怖主义行动。

据多家媒体报道，中国政府此前向马杜罗政权投入了高达数千亿美元规模的资金和资源，双方在政治、经济和安全层面的合作关系极为紧密。马杜罗政权不仅是中国在拉美地区的重要代理节点，也是其威权国际网络中的关键一环。

更早之前，美墨两国执法机构曾公开指控一名中国籍男子张志东（音）为大型贩毒集团的重要中间人，被认为是连接中国、美洲和欧洲犯罪网络的核心人物，拥有包括“王哥”在内的多个化名。墨西哥安全部门随后宣布，该人已在古巴被捕，同时被捕的还有一名墨西哥籍人员和一名中国籍人员。

芬太尼这一毒品在北美被称为“China Girl”，早已成为美国社会的重大灾难。大量事实表明，中国相关网络在芬太尼及其前体化学品的生产、流通和跨国贩运中扮演着关键角色。毒品，正在成为一种现实中的武器，被用来腐蚀和破坏以美国为代表的西方民主国家的社会根基。

从这个角度看，川普政府针对马杜罗政权的行动，并非孤立事件，而是对以“人类命运共同体”为名、实则建立在威权勾连和非法网络之上的国际体系的一次直接打击。

Trump Is Destroying Xi Jinping’s “Community of Shared Future for Mankind”

Summary: On January 2, 2026, the U.S. government launched swift and precise action to apprehend Venezuela’s “pseudo-president” Maduro, who had long been accused of using state machinery for drug trafficking while maintaining close collaboration with Xi Jinping’s authoritarian regime.

Author: He Yu Editor: Cheng Wei Proofreader: Feng Reng Translator: Ge Bing

Xi Jinping’s authoritarian regime has long sought to construct its so-called “Community of Shared Future for Mankind” through the Belt and Road Initiative, massive overseas capital investments, and deep cooperation with a series of authoritarian states and regimes. This concept is packaged in official discourse as “win-win cooperation,” but in practice, it resembles an international network centered on mutual regime preservation, interest exchange, and geopolitical confrontation.

Throughout this process, Xi Jinping’s authoritarian regime has continually courted international dictatorships, offering economic aid, energy cooperation, and political support in exchange for expanding its influence. Simultaneously, allegations of transnational crime and corruption—involving narcotics, intelligence infiltration, and bribery—have repeatedly surfaced around this system. China has even been implicated in supporting and instigating terrorist acts, wars, and provocations by other nations and organizations, severely eroding the political and social security of democratic states. China has consistently concealed its role in supporting such terrorist activities by other nations and organizations.

But this delusion is now shattering. On January 2, 2026, the U.S. government executed swift and precise action, capturing Venezuela’s “pseudo-president” Maduro—long accused of using state machinery for drug trafficking while maintaining close collaboration with Xi Jinping’s authoritarian regime. Notably, this operation occurred while Xi Jinping’s authoritarian delegation was visiting the Maduro regime, making the timing highly symbolic. This marks another highly successful counterterrorism operation by the U.S. government since the capture of Osama bin Laden.

Multiple media reports indicate that the Chinese government had previously invested hundreds of billions of dollars in funds and resources into the Maduro regime, forging an extremely close partnership across political, economic, and security spheres. The Maduro regime serves not only as China’s crucial proxy node in Latin America but also as a pivotal link in its authoritarian international network.

Earlier, U.S. and Mexican law enforcement agencies publicly accused a Chinese national, Zhang Zhidong (surname first), of being a key intermediary for a major drug trafficking syndicate. He was identified as a central figure linking criminal networks across China, the Americas, and Europe, operating under multiple aliases including “Brother Wang.” Mexican security authorities subsequently announced his arrest in Cuba, alongside one Mexican national and another Chinese national.

Fentanyl, known in North America as “China Girl,” has long been a major scourge in American society. Substantial evidence indicates that Chinese-linked networks play a pivotal role in the production, distribution, and transnational trafficking of fentanyl and its precursor chemicals. Drugs are increasingly becoming a weapon in reality, used to corrode and undermine the social foundations of Western democracies, particularly the United States.

From this perspective, the Trump administration’s actions against the Maduro regime are not isolated incidents but a direct blow to an international system that, under the banner of a “community with a shared future for mankind,” is in fact built upon authoritarian collusion and illicit networks.

作者：陈树庆

编辑：冯仍

责任编辑：钟然

在法治社会，制定法律，建立权力制衡制度，保障人民监督权，目的是将权力这一猛兽关进牢笼，在充分发挥权力服务于社会的同时，有效防止滥用权力，确保这猛兽不能伤害民众的自由和权利。

把权力比作猛兽，把法律、制度和人民的监督权比作笼子的说法，早在2004年10月10日，美国总统布什在讨论国家安全与权力时，使用了“Power is a formidable, awesome beast”（权力是可怕、令人敬畏的野兽），在他随后的一次演讲中，更为精彩：“人类千万年的历史，最为珍贵的不是令人炫目的科技，不是浩瀚的大师们的经典著作，不是政客们天花乱坠的演讲，而是实现了对统治者的驯服，实现了把他们关进笼子里的梦想。因为只有驯服了他们，把他们关起来，才不会害人。我现在就站在笼子里向你们讲话。”

2013年1月22日，刚履新职不久的中共中央习近平总书记在第十八届中央纪律检查委员会第二次全体会议上有关反腐的讲话中，也提出要“把权力关进笼子”，随后的十几年来，无论习的讲话还是其他官方文件，“把权力关进笼子”一直在反复强调。实际效果如何呢？官方宣传与民间舆论众说纷纭，对我自己而言，亲身遭遇的感触与思考，才是最为深切的。

2025年12月25日上午9点刚过，我接到0571-87882793电话，电话那头是12月17日我在香积寺路58号拱墅区政务服务中心办理退休手续时，接待我的105室工作人员陈明朋，说他才知道我在12月4日已经向大关街道提交了办理退休的申请，而且他现在也已收到了我向杭州市拱墅区人力资源和社会保障局提出《政府信息公开申请书》，说我所要的材料已经准备好，他让我过去拿。我答应马上过去，在上午10点不到就赶到了他那里，拿了几份材料，其中有一份盖着“杭州市拱墅区社会保险管理服务中心”印章的《告知书》，一份制作日期是二〇一〇年九月三十日的《浙江省人力资源和社会保障厅文件-浙人社函[2010]358号-关于被判处有期徒刑人员基本养老保险有关问题的复函（此件依申请公开）》等。

看了这些材料，我既失望，又高兴。失望的是，《告知书》明确以“不符合政策”的原因，否定了我社保缴费24年4个月已经超出15年最低缴费要求可以领养老金的申请，只确认我“合法有效的职工基本养老保险实际缴费年限为9年10月”，看来我要现在就领养老金，难！高兴的是，《告知书》所依据的法律及政策明显适用不当或效力不足，为我接下来的维权铺开了伸展的余地。

