作者：何愚
编辑：李晶 责任编辑：侯改英 校对：程筱筱 翻译：彭小梅

导语：时隔近一年，当我重看Freeman为俄乌战争中牺牲的战士所做的悼念视频，仍被他不畏牺牲的遗言深深震撼。11月4日夜，我收到朱老转来的视频链接并嘱托（https://youtu.be/bq0lrW25l30?si=wTZzrvR0wijT6QDg）：“今天是彭陈亮在乌克兰牺牲一周年，请整理成文，刊登在第17期。” 我这才恍然记起——他已离去整整一年。承此重任，诚惶诚恐，深思再三，我决定尽量还原Freeman的口述，用文字为彭陈亮立一座可被反复阅读的纪念碑。他们是战友，也是至交；他们生活的每一个细节，都是对英雄最好的纪念。现将Freeman的口述与回忆整理如下。

一、遗言与心愿

“我是国际志愿军战士。如果哪一天我有不测，请把我的照片和我的国旗（青天白日满地红）放在曾圣光（第一个 阵亡的台湾志愿兵）的旁边。不回大陆，愿永远以这面旗覆盖我的身躯。青天白日满地红，或乌克兰国旗也可以。我们为自由而战、为民主而战。如果哪天台湾发生战争，我们每一个人都会去支援台湾。跟共产党干到底。”

二、他与我们的故事

我与Farias相识于2024年4月。那天凌晨，我乘大巴抵达利沃夫，他车站等未见我抵达，因宵禁先回到住处。我下车后辗转他的住所，他就在门口过道迎我。那一晚我们拥抱、长谈至两三点。我知道他话多，他也对我无话不谈。

此后我们几乎每天联系。训练分配上，我进入乌军一支机械化单位，他去了以轻步兵为主的国际军团。9月29日，我们最后一次共同休假，归队后依然常互通电话，有时一聊一两个小时，彼此的朋友、喜欢的姑娘、军中的烦恼，无所不谈；我们一起做频道节目（四期），一起被网暴、被禁言；一起给支持者写明信片，看八九、李老师、曹兴诚的节目时一起大笑或吐槽，连遗嘱都互相托付。

三、觉醒的路：从“小粉红”到“自由人”

Farias大陆教育式洗脑，早年也曾是“小粉红”，甚至批评过蔡英文总统“两岸互不隶属”的表述。进入社会体会到民间疾苦与不自由后，他逐渐转向自由主义，并为早年的言行致歉努力以行动践行信念。

2021年郑州特大暴雨后，他抨击官方对死亡数字的掩盖；

多个中华民国双十节，他在向友人间展示青天白日满地红；

去福建“一国两制统一台湾”的标语下拍照并发声：“去你的一国两制”；

白纸运动中，他在朋友圈举白纸；

俄军全面入侵乌克兰之初，他怒斥普京为战犯。

因此，他多次被社媒禁言、被公安请“喝茶”，甚至被关押至派出所。但他并未停止战斗，还常告诫我：即使我们两人中有人阵亡，另一个也要 Keep Fighting，直到极权不再威胁我们。

他在身份认同上拒绝陷于民族主义：平日不愿自称“中国人”，自称“精神美国人”或“西台湾人”，强调自己是一个为自由民主而战、良知仍在的人”。正式场合需填写籍贯，他也如实写“中国”。他痛恶“民族复兴”式口号，笑言“都已身在海外，却执念要“堂堂正正做中国人”，就像逃离地球还惦记堂堂正正做地球人一样可笑！。

俄中阵营有谣言——他是雇佣兵。实际上他参军后自购装备的开销往往大于薪资；若是“真雇佣”，我们还巴不得拿到该有的“雇佣兵薪水”。事实上，我们所得勉强够买一个瞄准镜或热像仪。

四、险途与背运：被骗、被关、仍不回头

去乌克兰参军，他历经签证与手续的层层阻碍，甚至被骗子反复敲诈。曾被一个化名“李勇”（真名或为“曹子靖”）之人骗取至少三千美元。（该人不断编造理由索要钱财从未提供实质性帮助），即便被以“寻衅滋事罪”关押七个月，他仍一步步走向战场与前线。

五、精神上的美国人，心归利沃夫

2015年，他在美国海外领地塞班岛接受美式军事训练，自此深爱美国与美军，常穿带星条旗的服饰。若有人问起，他会说：“我是精神上的美国人，我为美国国旗所代表的价值而战。”许多美国队友与教官也因此欣赏他。

在乌克兰，为践行信仰，他常佩戴美旗，但介于俄间谍，猎杀及某些俄语区民众的，亲俄反美情绪。安全起见，我劝他保持低调，他坚持说道：“我们是Freedom Fighter，不能因敌人的压力而隐藏自己，否则与在中国的处境有何区别！？”

谈起“Homesick”，他想念的是利沃夫。既因城市古典的气息，更因所爱之人——他的女友是利沃夫人，那里的家人也喜欢他。我们一起走过利沃夫的大街小巷，还拍过一期视频；在市中心唯一的军人公墓，他对我说：“若不幸阵亡，愿葬于此。”

六、自愿出击与未竟的转队

他最后一次执行的是自愿任务。按道理他已处于面试通过，待转入步兵小队的过渡期，完全可以不出任务。但他说：“俄军正疯狂进攻，若他不去就会是别人去”。而在那样的时刻，即便待在安全地方，一觉醒来也可能被包围，危险也不小。俄军极限施压导致出现的失误、沟通不畅与士气低落，也促使他做出这个决定。但归根到底，还是他的责任心使然。

他本可留在无人机单位当飞手（因其持有工程学本科、做过健身教练与无人机教官），但他心心念念要做一名合格的步兵，与敬佩的三位台湾志愿军并肩作战。他顺利通过面试，却未等到手续完成。

我们也曾劝他转入“战争科技升级”的支援项目——以他的特长，或许能对整体作战效能提升作出更大贡献。他坚持要先积累更多一线经验，再去做那件事。他认为这样更有说服力。我理解他，只是如今，有乌克兰朋友反复追问：我们当时是否应该 Try Harder，再多拉他一步？

七、噩耗与承诺

2024年11月初，顿巴斯前线。11月4日下午2:30，我从他同壕的队友口中得知他阵亡，随后又多方确认，至今仍恍如在昨日。他生前交代我：一旦牺牲，请我妥善处理他身后信息，确保以正确的方式被传播，不受俄中的歪曲与污蔑。

