Memories of the Black-and-White Era and the Absurdity of Reality
— In Commemoration of June 4th, to Those Silenced
Author: Xiong Bian August 11, 2025
Editor: Feng Reng ExecutiveEditor: Lu Huiwen Translation: Lu Huiwen
Summary: The author recalls the journey from the news blackout on June 4th to experiences overseas, then to the hardships of rights defense and the pain of the pandemic at home, and finally to speaking out publicly in the United States—calling for remembering the truth, rejecting silence, and believing that the awakening of the people is unstoppable.
The Black-and-White Screen of Childhood
I was born in 1978 in Wuhan. The decade-long catastrophe had just ended, and the 12-inch Feiyue black-and-white TV in our home was the only “link” to the outside world. It had a metal antenna and, through a flurry of snow-like static, played the programs of China Central Television. The announcers’ voices were stiff; the images were grim and rigid. That black-and-white screen seemed to be the color tone of that era—only right or wrong, no thinking; only orders, no humanity.
In the early morning of May 19, 1989, CCP General Secretary Zhao Ziyang appeared at Tiananmen Square to urge students to end their hunger strike. It was his last public appearance—by then he had already lost power. Wen Jiabao, then Director of the General Office of the CCP Central Committee (second from the right), would later become Premier of China.
I was eleven years old in 1989. That May, I remember, the TV station suddenly interrupted all regular programming. “Students, you should go back…” Zhao Ziyang’s choked words urging the students to stop their hunger strike were broadcast repeatedly. Soon after, Xinwen Lianbo on CCTV labeled the student movement a “counterrevolutionary riot.” This became the hot topic of conversation among neighbors and acquaintances.
At that time, I could not understand what had happened. I often asked my father about it. He looked stern and said, “Children should focus on studying, don’t ask about these things!” Then he muttered, “This country is finished! There’s no future!” I didn’t understand the full meaning of his words back then, but his idea that “reading can open a bigger world” subtly influenced me. Many years later, I came to understand: that was the day the CCP used bullets and tanks to crush its own youth—the moment the sprouting seeds of democracy in the new China were destroyed.
Under Foreign Skies
After graduating, I applied for and worked successively on Japan’s Peace Boat and the U.S. Royal Caribbean Cruises. In my journeys measuring the world with my footsteps, I broadened my horizons. I came into real contact with a vast and diverse world: people of different nations, skin colors, and languages could freely discuss politics, human rights, criticize their governments, and talk about their satisfaction with government performance. In China, these words could only be memorized, never truly touched. I realized that freedom is not a privilege but an inalienable right; democracy is not a gift but a system won by the people.
Rights Defense: Questions from Harsh Reality
When I returned to China for a period, in 2015, I suffered blow after blow. My family home in Miaodun Community, Hangkong Road, Jianghan District, Wuhan, was included in an “old neighborhood renovation” zone. Without any formal documents or reasonable compensation, the developer and government colluded. Gangsters blocked my front door, cut off water and electricity, smashed windows. There was no avenue for resistance—police calls were useless, the government shirked responsibility. When several burly, tattooed, bald-headed thugs blocked my doorway with harassment and threats, I felt extreme helplessness, despair, and anger.
In reality, so-called “urban renovation” was just using the low-price forced acquisition of ordinary people’s homes as collateral for bank loans, then building taller, denser commercial housing to sell at high prices for massive profits. Government officials and businessmen reaped huge illicit gains, while the only losers were the ordinary people. In Wuhan, this was extremely common. In even worse cases, some residents who responded to the government’s “renovation” call waited for years without seeing any compensation—only endless perfunctory excuses and delays. It was blatant collusion between officials and businessmen!
Later, I worked for Guanjiabang, a domestic services company under Beijing Yimeng Tiandi Information Technology Co., Ltd., whose legal representative, Fu Yansheng, was said to have official connections. I worked there for six months but went four months without pay. Even though I won in court, I have never received the wages owed. Hundreds of nannies, domestic workers, and administrative staff were owed anywhere from 20,000 to over 200,000 yuan each in pay or pooled funds, still unpaid to this day. The boss showed no remorse or sympathy for employees, still living comfortably with luxury cars, villas, money, and women.
Even more outrageous, when I worked for Hubei Yuexi Health Management Co., Ltd., a chain maternal and child health management company in Wuhan, non-payment of social insurance and housing fund was “standard practice.” When I sought to defend my rights, my superior brushed it off with, “Work if you want to, leave if you don’t.” This made me see that the provisions in the Labor Law requiring employers to contribute to employees’ social insurance and housing funds were nothing but empty words. Later, the boss absconded with funds, and the wages previously in arrears were gone for good. Though some tried to hold them accountable and recover the money, nothing came of it. Workers’ lawful rights were trampled without mercy. I have to ask: Is this the “People’s Republic”? Is this the “superiority of socialism”?
The Pandemic: A Humanitarian Disaster
In 2020, when the pandemic broke out, Wuhan was locked down without warning. Information was blocked, and people were thrown into panic. Under lockdown, there was no food, no medicine, no freedom. Residential compounds were sealed off, residents left to fend for themselves. People with high fevers were dragged away, never to be heard from again; some elderly starved to death at home without anyone knowing; nucleic acid testing became a livestock-like herding process, done three times a day, rain or shine.
I saw with my own eyes an elderly man blocked from leaving his compound by community volunteers because he hadn’t done his nucleic acid test. Trembling, he said he just wanted to buy some vegetables. The volunteer coldly replied, “It’s policy—no one can help.” In some homes, “positive quarantine” white seals were pasted on the doors, and days later the entire family was found collapsed inside. In the eyes of the CCP, human lives were merely stability-maintenance statistics.
Vaccination was tied to travel—called “voluntary,” but in reality mandatory. Without a vaccine, you could not move freely. The health code was like an electronic shackle, turning red at will to strip you of all freedoms. Later it emerged that falsifying nucleic acid results was commonplace; many people I knew suffered aftereffects from the vaccines, which had no real effect and were just a means for unscrupulous officials and businessmen to profit from the crisis. A Wuhan resident said online what everyone felt: “The so-called free things from the CCP are the most expensive in the world—they come with ‘interest,’ and you pay back double!” Free nucleic acid and free testing were exactly that.
Resistance: Continuing the Pursuit of Freedom and Democracy
The experiences I had in China left me physically and mentally exhausted. The suffocating sense of oppression and helplessness hung over me for a long time. To escape this “quagmire” of pain, my spouse and I came to the U.S. for a trip in February this year. In April, my child—a U.S.-born citizen—came into the world. Her first breath was in the air of freedom. I don’t want her to grow up in lies and fear. Later, I had the chance to meet more witnesses and survivors from 1989. Their stories were completely different from the “official history” censored and altered in China. This strengthened my conviction: a country that does not allow discussion of historical truth can never truly protect the freedom and dignity of its citizens. This year, as a member of the Chinese Democracy Party, I participated in the 36th anniversary commemoration of June 4th in front of the Chinese Consulate in Los Angeles.