本案的事实是，我陈树庆、家属、工作或社保挂靠的单位为我缴纳社会保险，从未遇到服刑期间不能缴费的明确告知，甚至2025年3月10日我最后一次刑满释放后，到拱墅区社保经办机构几次补缴中间断交的最近几年（包括部分刑期内的期间）社保费用也都顺利完成。社保经办机构在收取保险缴费的时候顺顺利利，现在要其履行保险责任的时候，突然变卦，以所谓“相关政策”为托词，拒不履行其应负的社会保险责任。由此可见，本案的争议焦点，首先集中在具体行政行为中，民众对于政府的信赖利益能否得到保护，说的通俗一点，就是政府是否可以随意违约？

不难发现，近几十年来，政府违约的案例屡屡见诸于舆论。如果政府可以随意违约，显然会让民众面对政府不能预期、无所适从，担心政府的权力会像野兽吞噬自己的权利。虽然每一个案子政府方对于自己“言而无信，约而不守”总是有一定的“理由”来说辞，但其“理由”必须经得起严格的法律限制，本案杭州市拱墅区社会保险经办机构拒绝为陈树庆现在办理领取养老金资格，所依托的“相关政策”是否也站得住脚呢？本文不妨展开初步的分析如下：

本案的法律关系由两项事实构成，第一项是缴纳社保，其中包括服刑期间缴纳的是否有效？陈树庆、就业单位等是缴费义务人，政府（社保经办机构和财税机构）是收费权利人；第二项是到了法定年龄领取养老金，陈树庆变成了领取权利人（受益人），政府变成了社会保险支付的义务人。该行为由于社会保险经办机构根据法定授权履行政府的社会保险管理与服务职责，既有具体行政行为的性质，又由于该行为的整个过程由民事主体陈树庆一方和行政主体社保经办机构一方共同完成，类似于民事法律行为的“合同”。如果社保经办机构主张第一项事实陈树庆一方缴纳10年6个月刑期间的社会保险无效成立，那么本案《告知书》上认为陈树庆只剩下9年10个月的有效缴费期也是确立的；如果陈树庆认为己方缴纳社保包括刑期内的都有效，本案《告知书》认定就是错误的，代表政府方的杭州市拱墅区社会保险管理服务中心应该立即替陈树庆办好退休手续并按时发放法定与约定的养老金。

现代法治社会是“对政府法无授权不可为，对民众是法无禁止即自由”，如果主张作为民众陈树庆一方缴纳刑期内社会保险费的行为无效，就必须指出其“法”之所“禁”。对此《中华人民共和国民法典》对于民事法律行为的效力问题，就有类似的规定，在《民法典》第一编“总则”的第六章第三节第一百五十三条规定“违反法律、行政法规的强制性规定的民事法律行为无效。……违背公序良俗的民事法律行为无效”，将“违反法律、行政法规的强制性规定”或“违背公序良俗”的事实作为“无效”前提。

从杭州市拱墅区社会保险管理服务中心提供的《告知书》中可见，其推翻约定拒不履行对陈树庆的社会保险责任的理由是：根据《中华人民共和国劳动法》第二条第一款“在中华人民共和国境内的企业、个体经济组织（以下统称用人单位）和与之形成劳动关系的劳动者，适用本法”、第七十二条“用人单位和劳动者必须依法参加社会保险，缴纳社会保险费”，《中华人民共和国社会保险法》第十条第一款、第二款“职工应当参加基本养老保险，由用人单位和职工共同缴纳基本养老保险费。无雇工的个体工商户、未在用人单位参加基本养老保险的非全日制从业人员以及其他灵活就业人员可以参加基本养老保险，由个人缴纳基本养老保险费”，《浙江省人力资源和社会保障厅关于被判处有期徒刑人员基本养老保险有关问题的复函》（浙人社函[2010]358号）等规定服刑人员在服刑期间不属于职工基本养老保险参保对象，服刑期间参保属于违规参保缴费，该期间缴纳的职工基本养老保险应当清退。

显而易见，上述《劳动法》和《社会保险法》包括《浙江省职工基本养老保险条例》里的规定，是要求用人单位和劳动者去缴纳社会保险费，立法目的是保障从业人员的社会保险权利，里面并没有“服刑人员不能参加社会保险”的强制性规定；至于浙人社函[2010]358号《复函》，是（此件依申请公开），根据法律未经公布不生效的原则，“依申请公开”不能等同于“公布”，没有对抗不知情相对人的任何效力；《复函》做出日期是“二〇一〇年九月三十日”、印发日期是2010年10月9日，对我在2010年9月13日已经结束的第一次服刑四年期间缴费显然没有追溯效果；更何况《复函》不具备《中华人民共和国立法法》中有关法律、行政法规、地方性法规、自治条例和单行条例、规章的级别和效果，属于无立法权的政府部门替自己“既当运动员，又当裁判员”制定的“比赛规则”，里面所指的“服刑人员不能参加社会保险”明显属于2018年2月8日施行的《最高人民法院关于适用〈中华人民共和国行政诉讼法〉的解释》99 条将典型的关于行政主体“重大且明显违法”的情形之“第二，减损权利或增加义务的行政行为没有法律依据。”，所以也不能作为政府自己违约的依据。

陈树庆认为自己已经到了法定年龄享受退休的资格与待遇，除了前述实际已缴费的年限及对政府信赖利益保护原则以外，没有任一现行法律的条款明确规定服刑人员在服刑期间不得享有社会保险。而在对陈树庆的两次判刑的判决书中，判决了剥夺一定期限的人身自由与政治权利，并没有判决剥夺社会经济权利当然包括享有社会保险的权利。根据中华人民共和国政府1997年10月27日签署、全国人民代表大会常务委员会2001年2月28日批准的已经具备法律效力的《经济、社会及文化权利国际公约》“第九条：本盟约缔约国确认人人享有社会保障，包括社会保险”的规定，陈树庆并不因为其服刑就成了“人人”之外，应该享有社会保险。

    更何况，本案如果进一步展开下去，还牵涉到中国监狱普遍的对犯人强制无偿劳动的问题。本案原告陈树庆第一次坐牢期间自2008年1月至2010年9月共计2年零8个月在浙江省乔司监狱六分监狱七监区参与生产外贸箱包3个月及伙房菜班组进行菜肴初加工2年5个月；第二次坐牢期间自2017年1月至2025年3月共计8年2个月在浙江省乔司监狱三分监狱六监区参与生产外贸箱包3个月及伙房面食组烧制犯人主食7年11个月。两次坐牢期间不算第一次坐牢看守所里的零星劳动，实际参加监狱劳动累计10年10个月，所以，根据早在1948年12月10日联合国大会通过的《世界人权宣言》第四条“任何人不得使为奴隶或奴役，一切形式的奴隶制度和奴隶买卖，均应禁止”；第二十二条“每个人，作为社会的一员，有享有社会保障，并有权享有他的个人尊严和人格的自由发展所必须的经济、社会和文化方面各种权利的实现，……”；第二十三条第（二）款“人人有同工同酬之权利，不容任何区别”。中华人民共和国政府1998年10月5日签署的《公民权利及政治权利国际公约》也有“任何人不得使充奴工”的相关规定。按照这些国际法的要求，即使监狱犯人依法判决并以改造为目标的服“苦役”，也应与《中华人民共和国劳动法》相应的同工同酬及社会保险接轨。如果作为联合国常任理事国的我国政府能够遵守这些宣言与公约，将我服刑期间参加劳动应有的劳动报酬与社会保障予以考量和贯彻，即使我自己及亲朋好友工作单位替我服刑期间的缴费不算，也够15年以上办理退休的资格与相关手续。