他曾托付我说：若他阵亡，用青天白日满地红覆盖他的身体（他也认同在身上覆盖乌克兰国旗），不要把他送回大陆；他愿意葬在乌克兰——这片他深爱的、为之献身的自由之地。为买两面台湾国旗，他曾托两位台湾朋友协助、也因此欠我几十美元——我很高兴他“欠着我”，从未想过要他还。

那几天，我的手机上全是泪水。英国女兵Tanya问我：“Why Farias? He is such a nice guy.”我一时无言。我们曾说好：不管发生什么，都要Keep Fighting Till the End. 现在，他不在了——我仍会遵他的遗愿，继续战斗，直到胜利。

八、记述与辨伪

俄方曾故意把他“说成台湾人”，意在泼脏水与误导。事实上，他出生于中国云南、持中国护照，是我们已知的唯一一名中国籍在乌服役的自愿军。二次面试时，指挥官与军官对他连问三十分钟。因为他们从未见过中国籍志愿者。他不是“极端民族主义者”，更不是“雇佣兵”。他是自由人。

他在三十岁刚过不久就离开。他是我的战友、朋友、挚爱、自由的人。他以英雄的方式活着，也以英雄的方式离去。若“英雄”意味着“为他人作出极其勇敢的行动”，那么他当之无愧。我们成立“民主卫队”的初心，是保卫我们所热爱的自由民主——特别是前沿阵地的乌克兰与台湾。如今没有了你，我常感力有不逮。但我会遵你所愿：Keep Fighting，直到最后。

最后请允许我向上帝祷告

祷文

亲爱的主：我们为这位兄弟、战友、朋友献上祷告。他生于云南，心属自由之地；他在乌克兰的土地上献出了年轻的生命。愿你亲自安慰他至亲、爱人、朋友与战友；在破碎与流泪之地，赐下从你而来的平安。

主啊，他渴望真理被正当地传扬，不被谎言与污蔑遮蔽；求你保守我们忠于良心与记忆，让他的名字，不止留在墓碑，也活在自由的落实里。

若黑暗仍未散去，求你赐我们勇气与智慧，按着他的遗愿，Keep Fighting，直到公义如光照耀，直到自由无惧无忧。

我们把Farias交托在你手中：愿他在你的荣光里得享安息；愿他的脚印，照亮我们前行的路。阿门。

Eternal Free Man — In Memory of Peng Chenliang One Year After His Sacrifice(Farias, 1994–2024)

Author: He Yu
Editor: Li Jing Executive Editor: Hou Gaiying Proofreader: Cheng Xiaoxiao Translator:Xiaomei Peng

Introduction

Nearly a year has passed. When I rewatched the memorial video Freeman made for the soldiers who fell in the Russo-Ukrainian war, I was once again shaken by his final words—fearless and resolute even in the face of death.On the night of November 4, I received a video link forwarded by Elder Zhu along with his instruction:(https://youtu.be/bq0lrW25l30?si=wTZzrvR0wijT6QDg)“Today is the first anniversary of Peng Chen liang’s sacrifice in Ukraine. Please write it down and publish it in Issue 17.”Only then did I suddenly realize—he has been gone for a full year. Entrusted with this task, I felt both honored and anxious. After much reflection, I decided to restore Freeman’s oral accounts as faithfully as possible, to build for Peng Chenliang a memorial that can be read again. They were comrades, but also closest friends. Every detail of their shared life is the best tribute to a hero. Below is the presentation of Freeman’s spoken memories.

I. His Final Words and Last Wishes

“I am a soldier of the International Legion. If one day something happens to me, please place my photo and my flag—the Blue Sky, White Sun, and a Wholly Red Earth—next to Tseng Sheng-Kuang (the first Taiwanese volunteer killed in action).I will not return to Mainland China.Let my body be covered with this flag—not the five-starred red flag, but the Blue Sky, White Sun, or the Ukrainian flag. We fight for freedom. We fight for democracy. If war ever breaks out in Taiwan, every one of us will go to defend her. We will give everything to safeguard democracy and fight the CCP to the very end.”

II. His Story with Us

I first met Farias in April 2024. That early morning, due to delays on the bus to Lviv, he waited at the station until curfew, then had to return home. By the time I finally got off, I found my way to his building, and he came out to the corridor to greet me. That night we hugged and talked until two or three in the morning. I knew he was talkative; he also had endless things to share with me.

After that, we were in contact nearly every day. In training assignments, I joined a mechanized unit of the Ukrainian army; he went to the International Legion, primarily light infantry.On September 29, we had our last shared leave. After returning to our units, we still called often—sometimes for one or two hours—about friends, about girls we liked, about frustrations in the army. Nothing was off limits. We made four episodes of our channel together. We were cyber-harassed together, banned together. We wrote postcards to supporters together.We laughed (or complained) at programs like “1989,” “Teacher Li,” or Tsao Hsing-Cheng’s show. Even our wills—we entrusted them to each other.

III. The Road to Awakening: From ‘Little Pink’ to ‘Free Man’

Raised under the full indoctrination of mainland China’s education, Farias was once a “Little Pink,” even criticizing President Tsai Ing-wen’s statement that “the two sides of the Strait are not subordinate to each other.” But after entering society and experiencing hardship and lack of freedom firsthand, he gradually awakened, turning toward liberal democracy, and sought to atone for his earlier views through action. He stood up again and again:

After the 2021 Zhengzhou flood disaster, he condemned the authorities’ concealment of death numbers.

On multiple ROC National Days, he proudly displayed the Blue Sky, White Sun flag to friends.

He took photos under “One Country, Two Systems Unify Taiwan” propaganda in Fujian and said: “To hell with your One Country, Two Systems.”

During the White Paper Movement, he silently held up a blank sheet in his social media.

When Russia launched its full-scale invasion of Ukraine, he denounced Putin as a war criminal.

For these actions, he was repeatedly muted on social media, summoned by police for “tea,” and even detained in a precinct. But he never stopped fighting. He often reminded me: “Even if one of us gets killed, the other must Keep Fighting—until the CCP dictatorship no longer threatens us.”

On identity, he rejected ethnic nationalism. He disliked calling himself “Chinese.” He preferred: “I’m an American in spirit.” “I’m a West-Taiwanese.” “I am someone who fights for freedom and democracy, whose conscience hasn’t died.” In formal documents he filled “China,” but in private he mocked ultranationalist slogans: “Already living overseas yet insisting on being a ‘dignified Chinese’—that’s like fleeing Earth but still obsessed with being a ‘dignified Earthling’! Ridiculous!”

