作者：罗志飞 责任编辑：鲁慧文

本组作品为视觉讽刺类创作，以“伪装的正义”为总标题，采用双图拼接的结构形式，揭示中国共产党在不同政治宣传领域中存在的巨大现实反差。每张图即为一篇，共计十五篇，构成完整作品集。

1. 《伪装的正义·红色篇》

2. 《伪装的正义·科学篇》

3. 《伪装的正义·中华民族篇》

4. 《伪装的正义·文化篇》

5. 《伪装的正义·思政篇》

6. 《伪装的正义·劳动篇》

7. 《伪装的正义·基建篇》

8. 《伪装的正义·脱贫篇》

9. 《伪装的正义·医保篇》

10. 《伪装的正义·司法篇》

11. 《伪装的正义·打工篇》

12. 《伪装的正义·忠诚篇》

12. 《伪装的正义·道德篇》

13. 《伪装的正义·幸福篇》

15. 《伪装的正义·宗教篇》

创作初衷：
本作品集的目的，不只是批判中共，而是揭穿其最危险、最具有欺骗性的统治手段——伪装。中共常以“正义”、“人民利益”、“民族团结”、“文化自信”之名，掩盖其对人民的控制与伤害。它最大的可怕之处，不是直接的暴力，而是让人误以为它是光明与正义的代表。因此，我用一幅幅对比图像，揭示它“守护”“忠诚”“幸福”等光鲜口号背后的真实代价。

The Disguise of Justice (Image Series)

By Luo Zhifei | Editor-in-Chief: Lu Huiwen Translator: Lu Huiwen

This visual satire collection, titled “The Disguise of Justice”, adopts a diptych (dual-image) format to expose the stark contradictions embedded within the Chinese Communist Party’s political propaganda across various domains. Each paired image functions as an individual chapter, with a total of fifteen forming the complete body of work.

Index of Works (15 images in total):

I. The Fabricated Glory of National Narratives

These images explore how the CCP’s propaganda machine constructs illusions of “justice” and “greatness” through red education, scientific achievements, and cultural nationalism.

1. The Disguise of Justice: Red Ideology

2. The Disguise of Justice: Science

3. The Disguise of Justice: The Chinese Nation

4. The Disguise of Justice: Culture

5. The Disguise of Justice: Political Indoctrination

II. The Cracks of Social Reality

From the perspective of everyday life, this section gradually reveals the absurdities and indifference entrenched in the CCP’s system—highlighting institutionalized hypocrisy in healthcare, poverty relief, infrastructure, and the judicial system.

6. The Disguise of Justice: Labor

7. The Disguise of Justice: Infrastructure

8. The Disguise of Justice: Poverty Alleviation

9. The Disguise of Justice: Healthcare

10. The Disguise of Justice: Justice System

11. The Disguise of Justice: Migrant Workers

III. The Ultimate Fracture Under Controlled Belief

The final set of images—Loyalty, Morality, Happiness, and Religion—illustrates the CCP’s full-spectrum control over material life, civil rights, and even the innermost domains of personal faith.

12. The Disguise of Justice: Loyalty

13. The Disguise of Justice: Morality

14. The Disguise of Justice: Happiness

15. The Disguise of Justice: Religion

Artistic Intent

The purpose of this collection is not merely to criticize the CCP, but to unmask its most insidious form of control: disguise. The regime often cloaks its dominance and harm to the people with the language of “justice,” “people’s interest,” “national unity,” and “cultural confidence.” What makes the CCP truly dangerous is not just its capacity for violence—but its ability to make people believe it represents light and justice.

Through these juxtaposed images, I aim to expose the price hidden behind glossy slogans like “protection,” “loyalty,” and “happiness.” Each image is a rupture in illusion—an awakening of visual consciousness.

作者：胡丽莉 责任编辑：罗志飞

“和谐社会”这个词汇，在中国官方的语境中代表政治正确。然而正是这句口号，掩盖了无数绝望的哭喊，粉饰着暴力与冷漠。它不是社会理想，而是一种政治麻醉，一种对国民的精神阉割！

今天的中国并不和谐，连“稳定”也只是权力虚构的假象。所谓“和谐”，不过是政权维稳机器下被迫安静的沉默，是压制批评、扼杀表达之后的僵死空气。

当孩子流血躺在地上，路人只顾躲避；当女子被拖行羞辱，周围人集体失语；当快递员倒下死去，全世界都视而不见——这不是巧合，而是体制驯化出的冷漠本能；这不是个案，是一声声‘和谐社会’下的泣血嘶吼！

这样的现状正是执政者精心布设的困局：让人民不再相信他人，不再关心社会，只埋头顾自己。集体冷漠不是道德沦丧、世风日下，而是政权用洗脑、审查和惩罚机制制造出来的“社会病态”。

飞速的城市化浪潮和一刻也不停歇的生活节奏固然加剧了人际疏离，但更严重的是体制制造的不信任。公权力肆意妄为却无法追责，底层民众维权无门；贫富差距扩大，阶层上升通道被堵死；官媒歌颂稳定，民间却满是沉默与绝望。在这样一个社会里，“不参与、不表达、不出头”成了默认的生存法则。

什么叫“寻衅滋事”？发个微博，讲句真话，拍个视频。你以为你在表达权利？不，你在挑战“稳定”。政权眼中，稳定的定义是：人民闭嘴，真相闭眼，社会闭耳。异见者被定罪为“寻衅滋事”，真相被处理成“个别事件”。“和谐社会”成了扼杀正义、转移矛盾的遮羞布。

请记住，冷漠从来不是人的本性，而是极权制度的副产品。当一个社会把所有善意都视为威胁，把每一次共情都当作不安定因素时，它就已经丧失了基本的道德土壤。它的“和谐”，不过是静默的绝望，是发不出声音的痛苦。

今天，我们必须再问一句：谁在用“和谐”掩盖矛盾？谁在用“稳定”粉饰暴力？谁在用“制度”压住民众的呐喊？答案再清楚不过：是垄断权力、操控真相、压制民意的——中国共产党！

中国若真想迈向和谐，就必须迈出历史性的一步：结束一党专政，终结信息封锁，还权于民，重建一个真正属于人民的制度。

只有拆除这个谎言构筑的秩序，才有可能建立一个真实的、有血有肉的社会——那里，每个人都能说话、能表达、能得到援助，不再生活在冷漠中，不再害怕关心别人。

只有打破专政，冷漠才会退场，和谐才不再是谎言。

Apathy Is Not Moral Decay — It Is the Reflex of Obedience Under Tyranny

By Hu Lili Chief Editor: Luo Zhifei Translator: Lu Huiwen

The phrase “harmonious society,” in the Chinese government’s narrative, represents political correctness. But in reality, this slogan has been used to muffle countless cries of despair and to whitewash violence and apathy. It is not a vision of social harmony, but a form of political anesthesia—a spiritual castration of the people.