当然，政府遵守已经签署、甚至有的已经批准的《国际公约》，不仅是法治社会依法行政的要求，也是一个文明社会起码得“公序良俗”。

综上，无论是《浙江省人力资源和社会保障厅关于被判处有期徒刑人员基本养老保险有关问题的复函》的抽象行政行为，还是杭州市拱墅区社会保险管理服务中心处理陈树庆退休事宜的具体行政行为，为了让行政主体可以“约而不守”，对自己的权力做出了超出法律规定的扩张性理解，对民众的权利做出了法律规定以外的压缩性诠释，法律在他们眼里于己于人双重标准，成了权力随意拿捏、对别人可紧、对自己可松的橡皮筋，而非可以将权力关进笼子的刚性标准。

好在《最高人民法院关于适用〈中华人民共和国行政诉讼法〉的解释》99 条将行政主体“减损（行政相对人）权利或增加（行政相对人）义务的行政行为”认定为“没有法律依据”。接下来，我不妨探究司法这一权力制衡的“笼子”，在实践中是否足够刚性与坚硬，能不能关住行政权力这一“猛兽”，拭目以待！ 

附：一、盖着“杭州市拱墅区社会保险管理服务中心”印章的《告知书》；

二、《浙江省人力资源和社会保障厅文件》浙人社函[2010]358号。

2026年1月2日 完稿于中国杭州

Can a Cage Made of Rubber Bands Confine the Beast of Power?

Author: Chen ShuqingEditor: Feng RengManaging Editor: Zhong RanProofreader: Lin XiaolongTranslator: Peng Xiaomei

Abstract:The author recounts his experience of being denied a pension by a social security agency on the grounds of “non-compliance with policy,” arguing that the government has breached its commitment and lacks sufficient legal basis. The article analyzes the legal effectiveness of social insurance contributions made by incarcerated persons and the legal force of official reply letters and emphasizes that the judiciary should serve as the “cage” that restrains administrative power.

In a society governed by the rule of law, the purpose of enacting laws, establishing systems of checks and balances on power, and safeguarding the people’s right to supervision is to confine power—the beast—within a cage, so that while power is fully exercised in service of society, abuses of power are effectively prevented, ensuring that this beast cannot harm the people’s freedom and rights.

The metaphor of power as a beast, and of law, institutions, and the people’s supervisory rights as a cage, appeared as early as October 10, 2004, when U.S. President George W. Bush, in a discussion of national security and power, used the phrase “Power is a formidable, awesome beast.” In a subsequent speech, he put it even more vividly: “The most precious achievement in thousands of years of human history is not dazzling technology, not the classic works of great masters, not politicians’ flowery speeches, but the realization of the dream of taming rulers and putting them in cages. Only by taming them and locking them up can they be prevented from harming people. I am now speaking to you from inside the cage.”

On January 22, 2013, shortly after assuming office, General Secretary Xi Jinping of the Communist Party of China, in an anti-corruption speech at the Second Plenary Session of the 18th Central Commission for Discipline Inspection, also proposed to “lock power in a cage.” In the more than ten years since, whether in Xi’s speeches or in other official documents, the phrase “lock power in a cage” has been repeatedly emphasized. But what have the actual results been? Official propaganda and public opinion offer divergent views. For me personally, it is my own lived experience and reflections that are the most profound.

At just after 9 a.m. on December 25, 2025, I received a phone call from 0571-87882793. On the other end was Chen Mingpeng, the staff member in Room 105 who had received me on December 17 when I handled my retirement procedures at the Gongshu District Government Service Center on Xiangjisi Road No. 58. He said he had just learned that I had already submitted an application for retirement on December 4 to Daguan Subdistrict, and that he had now also received my “Application for Government Information Disclosure” submitted to the Hangzhou Gongshu District Human Resources and Social Security Bureau. He said the materials I requested were ready and asked me to come pick them up. I agreed and arrived before 10 a.m. I received several documents, including a “Notice” stamped with the seal of the “Hangzhou Gongshu District Social Insurance Management Service Center,” and a document dated September 30, 2010, titled “Reply on Issues Concerning Basic Pension Insurance for Persons Sentenced to Fixed-Term Imprisonment (This Document Is Disclosed Upon Request)” (Zhejiang Human Resources and Social Security Letter [2010] No. 358) issued by the Zhejiang Provincial Department of Human Resources and Social Security.

After reading these materials, I felt both disappointed and relieved. I was disappointed because the “Notice” explicitly rejected my application to receive a pension on the grounds of “non-compliance with policy,” despite the fact that my 24 years and 4 months of social insurance contributions exceeded the minimum requirement of 15 years. It only confirmed that my “legally valid actual contribution period for employee basic pension insurance” was 9 years and 10 months. It seemed that receiving my pension now would be very difficult. I was relieved because the legal and policy bases cited in the “Notice” were clearly misapplied or lacked sufficient legal force, leaving room for further rights-protection efforts.

The facts of this case are as follows: I, Chen Shuqing, along with my family and the units through which I worked or had my social insurance registered, paid social insurance contributions on my behalf, and were never clearly informed that contributions could not be made during periods of imprisonment. Even after my final release upon completion of my sentence on March 10, 2025, the social insurance contributions for the most recent years of interrupted payments (including some periods during imprisonment) were successfully completed through several supplementary payments to the Gongshu District social insurance agency. The social insurance agency had no difficulty collecting the contributions, but when it came time to fulfill its insurance obligations, it suddenly changed its position, citing so-called “relevant policies” to refuse to perform its social insurance responsibilities. Thus, the core dispute in this case first centers on whether the people’s legitimate expectation interests vis-à-vis the government can be protected in specific administrative actions—put more plainly, whether the government can arbitrarily breach its commitments.

It is not hard to see that in recent decades, cases of government breach of commitment have repeatedly appeared in public discourse. If the government can breach commitments at will, the public will inevitably face uncertainty and confusion, fearing that government power may devour their rights like a beast. Although in each case the government offers certain “reasons” to justify its failure to honor its word, those reasons must withstand strict legal scrutiny. Do the “relevant policies” relied upon by the Hangzhou Gongshu District social insurance agency to refuse to process my pension eligibility actually hold water? This article now offers a preliminary analysis.