Pro-Russia disinformation once claimed he was a mercenary. In reality, he often spent more on gear than he earned. As he said: “If we were real mercenaries, we’d love to get actual mercenary pay. What we get barely covers a scope or a thermal sight.”

IV. Hardship and Misfortune: Cheated, Detained, Yet Never Turning Back

On the road to joining the Ukrainian army, he encountered obstacle after obstacle—visa troubles, bureaucratic hurdles, and even scammers. One man, using the alias “Li Yong” (real name likely Cao Zijng), swindled at least $3,000 from him, fabricating excuse after excuse while offering no actual help. Even after being detained for seven months on the charge of “picking quarrels and provoking trouble,” he still walked step by step toward the battlefield—toward the front. He never turned back.

V. An American in Spirit, A Heart Belonging to Lviv

In 2015, he received American-style military training on Saipan, a U.S. territory. From then on, he loved the United States and the U.S. military, often wearing clothing featuring the Stars and Stripes. If asked, he would say: “I’m an American in spirit. I fight for the values the U.S. flag represents. “Many American teammates and instructors appreciated him deeply for this.

In Ukraine, he often wore a U.S. flag patch to honor his beliefs. But because Russian spies hunted volunteers and because some Russian-speaking locals held anti-American sentiments, I advised him to keep a lower profile. He refused: “We are Freedom Fighters. If we hide ourselves because of the enemy, how is that any different from living under China’s oppression?”

When the spoke of “homesickness,” he meant Lviv. Not because of the beautiful, classical architecture, though he loved it. But because of the person he loved—his girlfriend, a Lviv woman whose family also liked him very much. We once walked through the streets of Lviv together and filmed an episode. At the city’s only military cemetery, he told me: “If I fall, I want to be buried here.”

VI. Voluntary Mission and the Transfer That Never Happened

His final mission was entirely voluntary. By that time, he had already passed interviews and was waiting to transfer to an infantry unit. He could have chosen to stay behind. But he said: “The Russians are attacking like mad. If I don’t go, someone else will have to. “Even being in a “safe” location was no guarantee—frontlines can collapse overnight. Russian pressure had caused temporary Ukrainian errors, poor communication, and low morale. This also influenced his decision. But at the root, it was his profound sense of responsibility.

He could have stayed in the UAV unit as a drone operator—he had an engineering degree, had been a fitness coach, and was a drone instructor. But his heart was set on becoming an infantry soldier, fighting alongside the three Taiwanese volunteers he deeply admired. He passed the interview. But the paperwork wasn’t completed in time.

We once tried persuading him to join a “war-tech upgrading” support project—based on his skills, he could have contributed enormously to improving operational effectiveness.But he insisted: “I need more frontline experience first. Only then will my advice carry weight. “I understood. But now, many Ukrainian friends keep asking me: “Should we have tried harder?Pulled him back one more step?”

VII. The News and the Promise

Early November 2024, Donbas front. On November 4 at 2:30 p.m., his trench mate informed me that he had been killed. Multiple confirmations followed. Even now it feels like yesterday. Before his death, he told me: “If I die, make sure my information is handled properly. My story must be told truthfully—not twisted by Russian or CCP propaganda.”

He also entrusted me with his final wish:

Cover him with the Blue Sky, White Sun flag

Or the Ukrainian flag

Do not send his body back to Mainland China

Lay him to rest in Ukraine—the free land he loved and died defending

He even asked two Taiwanese friends to help him buy the flags and ended up owing me a small amount—just a few dozen dollars. I was happy he “owed” me. I never wanted him to pay it back.

My phone was soaked with tears for days. A British female soldier, Tanya, asked me: “Why Farias? He was such a good guy.” I had no answer. We made a pact: No matter what happens, we will Keep Fighting till the End. He’s gone now. But I will keep my promise. I will fight on—until victory.

VIII. Testimony and Clarification

Russian sources once deliberately claimed he was “Taiwanese,” attempting to smear and mislead. The truth is this: He was born in Yunnan, China. He held a PRC passport.He is the only known Chinese citizen who served in the Ukrainian forces and died in action. During his second interview, the commander and officers questioned him for thirty minutes straight—they had never seen a Chinese volunteer before. He was not an “ultranationalist.”He was not a “mercenary.” He was a Free Man.

He died shortly after turning thirty. He was my comrade, my friend, my beloved brother-in-arms—a free soul. He lived like a hero, and he died like one. If “hero” means a person who performs acts of extraordinary courage on behalf of others— then he deserved that title beyond all doubt. The founding purpose of our “Democratic Guard” was to defend the freedom and democracy we cherish—especially on the frontlines of Ukraine and Taiwan. Now, without you, I often feel my strength is not enough. But as you wished, I will Keep Fighting, until the very end.

IX. Prayer

A Prayer for Farias

Dear Lord,

We lift up this brother, this comrade, this friend before You.He was born in Yunnan, yet his heart belonged to the land of freedom.On the soil of Ukraine, he gave his young life.

May You comfort his family, his beloved, his friends, and his fellow soldiers.In a place of tears and brokenness, grant them peace that comes only from You.

Lord, he longed for truth to be told rightly, without distortion or slander.Guard our conscience and our memory,that his name may not rest only on a grave,but live on wherever freedom grows.

If darkness has not yet lifted,grant us courage and wisdomto fulfill his final wish—to Keep Fightinguntil justice shines like the light,until freedom stands without fear.

Into Your hands we entrust Farias:May he rest in the radiance of Your glory.May his footsteps illuminate the road ahead of us.

Amen.