Remembering: Because Forgetting is Complicity
June 4th is not the past—it is the present. Today’s China still has no press freedom, no independent judiciary, no fair elections. The young people who fell at Tiananmen and those today who are silenced, banned, or imprisoned for speaking out are links in the same chain of resistance. It is a mirror—reflecting both the CCP’s brutality and the people’s longing for freedom, democracy, and human rights.
As an ordinary person, I was not born brave; I became unwilling to stay silent because I had experienced the pain of seeing the truth buried. I have come to realize deeply: if we dare not speak the truth, we are merely sheep to be slaughtered; if we dare not resist, we will forever live on our knees. That is why today, I am willing to speak out under my real name, no matter the cost—because silence is the real danger.
We must remember—because forgetting is complicity. Commemorating June 4th is not about reopening wounds, but about passing on a spirit. It should not be frozen as the blood on the square but should flow deep into the bones of every unyielding person. May we become small yet steadfast runners in the relay toward democracy and freedom.
The autocratic dynasty will eventually collapse, and the awakening of the people is an unstoppable torrent. Today I write these words not for safety, but for freedom.
Chinese Democracy Party Members Arrested; Support Echoes at Home and Abroad
Author: Yuan Jue (Minister of Party History and Regulations, Chinese Democracy Party)
Editor: Luo Zhifei Executive Editor: Lu Huiwen Translation: Lu Huiwen
Summary: The mass arrests of Chinese Democracy Party members by the CCP authorities in Hangzhou have drawn strong condemnation and protest from pro-democracy activists in mainland China and overseas, demanding the immediate release of those detained.
Chinese Democracy Party members involved: Lü Gengsong, Jiang Qisheng (not an official party member), Zhu Yufu, Wang Donghai, Zhu Zhengming.
On June 25, 1998, Wang Youcai, Wang Donghai, and Lin Hui went to the Zhejiang Provincial Department of Civil Affairs to apply for registration of the Preparatory Committee of the Chinese Democracy Party Zhejiang Branch. After U.S. President Bill Clinton concluded his visit to China on July 3, the CCP began a sweeping crackdown on the founders of the Chinese Democracy Party. Beginning on July 9, the authorities arrested Wang Youcai, Wang Donghai, Zhu Yufu, Zhu Zhengming, Wang Peijian, Cheng Fan, Wu Gaoxing, and other members of the Zhejiang Preparatory Committee.
The large-scale arrests in Hangzhou sparked strong condemnation and protest from pro-democracy activists in mainland China and abroad, with calls for the immediate release of the detainees.
According to contemporary media such as Xiao Cankao, Xu Shuiliang, overseas spokesperson for the Chinese Democracy Party, issued a communiqué on behalf of the Party to the United Nations and democratic governments around the world:
“To the United Nations and the governments of democratic countries: The CCP authorities’ large-scale arrests, searches, and persecution of Chinese Democracy Party members constitute a serious violation of the human rights principles set forth in international covenants. We urge the U.S. government and Congress to closely monitor the situation. You have the responsibility to engage the Chinese government to prevent further deterioration and to press the Chinese authorities to cease their violations of citizens’ human rights.”
Prominent pro-democracy activists Wang Dan and Chai Ling called on the Boston government to sever its sister-city relationship with Hangzhou. In an open letter to the mayor and city council of Boston, Wang Dan, Chai Ling, Liu Gang, Wang Xizhe, Yang Jianli, Shen Tong, and Li Lanjü, among others, signed a call to sanction the Hangzhou Public Security Bureau for its recent serious human rights abuses.
One hundred political dissidents from 19 provinces and municipalities in China—including Lin Mu, Qin Yongmin, Liu Xianbin, Gao Hongming, Jiang Qisheng, Xie Changfa, and Lü Honglai—signed an open letter to Chinese President Jiang Zemin and Premier Zhu Rongji regarding the “7·10” mass arrests by Zhejiang police and defamatory statements made by the Ministry of Foreign Affairs against “dissidents.” The letter stated:
“We are deeply shocked to learn that the Zhejiang Public Security Bureau, in the name of ‘endangering state security,’ has forcibly detained Wang Youcai, Wang Donghai, and Zhu Yufu, applicants for the Chinese Democracy Party Zhejiang Preparatory Committee, along with other dissidents… We urge the central government to order the Zhejiang Public Security Bureau to immediately correct this human rights violation and to promptly release Wang Youcai, Wang Donghai, Zhu Yufu, and Zhu Zhengming.” (Agence France-Presse report)
The Independent Federation of Chinese Students and Scholars (IFCSS) expressed concern over the deteriorating human rights situation in China and issued an open letter calling on the U.S. Congress to impose sanctions on the CCP. In this letter to Congress, IFCSS Council Chairman Li Jinghong urged lawmakers to reassess President Clinton’s trip to China and to immediately suspend trade, cultural, and scientific exchanges between the United States and Zhejiang Province. Four mainland dissidents launched a hunger strike to protest the arrests of Wang Youcai and four other Chinese Democracy Party members, calling on overseas pro-democracy groups to unite in supporting them. Zhejiang opposition movement activists Wu Gaoxing, Ye Wenxiang, and Fu Quan issued a “Hunger Strike Declaration” and began a 48-hour hunger strike at noon on July 20.
On July 20, sixteen overseas Chinese dissidents—including Wei Jingsheng, Wang Dan, Fang Lizhi, Liu Qing, Wang Juntao, Chen Yizi, and Liu Binyan—issued an “Open Letter to President Jiang Zemin and President Clinton,” condemning and protesting the arrests of those preparing to found the Chinese Democracy Party. The letter urged Jiang Zemin to “uphold the dignity of the Constitution, stop unconstitutional actions,” and order police to immediately release those unconstitutionally arrested. The five Zhejiang dissidents were arrested for applying to establish the Chinese Democracy Party. The open letter stated:
“During President Clinton’s visit to China, your joint press conference gave us real hope, as you openly discussed human rights issues. Unfortunately, recent developments have completely undone any positive results from that visit.” (AFP report)
Meanwhile, pro-democracy activists inside China established a Legal Aid Association and a defense lawyers’ group for the Chinese Democracy Party, hiring attorneys to represent Wang Youcai, Wang Donghai, Lin Hui, Zhu Zhengming, and others arrested in Zhejiang. This domestic legal aid effort was led by prominent dissidents such as Lin Mu, former secretary to Hu Yaobang, and veteran Beijing activist Xu Wenli, with participants from over a dozen provinces and cities across the country.
Since the public application for registration on June 25, the CCP had begun a wave of arrests. The July 9 crackdown was the first large-scale political suppression since the 1989 Tiananmen Movement—occurring just before the CCP’s promised signing of the United Nations International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights. This triggered widespread shock both domestically and internationally. UN High Commissioner for Human Rights Mary Robinson immediately set out for China to negotiate.
The courageous actions of the Chinese Democracy Party inspired and encouraged pro-democracy activists around the world. “We are not alone”—pro-democracy individuals and organizations everywhere issued statements condemning the CCP’s illegal actions and calling on the U.S. government and the international community to pay close attention to the arrests.