The legal relationships in this case are constituted by two sets of facts. The first concerns the payment of social insurance contributions, including whether contributions made during imprisonment are valid. I, Chen Shuqing, and my employing units are the obligors of payment, while the government (the social insurance agency and fiscal authorities) are the rights holders of collection. The second concerns the receipt of a pension upon reaching statutory retirement age, at which point I become the rights holder (beneficiary), and the government becomes the obligor for social insurance payment. Because the social insurance agency performs government social insurance management and service duties under statutory authorization, this conduct has the nature of a specific administrative act; yet because the entire process is jointly completed by a civil subject (me) and an administrative subject (the social insurance agency), it resembles a “contract” in civil legal behavior. If the social insurance agency asserts that the 10 years and 6 months of social insurance contributions paid during my imprisonment are invalid, then the conclusion in the “Notice” that I have only 9 years and 10 months of valid contributions would stand. If I maintain that all contributions I made, including those during imprisonment, are valid, then the determination in the “Notice” is erroneous, and the Hangzhou Gongshu District Social Insurance Management Service Center, representing the government, should immediately complete my retirement procedures and pay the statutory and agreed-upon pension on time.

A modern society governed by the rule of law operates on the principle that “for the government, what is not authorized by law is prohibited; for the people, what is not prohibited by law is free.” If one claims that my payment of social insurance contributions during imprisonment is invalid, one must point out what the law “prohibits.” On this issue, the Civil Code of the People’s Republic of China contains relevant provisions regarding the validity of civil legal acts. Article 153 of Chapter 6, Section 3, “General Provisions,” of Book One of the Civil Code provides: “A civil legal act that violates mandatory provisions of laws or administrative regulations is void… A civil legal act that violates public order or good morals is void.” Thus, “violation of mandatory provisions of laws or administrative regulations” or “violation of public order or good morals” are prerequisites for invalidity.

From the “Notice” provided by the Hangzhou Gongshu District Social Insurance Management Service Center, it can be seen that its reason for repudiating the agreement and refusing to perform its social insurance obligations to me is based on Article 2, Paragraph 1, and Article 72 of the Labor Law of the People’s Republic of China; Article 10, Paragraphs 1 and 2, of the Social Insurance Law of the People’s Republic of China; and the “Reply on Issues Concerning Basic Pension Insurance for Persons Sentenced to Fixed-Term Imprisonment” (Zhejiang Human Resources and Social Security Letter [2010] No. 358). These provisions assert that incarcerated persons do not fall within the scope of insured participants in employee basic pension insurance, that participation during imprisonment constitutes irregular enrollment, and that contributions paid during such periods should be refunded.

It is evident that the provisions of the Labor Law, the Social Insurance Law, and the Regulations on Employee Basic Pension Insurance of Zhejiang Province require employers and workers to pay social insurance contributions, with the legislative purpose of safeguarding workers’ social insurance rights. They do not contain any mandatory provision stating that incarcerated persons may not participate in social insurance. As for the Reply Letter [2010] No. 358, it was disclosed “upon request.” Under the principle that laws not promulgated do not take effect, “disclosed upon request” cannot be equated with “promulgated,” and thus has no effect against uninformed parties. Moreover, the date of issuance of the Reply is September 30, 2010, with a distribution date of October 9, 2010, and it clearly has no retroactive effect on the first period of my imprisonment, which ended on September 13, 2010. Furthermore, the Reply lacks the legal status and effect of laws, administrative regulations, local regulations, autonomous regulations, separate regulations, or rules as provided under the Legislative Law of the People’s Republic of China. It is a set of “competition rules” made by a government department without legislative authority, acting as both “athlete and referee.” Its assertion that “incarcerated persons may not participate in social insurance” clearly falls under the circumstance described in Article 99 of the Supreme People’s Court’s Interpretation on the Application of the Administrative Litigation Law (effective February 8, 2018): “Second, administrative acts that reduce rights or increase obligations without a legal basis,” which constitutes a “serious and obvious illegality.” Therefore, it cannot serve as a basis for the government’s breach of commitment.

I, Chen Shuqing, believe that having reached the statutory retirement age, I am entitled to retirement qualifications and benefits. Apart from the actual contribution period already paid and the principle of protecting legitimate expectations, there is no existing legal provision that explicitly states that incarcerated persons may not enjoy social insurance during imprisonment. In the two criminal judgments against me, the penalties imposed were deprivation of personal liberty and political rights for a certain period; there was no judgment depriving me of social and economic rights, including the right to social insurance. According to Article 9 of the International Covenant on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights, signed by the Chinese government on October 27, 1997, and approved by the Standing Committee of the National People’s Congress on February 28, 2001, which has legal effect—“The States Parties to the present Covenant recognize the right of everyone to social security, including social insurance”—I do not cease to be part of “everyone” merely because I was incarcerated, and should enjoy social insurance.

Moreover, if this case is pursued further, it also involves the widespread issue of compulsory unpaid labor imposed on prisoners in Chinese prisons. During my first imprisonment, from January 2008 to September 2010, I spent a total of 2 years and 8 months in the Seventh Ward of the Sixth Division of Qiaosi Prison in Zhejiang Province, participating in the production of export bags for 3 months and in preliminary food processing in the prison kitchen for 2 years and 5 months. During my second imprisonment, from January 2017 to March 2025, I spent 8 years and 2 months in the Sixth Ward of the Third Division of Qiaosi Prison, participating in export bag production for 3 months and in cooking staple foods for prisoners in the kitchen for 7 years and 11 months. Excluding sporadic labor during detention before my first imprisonment, I participated in prison labor for a cumulative total of 10 years and 10 months. According to Article 4 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, adopted by the UN General Assembly on December 10, 1948—“No one shall be held in slavery or servitude; slavery and the slave trade shall be prohibited in all their forms”; Article 22—“Everyone, as a member of society, has the right to social security…”; and Article 23(2)—“Everyone, without any discrimination, has the right to equal pay for equal work”—as well as provisions in the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights signed by the Chinese government on October 5, 1998 prohibiting forced labor, even prisoners lawfully sentenced to “penal labor” for the purpose of reform should have their labor aligned with the principles of equal pay for equal work and social insurance under the Labor Law of the People’s Republic of China. If our government, as a permanent member of the UN Security Council, were to comply with these declarations and covenants, and take into account and implement the labor remuneration and social security due for my labor during imprisonment, then even without counting the contributions paid by myself, my family, or my employers during imprisonment, I would still meet the 15-year requirement for retirement eligibility and related procedures.

Of course, for the government to comply with international covenants that it has signed—and in some cases ratified—is not only a requirement of governing according to law in a rule-of-law society, but also a minimum standard of “public order and good morals” for a civilized society.

In sum, whether it is the abstract administrative act embodied in the “Reply on Issues Concerning Basic Pension Insurance for Persons Sentenced to Fixed-Term Imprisonment” issued by the Zhejiang Provincial Department of Human Resources and Social Security, or the specific administrative act by the Hangzhou Gongshu District Social Insurance Management Service Center in handling my retirement, both reflect an expansionist interpretation of power beyond legal limits in order to allow the administrative authority to “break its promises,” and a restrictive interpretation of citizens’ rights beyond what the law provides. In their eyes, the law applies double standards—tight on others, loose on themselves—becoming a rubber band that power can stretch at will, rather than a rigid standard capable of confining power in a cage.