China today is anything but harmonious. Even “stability” is a manufactured illusion conjured by the state’s iron grip. What the regime calls “harmony” is in fact a forced, suffocating silence—an airless atmosphere created by suppressing criticism and choking free expression.

When a child lies bleeding on the ground and bystanders merely look away; when a woman is dragged and humiliated in broad daylight and the crowd says nothing; when a delivery worker collapses and dies on the street while the world walks past without blinking—these are not coincidences. They are the conditioned reflexes of a society trained into apathy. These are not isolated events—they are blood-soaked screams buried beneath the regime’s propaganda of “harmony.”

This chilling social reality is not the product of moral decline, but the calculated result of authoritarian engineering: a society where people no longer trust one another, no longer care about the world beyond themselves. This is not just alienation—it is a regime-designed pathology, forged through brainwashing, censorship, and fear-based punishment.

Yes, rapid urbanization and the relentless pace of life have widened social gaps—but the deeper problem is institutional distrust. Government power is exercised arbitrarily and never held accountable. Ordinary citizens have no avenue for redress. Inequality widens. Social mobility is blocked. The state media sings hymns of “stability,” while silence and despair fester in the streets. In such an environment, “Don’t speak, don’t stand out, don’t get involved” becomes the unspoken rule of survival.

What is considered “picking quarrels and provoking trouble”?

Posting a tweet. Speaking a truth. Filming a video.

You think you’re exercising a right? No—you’re threatening “stability.”

To the regime, stability means: the people stay silent, the truth stays buried, and society stays deaf.

Dissenters are criminalized. Facts are reframed as “isolated incidents.”

The slogan of “a harmonious society” has become a fig leaf for injustice and a diversion from accountability.

Let us be clear: apathy is not human nature. It is the byproduct of authoritarian rule. When a society sees every act of kindness as a threat, every moment of empathy as a risk to “social order,” it has already lost its moral foundation. Its “harmony” is merely the silence of despair—the pain of a people who no longer know how to cry out.

So we must ask again:

Who uses the word “harmony” to mask suffering?

Who uses “stability” to justify violence?

Who uses “the system” to smother the people’s cries?

The answer is as plain as day:

It is the Chinese Communist Party—monopolizing power, manipulating truth, and crushing public will.

If China is ever to move toward genuine harmony, it must take a historic step:

End one-party rule.

End the blockade on information.

Return power to the people.

Rebuild a system that truly belongs to them.

Only by dismantling this lie-built order can we create a real society—a society with flesh and blood, where people can speak, express, and help each other without fear; where care is not punished, and compassion is not met with danger.

Only when dictatorship ends will apathy retreat.

Only then will “harmony” cease to be a lie and become a living reality.

火种不灭，精神长存

——《在野党》第十二期复刊序言（郑存柱）

三十年前，中国大陆曾燃起一次短暂却炽热的民主之火。那团火，虽被铁腕压下，却从未真正熄灭。它潜伏于流亡者的记忆里，活跃在文字之间，延续于无声的牺牲之中。今天，当我们在自由世界重新点燃这本刊物，既是一次思想的接力，也是一种历史的担当。

《在野党》曾在最艰难的时期里，用微弱之声传递希望；今天，它将以更清晰的定位、更坚定的使命重归视野：作为中国民主党的党刊，我们不仅记录历史、陈述现状，更要构建未来的制度蓝图，提出切实的方案，发出来自反对党的制度性声音。

“风萧萧兮易水寒，壮士一去兮不复还。”这是送别之诗，也是重逢之诗。在这个日益压抑的旧中国与开放自由的新世界之间，《在野党》是桥梁，是路标，是照见方向的火种。

今天的《在野党》，不再是仅供“备案存档”的文字集合，而是一份面向未来的制度蓝图。我们面向世界发声，将本刊纸质版寄送至中国大陆的高校、图书馆、地方党政机关，亦将其传入台湾、美国、欧洲等地的研究与关切者之手。我们用多语种呈现民主之声，使“中国的反对党”不仅在牢狱中存活，更在思想中开花。

我们将团结一切志愿者、知识人、普通民众，共同参与这一时代工程；我们将汇聚境内外声音，展开制度构想与实践模型的论辩；我们将在刊物中呈现组织之力、思想之深、人性之光。

若说历史常在沉默中轮回，唯有文字与信念，能穿越禁锢，薪火相传。

复刊后的《在野党》，将坚定地向未来走去。我们相信：“千里之行，始于足下；终有一日，光复中华。”

郑存柱

2025年6月
洛杉矶

The Flame Endures, the Spirit Lives On

— Editorial Preface to the 12th (Revived) Issue of The Opposition Party

By Zheng Cunzhu Translator: Lu Huiwen

Thirty years ago, a brief yet blazing fire of democracy ignited in mainland China. Though it was brutally suppressed, the flame was never truly extinguished. It lives on in the memories of exiles, between the lines of forbidden texts, and in the silent sacrifices of countless individuals. Today, as we relaunch this publication in the free world, we do so not only as a relay of thought, but also as an act of historical responsibility.

In its darkest days, The Opposition Party spoke faintly of hope. Today, it returns with greater clarity of purpose and a renewed mission. As the official publication of the China Democracy Party, we are not merely chroniclers of history or observers of the present. We are architects of a democratic future—presenting policy proposals, building a blueprint for institutional reform, and voicing systematic dissent as a true opposition force.

“The wind is bleak and the Yi River cold; the hero departs, never to return.”

This ancient line is both a farewell and a promise of reunion. Between the repressive old China and the open, free world, The Opposition Party stands as a bridge, a signpost, and a spark that shows the way.

Today’s Opposition Party is no longer a mere collection of texts for archival purposes. It is a forward-looking institutional design. We send printed copies to universities, libraries, and local government offices inside China, and into the hands of researchers and allies in Taiwan, the United States, and Europe. We present the voice of democracy in multiple languages, so that “China’s opposition party” may not only survive behind bars, but flourish in the realm of thought.

We will unite all volunteers, intellectuals, and ordinary citizens willing to take part in this project of our time. We will gather voices from inside and outside China to debate and shape models for institutional practice. In the pages of this magazine, we will showcase the strength of organization, the depth of thought, and the light of humanity.

If history tends to repeat itself in silence, then it is only through writing and belief that we can pass the torch across generations.

The revived Opposition Party will move forward with resolve. We believe:

“A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step; and one day, China shall be free.”