In China, activists organized legal aid teams to confront the CCP’s violations of civil and political rights through legal means. The powerful wave of domestic and international support ultimately forced the CCP authorities to release all Chinese Democracy Party members who had been arrested or placed under “residential surveillance,” just before High Commissioner Mary Robinson arrived in Beijing.
May 35th The days crushed beneath the caterpillar tracks, Tanks, breathing like monsters, Could not suppress The torn wounds spurting anger, Staining the entire sky red.
One day, Two days, Three days, Candlelight — flickering like stars, Mothers of the Square — burning with blood and grief, Solidified on the millennium-deep, blackened, salty earth.
You — owe the mothers An exploding dawn.
Dedicated to the heroes of the Square. Mo Bei Gu Xia, written beneath the misty rains at a small wooden hut under Higashiyama, Nagoya, early summer 2025
Author: Mo Bei Gu Xia Editor: Gloria Wang Chief Editor: Luo Zhifei Translation: He Xingqiang
Abstract: In its Constitution, the Chinese government claims that citizens “enjoy freedom of religious belief.” On the international stage, it repeatedly stresses that China’s religious policy is “tolerant and open,” even citing the Universal Declaration of Human Rights to prove it respects freedom of belief.
Author: Li Yanliang
Editor: Cheng Wei Chief Editor: Luo Zhifei
Translator:He XingQiang
I want to discuss an issue that concerns not only faith but also human dignity — the Chinese Communist Party’s “double standards” regarding religious freedom.
In the Constitution, the Chinese government claims that citizens “enjoy freedom of religious belief.” On the international stage, it repeatedly emphasizes that China’s religious policy is “tolerant and open,” even quoting the Universal Declaration of Human Rights to show it respects freedom of belief. On the surface, this may look like a pluralistic, respectful society. In reality, it is entirely the opposite.
In China, religious belief is strictly controlled — not because believers commit crimes, but because their faith is not fully under government control. The Bible, the Quran, and other scriptures are altered or censored. Sermons must be pre-approved. In churches, mosques, and temples, the national flag must be displayed and political propaganda posted. Religious leaders must undergo ideological review and political training, and are even required to insert political slogans into their sermons.
For underground churches, home gatherings, and unapproved religious activities, the government’s response is not dialogue but suppression. Countless believers have been summoned, detained; churches have been demolished; crosses torn down. The CCP repeatedly says that “religion must adapt to socialist society,” but what it truly means is that religion must submit to the Party, and the core doctrines of faith must be remolded into political tools.
This is the truth behind “saying one thing, doing another”:
On paper, they allow you to believe;
In reality, they restrict you, reshape you — until your faith is no longer your faith.
Freedom of belief is not a gift from the government; it is a fundamental human right. To deprive people of freedom of belief is to strip away the freedom of conscience and the soul. A government that truly respects faith would not alter scriptures, would not demolish places of worship, and would not replace prayer and worship with surveillance and threats.
I call on the international community not to be swayed by the Chinese government’s fine words in global forums, but to see the reality behind them. Do not be deceived by “freedom on paper,” but pay attention to those who are silenced and persecuted because of their faith. What is being lost in China today is not only believers’ places of worship, not only a once-complete Bible, but the nation’s most precious freedom of belief and freedom of the soul.
— Li Yanlong, Chinese Catholic Believer and Member of the China Democracy Party
Ling Wancheng’s Defection: The Red Wall Fears Not Its Enemies, but Its Own People
Author: Mao YiweiEditor: Feng RengResponsible Editor: Luo ZhifeiTranslator: Lyu Feng
Summary: Ling Wancheng defected to the United States with 2,700 top-secret documents, dealing a heavy blow to the CCP’s core defenses. This incident exposes the power structure’s infighting and distrust—internal fractures that are deadlier than external pressure. The truth has already broken through the blockade.
From the leak of 2,700 classified documents, we can see the CCP’s logic of internal collapse.
In Wang Zhian’s video, he said something that cut to the bone: “What Ling Wancheng took away wasn’t just documents—it was what the CCP most feared people would see.”
If this were in a movie, the plot would seem exaggerated: Ling Wancheng, younger brother of Ling Jihua, fled from Beijing to the United States with an entire cache of 2,700 top-secret documents. What was in them? Nuclear launch procedures, Zhongnanhai’s security layouts, the highest-level communication codes, and raw records of power struggles. These are the kind of secrets that the CCP treats as its very lifeblood. The U.S. intelligence community called it “a gift from heaven.” To me, it’s more like a knife plunged straight into the heart of the Red Wall—from the inside.
For decades, the CCP has boasted of being a “copper wall and iron bastion,” unshaken by outside condemnation or sanctions. But copper can rust, and iron can crack. What can truly bring it down has never been an external enemy—it’s always been its own people.
Just imagine: a man who had been enjoying all the privileges of the inner circle suddenly risks being silenced forever, carrying a trove of deadly secrets to the United States. There’s only one reason—he himself no longer believes in the system.
In the CCP’s logic of power, there are no true friends, only temporary accomplices. Today you stand on the “right” side; tomorrow you might be the sacrifice. The blade always turns inward, and anyone can be the next target for purging. Ling Wancheng didn’t run because he suddenly became a democratic fighter. He ran because he saw clearly—stay inside, and sooner or later, he’d die at the hands of his own.
This is not the first time something like this has happened. In recent years, CCP “insiders” have been sent to Qincheng Prison, disappeared without a trace, or outright defected. From military generals to diplomats, from intelligence chiefs to state enterprise executives—the number of those fleeing keeps growing. Outsiders may see these as isolated incidents, but those familiar with the CCP know: this is the machine’s own screws falling out. Once a screw comes loose, it can never be tightened back in.
The irony is that the CCP relies on blocking news and controlling public opinion to maintain stability. You can seal the mouths of the people, but you can’t lock up the feet of your own insiders. A high-level defection is far deadlier than any external criticism—because it proves that even the core circle is voting with their feet to leave the Party.
I’m not naive enough to think one defection will make the Wall collapse overnight. But every leak of secrets is a humiliation; every file that lands in foreign hands is a cut tearing away at its façade. Ling Wancheng took away not just 2,700 documents, but a declaration of no confidence—written with his own actions.
History offers parallels: the defections of KGB officers from the Soviet Union and intelligence agents from East Germany were never isolated cases. Behind them lies the same pattern—when power begins devouring its own, when secrets repeatedly leak to the outside world, the system is already collapsing from within. In the end, it’s not an enemy that breaches the wall—it’s the wall crumbling on its own.
Ling Wancheng’s flight was the first crack laid bare under the sunlight. You can hide the truth for a time, but you can’t repair the rot that’s loosening the entire structure.
If My Child Were in China, Who Would Protect Them?
— Starting from the Bullying Incident in Jiangyou, Sichuan
Author: Wang Qiao | Editor: Zhao Jie | Executive Editor: Luo Zhifei
Translator: Lyu Feng
Recently, the case of an underage girl being bullied in Jiangyou, Sichuan, has deeply shaken countless hearts. In the video, the girl is surrounded and beaten by several underage peers—humiliated, dragged by the hair, stepped on, and even filmed and the footage spread online. The perpetrators showed no fear, the onlookers no compassion, and not a single person stepped in to stop it. The victim could only cry, plead, and break down in front of the camera.