Fortunately, Article 99 of the Supreme People’s Court’s Interpretation on the Application of the Administrative Litigation Law identifies administrative acts that “reduce the rights of administrative counterparts or increase their obligations” as acts “without legal basis.” Next, I intend to examine whether the judiciary—the “cage” of power checks and balances—is sufficiently rigid and strong in practice to confine the “beast” of administrative power. We shall wait and see.

Appendices:

“Notice” stamped with the seal of the Hangzhou Gongshu District Social Insurance Management Service Center.

Zhejiang Human Resources and Social Security Letter [2010] No. 358.

Completed on January 2, 2026, in Hangzhou, China.

作者：张致君

编辑：李聪玲 责任编辑：钟然 校对：林小龙 翻译：彭小梅

我在中国大陆长大，清楚地知道什么叫做压抑。那种压抑并不是某一天突如其来的打击，而是一种从空气里长出来的东西——它渗进语言，渗进习惯，最后渗进人的灵魂。正因为如此，我比很多人更早明白，尊重一个民族决定自己命运的权利，比爱国口号重要得多。

几个月前，我在美国加州的一场学术论坛上，听到一位来自台湾的教授感叹：“乌克兰的今天，就是台湾的明天。”那一刻，现场陷入短暂的沉默。没有人反驳，因为这句话折射出的，不仅是台湾的焦虑，也揭示出整个东亚的脆弱现实。

会后，我和一些台湾朋友聊天。他们大多不是政治人物，只是普通百姓。多数人说，他们希望维持现状，希望和平。他们不是不知道危险，只是更害怕失去安稳的日常。和平在他们嘴里，不是政治词，而是一种生活方式。“和平”在政治的“统”“独”之间更像是群众的心声。

台湾社会这些年，总像活在一个假设之下：若中国入侵，国际社会必然出手相助。这个假设在冷战时期或许合理，但在今日的国际格局中，已显得越来越脆弱。单从现在美国政府的外交政策来看，已经不是单纯由道义驱动，而更深植于利益权衡。台湾对此并非毫无察觉。1978年，美国与中华民国断交的那一刻，这个教训便深深烙印在台湾的集体记忆中。当卡特宣布与北京建交，蒋经国在深夜被告知这一决定时的沉默，象征着台湾被现实政治抛弃的那一瞬间。

此后，台湾在中美之间艰难维持模糊的安全感——既倚赖美国的军售与承诺，又谨慎避免触怒北京。但随着中美竞争加剧，美国国内的孤立主义再度浮现，台湾开始意识到：它或许只是棋盘上的一枚筹码，而非真正被视为命运共同体的盟友。

前不久，川普与习近平会面，台湾议题未被公开提及。事后，美方仅轻描淡写地表示：“习近平不会动台湾，他知道后果。”这句模糊的话语令人想起2019年香港抗议期间，外界期待的援助最终化为一句“那是中国的事”。所谓“后果”，从未明确指向善恶，只是政治表演的一部分。在理想主义渐退的时代，介入与袖手之间，从来不是道德，而是经过计算的。

美国对亚洲的态度，从来笼罩着复杂的历史阴影。十九世纪末，随着大量华工抵达西岸，“黄祸”（Yellow Peril）成为舆论的高频词汇。那种恐惧不仅源于种族主义，也反映了一种根深蒂固的文化优越感。这种视角至今仍以更精致的形式存在：在国际的政治语言中，亚洲国家要么被视为“值得扶持的民主伙伴”，要么被标记为“需要防范的潜在威胁”。台湾正处在这两种叙事之间摇摆。当它符合战略利益时，是“民主灯塔”；当它可能牵动冲突时，又被视作“地缘风险”。这种被动处境，其实延续着百年前的“黄祸”逻辑——只是换上了更文明的外衣。在西方视角下，亚洲国家的价值，往往不是由其人民决定，而是由它们在大国竞争格局中的位置决定。

台湾社会的撕裂，表面上是蓝绿对立，深层则是恐惧的扩散。人们害怕被中国吞并，也害怕被国际社会放弃。于是，任何有关“对话”与“和解”的讨论，都会被迅速贴上“亲共”或“投降”的标签。这种语境让我想起自己在中国大陆成长的年代——一个言论受限、政治紧绷的时代。我从小被教育要“警惕敌对势力”“坚决反对分裂”，那种基于恐惧的国家认同让我曾以为安全，其实只是思想的牢笼。如今，当我在美国听到台湾内部以同样的语言描述“对岸”，一种无力感油然而生。自由社会最可贵的地方，不在于仇恨的正确性，而在于理性的可能性。

和解与投降之间有清晰界线。和平，不是屈服，而是掌握谈判主动权的智慧。若要守护民主制度，台湾必须首先避免被卷入大国的战争。马英九执政时期（2008–2016）曾短暂证明这一点——两岸关系在那段时间出现了罕见的缓和：学术交流、商业往来、文化互访，甚至促成了2015年习近平与马英九的会面。那次会面没有带来传闻的恐怖“统一”，却带来了另一种想象：对话，也许比对抗更能保障安全。可惜，这个窗口很快关闭。香港抗争、北京强硬更加使“和平”成为政治禁词。如今的台湾政治风向，把“强化敌意”当成视为保卫民主的唯一途径，但现实是：没有和平，民主又能存活多久？好在与大陆不同，台湾政府建立在民选的基础上，人民群众有绝对行使自己选票的权利进行坚定或是修正。

我对台湾的焦虑并不陌生。我看到的，是一个民族在不同体制下对自由的不同追求。大陆被国家机器塑造成“不能说不”，台湾则被恐惧推向“不能说和”。这两种极端，映照着同一个悲剧——恐惧取代了理性。

台湾的问题，不仅是台湾的，也是整个华语世界的。当民族始终被大国叙事牵引，无论是“统一”还是“独立”，都难以真正掌握自己的命运。主体性的恢复，必须从拒绝被利用开始：既不被北京利用，也不被其他力量利用。

台湾不必成为谁的“棋子”，也不应被当作谁的“前哨”。在中美竞争升级的今天，台湾的当务之急，似乎不是等待援助，而是重新定义自身的安全逻辑。这并不意味着屈从中国，而是以更成熟的政治智慧，寻找能守护自由的现实路径。

台湾的未来，不取决于美国是否出兵，也不取决于中国是否让步，而在于台湾社会能否勇敢地重新思考：自由，是靠武力守住的口号，还是靠理性谈出来的秩序？

我常看到一个讽刺的镜像：国际上谈自由，却会把它当成战略工具；中国谈统一，却能把它变成政治威胁；而真正为自由付出代价的，往往是那些生活在夹缝中的人。

台湾的命运尚未注定。但历史终将属于那些，即便在恐惧之中，仍愿意保持清醒的人。

Taiwan: A Moment of Clarity Under the Shadow of Great Powers

Abstract:Drawing on the author’s own experience of growing up in mainland China, this article reflects on Taiwan’s position amid U.S.–China rivalry. It criticizes politics driven by fear and exploitation by great powers, and argues that peace is not capitulation. Taiwan’s freedom should be grounded in rationality, autonomy, and the political wisdom to refuse becoming a pawn.