作者：张宇
编辑：邢文娟 责任编辑：李聪玲 校对：程筱筱 翻译：刘芳

“毁掉一个民族最简单的方式，就是篡改他们的语言。”——乔治·奥威尔

语言，是人类思想的呼吸。

如何衡量一个社会是否健康？不是它的楼房有多高，不是它的高铁建得有多长，也不是工厂的机器转得有多快，唯一的标准是它的人民能否自由地说话。然而在当下的中国，许多词语正在被悄悄“消失”。“离婚”成了不祥的话题，“自杀”成了禁忌的词汇，“维权”“抗议”“真相”这些原本属于公民日常表达的词语，却被网络算法和系统判了“无声”的死刑。

文字狱是封建帝王专制的利器，是古代中国专制统治者对文人的一种政治迫害。它的历史几乎与帝制本身一样长，在雍正、乾隆两朝的文字狱尤为严酷。一个读书人写了“天地会”三个字，被判谋反；一首诗中用了“明月”二字，被解释为怀念前朝，当立斩；一句“白云苍狗”，也可能被扣上“影射圣上”的罪名，轻则流放，重则斩首。

历史课本告诉我们，那个时代早已过去。但今天，当我们打开电脑或手机，看到“此内容无法显示”，内容“涉嫌敏感”时，看到一个个词汇从公众视野中消失，难道这不正是另一种形式的文字狱吗？现代中国因言获罪的例子还少吗？

不同的是，古代的人知道自己被禁言；而今天，许多人甚至都不知道自己曾经拥有说话的权利。这才是更加恐怖之处：当沉默变成了习惯，不公就会显得理所当然。

当一个国家连字句都要审查，它不只是怕言语——它害怕的是人民思考。如果人民学会说出真相，谎言就再也无法稳固！

（图片提供：张宇；图为11月1日在洛杉矶星光大道举行的集会活动）

2019年，中共在举行大型阅兵式庆祝建国70周年之际，抓了很多所谓的“辱国人士”。一些人仅仅因为在网上说了几句官方不喜欢的话就被抓走。其中一个案例让我觉得最为荒谬，一位四川网民说：“阅兵有什么好看的”，一位山东网民说：“祖国没有养你，是你妈养的你。”结果二人双双被拘留。

45岁的黄根宝是徐州市一家国企的高级工程师，2019年6月1日，他被判处16个月的监禁，罪名是在Twitter等平台上侮辱国家领导人、损害国家形象。服刑期间，他与20多人一起住一个牢房，必须遵守严格的作息，包括上厕所。他和妻子都失去了工作，现在他靠送外卖养家糊口。

2020年4月，北京三名90后疑因备份新冠疫情期间被删除的文章失踪，陈玫和蔡伟随后以“寻衅滋事罪”被正式逮捕。

也许最令人沮丧的，莫过于那些因发表有关新冠病毒大流行言论而受到行政处罚的人。位居榜首的一定是李文亮医生，2020年1月1日，他和其他七人因试图向亲朋好友发出新冠病毒的警告而受到训诫。2020年2月6日，李文亮死于新冠病毒，人们现在把他当作新冠疫情爆发的吹哨人来纪念。但因新冠病毒言论受到行政处罚的还有其他587人。

还有一些被媒体广泛报道的知名人物，比如地产大亨任志强，他曾暗示习近平是“脱光了衣服也要坚持当皇帝的小丑”，最后他被重判18年；前清华大学教授许章润，他接连发表批评当局文章被革职；出版界“侠女”耿潇男，她声援多位良心犯被起诉“非法经营罪”；前中共党校教授蔡霞，她抨击共产党是“政治僵尸”被开除党籍；记者张展，报道武汉疫情被判刑 ……

（图片为洛杉矶自由雕塑公园；意为：中国那些起来吹哨的人，他们要背负非常沉重的代价，这种代价可能是死亡、可能是监狱、可能是失踪。）

当前中共政权将“惟有社会主义制度才能救中国”，“谁反对共产党、谁反对社会主义制度、谁就是反革命”的政治意识形态作为司法的量刑手段，对维护人权、倡导民主、争取自由的民主人士和知识分子给予最为严厉的镇压、抓捕以及迫害。

直到已将社会主义法治确定为宪法原则的今天，这种镇压言论自由和思想自由的文字狱在国民的唾弃中愈演愈烈，并把它改头换面，以一种新的方式出现。中共将其纳入司法执法的范围，罪名为“煽动颠覆国家政权罪”。

这一罪名绝对是与宪法原则及其精神背道而驰，它与上述强加在国民身上的所谓“反革命罪”同工异曲，其功能便是以法律的名义镇压和迫害敢于对中共独裁提出批评的民主人士。

“煽动颠覆国家政权罪”是现代法治精神和宪法原则的一个悖论。其唯一的表现就是“霸王硬上弓”的强权镇压和凶残的政治迫害。它无非是一条镇压言论自由和迫害思想自由的独裁暴政的锁链，这条蔑视宪法，打压自由民主的锁链终究会在中国人民争取和建构自由民主宪政制度的政治洪流中被彻底打碎。

中共压制语言的力量，绝不会一直成功，每当真相被遮蔽，人们就会用新的方式去表达它。

语言被删，人们就创造新的词汇；

话题被封，人们就换一种语气去问。

这是人类思考的本能，也是意识的反抗。

历史上已经多次证明，再高的墙，也挡不住思想的流动。中共试图控制语言时，它其实是在暴露自己的恐惧——害怕被质疑，害怕被揭穿，害怕被记住。

历史告诉我们：我相信不管是什么样的国家政权，只要对国民实施专制独裁的极端统治，这个国家政权都会在国民的声讨中轰然垮塌。

China’s New Era of Literary Inquisition

Author: Zhang Yu
Editor: Xing Wenjuan　Executive Editor: Li Congling　Proofreader: Cheng Xiaoxiao　Translator: Liu Fang

Abstract: This article criticizes China’s recent suppression of free speech, the erosion of legal principles, and the systematic deprivation of citizens’ rights. It reveals how charges such as “subversion of state power” have become tools to silence dissent, and questions whether any space for freedom of thought still remains.

“The simplest way to destroy a people is to corrupt their language.” —George Orwell

Language is the breath of human thought. How do we measure whether a society is healthy? Not by the height of its buildings, nor by the length of its high-speed railways, nor by the speed of its factory machines. The one and only standard is whether its people can speak freely.

Yet in today’s China, many words are quietly being “disappeared.” “Divorce” has become an ominous topic, “suicide” an unspeakable term. Words such as “rights defense,” “protest,” and “truth”—once part of ordinary civic vocabulary—have been sentenced to a silent death by algorithms and systems.

The literary inquisition was a tool of feudal autocracy—political persecution wielded by emperors against scholars. Its history is as long as imperial rule itself, and reached brutal extremes during the reigns of Yongzheng and Qianlong. A scholar who wrote the words “Heaven and Earth Society” could be charged with treason. A poem containing “bright moon” might be interpreted as longing for the previous dynasty—punishable by beheading. Even the phrase “white clouds and grey dogs” could be taken as slander against the emperor, resulting in exile or execution.