As a mother, my heart shattered when I saw the video. I cannot imagine the humiliation and terror that child endured. As a mother, I also cannot help but ask myself: if my child were studying in China, could such a thing happen to him one day? If he were bullied, would anyone stand up to protect him?
I think of my own child. We lived in China for many years, and under that system and environment, I was always deeply worried about his future. Later, we made our way to the United States. Though the journey has been full of challenges, I have always believed that no matter how difficult it is, as long as he lives in a society that respects human rights and upholds the rule of law, he is at least safe.
Yes, my child is now being held in an immigration detention center in the U.S., and that is a great pain in my heart. But even there, he has not been bullied, insulted, or stripped of his most basic dignity. A detention center is not a school—yet it is still more humane and better regulated than some schools in China.
In China, society often chooses to “cool down” incidents like this, to smooth things over: “Don’t make a big fuss,” or “Kids fight sometimes, it’s normal.” It often seems that maintaining so-called “harmony and stability” is more important than the physical and mental well-being of a child.
If a child in China is bullied, there are few who will truly stand up for them. Parents who confront the school are often labeled as “troublemakers”; reporting to the police may not work because law enforcement might refuse to file a case; schools are more likely to prioritize “protecting their reputation,” persuading parents to settle privately, or even pressuring the victim into silence.
Some people have asked me: “Do you regret taking your child out of China, now that he’s in immigration detention?” My answer is: No.
I would rather my child be temporarily in immigration detention than grow up in a school system where the institution is cold, responsibilities are unclear, and children’s dignity can be trampled at will. I would rather fight for a future for him that is difficult but just, than have him live in an environment where “corporal punishment,” “warnings,” and “sweeping things under the rug” are the norm.
Every child deserves to live in a society that can protect them. Every victim deserves to be heard and taken seriously. Every mother has the right to fight for a safer future for her child.
I hope that the bullied child in Sichuan can truly receive justice. I hope those who committed the violence will be held legally accountable. More importantly, I hope China’s education system can face such tragedies head-on, instead of continuing to cover up, dismiss, and downplay them.
As for me, I will continue to fight for my child’s freedom and dignity—no matter how hard it is—because that is a mother’s duty, and also the most basic human right.
Los Angeles — August 16th — 751st Jasmine Action: Defend the Church!
Event Background:
We solemnly declare: Freedom of faith is a God-given, inalienable human right that no regime may take away!
We firmly oppose the CCP authorities’ harsh control over churches and political infiltration, and we oppose all forms of religious persecution.
We call for:
• An immediate end to the suppression of churches
• The return of worship venues that have been forcibly seized
• The removal of surveillance cameras and secret informants
• The safeguarding of believers’ rights to freely worship and freely spread the Gospel
We raise the cross — to defend the church, to defend the faith!
Recently, in Guangdong Province, there have been multiple serious incidents targeting Christians and house churches, including arrests, fines, and raids on gatherings:
• The Church of Almighty God — repeatedly subjected to large-scale arrests, with some believers sentenced to prison
• Wang Yi — founder of the Early Rain Covenant Church in Chengdu, arrested in December 2018 and sentenced at the end of 2019 to nine years in prison for “inciting subversion of state power” and “illegal business operations”
• Li Shuangping — preacher at Jindengtai Church in Linfen, Shanxi, detained since August 2021 on suspicion of “fraud”; denied bail during Chinese New Year 2025, missing the chance to say farewell to his terminally ill mother
• Ding Zhongfu — elder of the “Spring of Life” house church in Anhui, detained in 2023 for alleged “fraud,” believed to be a tactic to suppress house churches
• Deng Yanxiang and four others — members of “Holy Family Church” in Guangdong, sentenced in January 2025 for “illegal business operations”; Deng was sentenced to two years in prison and fined
• Pastor Zhao Huaiguo — leader of a house church in Hunan, previously arrested for “inciting subversion of state power,” still missing without a trace
• Zhu Longfei — in Guangzhou, charged with “illegal business operations” for printing sermon materials internally; previously detained and later released on bail, attracting public concern
• Lawyer Gao Zhisheng — missing for 8 years
Today, we also speak out for another brother who has suffered for faith and justice:
Lawyer Gao Zhisheng — a well-known Chinese human rights lawyer who has defended house church believers and vulnerable groups many times, and a steadfast Christian. For standing for truth and justice, he has been subjected to torture, house arrest, and surveillance many times. In August 2017, he disappeared from his home in Shanxi; to this day—exactly eight years later—there has been no news of him.
These cases show that house churches and unregistered religious venues in Guangdong Province are facing unprecedentedly intense suppression, and the religious freedom of Christians has been severely violated.
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Prayer:
Dear Heavenly Father, we ask You to stretch out Your hand of justice, to drive back all persecution and temptation from Satan. Strengthen our brothers and sisters in China who are suffering, that they may still bear witness to the glory of Christ in the refining fire. Amen.
Hymn: Missionary China
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Theme: “Defend the Church! Chinese Christians Oppose Control, Infiltration, and Persecution”
Time: Saturday, August 16, 2025 — 4:30 PM
Location: Consulate General of the People’s Republic of China in Los Angeles
Organizer: Guangdong Provincial Committee, Jiangxi Provincial Committee, and Ontario Branch of the China Democracy Party National Committee
Co-organizer: Almighty Christ Anti-Communist Front
Initiators: Li Tianhui, Pu Qinbai, Zheng Gang, Zeng Yuhan, Zhao Ye, Li Yanlong
Hosts: Li Tianhui, Pu Qinbai
Event Organization: Zhao Ye
Event Leads: Ni Shicheng, Yang Hao
Planning: Li Tianhui, Mou Zongqiang, Liu Ao
Photography/Videography: Tuo Xianrun, Zhuo Haoran
Volunteer Lead: Yang Hao
Volunteers: Li Yanlong, Ma Qun, Yang Changbing, Cao Meimei
In order to promote the early transformation of Chinese society from traditional politics to modern politics, to prevent China from remaining outside the international mainstream community and attracting unwanted scrutiny, and to ensure that the Chinese government—as a permanent member of the United Nations—abides by all UN human rights conventions in name and in practice, follows international norms, and benefits the people’s welfare, my friends—Wang Youcai, Wang Donghai, Zhu Zhengming, Wu Yilong, Mao Qingxiang, Xu Guang—and I, in June 1998, initiated the preparations to establish the Zhejiang Preparatory Committee of the China Democracy Party. We hoped to, through peaceful, rational, and non-violent means, in accordance with international practice and the principles of freedom of association and freedom of speech enshrined in China’s Constitution, discuss politics, deliberate on national affairs, and exercise the basic rights of citizens.