Author: Zhang Zhijun

Editor: Li Congling Managing Editor: Zhong RanProofreader: Lin Xiaolong Translator: Peng Xiaomei

I grew up in mainland China, and I know very clearly what oppression feels like. That oppression is not a sudden blow that arrives on a particular day, but something that grows out of the air itself—it seeps into language, seeps into habits, and finally seeps into the human soul. Precisely because of this, I understood earlier than many others that respecting a nation’s right to decide its own destiny is far more important than patriotic slogans.

A few months ago, at an academic forum in California, I heard a professor from Taiwan sigh and say, “Ukraine today is Taiwan tomorrow.”

At that moment, the room fell into a brief silence. No one refuted him, because what that sentence reflected was not only Taiwan’s anxiety, but also the fragile reality of the entire East Asian region.

After the forum, I chatted with some Taiwanese friends. Most of them were not politicians, just ordinary people. The majority said they hoped to maintain the status quo and hoped for peace. It was not that they were unaware of the danger; they were simply more afraid of losing the stability of everyday life. Peace, in their mouths, was not a political term, but a way of life. “Peace,” suspended between the political poles of “unification” and “independence,” sounded more like the voice of the people.

In recent years, Taiwanese society has seemed to live under an assumption: that if China were to invade, the international community would inevitably come to its aid. That assumption may have been reasonable during the Cold War, but in today’s international landscape, it has become increasingly fragile. Judging from the current foreign policy of the U.S. government alone, it is no longer driven purely by moral considerations but is more deeply rooted in calculations of interest. Taiwan is not unaware of this. In 1978, the moment the United States severed diplomatic ties with the Republic of China, this lesson was deeply imprinted on Taiwan’s collective memory. When Carter announced the establishment of diplomatic relations with Beijing, and Chiang Ching-kuo was informed of the decision late at night, his silence symbolized the instant Taiwan was abandoned by realpolitik.

After that, Taiwan struggled to maintain an ambiguous sense of security between China and the United States—relying on American arms sales and commitments, while cautiously avoiding provoking Beijing. But as U.S.–China competition has intensified and isolationism has reemerged within the United States, Taiwan has begun to realize that it may be nothing more than a bargaining chip on the chessboard, rather than an ally truly regarded as part of a shared destiny.

Not long ago, Trump met with Xi Jinping, and the Taiwan issue was not publicly mentioned. Afterward, the U.S. side merely stated in a perfunctory manner: “Xi Jinping won’t move on Taiwan; he knows the consequences.” This vague statement calls to mind the period of the Hong Kong protests in 2019, when the assistance many had hoped for ultimately dissolved into a single line: “That is China’s internal affair.” The so-called “consequences” have never been clearly defined in terms of good or evil; they are merely part of a political performance. In an era when idealism is receding, the choice between intervention and standing aside has never been a moral one, but a calculated decision.

America’s attitude toward Asia has always been shrouded in complex historical shadows. At the end of the nineteenth century, as large numbers of Chinese laborers arrived on the West Coast, the term “Yellow Peril” became a frequent refrain in public discourse. That fear was not only rooted in racism but also reflected a deeply ingrained sense of cultural superiority. This perspective persists to this day in more refined forms: in international political language, Asian countries are either seen as “democratic partners worthy of support” or labeled as “potential threats requiring containment.” Taiwan wavers between these two narratives. When it aligns with strategic interests, it is a “beacon of democracy”; when it risks triggering conflict, it becomes a “geopolitical risk.” This passive position in fact continues the logic of the “Yellow Peril” from a century ago—only dressed in more civilized attire. From a Western perspective, the value of Asian countries is often not determined by their people, but by their position within the great-power competition.

The fractures within Taiwanese society appear on the surface as the confrontation between the blue and green camps, but at a deeper level they are the spread of fear. People fear being swallowed by China, and they also fear being abandoned by the international community. As a result, any discussion of “dialogue” or “reconciliation” is quickly labeled as “pro-Communist” or “surrender.” This context reminds me of the years I grew up in mainland China—an era of restricted speech and political tension. From a young age, I was taught to “remain vigilant against hostile forces” and to “resolutely oppose separatism.” That fear-based national identity once made me feel safe, but it was merely a prison for the mind. Today, when I hear similar language used within Taiwan to describe “the other side” while I am in the United States, a sense of powerlessness wells up inside me. What is most precious about a free society lies not in the correctness of hatred, but in the possibility of reason.

There is a clear boundary between reconciliation and surrender. Peace is not submission, but the wisdom to seize the initiative in negotiation. If Taiwan wishes to safeguard its democratic system, it must first avoid being drawn into a great-power war. The period of Ma Ying-jeou’s presidency (2008–2016) once briefly demonstrated this point—cross-strait relations experienced a rare easing during those years: academic exchanges, commercial interactions, cultural visits, and even the 2015 meeting between Xi Jinping and Ma Ying-jeou. That meeting did not bring about the terrifying “unification” rumored at the time but instead offered another possibility: that dialogue might better guarantee security than confrontation. Unfortunately, this window quickly closed. The Hong Kong protests and Beijing’s growing assertiveness turned “peace” into a political taboo. Today’s political climate in Taiwan treats “intensifying hostility” as the only way to defend democracy, but the reality is this: without peace, how long can democracy survive? Fortunately, unlike the mainland, Taiwan’s government is founded on elections, and the people have the absolute right to exercise their votes to affirm or to correct the political course.

My anxiety about Taiwan is not unfamiliar. What I see is a nation pursuing freedom in different ways under different systems. The mainland is shaped by the state apparatus into a place where one “cannot say no,” while Taiwan is pushed by fear into a place where one “cannot say peace.” These two extremes reflect the same tragedy—fear has replaced reason.

Taiwan’s problem is not only Taiwan’s, but that of the entire Chinese-speaking world. When a nation is constantly pulled along by the narratives of great powers, whether it is “unification” or “independence,” it becomes difficult to truly control its own destiny. The restoration of agency must begin with refusing to be used—neither by Beijing nor by any other power.

Taiwan does not need to become anyone’s “pawn,” nor should it be treated as anyone’s “outpost.” In today’s escalating U.S.–China rivalry, Taiwan’s most urgent task seems not to be waiting for assistance but redefining its own logic of security. This does not mean yielding to China but rather seeking realistic paths to safeguard freedom with more mature political wisdom.

Taiwan’s future does not depend on whether the United States sends troops, nor on whether China makes concessions, but on whether Taiwanese society can courageously rethink this question: is freedom a slogan defended by force, or an order negotiated through reason?