History textbooks tell us that era is long gone. But today, when we open our computers or phones and see “This content cannot be displayed” or “This content is deemed sensitive,” when word after word disappears from public discourse—is this not another form of literary inquisition? Is modern China lacking examples of people punished for speech?

The difference is this: In ancient times, people knew they were being silenced. Today, many don’t even realize they once had the right to speak. That is the most terrifying part—when silence becomes habit, injustice begins to appear normal.

When a state censors even individual words, it is not merely afraid of speech—it is afraid of its people thinking. If the people learn to speak the truth, lies can no longer stand.

(Photo provided by Zhang Yu, taken at a November 1 rally on the Hollywood Walk of Fame in Los Angeles.)

In 2019, while the CCP celebrated the 70th anniversary of its founding with a massive military parade, it arrested numerous so-called “unpatriotic individuals.” Some were detained simply for posting comments the authorities disliked. One case was particularly absurd: a man in Sichuan wrote, “What’s so great about a military parade?” Another netizen in Shandong said, “It wasn’t the motherland who raised you—it was your mom.” Both were detained.

Huang Genbao, a 45-year-old senior engineer at a state-owned company in Xuzhou, was sentenced to 16 months in prison in June 2019. His “crime” was insulting state leaders and “damaging the nation’s image” on Twitter. During imprisonment, he shared a cell with more than 20 people and had to follow rigid routines, even for using the toilet. Both he and his wife lost their jobs, and he now delivers food to support his family.

In April 2020, three young Beijing residents—born in the 1990s—went missing after archiving online articles deleted during the COVID-19 outbreak. Chen Mei and Cai Wei were formally arrested for “picking quarrels and provoking trouble.”

Perhaps the most heartbreaking cases are those punished for speaking about the COVID-19 pandemic. At the top of the list is Dr. Li Wenliang. On January 1, 2020, he and seven others were reprimanded for warning friends and colleagues about the coronavirus. He died of COVID-19 on February 6, 2020, and is now widely remembered as a whistleblower. But beyond Dr. Li, 587 other individuals were penalized for COVID-related speech.

There are also well-known figures widely reported by the media: real estate tycoon Ren Zhiqiang, who called Xi Jinping a “clown stripped naked” and was sentenced to 18 years; former Tsinghua professor Xu Zhangrun, dismissed for his critical essays; publisher Geng Xiaonan, charged with “illegal business operations” for supporting prisoners of conscience; Cai Xia, a former Party school professor expelled for calling the CCP a “political zombie”; and journalist Zhang Zhan, imprisoned for reporting on the Wuhan outbreak.

(Photo: Los Angeles Freedom Sculpture Park, symbolizing that whistleblowers in China bear extreme costs—death, prison, or disappearance.)

Today, the CCP uses the ideology of “only socialism can save China,” and “whoever opposes the Party or socialism is a counterrevolutionary,” as a judicial weapon to suppress human-rights defenders, democracy advocates, and intellectuals who fight for freedom.

Even now—when “socialist rule of law” has supposedly been written into the Constitution—this persecution of speech and thought grows ever more severe, cloaked in new forms. The CCP has incorporated such repression into law enforcement using the charge of “inciting subversion of state power.”

This charge fundamentally contradicts constitutional principles. It mirrors the old “counterrevolutionary crimes,” functioning solely to use the law as a tool of political persecution—silencing those who dare to criticize authoritarian rule.

“Inciting subversion of state power” is a paradox in the modern rule-of-law framework. Its essence is brute-force suppression—nothing but a chain of authoritarian violence used to crush free speech and free thought. A chain that violates the Constitution and suppresses freedom and democracy will, inevitably, be shattered by the political tide of the Chinese people’s struggle for a free and democratic constitutional order.

The CCP’s effort to suppress language will not succeed forever. Whenever truth is blocked, people find new ways to express it.

When words are deleted, people invent new ones. When topics are banned, people change their tone and ask again.

This is the instinct of human thought, the natural rebellion of consciousness.

History has shown again and again: no matter how tall the wall, it cannot stop the flow of ideas.

When the CCP tries to control language, it reveals its own fear— fear of being questioned, fear of being exposed, fear of being remembered.

History teaches us this: any regime that imposes extreme authoritarian control over its people will ultimately collapse under the weight of public outcry.

作者：曾群兰
编辑：黄吉洲 责任编辑：胡丽莉 校对：程筱筱

2025年10月25日，在中国驻洛杉矶总领事馆外，中国民主党洛杉矶委员会、中国民主人权联盟与《在野党》杂志社联合举办抗议活动，强烈谴责中共当局对邢望力、张盼成的长期迫害，并呼吁国际社会立即关注他们遭受的处境。

中国公民张盼成因坚持公民言论自由与社会公正，多次遭受牢狱之灾。他不畏强权，敢于揭露社会不公，声援被迫害的公民与良心犯。多次被以“寻衅滋事罪”入狱，出狱后仍遭持续骚扰与监控，甚至被强迫认定为“精神病”，身份证与户口本被没收，行动自由被剥夺。

2024年7月，他再次被刑事拘留，至今失联、杳无音讯。

同为中国公民的邢望力坚持二十年维权却换来十年牢狱与骨碎之伤，二十余年来，他累计被非法羁押达10年零8个月，多次遭受行政拘留、非法拘禁与监视居住等手段迫害。

自2002年起，邢望力踏上了艰难的维权之路。从个人维权到长期帮助他人维权。2016年，他在狱中遭暴力殴打，造成头颅骨粉碎性骨折。2019年，中共公安甚至跨国抓捕其子邢鉴。

2024年6月，中共总理李强访问新西兰期间，邢鉴在其酒店前举牌抗议中共暴政、呼吁其下台，现场遭中共势力围殴。新西兰主流媒体《Stuff》对此事件进行了报道。不久后，邢鉴住所遭人泼洒粪便，并被投放疑似冰毒晶体。

2025年8月，邢望力再次被中共以“寻衅滋事罪”构陷，无辜判处三年有期徒刑。当天，邢鉴亲赴洛杉矶抗议现场，声援父亲。

图为本次活动发起人及主持人合影：左起为何愚、中为张晓丽、右为曾群兰。

我们呼吁中共政府：公开邢望力与张盼成的现状，保障其基本人权；停止一切针对异议人士及其家属的迫害。

Resisting Tyranny with Conscience, Illuminating Darkness with Truth —

The 761st Jasmine Action Held in Los Angeles

Author: Zeng Qunlan
Editor: Huang Jizhou | Managing Editor: Hu Lili | Proofreading: Cheng Xiaoxiao

Abstract:On October 25, 2025, numerous groups gathered in front of the Chinese Consulate in Los Angeles to condemn the CCP’s persecution of dissidents Xing Wangli and Zhang Pancheng, calling on the international community to pay close attention to China’s human rights situation.