Our original intention was to break through the ban on political parties and the ban on newspapers—two basic indicators of a modern democratic society—to reform the abnormal phenomenon of “party rule over the state,” and to build a civil society, with the aim of purifying officialdom, curbing corruption, improving the safety index of the Chinese people, improving the ecological environment, and enabling society to be fundamentally harmonious and stable. We sought to reform the superstructure that had become increasingly flawed alongside economic development—something that accords with the long-term interests of the Chinese nation.
Our actions should, by all rights, have been protected by any government in a modern democratic society. However, due to the inertia of Cold War thinking, we were sentenced to heavy prison terms for “subversion.” I, in my capacity as “Secretary-General,” was sentenced to seven years. After being detained for seven years and eighty-eight days, I was released. Regardless of the legal basis for this so-called “lawful judgment,” what was even more absurd was that I was met with a series of bizarre events, entirely at odds with the dazzling propaganda of so-called “progress,” “rule of law,” and “harmony” promoted by the authorities. This only demonstrated the severity of the flaws in the current system and the necessity and urgency of political reform. Having survived, I now recount the political persecution and “reform” episodes I experienced after my arrest, so that people can have a clear understanding of the political ecology in 21st-century China and the living conditions of political prisoners.
I. Cast Out by Others
(1) Arrest
1. June 19
June 19, 1999, was a quiet weekend. Yet, like many of my weekends, it was busy. Since Zhu Zhengming and Wu Yilong had been arrested and disappeared months earlier, the political climate had become tense. I had read online that the authorities planned to crack down on the China Democracy Party after the June Fourth anniversary. In order to ensure my family would have a better living environment if I went to prison, I had bought an apartment a few hundred meters from my home and was rushing to finish renovations. That day, my wife and I had agreed to go shopping for curtains and a sofa in the afternoon.
The day before had been the Dragon Boat Festival, and my workplace had asked me to write a report on comprehensive governance. At noon, colleagues from a neighboring office invited me to drink festival wine with them. My mind was still occupied with ideas for the report. Early in the morning, I took my 12-year-old daughter to her art class. A friend, Wang, had arranged to finalize the 9th issue of The Opposition Party magazine that day. I decided to finish my office work first, then edit the magazine.
Unexpectedly, visitors kept coming that day. In the afternoon, just after I saw off a new friend from Shaoxing, an acquaintance I seldom saw dropped by. (Coincidentally—or not—in 1998, this same person had once brought Wang Qianqu over on July 10. ) As we were talking, a group of political security police suddenly burst into my home.
Although there had been rumors since the bombing of the Chinese Embassy in Yugoslavia on May 8 that the authorities would suppress democracy activists, and although before June Fourth the authorities had already made sweeping moves—strictly controlling most democracy activists (myself included, being driven around southern Zhejiang by leaders from my office in Hangzhou’s Shangcheng District Housing Administration Bureau)—I was still taken aback by the sudden arrival of the political security police. Especially since all the China Democracy Party materials were laid out on the table, the loss from the search was severe.
Oddly, political security officer Zheng Gang insisted I open the door to the apartment opposite, which belonged to my wife’s elder brother. I had borrowed it briefly during the renovation, and only a few in our circle knew about it. I immediately suspected the person we had long suspected as an informant. I claimed I didn’t have the key, and Zheng, unable to press further, gave up. This only confirmed our suspicions about that person.
The plainclothes officers escorted me downstairs, one holding a DV camcorder to record the scene—likely to report to superiors. Neighbors gathered, puzzled, perhaps thinking I had committed some heinous crime. I shouted loudly, “I haven’t stolen, I haven’t robbed—I am a member of the China Democracy Party! For freedom and human rights, for social progress—” A young plainclothes officer (years later I learned his name was Jiang Xiaomin, who in 2009 shamelessly boasted about arresting 15 CDP members) pushed me and barked, “You’re something else! You’re China Democracy Party!” Several police cars waited a hundred meters away. The plainclothes officers shoved me into a car and sped away.
Zheng Gang also took my visiting brother-in-law and the conveniently-timed “friend” to the Wangjiang Police Station. After a perfunctory check of my brother-in-law’s ID, they asked the “friend” a few token questions and released him—even though he had no ID and gave a name I had never heard. After my arrest, that person visited my family several times to offer “comfort.” Upon my release, my wife asked me to thank him, saying one should not fail to repay kindness. Sadly, he had died six months earlier.
Later that night, around 9 PM, after a brief interrogation, Zhang Jianhua and Zheng Gang produced a “Residential Surveillance Decision” for me to sign, then Zheng drove me straight to the Xiaoshan Detention & Deportation Center.
2. My Heart Was Calm
The police car sped into the dark night, crossing the Qianjiang Third Bridge and through Xiaoshan toward Zhuji. My mind flashed back to June 3: I had been detained the entire afternoon at Zhakou Police Station, then released. On the way home, I passed Wangjiang Police Station, and a strong sense of duty made me check in on other detained party members. I saw several police surrounding Li Bagen upstairs, taking his statement. As I was leaving, I encountered Zhang Jianhua and others.
Zhang said, “Zhu Yufu, what are you doing here?”
I replied, “Just passing by to take a look.”
He said, “You’ve seen it, huh! I think your health is poor—why bother with revolution? If you promise to quit the China Democracy Party, I guarantee you won’t spend a single day in jail.”
Earlier that day I had fainted from low blood sugar, so clearly Zhang knew my condition—he had even brought me herbal tea once when I was released in 1998. But seeing my comrades persecuted upstairs, I could not shamefully retreat. After a brief silence, I refused outright: “Why should I quit? Freedom of association is our right. If you want to arrest me, arrest me! If you can stand to keep arresting, I can stand to keep going to prison! June Fourth will be vindicated one day; democracy will come one day!”
The car fell silent. I thought of my elderly mother, my wife of nearly 20 years, my children’s future under political repression. Could I doubt my choice? Years earlier, during the crackdown on the “Democracy Wall” movement, I had retreated out of concern for my family—a choice I regretted deeply. This time, the chance to wash away that shame had come. As Chen Duxiu once said, “Social progress goes through two places: prison and the research room.” My heart grew calmer.
(2) Xiaoshan Deportation Center
1. The “Home of Love”
The car turned into a courtyard by a hill, leading to a four-story building. A plump young man named Xing Gang greeted us, took custody, and led me to a row of barred cells. The stench was overwhelming. Two men lay inside: a young man from Henan who had killed a relative of the Xiaoshan mayor in a traffic accident, and an older man from Hunan whose son had fled after causing a fatal accident—he was being held as a hostage.
The young man was soon released after his family paid compensation. The older man, surnamed Zhou, had been held for a long time, frail and sickly. China’s detention-and-repatriation centers had been infamous—so much so that after the Sun Zhigang incident, they were “reformed.” But few knew the crimes behind the walls.
I remembered when I worked as a housing inspector, police had asked us to check construction workers’ temporary residence permits to make up for demerit points. Workers without permits were sent to the deportation center in batches. The newspapers called these places “warm homes full of love.”
I also recalled a relative from Dongyang who vanished while strolling the streets in Hangzhou, only to call home two weeks later from a deportation center.