Zheng Cunzhu

June 2025, Los Angeles

曾有人问：“你们还在坚持什么？”

我说，我们坚持的不是幻想中的明天，而是为那些被迫沉默的人，保留一个可以继续说话的出口。赉志而殁的先烈在看着我们，当年的先驱依然是我们的荣誉编辑。

这本杂志，叫《在野党》。

她诞生于铁锁重压之下，在中国民主党草创之初，在浙江的民居里，在地下印刷机旁，在那些没有头条却被审讯的夜里。她的前十一期，是一个时代最微弱却最倔强的声音；是黑暗中一次又一次冒险的尝试；是一个“一切向钱看”的时代，中华民族的精神承载。

她的创刊者毛庆祥先生，因坚持信仰长期入狱；继任编辑聂敏之、陈树庆、王荣清……他们一个个相继被捕甚至被迫害致死。到第十一期后，《在野党》被迫停刊，那些拿笔的人，被换上了囚服，那些原稿，被国保特务抄家没收。

这不是结束，只是沉默。

不是失败，只是等待。

二十七年后，在洛杉矶，在这个可以说真话的地方，在中国民主党旗帜依然高举的所在，《在野党》第十二期回来了。《在野党》是一块我们共同耕耘，留待我们共同收获的土地。

她不仅仅是一份复刊的中国民主党党刊，她是一种薪火相传，一种精神宣示，是一次记忆的归来，是从牢房、流亡、恐惧中走出的字句，是写给故人、同道和尚在黑夜中的故国。回望艰难征程，记录民主步伐，探讨前进道路，共建未来中国。

我们不敢奢望它能唤醒多少人，也不指望它能改变什么结构。我们只是相信，在这个世界还没有完全崩塌之前，文字仍是抵达灵魂的最深路径。

所以我们写，写历史的断点，写权力的暴行，写自由的火苗没有熄灭，只是沉沉地伏在心里，等待下一次被风点燃。

今天，就是那一次。

你正在读的这本《在野党》，不是复刻过去，而是接续他们未竟的句号。你参与她，就是对先驱最好的致敬；你阅读她，就是心还活着的证据；你转发她，就是为自由递出的一个机会。

我们写，因为我们还相信。

我们写，是为了不让历史只剩沉默。

朱虞夫

中国民主党《在野党》编辑部

2025年6月 · 洛杉矶

The Flame Endures, the Spirit Lives On

“What are you still holding on to?” someone once asked.

I replied, We are not holding on to a fantasy of tomorrow, but to a place where those silenced can still find a voice.

The martyrs who died with conviction are watching us. The pioneers of our movement are still our honorary editors.

This magazine is called The Opposition Party.

It was born under the weight of chains, in the earliest days of the China Democracy Party—within civilian homes in Zhejiang, beside underground printing presses, in interrogation rooms on nights that never made the headlines.

Its first eleven issues were the weakest yet most defiant voices of an era.

They were acts of resistance carried out in the dark.

In an age where everything bowed to money, this magazine bore the spiritual burden of a wounded nation.

Its founder, Mao Qingxiang, was imprisoned for years for staying true to his beliefs.

His successors—Nie Minzhi, Chen Shuqing, Wang Rongqing—were arrested one by one, and some were even persecuted to death.

After the eleventh issue, The Opposition Party was forcibly discontinued. Those who once held pens were put into prison uniforms. Original manuscripts were confiscated during police raids.

But that was not the end.

It was silence, not surrender.

It was waiting, not defeat.

Twenty-seven years later, in Los Angeles—in a place where truth can still be spoken, where the flag of the China Democracy Party still flies high—Issue 12 of The Opposition Party returns.

This magazine is soil we till together, to one day harvest together.

It is more than the reappearance of a party journal.

It is a passing of the torch.

A declaration of spirit.

A return of memory.

These are words written from cells, from exile, from fear.

They are letters to comrades, to the departed, and to the country still trapped in darkness.

We look back on a difficult journey.

We document each step toward democracy.

We explore paths forward.

We build the vision of a future China.

We do not expect it to awaken the masses.

We do not presume it can upend any system.

We simply believe that as long as this world has not entirely collapsed, words remain the most direct path to the soul.

So we write—

We write about the ruptures in history.

We write about the violence of power.

We write because the flame of freedom has never been extinguished—only buried deep within hearts, waiting for the wind to rekindle it.

Today is that moment.

The Opposition Party you hold in your hands is not a replica of the past—it is a continuation of what they were unable to finish.

To be part of it is to pay the highest tribute to those who came before.

To read it is proof that your conscience is still alive.

To share it is to offer someone else a chance at freedom.

We write, because we still believe.

We write, so that history does not fall silent.

Freedom never died.

It only paused for breath.

The flame endures.

The spirit lives on.

Zhu Yufu

Editorial Board of The Opposition Party

China Democracy Party

June 2025 · Los Angeles

Translator: Lu Huiwen

作者/耿冠军 责任编辑：鲁慧文

1998年，《在野党》在白色恐怖的余波中诞生于一纸呐喊。那是一个充满希望又遍布铁锁的年代，一群志士以笔为剑，在暗夜中点燃思想的微光，试图照亮被封锁的言说之地。它曾短暂高飞，又被暴力击落；但它从未消失，只是在沉默中等待归来的一天。

今天，我们宣布：《在野党》复刊了。

这不仅是一本杂志的回归，更是一个时代良知的觉醒。我们复刊，不是为了怀旧，而是为了回应时代更深的危机。中国正处于空前的政治寒冬，自由的空间不断被压缩，良心犯被投入黑牢，异议者被标签为“敌人”，而人民的声音被算法封锁、被宣传机器抹平。在这种时代，我们不能沉默。

我们复刊，是为了坚守“在野”的精神：不向权力俯首，不为谎言让步；监督权力、记录真实、发出微弱却清晰的公民之声。

我们复刊，是为了那些在铁窗之内依然写诗、依然思考的朋友；为了那些被消音、被流放、被辱骂却不曾屈服的公民；为了让历史记住这个时代真实的面孔。

我们知道，在野的代价是沉重的。但我们也知道，在野的存在，是这个民族能否走向自由未来的关键。

请与我们一起，再次点燃那盏微弱但不灭的灯。

让我们相信：哪怕一切已被掌控，但只要在野者还在，一切都未被彻底征服。

——耿冠军

2025年6月25日

Revival Manifesto of The Opposition

— For Voices Not to Be Forgotten, for Missions Yet Unfinished

By Geng Guanjun, Translator: Lu Huiwen

In 1998, The Opposition was born amid the lingering chill of White Terror—no more than a cry on paper. It was an age charged with hope yet shackled by iron bars, when a band of patriots wielded pens like swords, kindling pinpoints of light in the night to illuminate speech that had been sealed off. The magazine once soared briefly, only to be struck down by violence; yet it never vanished—merely waited out the silence for the day of return.

Today, we proclaim: The Opposition is back in print.

This is not merely the return of a periodical; it is the awakening of a generation’s conscience. We return not out of nostalgia, but in answer to a deeper crisis of our times. China is caught in an unprecedented political winter: spaces of freedom are shrinking, prisoners of conscience languish behind bars, dissenters are branded “enemies,” and the people’s voices are filtered out by algorithms and flattened by propaganda machines. In such an era, silence is impossible.

We resume publication to uphold the spirit of being in opposition: never bowing to power, never compromising with lies; scrutinizing authority, chronicling truth, and sounding a faint yet unmistakable civic voice.