On October 25, 2025, outside the Chinese Consulate General in Los Angeles, the Los Angeles Committee of the China Democracy Party, the China Democracy & Human Rights Alliance, and Opposition Party magazine jointly held a protest condemning the Chinese Communist Party’s long-term persecution of Xing Wangli and Zhang Pancheng, calling on the international community to pay urgent attention to their situation.

Chinese citizen Zhang Pancheng has repeatedly been imprisoned for his commitment to freedom of expression and social justice. Fearless in the face of authoritarian power, he exposed social injustices and spoke out for persecuted citizens and prisoners of conscience. He was repeatedly jailed on the charge of “picking quarrels and provoking trouble.” Even after release, he continued to face harassment and surveillance, and was forcibly labeled as “mentally ill.” His ID card and household registration were confiscated, and his freedom of movement was stripped.

In July 2024, he was again placed under criminal detention. He has since disappeared, with no information about his whereabouts.

Another Chinese citizen, Xing Wangli, has spent twenty years defending rights, only to receive a decade of imprisonment and injuries as severe as skull fractures. Over the past two decades, he has been illegally detained for a total of 10 years and 8 months, and was subjected to repeated administrative detentions, illegal house arrests, and “residential surveillance.”

Since 2002, Xing began his difficult journey of rights defense—from handling his own grievances to helping others for years.In 2016, he was violently beaten in prison, causing comminuted fractures of the skull.In 2019, Chinese police even conducted a cross-border operation to seize his son, Xing Jian.

In June 2024, while Chinese Premier Li Qiang was visiting New Zealand, Xing Jian held a protest sign outside Li Qiang’s hotel denouncing CCP tyranny and calling for his resignation. He was assaulted on site by pro-CCP individuals. New Zealand’s major media outlet Stuff reported on the incident. Shortly afterward, Xing Jian’s residence was splashed with feces, and crystalline substances suspected to be methamphetamine were thrown onto the property.

In August 2025, Xing Wangli was once again framed by the CCP with the charge of “picking quarrels and provoking trouble,” and was unjustly sentenced to three years in prison. On that very day, Xing Jian personally attended the protest in Los Angeles to show support for his father.

The photo shows the initiators and hosts of the event: from left to right — He Yu, Zhang Xiaoli in the center, and Zeng Qunlan on the right.

We call on the Chinese government to disclose the current conditions of Xing Wangli and Zhang Pancheng, to safeguard their basic human rights, and to cease all persecution against dissidents and their family members.

作者：张宇
编辑：邢文娟 责任编辑：李聪玲 校对：程筱筱

黎明来到 要光复 这香港

同行儿女 为正义 时代革命

祈求民主与自由 万世都不朽 我愿荣光归香港——《我愿荣光归香港》

还记得小时候我第一次在一盘盗版VCD里看到的香港情景：街头闪烁的霓虹灯，穿风衣的警探，叼着烟的歌手，还有那句唱到心底熟悉的旋律——“原谅我这一生不羁放纵爱自由”。那时的香港，对我来说，不只是城市，而是一种生活方式，一种自由、时尚、文明、开放的象征。

在那个信息被围墙阻隔的年代，香港是我们“窥见”世界的一扇窗。

可是，当我长大，从2019年3月开始，当关于“自由“”民主”的 话题从香港新闻在消失，当我看到“占中”的学生被打压、“反送中”的人群被污名化，当“光复香港，时代革命”这八个字被定性为犯罪标语，我忽然明白，那座我心中像征着自由民主的东方明珠——香港，已经死去。

我看着那座曾经闪烁着自由光芒的国际大都市，变成了红旗下的橡皮印章，我心痛不已。而更令人悲哀的是，它的死亡，并不是孤独的，那是整个华语世界的暗夜——当自由被践踏，当思想被驯服，当恐惧被合理化，我们每一个人，都在某种意义上幻化成了香港。

很多人以为香港还在热闹，铜锣湾依旧人潮汹涌，维多利亚港的夜景依旧耀眼，金融区的灯光照得人眼花缭乱。地铁依然准时，商场依然高端，游客买着免税化妆品和时尚奢侈品，好像一切看起来就如从前，表面上一切都没有变。

但真正的变化，总是从不被看见的角落开始。

新闻台原本敢于提问的记者，不再出现在镜头前；大学校园里挂满了“国安教育”的横幅，取代了学生会的宣言；图书馆里下架了成推的政治书籍，连《苹果日报》的旧刊都成了“危险物品”；连街头的涂鸦也变得小心翼翼，只剩下模糊的“光”与“自由”，被雨水一点点冲淡。

中共政府告诉世界，香港依然“一国两制”；央视镜头下，香港依然“繁荣稳定”；但每个香港人心里都明白——那只是布景板式的繁华。

我曾经相信，香港会永远保持自己的节奏：那种既中又西、既古典又现代的独特气质。可如今，街头的普通话越来越多，红旗无处不在，连广播里的粤语语调都开始变得“规矩”而单调。自由的城市，变成了“听话的特区”。警察不再是维护秩序的守护者，而是政权的执行者。港府官员在北京的指令下行事，而不再代表市民的声音……

（图片来自于洛杉矶自由雕塑公园）

2019年的香港，是一座被愤怒和希望同时点燃的城市，那年夏天，街头的空气都是炽热的。雨伞、头盔、口罩成了新的标志，年轻人用身体去对抗权利的机器。他们高喊的那句口号——“光复香港，时代革命”，并不是挑衅，而是一种哭喊，一种被逼到绝境后的觉醒。

起初，只是一条看似普通的《逃犯条例》修订草案。但所有人都知道，那是通往极权的桥。一旦通过，任何人都可能被送往内地受审——记者、教师、议员、甚至只是一个发帖表达不满的市民。于是，百万港人走上街头，队伍一眼望不到尽头。黑色的衣服连成一片，如同海浪，呼喊声此起彼伏，那是一场属于公民的复活。