I often see a bitterly ironic mirror image: internationally, people speak of freedom yet treat it as a strategic tool; China speaks of unification, yet turns it into a political threat; and those who truly pay the price for freedom are often the people living in the cracks between powers.

Taiwan’s fate is not yet sealed. But history will ultimately belong to those who, even amid fear, are still willing to remain clear-headed.

作者：程筱筱 编辑：冯仍 校对：林小龙 翻译：戈冰

摘要

本文指出，中国社会并非“无信仰”，而是长期形成了不允许任何超越性权威高于世俗秩序的结构。信仰被功能化、工具化，使其难以约束权力。现代政权并非消灭宗教，而是接管终极忠诚。当神必须服从权力，真正不受裁决的信仰便被视为风险。

在英文世界里，一个问题长期被反复提出：为什么大多数中国人看起来是无神论者？许多西方观察者给出的答案简单而直接——共产党、马克思主义、唯物主义教育。仿佛只要按下“意识形态”这个按钮，中国社会的信仰问题就自动获得了解释。但这个解释太省事了，也把因果顺序讲反了。如果把中国社会的信仰经验向历史深处回溯，就会发现一个令人不安、却更关键的事实：现代政治并不是让中国人变得“无信仰”，而是让人变得“不敢信神”。中国文明很早就形成了一种结构性共识——任何超越性的权威，都不能高于人间秩序，哪怕其对象是神。

比较中西文化差异时，“洪水叙事”常被提及，这个对比并不肤浅，反而极其精准。在《圣经》中，大洪水的起点是上帝的审判。人类因堕落而被惩罚，诺亚因顺服而被拯救，洪水何时降临、何时退去，完全取决于上帝的旨意，人类所能做的只是忏悔、服从并等待赦免，终极裁决权明确属于神。而中国人更熟悉的版本，是“大禹治水”。洪水同样是灾难，但解决方案不在天上，而在人间。禹不是通过祈祷换取宽恕，而是通过疏通河道、日夜劳作，把问题“解决掉”。这并非叙事风格的差异，而是信仰结构的根本分野：一个文明承认终极判断来自超越权威，另一个文明则默认人必须、也应该，自己承担最后责任。这也解释了一个常被误读的现象：西方人看到中国社会“拜很多神”，却很少看到那种唯一、绝对、不可动摇的信仰忠诚，于是得出“中国人没有信仰”的结论。更准确的说法是，中国社会并不习惯向任何超越权威的对象无限下跪，哪怕对象是神。

这种结构在现实生活中体现得更加直白。在许多中国人的经验中，拜神更像是在“办事”。愿望实现了，就去还愿；没实现，人们很少反思自身是否偏离信仰，更常见的反应是“这家不灵，换一家”。久旱不雨，就把龙王像抬出来晒太阳，让它“看看人间疾苦”；你若无效，就失去被尊敬的资格。这并非对神的亵渎，而是一种深层心理共识：神可以被尊敬，但必须“有用”；信仰可以存在，但不能凌驾于现实秩序之上。当信仰长期被塑造成一种功能型工具，它便独立、稳定、能够对世俗权力产生约束的宗教共同体。

理解了这一点，再回头看当代中国对宗教的系统性打压，就不再显得突兀。现代政权并非只是“消灭信仰”，而是试图接管信仰：你可以信，但信什么、怎么信、信到哪一步，必须由世俗权力批准；你可以敬神，但神不能拥有高于国家的权威；你可以祷告，但忠诚对象必须是政权。讲道要备案，聚会要审批，信仰内容要“符合方向”。真正被视为威胁的，从来不是某一条具体教义，而是任何不受完全控制的终极忠诚。家庭教会之所以始终成为重点打击对象，并非因为规模或组织形式，而在于它所承认的，是一个高于国家权力、不可由任何政权裁决的最终判断与良知标准。这种不受政治控制的信仰，在高度集权的体制中天然构成威胁。

真正的宗教信仰一旦存在，就不可能永远沦为工具。当它触及良知、审判与永恒真理之时，便必然与世俗权力发生张力。历史反复证明，试图将信仰完全收编为政治附属品的政权，最终面对的不是信仰消失，而是信仰被掏空，或转入地下，以更顽强的方式保存其独立性。中国宗教问题的核心，从来不是“信什么”，而是谁拥有作出最后裁决的权力。

中国现代社会的困境，也并不在于有没有信仰，而在于是否允许一个不受权力裁决的信仰存在。当连神都必须服从权力，权力一旦失去约束，剩下的就只能是强制。在这样的结构中，问题不在于宗教是否激进，而在于它是否承认官方体系拥有最终裁决权。一旦信仰坚持“神在掌权”，而非“权力在掌权”，它就必然被纳入风险管控的对象之中——在中国，连神也被要求“听话”。

When Even Gods Must “Obey”—The Dilemma of Faith Under China’s Power Structure

Author: Cheng Xiaoxiao Editor: Feng Reng

Proofreader: Lin Xiaolong Translator: Ge Bing

Abstract

This article argues that Chinese society is not “faithless,” but has long developed a structure that prohibits any transcendent authority from superseding the secular order. Faith has been functionalized and instrumentalized, rendering it incapable of constraining power. Modern regimes do not eliminate religion but seize ultimate allegiance. When gods must obey power, genuinely ungoverned faith is deemed a risk.

In the English-speaking world, a question has long been repeated: Why do most Chinese appear atheistic? Many Western observers offer a simple, direct answer—Communist Party, Marxism, materialist education. As if pressing the “ideology” button automatically explains China’s faith dynamics. Yet this explanation is too convenient, reversing the causal sequence. Tracing China’s faith experience back through history reveals a disturbing yet crucial truth: modern politics did not make Chinese people “faithless,” but rather made them “afraid to believe in gods.” Chinese civilization formed a structural consensus early on: no transcendent authority could supersede earthly order, even if that authority was divine.

When comparing cultural differences between East and West, the “flood narrative” is often cited. This contrast is not superficial but remarkably precise. In the Bible, the Great Flood began as God’s judgment. Humanity was punished for its corruption, while Noah was saved through obedience. The timing of the flood’s onset and retreat depended entirely on God’s will. All humans could do was repent, submit, and await forgiveness—the ultimate authority clearly resided with the divine. The version more familiar to Chinese people is “Yu the Great Taming the Floods.” Floods were equally catastrophic, but solutions lay not in heaven but on earth. Yu did not seek forgiveness through prayer; instead, he “solved” the problem by dredging rivers and laboring day and night. This is not merely a difference in narrative style but a fundamental divide in belief structures: one civilization acknowledges ultimate judgment as originating from a transcendent authority, while the other assumes that humans must and should bear final responsibility themselves. This also explains a frequently misinterpreted phenomenon: Western observers note that Chinese society “worships many gods” yet rarely observes the kind of singular, absolute, unshakable devotion to faith, leading them to conclude that “the Chinese lack faith.” A more accurate description is that Chinese society is not accustomed to bowing down infinitely to any transcendent authority, even if that authority is divine.