I had never truly understood these places—until I lived in one. Only then did I see how ordinary Chinese people lived under such a brutal system, powerless against arbitrary abuse. In the middle of the night, I would be awakened by the metallic clang of bars, sirens, flashing lights, and the sight of armed police herding frightened people into packed cells before leaving. My cell was next to the women’s cellblock. The sounds of women crying, children wailing, and general chaos were constant. One night was especially heart-wrenching: the police brought in a heavily pregnant woman. Just as everyone had settled down to sleep, a desperate shout came from outside the main gate, and the pregnant woman inside began calling out in anguish. It turned out her husband had rushed over to rescue her, but couldn’t get in, and she couldn’t get out. The cries and sobs from inside and outside echoed through the desolate night air—piercing, sorrowful, and gut-wrenching.
2. Kidnapping for Ransom
One morning in mid-July, the police brought in a large group of men and women, cramming the cells full, and then left without tending to them. Only an old man surnamed Zhu came by at mealtimes to hand out food. When bowls ran out, he would take a bowl someone had already eaten from and use it to serve food to the next person. I heard someone in the outer cell shouting, “I have hepatitis! I have Hepatitis B!” The old man heard him and cursed, “Huo hen mo bie ge xie, jiao hou ge jiao, na dao shi zhu binguan ha, na shi zuo gan lao ya!” (Xiaoshan dialect, meaning: “What are you yelling for? You think this is a hotel? This is jail!”).
Around 4 p.m., another cell started making a commotion. I heard someone yelling, “Let me out, I have to work the night shift!” In a pause between his shouts, I asked why he was yelling. It turned out he was a man named Chen Chunfeng (phonetic) from Yiwu, working at a chemical factory there. His younger brother had run away from home after not getting into a vocational school, and their father had told him to go out and look for him. That morning, he had taken a bus to Xiaoshan, wandered into the bustling International Plaza, and unfortunately ran into a police sweep checking IDs. Since he had no ID on him, he was thrown into the detention and repatriation center. He thought he could explain and be released quickly, but no one paid any attention after he was locked up. Seeing he might miss work, he became desperate.
It was the height of summer, and the staff stayed in air-conditioned rooms, unwilling to come out. I told him to kick the iron door loudly—someone would come if they heard the noise. Sure enough, soon a man from upstairs came down, scowling, and after hearing Chen’s explanation said harshly, “Na cou la zao se fou wo?” (Xiaoshan dialect: “Why didn’t you say so earlier?”), and then released him.
A few days later I understood why the man had been so surly—he had just lost a payday.
The CCP has always strictly controlled population movement. Even after “reform and opening up,” there remain countless malicious laws to oppress ordinary people. Outsiders arriving in a city must have an ID card, temporary residence permit, work permit, family planning certificate, and so on—including many arbitrary “local policies” created to extract money from the people.
When police detained people with no actual offenses, they would put them in the detention and repatriation center, which became a lucrative source of income. They exploited public authority for departmental gain, enriching officials. Conditions in the center were extremely poor, and detainees suffered greatly, prompting them to contact relatives and friends by any means. Each morning, detainees were allowed to call their families to bring money to ransom them out—a very “clever” method of rent-seeking. The “management” fee was 100 yuan per person, plus 10 yuan per day for food, which was abysmal in quality. I spent 51 days there; breakfast was pickles and thin porridge, other meals were dried vegetables with winter melon or bean sprouts.
Occasionally, old Zhu would fish a scrap of fatty meat from the staff table’s leftovers into my bowl. I would give this contaminated food to someone else.
After I was sentenced, on November 18, 1999, the center issued a “receipt” for 1,650 yuan, stating it covered June 19 to August 14 (55 days). Never mind that I was brought there after midnight on June 19 and left on August 13—more absurd was that Xiaoshan’s center charged 20 yuan a day in “care fees.” Without my consent or signature, the police took the bill to my workplace for reimbursement. Fearing the police’s power, my superiors sacrificed my interests to protect themselves. At year’s end, when my wife went to collect my last three months’ wages, the workplace deducted the receipt amount from my pay and gave her the balance. This rare piece of evidence proves the sordid collusion between government agencies and the police.
3. A Lucrative Business
The detention center was a money machine. At night, the courtyard between the main building and the cells was rented out as a parking lot. Every morning, a dozen Dongfeng diesel trucks would start up, filling the cells with exhaust fumes and leaving nowhere to hide. Behind the cellblock, space was rented to a sheet-metal workshop, whose hammering made our heads throb.
Worse still, in the scorching summer, they removed the water taps from inside the cells—perhaps to save money. They often “forgot” to provide boiled water, which for me, with severe hyperlipidemia, was a life-threatening deprivation. When I knocked on the door to request water, Xing Gang came with an electric baton, shoved it through the doorway, and tried to jab me. When I dodged, he cursed in Xiaoshan dialect: “Huo hen mo bie ge xie, wo bai hen qie jiu bai hen qie, fou bai hen qie jiu fou bai hen qie, hen chao hou ge chao!” (“I’ll give you food if I want, if I don’t want to, I won’t—what are you yelling for?”).
The administrators acted like “big shots,” with police cars, batons, and even a short, fat, thuggish man in uniform who sometimes unlocked the door to take a few detainees out to wash police cars. More absurd was the sight one night of a 15- or 16-year-old fat boy swaggering among the police, barking orders and cursing at the terrified detainees—later I learned he was the son of the center’s director, Xu Xinxing, amusing himself with a taste of “public authority.”
Although the detention center was under the civil affairs department, it wielded police powers. What “republic” is this, when the so-called citizens of the “People’s Republic” are trampled at will?
One night, they brought in a group of sex workers to the women’s cell. The next day, a few men gathered at the corridor window to peek inside. A woman inside called out, “Big brother, big brother, my name is [name], take me out with you!” Sure enough, the man paid money, and Xing Gang opened the cell to release her, and she left on his arm. If the usual business was kidnapping and extortion, here they were also playing the role of pimps and madams.
The government agencies, driven by greed, were making this filthy money while still shamelessly calling themselves the “people’s government.” It was nothing more than the collusion of officials and criminals, with the detention center and the johns both benefiting—at the expense of vulnerable women. Those who could be ransomed were allowed to call for someone to fetch them; those who couldn’t were quietly “handled” in this manner. Any pretense of “public security” was utterly hollow—authoritarian dictatorship is the root of social corruption.
On Sunday morning, June 27, 1999, before dawn, I overheard old Zhu in the women’s cell next door asking, “Na zuo hou ge sang yi?” (Xiaoshan dialect: “What business are you in?”). Seeing that the three young women inside were somewhat attractive, he had unlocked the cell to “do cleaning.” The women protested in alarm, “The people next door are awake, they’ll hear us.” Zhu replied, “Yi kun za dong, ting fou za gou.” (Xiaoshan dialect: “He’s asleep over there, he can’t hear.”) Disgusted by his vile behavior, I deliberately said loudly, “Ah! Another beautiful day.” Seeing his fun spoiled, he cursed under his breath and left. A few days later, those women were ransomed.