学生们举着“撑香港反送中”的牌子，年轻的女孩在地铁出口分发口罩和水，有老人站在人行道上静静地比出“加油”的手势。这是香港人最温柔，也最坚强的时刻。

但温柔的抗争很快被暴力回应。催泪弹在狭窄的街巷里炸开，白烟弥漫，尖叫四起。有人倒下，有人被拖走，有人用雨伞遮住身边被打的人。警棍挥下去的时候，没有人再分得清正义与秩序。媒体的镜头被封锁，报道被删改。电视上说“暴徒破坏社会安宁”，可每个在现场的人都知道，那些被称为“暴徒”的孩子，只是想要一个可以安全发声的城市。

“光复香港，时代革命”——这八个字成了自由的遗言。它被政府定性为“分裂国家”，却被世界记住，印在游行的横幅上，印在被捕者的额头上，也印在每个热泪盈眶的香港人心里。

最终这场运动没有胜利，2020年6月30日，《香港国安法》在没有经过立法会充分讨论的情况下，于午夜强行生效。香港正式进入“红色时代”。街头的旗帜换了颜色，学校的课程换了内容，新闻的标题换了语气。所有事情都在一夜之间，变得不同。

我还记得，那几天香港的气氛异常安静，没有庆祝，也没有喧嚣。只是人们在手机上默默删掉旧帖，有人换了头像，有人清空了相册，有人关掉了社交账号，就像每一个人都低下脑袋，准备被驯服。

（图片来自于洛杉矶自由雕塑公园）

从此以后，香港变得“听话”。抗议消失了，标语消失了，连街头音乐都变得温顺。艺术家改画风，出版商改选题，每个人都知道，什么可以说，什么必须忘。

港府称这叫“恢复秩序”；中共称这叫“回归正轨”；可我知道，那只是“顺从”的另一种说法。

香港人开始移民。一波又一波，像潮水退去。有人去了伦敦，有人去了台北，也有人去了我所在的城市。他们背着行囊，带着那口熟悉的粤语，却述说着“香港已死”的故事。

有时我看着新闻镜头里的中环，那熟悉的霓虹还在闪烁，但我再也不敢相信那是真的。那是一座被中共极权改写的城市，名字还叫香港，灵魂却早已被换了。

它被迫忘记自己的语言、历史、信念；

被迫学会赞美、表忠、沉默。

那不是香港，而是中共的一个“洋娃娃”。

香港的故事，不只是香港的故事。它是一面镜子，映照出中共极权制度如何一步步吞噬一座城、一群人、乃至整个文明的灵魂。

中共极权的方式从来不是摧毁，而是同化。它不需要推土机，不需要枪炮。它只需要改变语言、改写教材、关闭报社、收编学校。它让人习惯恐惧，习惯沉默，习惯在安全的范围内假装自由。等到有一天，人们真的学会“自我审查”，中共极权就不再需要监控，因为每个人，已经成为自己的看守。

中共极权可怕的地方在于，它不只是统治土地，它要统治人的心。让人习惯屈服，习惯遗忘，习惯把谎言当成常识。一旦记忆被抹去，悲剧就能被重新书写成“成功的故事”。这正是它最阴险的地方。

有人说，香港是“叛逆的孩子”，可在我看来，香港只是一个敢于做梦的地方。它曾经用几十年的时间，证明华人社会也能拥有自由与法治。而如今，这个实验被摧毁。这不是香港的失败，而是中共极权的胜利。有时候我在想，如果连香港都守不住，我们还能在哪里谈自由？还能在哪一片土地上相信真相、尊严与思想的独立？

虽然香港的自由被夺走，但它留下的火种不会熄灭。中共极权可以封锁街头、关闭报社、审查言论，却无法摧毁记忆。那记忆藏在流亡者的梦里，藏在被没收的报纸边角，藏在海外小镇的集会上，在被驱散的广场回声中。

那些高喊口号的年轻人、那些被捕的记者、那些流亡的学者，正在续写“时代革命”的意义。他们在异乡重建媒体、翻译书籍、记录真相。

他们让世界记得：香港并非死去，而是在另一种形式下延续。

（图片提供：张宇；图为张宇参加洛杉矶领事馆门口举行的集会活动）

Glory to Hong Kong

Author: Zhang Yu
Editor: Xing Wenjuan Responsible Editor: Li Congling Proofreading: Cheng Xiaoxiao

Abstract: This article recalls Hong Kong’s former freedom and prosperity, reflects on the profound social transformations after the 2019 Anti–Extradition Bill Movement, expresses deep concern and mourning over the erosion of freedom of speech, the rule of law, and civil rights, and calls for remembering that freedom must not be forgotten.

When dawn arrives, we shall reclaim this Hong Kong.Children of the era march together for justice and revolution.May democracy and freedom endure for all ages—I pledge that glory will return to Hong Kong.— “Glory to Hong Kong”

I still remember the first time, as a child, that I glimpsed Hong Kong through a pirated VCD: neon lights flickering across the streets, detectives in trench coats, singers with cigarettes hanging from their lips, and that familiar melody that lodged itself in my heart—“Forgive me for being unruly all my life and loving freedom.”Back then, Hong Kong was not merely a city to me, but a way of life—a symbol of freedom, modernity, civility, and openness.In an era when information was blocked by walls, Hong Kong was a window through which we “peeked” at the world.

But as I grew up, especially since March 2019, when the topics of “freedom” and “democracy” began disappearing from Hong Kong’s news; when I saw students in the Occupy movement suppressed, protesters in the Anti–Extradition Bill movement demonized; when the eight words “Liberate Hong Kong, Revolution of Our Times” were criminalized—I suddenly understood that the Hong Kong which had embodied liberty and democracy in my imagination had already died.

I watched that once-glittering international metropolis—its glow of freedom extinguished—turn into a rubber stamp beneath the red flag, and I felt heartbroken.And what is even more tragic is that its death is not solitary; it is part of the long night falling over the entire Sinophone world. When freedom is trampled, when thought is domesticated, when fear becomes normalized, every one of us, in some sense, becomes another Hong Kong.

Many people think Hong Kong is still lively: crowds surge through Causeway Bay, Victoria Harbour’s nightscape remains brilliant, and the lights of the financial district are dazzling. The MTR still runs on time, malls remain upscale, and tourists continue buying tax-free cosmetics and luxury goods. Everything on the surface appears unchanged.