We resume publication for friends who still write poems and ponder behind bars; for citizens silenced, exiled, or reviled—and yet unbroken; for history to remember the true faces of this age.

We know the cost of standing in opposition is heavy. Yet we also know that the very survival of opposition is the key to this nation’s future freedom.

Join us in rekindling that small, unquenchable flame.

Let us believe: even when everything seems under control, as long as the opposition endures, nothing is ever fully subdued.

— Geng Guanjun

June25, 2025

作者：公民对话联盟   编辑：胡丽莉   责任编辑：罗志飞

尊敬的公民朋友们：

值此6月10日“文明对话国际日”到来之际，关于建设对话平台的呼声再次响起！

四川宜宾28岁纺织工人“八百哥”的遭遇，再次凸显了我们社会在对话机制上的严重缺失。“八百哥”为讨薪四处奔走：先向派出所求助，被推诿至劳动局，劳动局又将其引导至仲裁大队，仲裁部门则建议他通过法院诉讼或前往信访局寻求调解。然而法院与信访部门均表示此类“小事”需要长期等待处理，甚至建议他再次回到劳动局。劳动局最终称无能为力，建议报警处理。如此推诿扯皮、互踢“皮球”，令他走投无路，最终选择了极端方式，用行动控诉体制失声：“你不给我一个说法，我就给你一个说法。”

2018年，河北沧州人迟永辉在深圳务工期间，也因被欠薪点燃怒火，纵火焚毁工厂，酿成重大人员伤亡事件。这类悲剧接二连三地发生，充分说明“文明对话国际日”并非一个简单的标题，而是现实社会急需正视的重要命题。

“文明对话平台”的构建，前提是保障弱势群体的权利，并对强势群体加以适度限制，唯有如此，方能真正建立起平等的对话关系。如果弱者无法成为“平等的对话伙伴”，那么无论国家、企业、政府或家庭，都只是特权阶层的工具，与普通公民无关。当一个人无法被公平对待时，他自然不会心怀认同、珍惜与维护；相反，冷漠、抵触乃至破坏，都可能成为回应的不理性选择。

亲爱的公民们，是时候推动国家的文明进程了！国家文明的基石，是保障每一位公民的合法权利，促进彼此的理解与友谊，妥善化解社会矛盾与冲突。我们期望全体公民积极参与，共同搭建沟通桥梁，展现中华文明开放、包容的新时代风貌。

我们倡议：

做文明对话的践行者，以开放的心态去倾听、理解和尊重他人，推动平等、建设性的互动。弘扬中华文化“反者道之动”的智慧：通过社交平台分享日常中的“道之动”见闻，展示“反者”带来的文化多样性，以及中立、中间力量在维护社会平衡中的价值。成为包容社会的使者：从邻里、社区的交流做起，共建“美美与共”的精神家园。

为此，我们倡导以下具体行动：

1、自发组织或加入各类维权团体，参与建立并运营多元的对话平台；

2、若所在地政府已有相关平台建设，请积极参与由政府组织的各类活动；

3、根据个人时间与能力，选择参与特定项目，或线上、线下的部分活动；

4、公告发布之日起，面向社会招募志愿者。凡愿意公开留下联系方式者，视为“文明对话国际日”志愿服务者，承担推动当地沟通平台建设的桥梁角色。

志愿服务者：

贵州贵阳公民_陈西手机号：19391111229 （社交软件同号）

四川成都公民-胡明君微信号：A13550171681（社交软件同号）

浙江杭州公民-陈树庆微信号：wxid-wmhnbocidh4k22

湖南怀化公民-唐浩铭手机：13212390018，13974518171（社交软件同号）

江西赣州公民-刘少明手机：18802016201（社交软件同号）

贵州贵阳公民-徐国庆手机：13984086628（社交软件同号）

湖北潜江公民-姚立法手机：（13339728964）（社交软件同号）

山东德州公民-陈立勇手机：18005449982（社交软件同号）

（按参加先后顺序排名）

欢迎广大共和国公民参加“公民对话联盟”初始的活动，愿我们共同努力，推动社会迈向更加公正、理性、充满理解的文明新时代！

                                    2025年5月26日

International Day for Civilized Dialogue — Declaration (No. 1)

By: Civilized Dialogue Platform

Editor: Hu Lili · Final Editor: Luo Zhifei Translator: Lu Huiwen

Dear fellow citizens,

On this meaningful occasion of June 10, the International Day for Civilized Dialogue, voices are once again rising to call for the creation of genuine dialogue platforms in our society.

The recent experience of “Brother 800,” a 28-year-old textile worker from Yibin, Sichuan, has laid bare the severe lack of mechanisms for civil discourse. In pursuit of unpaid wages, he sought help from the local police, who referred him to the labor bureau. The labor bureau in turn sent him to the arbitration team, which advised him to go to court or appeal to the petition office. The court and petition authorities both claimed his case was too “minor” and could take a long time to process—and suggested he go back to the labor bureau. The labor bureau finally stated it was powerless and told him to report to the police.

This cycle of bureaucratic buck-passing left him with nowhere to turn. In despair, he resorted to an extreme act to denounce a system that offers no voice:

“If you won’t give me an answer, I’ll give you mine.”

In 2018, Chi Yonghui, a native of Cangzhou, Hebei, working in Shenzhen, also exploded in fury over withheld wages. He set fire to a factory, resulting in tragic loss of life. These repeated tragedies show that the International Day for Civilized Dialogue is not a mere slogan, but a pressing issue that our society must confront.

Building a Civilized Dialogue Platform must begin with protecting the rights of the vulnerable and applying appropriate limits to the power of the strong. Only then can true equality in dialogue be achieved. If the weak cannot become equal partners in conversation, then the state, enterprises, government, or even families become nothing more than instruments of the privileged—irrelevant to the average citizen.

When a person is not treated with fairness, they will not feel a sense of belonging, nor will they cherish or uphold the system. On the contrary, indifference, resistance, or even destruction may become their only irrational responses.

Dear citizens,

It is time to advance our nation’s journey toward civilization. The cornerstone of a civilized society is safeguarding every citizen’s legal rights, promoting mutual understanding and friendship, and resolving social conflicts through proper channels.

We call on all citizens to participate, to build bridges of communication, and to demonstrate the openness and inclusiveness of Chinese civilization in this new era.

Our Proposals:

Be practitioners of civilized dialogue:

Approach others with openness, listening, understanding, and respect.

Promote equal, constructive exchanges.

Promote the Chinese cultural wisdom of “Reversal is the movement of the Tao” (反者道之动):

Use social media to share daily moments of this “movement of the Tao,” reflect the diversity it creates, and highlight the role of centrist and neutral forces in maintaining social balance.

Be ambassadors for an inclusive society:

Begin with neighborhood and community interactions to co-create a spiritual home of harmony and mutual respect.