In early July, Zheng Gang came to interrogate me. After returning to the cell, my cellmates told me the women had come to visit me and brought a bag of food to thank me for helping them that day—but old Zhu had taken it.
4. Wang Xizhe
I kept mulling over something Zheng Gang had said during interrogation: “Zhu Yufu, you used to say we are tools, but you’re the real sacrifice—you’re a victim of the political struggle between China and the United States.” From this, I understood the authorities had decided to use the NATO bombing of the Chinese Embassy in Yugoslavia as a pretext to “punish the maid, scold the mistress”—in other words, to settle internal scores. The grim reality left no room for optimism; I no longer had any illusions.
Zheng also remarked, “You all seem to respect Wang Xizhe quite a lot,” from which I gathered this was a shared view among myself, Mao Qingxiang, Li Xian, Wang Rongqing, and others.
In my youth, I had yearned for democracy and hated feudal despotism. In primary school, I borrowed many Republican-era books promoting liberty, equality, and fraternity from a neighbor. In 1971, at age 17, I began working at the Hangzhou Botanical Garden. A friend, Hu Xueliang, told me that the Hangzhou Library reading room had many good books. I went and discovered upstairs a treasure trove of works by Voltaire, Rousseau, Diderot, Montesquieu, and other Enlightenment thinkers.
In 1975, my friend Jiang Jinkun brought me a mimeographed copy of On Socialist Democracy and the Legal System (known as the “Li Yizhe Big-Character Poster”), marked “For Criticism Only.” I was captivated by its anti-feudal, anti-despotism rhetoric. Jiang suggested we reprint it for others to read, so we spent the night printing and binding copies. This was my first reason for admiring Mr. Wang Xizhe.
Later, Wang visited Hangzhou, but by then I had withdrawn from activism and regrettably missed meeting him. Mao Qingxiang once showed me Wang’s Spring Chill, giving me a glimpse of his style. Later, persecuted by the police, Wang went into exile abroad. I heard that, unlike some “movement aristocrats,” he lived like an ascetic—lonely, weary, yet steadfast. In June 1998, when the Zhejiang Preparatory Committee of the China Democracy Party was founded, Wang, along with Lian Shengde and Xu Wenli, immediately voiced support. After Wang Youcai’s arrest, Wang Xizhe gave even greater help. I recall that when fellow CDP members called from around the country, they all expressed deep respect for him.
I believe that at the time, Wang Xizhe had already become the de facto guide and leader of CDP members nationwide. I once discussed inviting him to take the lead role, but he declined. We 1979 Democracy Movement friends even considered making it official, but did not support others’ attempts to “incorporate” (or, failing that, buy off and disperse) the party. In the end, we were all suppressed, and the matter was dropped. As Democritus said, “Man is a little world.” I believe that with his candid and willful personality, Wang might do some harmless foolish things—but these flaws do not overshadow his merits. My friends and I, past, present, and future, will always hold deep respect for the great efforts he made during those difficult and perilous times.
5. An Opportunity to Escape
The cell was dark and damp, with filthy, rotting quilts that thousands had used over the years without ever being washed. Others were held only a few days, but I was a long-term detainee. Zheng Gang had said they were now busy dealing with Falun Gong and wouldn’t bother with me for the time being (he said residential surveillance could last six months, so “no rush”).
At night, the mosquitoes were so thick I had to pull the cotton from inside my quilt, wrap myself tightly in the cover, and leave only my nose exposed—just as Lu Xun had done in Sendai.
One day, while squatting over the toilet, I noticed something odd at the base of the wall. Touching it, I found it was packed with shredded cotton. Pulling it out, I discovered that the bricks could be removed, revealing a hole just large enough for a person to crawl through. Outside, the wall bordered the sheet-metal workshop’s yard, piled with debris. Climbing over would mean freedom. For a moment, I was seized with the impulse to escape. However, I quickly calmed down—
I recalled that at the founding of the China Democracy Party, Wang Donghai once asked me my thoughts on forming the party. I said that, looking at the global trend, lifting the ban on political parties was only a matter of time—an unavoidable hurdle right in front of us. Deng Xiaoping had always talked about political reform, but at the time there were still many old-generation conservatives around him, and he was perhaps constrained at every turn. Deng tended to skirt around complex matters—just like with the Diaoyu Islands issue between China and Japan, saying it should be left for future generations to resolve, as they would be wiser.
At present, the top is constrained by the inertia of vested interest groups, dragging things out as long as possible; the main reason is that ordinary people have not demanded change. As the saying goes, “What kind of people there are, is what kind of government there will be.” Taiwan’s road to lifting the ban on political parties and moving toward democracy was also not an easy one. If you challenge the party ban, you will certainly be arrested and imprisoned. But if the people are no longer afraid of prison, if everyone comes to realize that freedom of association is their inherent right, then when the authorities arrest people again, it will provoke popular outrage, and authoritarianism will have no market. At that point, society will have taken a great step forward, and democracy will have arrived.
At the same time, although we go to prison, our contributions and sacrifices will help the people understand that the China Democracy Party is a modern political party capable of assuming political responsibility, winning the trust and support of the people. Being arrested and sentenced is, in itself, the Communist Party doing advertising for us.
I knew full well: who am I, with my humble body, to change reality? Throughout history, the fundamental force for social change has come from within the old camp. As a political victim, by using my own suffering to awaken human conscience, to awaken the moral awareness of capable people inside the old camp, my punishment thus becomes a form of performance art—it prompts people to think, to seek answers, to correct the contradictions of reality. I have sought benevolence and attained it; why should I run away?
When future generations judge this period of history, and point to our spines and ask, “How could you tolerate such a reality?” I can have no shame, for I have tried, I have given, I have sacrificed. In a democratic society, our actions should be protected by the government. Yet in today’s China, I have become a “criminal.” This is humanity’s misfortune, China’s sorrow, and the government’s disgrace.
Furthermore, for so many years, there have always been those within the democracy movement who, intentionally or unintentionally, spread rumors that this or that person is a “CCP agent.” If such rumors come from the other side, they are clumsy and easy to detect—because democratic politics is humanity’s destined future, it cannot be “sold out” by anyone, just as spring cannot be sold out, and the sun cannot be sold out. Anyone with sense knows Deng Xiaoping once said this regime “could collapse overnight”—who would gamble their character and dignity for such an uncertain future?!
However, the rumors we face now have a powerful destructive force, consuming the democracy movement’s limited resources and dampening the spirit of certain individuals. Yes, since the “Democracy Wall” over twenty years ago, I have moved in and out, and indeed have never served a prison term. In 1989, during the “participation in turmoil,” I was “detained for investigation” for twenty-seven days, and afterward, the Jianggan District Housing Administration Bureau—my work unit at the time—removed me from my position as head of the Workers’ Union Committee and sent me to manage the mail room. But that was not, strictly speaking, prison. Now, at least, I can obtain “certification” to be a bona fide “democracy activist.” Moreover, my mother always taught us that “men must have strength of character, women must have a steadfast spirit.” My fleeing in the face of danger would be her disgrace. So I dismissed the thought of escape. Fearing that I might one day not resist the temptation, I simply told Old Zhu to get someone to patch up the hole.