This structure manifests more plainly in daily life. For many Chinese, worshiping deities resembles “getting things done.” If a wish is granted, they fulfill their vow; if not, they seldom reflect on whether their faith has faltered. The more common reaction is, “This shrine doesn’t work—let’s try another.” During prolonged droughts, they carry the Dragon King’s statue out to bask in the sun, so he can “witness the suffering of humanity”; If you prove ineffective, you forfeit your right to reverence. This isn’t blasphemy, but a deep-seated psychological consensus: deities may be honored, but only if they are “useful”; faith may exist, but it cannot supersede the order of reality. When faith is consistently molded into a functional tool, it loses its capacity to form independent, stable religious communities capable of constraining secular power.

Understanding this context, contemporary China’s systematic suppression of religion no longer appears abrupt. The modern regime does not merely seek to “eradicate faith,” but to appropriate it: you may believe, but what you believe, how you believe, and to what extent—all must be sanctioned by secular authority; you may worship deities, but no deity may hold authority above the state; you may pray, but your allegiance must remain with the regime. Sermons require filing, gatherings demand approval, and the content of faith must “align with the direction.” What is truly perceived as a threat has never been any specific doctrine, but rather any ultimate allegiance that cannot be fully controlled. The reason house churches remain a primary target of suppression is not their size or organizational structure, but their acknowledgment of a final judgment and moral standard that transcends state power and cannot be adjudicated by any regime. Such faith, free from political control, inherently poses a threat within a highly centralized system.

Once genuine religious faith exists, it cannot forever be reduced to a tool. When it touches upon conscience, judgment, and eternal truth, it inevitably creates tension with secular power. History repeatedly demonstrates that regimes attempting to fully subjugate faith as a political appendage ultimately confront not the disappearance of belief, but its hollowing out or retreat into the underground, where it preserves its independence with even greater tenacity. The core issue of religion in China has never been “what to believe,” but who possesses the authority to make the final judgment.

The predicament of modern Chinese society also lies not in the presence or absence of faith, but in whether a faith free from the dictates of power is permitted to exist. When even the divine must submit to authority, and that authority remains unchecked, coercion becomes the only remaining option. Within such a structure, the issue is not whether religion is radical, but whether it acknowledges the official system’s ultimate authority. Once faith insists that “God reigns” rather than “power reigns,” it inevitably becomes subject to risk management—in China, even the divine is required to “obey.”

作者：瞿成松 编辑：韩立华 校对：冯仍 翻译：戈冰

纪念刘晓波先生：七十岁，且永远年轻

天堂的风吹过，没有年龄，没有监狱，没有死亡。

你依然年轻，且将永远年轻。

你的“年轻”，不是岁月的数字，而是良心的光亮；不是身体的存在，而是精神的不朽。你的一生，被铁窗围困，却从未被恐惧驯服；被权力审判，却始终站在真理一边。你用温和而坚定的语言，证明了一个简单却被反复否认的事实：人，可以在不仇恨的情况下，拒绝谎言；可以在不暴力的前提下，对抗专制。

你所反对的，并不是某个民族，而是极权；不是某群人民，而是谎言。你用“没有敌人”的胸怀，照亮了一个被恐惧统治的时代。正因如此，中国共产党惧怕你——惧怕一个不肯跪下的良心，惧怕一个不以仇恨回应仇恨的灵魂。

历史已经给出答案：监狱关得住身体，却关不住思想；权力可以夺走生命，却夺不走尊严。你被囚禁的每一天，都是对迫害者的审判；你被噤声的每一刻，都让更多人学会发声。你的名字，成为良心的同义词；你的沉默，胜过万千口号。

今天纪念你，不是为了哀伤，而是为了继承。继承你对自由的坚持、对真理的忠诚、对暴力的拒绝。我们清楚地知道：反对极权、反对迫害、反对谎言，是每一个有良心之人的责任；亲近极权、为迫害辩护，是可耻的；坚持反对极权、以和平方式争取自由，是光荣的。这不是仇恨的选择，而是道德的选择；不是破坏的冲动，而是文明的自救。

你曾说，希望未来的中国没有恐惧。我们也相信，那一天会到来。不是靠报复，而是靠真理；不是靠暴力，而是靠勇气；不是靠遗忘，而是靠记忆。记住你，就是记住人何以为人。

刘晓波先生，今天你七十岁。

天堂的风吹过，没有年龄，没有监狱，没有死亡。

你依然年轻，且将永远年轻。

（瞿成松 中国民主党党员 中国暴政观察创办人）

In Memory of Mr. Liu Xiaobo

Abstract: This article commemorates the 70th anniversary of Mr. Liu Xiaobo’s birth on December 28 with concise and elegant prose. The author praises Liu Xiaobo’s youthful spirit, his commitment to truth and freedom through nonviolent means, and his resistance against totalitarianism and falsehood.

Author: Qu Chengsong Editor: Han Lihua

Proofreader: Feng Reng Translator: Ge Bing

In Memory of Mr. Liu Xiaobo: Seventy Years Old, Yet Forever Young

The winds of heaven blow, free from age, free from prisons, free from death.

You remain young, and shall forever remain young.

Your “youth” is not a number of years, but the radiance of conscience; not physical presence, but the immortality of spirit. Your life was besieged by iron bars, yet never tamed by fear; judged by power, yet always standing on the side of truth. With gentle yet resolute words, you proved a simple yet repeatedly denied truth: one can reject lies without hatred; and resist tyranny without resorting to violence.

What you oppose is not any particular nation, but totalitarianism; not any group of people, but lies. With a heart that harbors “no enemies,” you illuminate an era ruled by fear. Precisely for this reason, the Chinese Communist Party fears you—fears a conscience that refuses to kneel, fears a soul that does not repay hatred with hatred.

History has delivered its verdict: Prisons may confine the body, but they cannot imprison the mind; power may take life, but it cannot strip away dignity. Every day of your imprisonment was a judgment upon your persecutors; every moment you were silenced taught more people to speak out. Your name became synonymous with conscience; your silence spoke louder than a thousand slogans.

Today we commemorate you not in sorrow, but to inherit your legacy. We inherit your steadfast commitment to freedom, your loyalty to truth, and your rejection of violence. We know clearly: opposing tyranny, opposing persecution, opposing lies is the duty of every person of conscience; aligning with tyranny, defending persecution is shameful; persisting in opposing tyranny and striving for freedom through peaceful means is honorable. This is not a choice of hatred, but a moral choice; not an impulse to destroy, but civilization’s self-rescue.

You once said you hoped for a future China without fear. We too believe that day will come. Not through vengeance, but through truth; not through violence, but through courage; not through forgetting, but through remembrance. Remembering you is remembering what it means to be human.

Mr. Liu Xiaobo, today you would have been seventy.

The winds of heaven blow, where there is no age, no prison, no death.

You remain young, and will forever remain young.

(Qu Chengsong, Member of the China Democracy Party, Founder of China Tyranny Watch)