We call for the following concrete actions:

 1. Organize or join civil rights groups, and help establish and run diverse dialogue platforms;

 2. If local government platforms already exist, actively participate in their activities;

 3. Based on your availability and ability, join specific projects or participate in online/offline events;

 4. Starting from the date of this announcement, we are recruiting volunteers from the public.

Anyone who willingly provides their contact information is considered a volunteer for the International Day for Civilized Dialogue and will serve as a local bridge-builder for dialogue initiatives.

Volunteer Representatives (in order of participation):

 • Chen Xi, citizen of Guiyang, Guizhou — Phone: 19391111229 (same on social apps)

 • Hu Mingjun, citizen of Chengdu, Sichuan — WeChat: A13550171681 (same on social apps)

• Chen Shuqing, citizen of Hangzhou, Zhejiang — WeChat: wxid-wmhnbocidh4k22

 • Tang Haoming, citizen of Huaihua, Hunan — Phones: 13212390018 / 13974518171 (same on social apps)

 • Liu Shaoming, citizen of Ganzhou, Jiangxi — Phone: 18802016201 (same on social apps)

 • Xu Guoqing, citizen of Guiyang, Guizhou — Phone: 13984086628 (same on social apps)

 • Yao Lifa, citizen of Qianjiang, Hubei — Phone: 13339728964 (same on social apps)

 • Chen Liyong, citizen of Dezhou, Shandong — Phone: 18005449982 (same on social apps)

⸻

We warmly welcome citizens of the Republic to join the initial activities of the Citizens’ Dialogue Alliance.

Let us work together to build a more just, rational, and understanding society—one step closer to a truly civilized new era.

May 26, 2025

作者：朱虞夫 编辑：鲁慧文 责任编辑：罗志飞

王炳章点火九州

1998年二月初，王炳章博士“风风火火闯九州”，来到杭州。那天，老友毛庆祥邀我早上去开元路口的“开元茶室”喝茶，见见民主墙时期的老朋友们。他对王博士来杭的事只字未提。 

我来到茶室，看到王东海、毛庆祥、王荣清、戚惠民等老友，但是大家都没有泡茶，甚至都没有坐下来，我感到气氛有点奇怪，但也不方便问，就自己拉一把椅子坐了下来。

不一会儿，王东海出去了，然后毛庆祥出去了，戚惠民与我在寒暄了几句也去“上厕所”了，久久不回。剩下我和王荣清面面相觑，有一句没一句的聊了一会，手足无措，实在无趣，就悻悻然各自回家了。

事后方知，当时他们是把王荣清和我带去做掩护，因为圈内一直认为王有些不可靠，而我在民主墙以后已经脱离多年，怕我们去见王博士会造成危害，也为了他们去少年宫的安全，把我们留在茶室吸引公安的注意力。

但是那天去少年宫见王博士的人没有一个认得王博士，只是感觉来人风度很好，自我介绍是“做医生的”。在谈到“那人”的谈话内容时，见过的人都提到，“那人”说要他们成立政党，但是大家都认为目前成立政党风险太大，时机不成熟，只能以后再说。基于大家尚对我有疑虑，我也不方便置喙，只是感到与王博士缘慳一面，殊为抱憾。

四月份的某天，我去王东海家（我供职的上城区房管局离他家不远，我经常顺路去他那里转转），王东海有点认真地问我：“虞夫，你对组党怎么看？”

“好啊！”我说。

“为什么？那样是不是风险太大了？”

“九州生气恃风雷，当前政治改革停滞不前，当局既想从西方得到经济利益，又不愿顺世界潮流而行，进行承诺已久的政治改革。西方白左也自欺欺人、一厢情愿地陶醉在当局的虚假宣传中，未来堪忧。当局目前还不想与西方交恶，信誓旦旦不走老路，可是只听楼梯响，不见人下来。目前组党的风险相对比较小，我们不妨促一促。

“许多年来，我们生活在这头猛兽的暴虐之下，如今它难以为继，向西方示好，说自己不再残虐老百姓，西方相信了它的说辞，以为绥靖政策有了成效。没人愿意揭破它的真面目。它占着一大块地盘在呼呼装睡，老百姓的生存环境日显窘迫，我们不妨去推它一下，要么它挪一挪身子，给老百姓让出一些活动空间，要么让它露出本来面目——吃了我们。”

“你有没有想过，组党是高压线，会坐牢的。”王东海说。

“是的，我们既然投身民运，就应该有坐牢的思想准备。既得利益集团不会轻易放弃自己的特权。听说它们最近向国际社会宣称将签署联合国的重要人权文件《公民权利和政治权利国际公约》，这是一个重大信号，有可能不久后会开放党禁，当然也有可能不开放。有人会问，既然要开放，你们何必冒这样的风险，等开放了再组党吧。问题是，它们已经在历史上玩过多次帽子手法，我们民运人士作为社会压力集团，主动提出要求，将计就计，将球踢给对方，让对方的行径暴露在众目睽睽之下。”

“台湾如果没有民进党的顽强抗争，蒋经国未必会开放党禁，一举使台湾实现了民主转型。当台湾开放党禁后，一窝蜂地许多人都去注册政党，数量令人咋舌，却没几天就关门大吉了，只有民进党赢得了人心，因为他们在白色恐怖时期努力奋斗过，坐过牢，作出过牺牲，是个有责任、有担当的政党。”

王东海认同了我的观点，虽然没有说什么，但是我知道，二月初王炳章先生播下的种子，已经开始在他们心里发芽了。他们在酝酿组党的事了。

其时，我还没有见过王有才。大约在九六年，老朋友陈立群在与我聊天时，希望我将78—79年杭州民主墙的事写点回忆录，我就写了《盗火者—杭州79民运回忆》，立群看后拿给王有才看，王有才看后对立群说“你们那时候搞得很好啊！”并有结识我的意愿，立群回复了我。

1998年6月25日，单位组织员工去中山中路的上城区房管局“普法学习”，中午我顺便去王东海家，王东海家里没人，大门、房门都开着，客厅中间的方桌上放着一沓纸，我拿起来看，一份是《中国民主党成立宣言》，另一份是向浙江省民政厅申请成立中国民主党浙江筹委会的报告，申请人王有才、王东海和林辉。大约过了十几分钟，门外走廊上有人进来，到了门口脚步停了。少顷，我听王东海在说：“这个就是朱虞夫呀。”原来走在前面的是王有才，他走到门口，看到屋里有个戴头盔的大个子，心里一惊，以为都还没去申请，警察就已经上门来了。

他们三人进来后，说起这场误会，大家哈哈一笑。王有才向我说起他们三人准备下午去申请的事，问我对这事有什么看法，我想到王东海太太程云惠身怀六甲，即将临盆，如果王东海此去被扣，程云惠会陷入困境，于是我对王东海说，把你的名字换成我吧，你万一出了事，阿惠谁来照顾。不承想王东海说，我如果回不来，阿惠你来照顾，你照顾我放心的。王有才也说，这事已经定了，不要改了，我们如果进去的话，你们在外面声援接着干。