6. Residential Surveillance
After dozens of days of inhuman detention, in Old Zhu’s words, being locked up there was “worse than being a pig.” In the sweltering summer heat, there was no water, no fan, no outdoor time, no sunlight, no personal hygiene; my face was covered with beard. The abandoned detention center, built against a hillside, had cell planks hollowed out and rotted by termites; beneath the crumbling holes were years’ worth of garbage discarded by detainees. Mold spread rampantly. My skin and scrotum developed severe damp rashes, itching, peeling—this laid the foundation for my serious lumbar disease later on. Life was unbearable.
This was the CCP’s so-called “residential surveillance”—yet days completely deprived of personal freedom could not be counted toward the prison term.
That such things happened during the so-called “enshrinement of human rights in the constitution” and “the best period for human rights in history” was particularly ironic. Yet in another sense, it was also true: in the past fifty-odd years, the Communist Party has executed countless “criminals” like us, even many innocents—so in this era, being able to survive is already considered fortunate.
A strong will was sustaining me. I understood that only a good mindset could boost my immunity. I stubbornly regulated my emotions, belting out songs at the top of my lungs. This trick really worked—after a few verses, I felt refreshed. One day, a section chief surnamed Chen came in to inspect and teased me, “Well! Your blood is boiling.”
The summer of 1999 seemed especially hot. Yet during those days of solitary confinement, I never felt lonely. Inspiration often welled up in me, and I wrote many poems. I had people being released from next door bring in pen and paper so I could copy them down. I always kept the drafts with me—until they were seized by armed police during a “cell search” at the Hangzhou Detention Center.
In early August, Section Chief Chen returned from a summer vacation and, seeing me looking seventy percent ghost, thirty percent human, exclaimed in surprise, “You’re still here? We already called your police long ago—why haven’t they come to take you?” This time, his attitude toward me was noticeably better than before—perhaps the stark contrast between the beauty of his vacation spot and the grim reality before him had stirred his conscience.
While in solitary confinement, I studied prison culture carefully—recognizing the words and drawings carved into the walls, and carving my own tally marks (“正” characters), each representing five days, to keep track of the dates. One day I discovered the words “China Democracy Party” near the corridor; judging from the handwriting, it was written by Zhu Zhengming. Then I knew he had also endured this inhuman life here.
I heard from those in the know that in previous years, political prisoners from other provinces had also been detained here for long periods. I wondered why those victims had not written about their inhuman ordeals to tell the world—so that future evildoers might think twice before committing their crimes.
Editor: Luo Zhifei Executive Editor: Lu Huiwen Translation: Lu Huiwen
Faith Is Not a Gift, but a Right — Tibetan Buddhism and Freedom of Religion
Author: Chen Ting Editor: Cheng Wei Executive Editor: Luo Zhifei Translation: Lu Huiwen
If a person has even lost the freedom to pray, how much of his life can still truly belong to himself? This is not only a heart-wrenching question, but also a reality we cannot avoid confronting. In today’s world, where globalization and human rights awareness are steadily expanding, there are still many who, because of their choice of faith, are suspected, restricted, and even deprived of the right to express themselves. For Tibetan Buddhist believers, this is not some distant philosophical discussion, but a lived, daily experience.
Throughout human civilization, religion and faith have been not only a source of spiritual sustenance, but also an important fountainhead of culture and wisdom. Faith traditions in different regions are like trickling streams, merging into the vast ocean of our shared culture. When we speak of freedom of religion, we are not talking about the special demands of one group, but about an inherent and inalienable right of every person. Article 18 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights clearly states: Everyone has the right to freedom of thought, conscience, and religion. This freedom includes not only the right to believe or not to believe, but also the right to practice one’s faith, to conduct religious activities, and to pass down religious culture. It is a natural human right, not a “gift” from any government, institution, or individual, and should never become a reason for discrimination or persecution.
Tibetan Buddhism is a brilliant and unique cultural jewel. It is not only a faith, but also carries profound philosophical thought, distinctive artistic forms, an ancient written language, and a unique way of life. Step into a monastery in Tibet, and the brightly colored thangkas, the deep, resonant chanting in the assembly hall, the slowly turning prayer wheels—all speak of a people’s spiritual heritage spanning centuries. Morning prayers, scripture recitation, pilgrimages, and religious assemblies are not just religious rituals, but the rhythm of believers’ lives and a symbol of their cultural identity. When these rights are restricted or stripped away, it is in fact an interference with personal freedom of thought—because faith exists not only in temples, but is deeply rooted in the human heart.
Tibetan Buddhism is closely intertwined with Tibetan culture, shaping not only religious life, but also language, music, dance, architecture, literature, and medicine. Monastery murals, thangka painting, Tibetan classics, traditional festivals—all of these are nourished by faith. Culture can be preserved through art and education, but if it loses the core of faith, it will gradually become an empty shell—reduced to performance and symbols, a decoration for tourism, no longer a vessel for the soul of a people.
In many places around the world, Tibetan Buddhism not only exists freely, but also contributes positively to social development. In Nepal, Bhutan, and Mongolia, Tibetan Buddhism is an important part of national culture; in Europe and America, more and more people are finding peace and wisdom through its meditation practices. These facts prove that in an environment free from human repression, Tibetan Buddhism can thrive and even transcend cultural boundaries, offering spiritual nourishment to many more people. In stark contrast, in China, the religious activities of believers are strictly restricted—religious assemblies require approval, pilgrimages require permits, and even openly expressing faith may bring risk.
In such an environment, faith can only survive in silence—and the price of silence is the gradual disappearance of culture.
Some may think that religion is only the concern of the faithful, unrelated to themselves. But in reality, freedom of religion is a cornerstone of social stability and civilization. When a society respects diverse beliefs, its inclusiveness, creativity, and cohesion all increase. The exchange of different ideas and cultures does not weaken a nation; rather, it allows society to find balance and vitality in diversity. On the other hand, if freedom of faith is not guaranteed, the victims will not be limited to a particular group, but will include the fairness and trust of the entire society. History has proven time and again that the suppression of faith often goes hand in hand with the shrinking of thought and the fragmentation of society—and once such a trend spreads, anyone could become the next person to lose their freedom. Do you want to be next?
The value of faith lies not only in offering comfort to the soul, but also in carrying the history, culture, and sense of identity of a people. When a people’s faith is bound, it means their thought is shackled and their culture suppressed. Freedom of religion has never been the concern of only a few; it is a right shared by all humanity. It safeguards cultural diversity and is an important marker of a civilized society. Today, we speak out for the religious freedom of Tibetan Buddhism; tomorrow, this same force may protect other groups under oppression.
In an era of deepening globalization and diversity, defending freedom of religion is not only an act of respect for history, but also a commitment to the future. Whether as members of the public or as part of a faith community, we all have the ability and the responsibility to sow seeds of respect and tolerance from where we stand. For in a truly free society, different voices are not only permitted to exist, but are allowed to grow together through dialogue.