But real change always begins in places unseen.

Journalists who once dared to ask hard questions no longer appear on camera; university campuses are draped with banners of “National Security Education,” replacing student-union manifestos; libraries remove stacks of political books, and even old issues of Apple Daily have become “dangerous items.”Even street graffiti has grown timid—only blurry traces of “light” and “freedom” remain, gradually washed away by the rain.

The Chinese government tells the world that Hong Kong still enjoys “One Country, Two Systems”; state television shows a Hong Kong that is “prosperous and stable.”Yet every Hongkonger knows—this is merely stage-set prosperity.

I once believed that Hong Kong would forever keep its own rhythm: a unique blend of East and West, classical and modern.But now, Mandarin fills the streets, red flags appear everywhere, and even the intonations of Cantonese in public broadcasts have become more “disciplined” and monotonous.A free city has been transformed into an obedient “special administrative region.”The police are no longer guardians of public order but enforcers of the regime.Government officials act according to Beijing’s directives, no longer representing the voices of the people…

(Image from the Los Angeles Freedom Sculpture Park)

In 2019, Hong Kong became a city ignited simultaneously by anger and hope.That summer, even the air on its streets felt scorching. Umbrellas, helmets, and masks became new symbols, and young people used their bodies to resist the machinery of power. The slogan they shouted—“Liberate Hong Kong, Revolution of Our Times”—was not a provocation but a cry for help, an awakening born from being pushed to the edge.

It began with what seemed like a single ordinary amendment: the revision of the Fugitive Offenders Ordinance.But everyone understood that it was a bridge leading straight toward authoritarianism. Once passed, anyone could be extradited to the mainland for trial—journalists, teachers, lawmakers, or simply an ordinary citizen who had posted a message of dissent.And so a million Hongkongers took to the streets. The procession stretched farther than the eye could see. Black clothing formed a continuous sea, and waves of shouting rolled through the city. It was a moment of civic resurrection.

Students held signs reading “Stand with Hong Kong, Oppose the Extradition Bill.” Young women handed out masks and water at MTR exits. Elderly people stood silently on sidewalks, raising their hands in quiet gestures of encouragement.This was Hong Kong at its gentlest—and its strongest.

But gentle resistance was soon met with violence. Tear gas exploded in the narrow alleys; white smoke filled the air; screams echoed. People collapsed, people were dragged away, people shielded each other with umbrellas. When the batons came down, no one could distinguish justice from “maintaining order” anymore.Reporters’ cameras were blocked, coverage was altered.Television declared, “Rioters disrupt social stability,” but everyone on the ground knew that those labeled “rioters” were only children who wanted a city where they could speak safely.

“Liberate Hong Kong, Revolution of Our Times”—these eight words became the last testament of freedom.The government labeled them “secessionist,” but the world remembered them. They were printed on banners, on the foreheads of the arrested, and in the hearts of every tearful Hongkonger.

In the end, the movement did not win.On June 30, 2020, without sufficient deliberation in the Legislative Council, the Hong Kong National Security Law was imposed at midnight. Hong Kong officially entered the “red era.”The flags in the streets changed color, school curricula were rewritten, and the tone of news headlines shifted. Everything became different overnight.

I still remember how eerily quiet Hong Kong felt in those days.No celebrations, no noise.People simply began deleting old posts on their phones. Some changed their profile pictures; some wiped their photo albums; some shut down their social-media accounts.It was as if everyone lowered their heads—preparing to be tamed.

(Image from the Los Angeles Freedom Sculpture Park)

From that moment on, Hong Kong became “obedient.”Protests vanished, slogans disappeared, and even street music grew tame.Artists changed their styles, publishers revised their topics, and everyone understood what could be said—and what had to be forgotten.The Hong Kong government called it “restoring order”;the Chinese Communist Party called it “returning to the right path.”But I know all of it was simply another name for “submission.”

Hongkongers began to emigrate—wave after wave, like a receding tide.Some left for London, others for Taipei, and some came to the very city where I live.They carried their luggage and their familiar Cantonese accents, yet the stories they told were all the same: “Hong Kong is gone.”

Sometimes, when I look at news footage of Central, the familiar neon lights still flicker, but I can no longer believe in their reality.It is a city rewritten by the CCP’s authoritarian power—still called Hong Kong, though its soul has long since been replaced.

It has been forced to forget its own language, history, and convictions;forced to learn praise, loyalty, and silence.That is no longer Hong Kong—but a “doll” crafted by the Chinese Communist Party.

Hong Kong’s story is not only Hong Kong’s story.It is a mirror reflecting how CCP authoritarianism devours a city, a people, and eventually the soul of an entire civilization.

The CCP’s method of domination has never relied on destruction—it relies on assimilation.It does not need bulldozers or guns.It only needs to alter language, rewrite textbooks, shut down newspapers, and take over schools.It teaches people to grow accustomed to fear, accustomed to silence, accustomed to pretending they are free within safe boundaries.Once self-censorship becomes instinct, the regime no longer needs surveillance—because every person has already become their own guard.

What makes CCP authoritarianism terrifying is that it does not simply rule land; it aims to rule the human mind.It trains people to accept submission, to accept forgetting, to accept lies as common sense.Once memory is erased, tragedies can be rewritten as “success stories.”This is its most insidious power.

Some say Hong Kong was a “rebellious child,” but to me, Hong Kong was simply a place brave enough to dream.For decades, it proved that a Chinese society could indeed uphold freedom and the rule of law.Now that experiment has been crushed.This is not Hong Kong’s failure—it is the victory of authoritarianism.

Sometimes I wonder:If even Hong Kong could not be defended, where else can we speak of freedom?On what land can we still believe in truth, dignity, and the independence of thought?

Although Hong Kong’s freedom has been taken, the sparks it left behind will not be extinguished.The CCP can seal streets, shut down newspapers, and censor speech—but it cannot destroy memory.These memories are hidden in the dreams of exiles, in confiscated newspaper margins, in gatherings in small overseas towns, and in the echoes of dispersed crowds.

Those young people who shouted slogans, those journalists who were arrested, those scholars who fled abroad—they are continuing to write the meaning of the “Revolution of Our Times.”They are rebuilding media in exile, translating books, documenting truth.

They ensure the world remembers:Hong Kong has not died—it continues in another form.

(Image courtesy of Zhang Yu; the photo shows Zhang Yu participating in a rally held in front of the Chinese Consulate in Los Angeles.)