转眼一点多了，他们要去民政厅递交申请，我也要去单位了。一起走到楼下，在东太平巷窄窄的巷子里，骤起的凉风吹乱了大家的头发，我一一与他们握手告别，林辉紧紧地握着我的手，我心里涌上了“萧萧易水”的句子。

整个下午，我都牵挂着他们三人的安危，从三点后接连给王东海打了好几个电话，他都没接。直到快五点的时候，王东海接了电话，我问他申请注册的事，王东海说民政厅办事人员说，这种事没有遇到过，叫他们把申请材料放在那里，交给领导“研究研究”。民政厅对这种情况只能按《社团法》处理：需要申请人提供五十个以上成员的名单；秘书长以上人员的简历和五万元注册资金。

王有才的安排很有策略，这天是克林顿访华到达西安的日子，谅不至于在国际媒体的焦点关注下抓几个政治异己分子添乱。再则，其时的浙江省委书记李泽民是一个比较开明的人士，不希望开历史倒车。民主党兴，德国《镜报》记者问李鹏中国国内组党的事，李鹏说这是决不允许的，不久张德江取代李泽民，准备对浙江的民主党人展开镇压。在李鹏表态后，江泽民也说要把民主党消除在“萌芽状态”，2002年面对舆论汹汹的国际压力，余怒未消的江来浙江讲他的“三个代表”，说“有的地方出了怪事，不解决、不报告。”推脱长达半年多的民主党组党事件他一无所知。中国民主党的组党，迫使共产党将自己包装成“全民党”，抛出了所谓的“三个代表”。

王有才在去浙江省民政厅公开申请成立中国民主党的同时，已经在网上向外界作了公布，一时间成为了海外媒体的关注焦点，海外媒体纷纷来电采访报道，海外民运也十分踊跃地给予支持和谋划。王炳章先生不遗余力地联系我们，他与王希哲、连胜德是最活跃的支持者。我几乎每天都接到王炳章先生的电话，他明确告诉我这是一个转瞬即逝的窗口期，与其等着克林顿红利消退，等着他们“研究”完了腾出手来镇压，不如趁这空档做大做强。王博士说：“虞夫，你们趁着这个机会到街路上去发展中国民主党成员，见一个发展一个，抓紧做大做强，形成势了就不容易被镇压了。”

The Origins of the China Democracy Party

Author: Zhu Yufu · Editor: Lu Huiwen · Chief Editor: Luo Zhifei

Translator: Lu Huiwen

Dr. Wang Bingzhang Ignites the Nation

In early February 1998, Dr. Wang Bingzhang arrived in Hangzhou during his whirlwind tour across China, dubbed “sweeping through the nine provinces.” That day, my old friend Mao Qingxiang invited me for morning tea at the “Kaiyuan Teahouse” on Kaiyuan Road to catch up with some friends from the Democracy Wall era. He never mentioned Dr. Wang’s arrival.

At the teahouse, I saw familiar faces—Wang Donghai, Mao Qingxiang, Wang Rongqing, and Qi Huimin—but none of them were drinking tea, nor had they even sat down. I sensed something odd in the atmosphere, but didn’t press the issue. I simply pulled up a chair and sat down.

Before long, Wang Donghai left. Then Mao Qingxiang. Qi Huimin chatted briefly with me before also excusing himself “to the restroom,” and never came back. That left just Wang Rongqing and me sitting awkwardly, making small talk. Eventually, feeling out of place and without purpose, we each left in disappointment.

I later learned that they had taken Wang Rongqing and me along as decoys. Within the dissident circle, there were concerns that Wang Rongqing was unreliable, and I—having withdrawn from activism after the Democracy Wall movement—was also viewed with caution. They feared that bringing us to meet Dr. Wang might jeopardize his safety. To ensure their own meeting at the Children’s Palace would go unnoticed, they left us behind at the teahouse to distract the security police.

Ironically, none of the people who went to meet Dr. Wang actually recognized him. They only remarked afterward that the visitor was well-mannered and introduced himself as “a doctor.” In recounting the conversation, they all remembered that “this man” spoke about founding a political party. However, everyone felt the risks were too high and the timing was not right—perhaps later, they said. Since I was still viewed with some suspicion, I didn’t comment. I was simply left with a sense of regret for having missed the chance to meet Dr. Wang in person.

One day in April, I stopped by Wang Donghai’s home—my office at the Shangcheng District Housing Bureau was nearby, and I often dropped in on him during lunch breaks. That day, Wang Donghai seemed unusually serious. He asked me, “Yufu, what do you think about founding a political party?”

“Great idea,” I replied.

“Why? Isn’t that too risky?”

I said, “A nation’s vitality relies on thunder and storm. Political reform has stagnated. The regime wants economic gains from the West, but refuses to align with global democratic norms or fulfill its long-promised political reforms. Western liberals deceive themselves, indulging in the regime’s propaganda. The future is bleak. The government doesn’t want to antagonize the West just yet—it still solemnly swears ‘not to return to the old path.’ But all we hear are footsteps on the stairs—no one actually comes down. Now might be a relatively low-risk moment for us to push for action.”

“For years, we’ve lived under the tyranny of a beast. Now it’s growing weak, trying to appear benevolent to the West. It claims it no longer brutalizes its people, and the West believes it—thinking appeasement has worked. But no one wants to expose its true nature. It lies on this vast land, pretending to sleep, while ordinary people find it harder and harder to survive. We might as well give it a push—either it shifts and gives people some breathing room, or it reveals its true form: devouring us.”

“But have you thought this through?” Wang Donghai asked. “Starting a political party is a red line. You’ll end up in prison.”

“Yes,” I said. “If we commit to the democratic movement, we must be mentally prepared for prison. The vested interests won’t easily give up their privileges. I heard the regime recently claimed it would sign the UN’s International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights. That’s a significant signal—it might mean they’ll soon lift the ban on forming parties. Of course, they also might not. Some people would ask: If the ban is going to be lifted, why take the risk now? Why not wait and start a party legally then? The problem is…”

“They’ve already played this hat trick many times throughout history,” I said. “As pro-democracy activists, we act as a pressure group. By proactively making our demands, we can turn their own strategy back on them. Let’s kick the ball into their court—let their actions be exposed to public scrutiny.”

“Look at Taiwan. If it hadn’t been for the Democratic Progressive Party’s persistent resistance, Chiang Ching-kuo might never have lifted the party ban, and Taiwan wouldn’t have made its democratic transition. When the ban was lifted, dozens of new parties popped up overnight, but most of them folded just as quickly. Only the DPP won the people’s hearts—because they had fought during the White Terror, endured prison, made sacrifices. That’s what made them a responsible and committed political party.”

Wang Donghai didn’t respond directly, but I could tell he agreed. I knew then that the seed Dr. Wang Bingzhang had planted back in early February was beginning to sprout. They were seriously considering forming a political party.

At that time, I still hadn’t met Wang Youcai. Back in 1996, my old friend Chen Liqun encouraged me to write a memoir about the 1978–1979 Hangzhou Democracy Wall movement. I wrote The Fire Thief: A Memoir of the 1979 Democracy Movement in Hangzhou. After reading it, Liqun gave it to Wang Youcai. Wang’s response was, “You guys did great back then!” and he expressed an interest in meeting me. Liqun relayed that back to me.

On June 25, 1998, our workplace had arranged a “Legal Awareness Training” session at the Shangcheng District Housing Bureau on Zhongshan Middle Road. During lunch, I stopped by Wang Donghai’s home. No one was there—the front and inner doors were open. On the table in the center of the living room lay a stack of papers. I picked them up. One was the Declaration on the Founding of the China Democracy Party; the other was an application to the Zhejiang Provincial Civil Affairs Bureau to establish the Zhejiang Preparatory Committee of the China Democracy Party. The listed applicants were Wang Youcai, Wang Donghai, and Lin Hui.

About ten minutes later, I heard footsteps in the hallway. Someone stopped at the doorway. A moment later, I heard Wang Donghai say…

“This must be Zhu Yufu,” I heard Wang Donghai say. It turned out the man approaching the doorway was Wang Youcai. He had stopped in his tracks at the sight of a large man wearing a helmet sitting in the room, startled—he thought the police had already shown up before they even submitted the application.

The three of them entered, and when the misunderstanding was cleared up, we all laughed. Wang Youcai then explained their plan to submit the application to the Civil Affairs Bureau that afternoon and asked what I thought of it. I immediately thought of Donghai’s wife, Cheng Yunhui, who was heavily pregnant and nearing delivery. If anything were to happen to Donghai, she’d be left in a very difficult situation. So I told Donghai, “Let me take your name instead. If something happens to you, who’s going to take care of Ah Hui?” But to my surprise, Donghai replied, “If I don’t come back, you take care of Ah Hui. I trust you with that.” Wang Youcai added, “The decision has already been made. Don’t change it. If we end up inside, you all keep the work going from the outside.”

By 1 p.m., it was time for them to head to the Civil Affairs Bureau, and I needed to return to work as well. We all walked downstairs together. In the narrow alley of Dongtaiping Lane, a sudden cool breeze blew, rustling our hair. I shook hands with each of them to say goodbye. Lin Hui held onto my hand tightly—at that moment, the ancient line “the wind whistles at the Yi River” surfaced in my heart.

All afternoon, I worried about their safety. After 3 p.m., I called Donghai several times, but he didn’t pick up. Finally, just before 5 p.m., he answered. I asked how the application went. Donghai said the staff at the Civil Affairs Bureau told them they’d never dealt with this kind of request before. They were asked to leave the materials for further review by higher-ups. The officials said the only way to process it was under the “Regulations on the Registration of Social Organizations,” which required a list of more than 50 founding members, resumes of all officers above the rank of Secretary-General, and a minimum of 50,000 RMB in startup funds.

Wang Youcai had timed this well. That day, President Clinton was arriving in Xi’an on his state visit to China, making it unlikely that the authorities would arrest political dissidents and create international headlines. Moreover, Zhejiang’s Party Secretary at the time, Li Zemin, was known to be relatively open-minded and unlikely to backtrack on reform.

As news of the China Democracy Party’s formation spread, a reporter from Germany’s Der Spiegel asked Li Peng about it. Li Peng responded, “This will never be allowed.” Shortly after, Zhang Dejiang replaced Li Zemin and began preparing a crackdown on the CDP in Zhejiang. After Li Peng’s remarks, Jiang Zemin declared that the CDP must be eliminated “in the bud.” In 2002, still seething, Jiang visited Zhejiang under mounting international pressure and gave a speech about his “Three Represents” theory. He said, “Strange things have happened in some places—unresolved and unreported,” distancing himself from the party formation incident, as if he had known nothing about it for over half a year. Ironically, the CDP’s very existence forced the Communist Party to rebrand itself as the “party of the people” and roll out the so-called “Three Represents” theory.

Even as Wang Youcai submitted the application to the Zhejiang Civil Affairs Bureau, he had already made the move public online. Within hours, it became a focal point for overseas media. Calls and requests for interviews poured in. Overseas pro-democracy activists rallied in support and began strategizing. Dr. Wang Bingzhang was tireless in his efforts to coordinate with us. Alongside Wang Xizhe and Lian Shengde, he was among our most active overseas supporters. I received calls from Dr. Wang almost daily. He told me in no uncertain terms: “This is a brief window of opportunity. Don’t wait for the Clinton honeymoon to end, or for them to ‘finish reviewing’ and come down hard on you. Use this breathing space to expand quickly.” He said, “Yufu, go out there on the streets and recruit CDP members. Meet one, develop one. Grow fast. Once you gain momentum, it won’t be so easy for them to crush you.”

⸻

作者：朱虞夫 编辑：鲁慧文 责任编辑：罗志飞

新生儿的涉世初期

申请的第二天，王有才被国保抓去审问了八个小时，将他放回家后，就失去了自由——门口有一个便衣小警察坐着监视他（这个蒋姓小警察从此与中国民主党结下了不解之缘，在与此起彼伏的浙江民运的缠斗中屡立战功、一路迁升）。与王有才当时一起热血沸腾的战友们，在知道王有才被控制后，嗅出了危险的气息，纷纷隐退自保，也没有人继续中国民主党的作为，王有才济世经国的谋划没人能继承并发扬光大——当年王有才有个同学在浙江省委组织部工作，他搞到了全省处级干部名录交给王有才一份，王有才印刷了《公民权利与政治权利国际公约》准备与《中国民主党成立宣言》一起寄送给那些干部，王有才想通过体制内的改革推进中国社会的民主化。但是此时此刻他身边没有人，他只能自己动手装函邮寄。因为王有才秀才一个，没有多少危险性，加之当时当局还顾忌中美之间的蜜月关系，尚未打算严厉镇压，看守的小国保坐不住了就去附近逛逛街，时不时有人溜进王有才家去看他，小国保看到了也并未严加阻止，有人找来对王有才说，参加你们的民主党有什么好处呢，能拿钱还是能当官啊？王有才被弄得苦笑不得。这个蒋姓小国保也趁着没人，向王有才提出想加入中国民主党，王有才同意并吸收了他。蒋国保对当时的形势也看不懂，以为中国民主党真有可能成立，他近水楼台先打一个眼，脚踩两只船。

王有才根据中共的需要被抓，随着国际社会的关注放：他被抓了，没有影响中国民主党的发展；他被放了，也没有机会参与民主党里的各种事务。当局抓他判他实在是政治需要，完全是一个冤案。是我害了他。在他最后一次被捕前，我们在岳庙对面的茶室晤面，当我伸出手与王有才握手时，他将手缩了回去，他对我完全违背他构想的，将民主党的发展诉之于街头政治的做法十分愠怒。现在回想起来，我很对不起他，我给他造成了严重的困扰。11月下旬，法院审理王有才案，后面旁听席上坐满了便衣国保，上城区国保大队长张建华回来，随口就对我说：“王有才说是你朱虞夫害了他。”我当时认为是张挑拨离间的话，没有在意，现在想想，确实如此。

在王有才被控制在家的日子里，我已经根据王炳章、王希哲的指点招兵买马在拉人搭班子了，我还带王荣清去看王有才，事后王有才可能听说了王荣清不可靠，更对我有了看法。当时我还动员另外几位民主墙旧友加入，他们说，你既然把王荣清弄进来了，我们就不来了。我感觉他们是害怕风险的托词，后来王荣清去世不在了，也没见他们加入。

王荣清倒是干劲十足，在草创阶段做了很多工作，我也有证据他一直与国保暗通情款，递送了许多情报给警方，那是他给自己留的后路，按理在第一次大抓捕中，他应该在列，偏偏他没抓，后来在他生命的最后几年，当我们都被抓后，他还是惹恼了警方被抓被判了。无论如何，因为民主党是主张公开、理性的，王提供的情报价值也不大（严正学先生强烈反感被王出卖另作别论），所以我在他被抓后，为他保外就医，向他离婚的前妻和弟弟做劝解并发起募捐，大力帮助他。

申请注册后的第四天，6月29日下午，家里来了一个年轻人，自我介绍叫“祝正明”，简单聊了一会就约我晚上七点去武林广场东南角的电信大楼。见他长相敦厚，举止儒雅，我当即答应了。

我依约按时到了，却久久没见祝正明到来，我耐着性子足足等了他快一个小时（我至今也不知道，他为什么让我等那么久），他终于来了，骑着一辆简易摩托车，没有跨下车，叫我跟着他走。我骑着自己的摩托车跟在他后面，大约骑了一公里，在一个大工地（似乎是后来的杭州市政府工地）边的绿化带停了下来。他让我等一下，自己向树丛后走去，黝黑的树丛后半个身子闪了一下，祝问那人：“带来了没有？”那人回：“带来了。”祝说：“你去拿出来。”那人又隐入暗处，拿出厚厚一沓纸，身子晃动的幅度很大，待到近前才发现此人腿有残疾。他们一起走向我的摩托车，我也有点被他们那紧张兮兮的神情所感染，不管是什么东西，先收起来再说。

我打开后备箱，看清是《中国民主党成立宣言》，他们放进去，我关好箱子锁上。这时大家的情绪逐渐缓和下来，祝把我和此人作了介绍。由此我知道这个人名叫吴义龙，吴问我：“老朱，这些东西你拿去做什么用？”我心里一凉，想，我可没有向你们要啊，你们感到放那里不安全才交给我的。祝说，老朱你要保管好啊。我说，这还保管什么保管啊，就上街去散发呗。吴又问我，你和谁一起去散发？我说，没有人和我一起去，我就自己去。我知道这是风险很大的事情，哪怕没有人与我一起去散发，有个人远远地看着也好，至少在我被抓走后可以通风报信。没想到吴义龙耸耸鼻子，推推眼镜，呵呵笑了二声就不作声了。我隐隐感到其人品不敢恭维。（多年后，我问起王有才的这二位老部下，王有才说，吴义龙是在中国民主党定谳后，他被抓前不久来的，他不了解这个人。）

1998年6月30日，星期二，上午我把单位里的事全部集中处理了。午饭后骑小摩托车准备上街散发《宣言》，心里默念着“壮士行，何畏！”“虽千万人，吾行矣！”毕竟还是有点胆气不足。准备在途径采荷路的时候，邀王荣清一起去，就让他远远地看着我，我不至于失踪。

就在离王荣清那里几百米远的叉路口，我看到有不少人来来往往，就停了车，拿出《宣言》散发。发掉了手上的传单，正准备离开，有个便衣拦住我说“你不要走！”我明白自己落到了警察手里，立即拿起路边摊上的电话给王东海打了电话，谢天谢地，王东海第一时间接了电话，我告诉他，我在街路上散发《中国民主党成立宣言》，被便衣警察抓住了，请他转告我太太姜杭莉，晚饭不要等我了，免得她着急。

那个便衣警察将我带到离事发处约七八百米的凯旋派出所，向分局作了汇报，对我作了询问。我知道这个警察名叫王政红，他作了简单的笔录，也没有刻意为难我，将我置于一边，不管我了。会议室里一堆年轻警察在津津有味地看着世界杯足球赛，傍晚的时候，外面进来几个年轻警察，围着我聊天，居然与我聊起“民主”“人权”等议题来。这几个警察显得很有文化，如其中一个警察说“仓廪足而知荣辱”，中国目前还穷，不合适搞民主，等到经济发展了，老百姓素质提高了，搞民主就水到渠成了。另一个警察说，你们的本意也许是好的，但是中国太大了，万一社会上乱起来，受害的就是老百姓。

我说，邓小平说，没有政治制度的改革，一切经济改革都不会成功。经济改革与政治改革是两条腿走路，是互相促进、相辅相成的关系。如今经济改革已经二十年了，政治改革一动不动，如果要继续促进社会进步，保障经济改革的成果，政治改革势在必行。大家都知道，我国的政治体制是为消灭私有制、消灭资本主义而设置的，这是一种畸形现象，经济改革不能只是权宜之计，必须有制度保障。当年邓小平搞改革开放阻力重重，遇到那些头脑僵化、老资格的大人物竭力反对，以至于形成今天这么一个畸形局面，现在他们都不在了，新领导人应该有智慧、有担当，将政治体制改革提到日程上来。你们所担忧的情况，其实很容易解决，像当年经济改革一样，可以选一个或几个“政治特区”搞试点，让一部分人先“民主”起来。

十年后的2007年，我第二次入狱，在浙江省第二监狱遇到了被判死缓的当年杭州市江干区公安分局局长吴伟虎，他告诉我，那天，他听说有人在街头公开散发成立中国民主党的传单，感到很奇怪，这年头大家都在忙着赚钱发财，是不是遇到精神病了，他一面向上面汇报，一面从分局挑选几个大学文化的警察来考察我。结果害我舌战群儒、口干舌燥。

那边王东海接到我的电话后，立马通知了王有才，王有才匆匆赶来商量对策。王有才显然很紧张，我成了组建民主党后被抓的第一个人，宅心仁厚的他觉得自己难辞其咎。王东海要把我被抓的消息发给香港《中国人权民运信息中心》的卢四清，王有才说不要发，怕刺激当局会更加重对我的迫害。王东海还是坚持要发。说来也巧，卢四清发了新闻稿的后的第二天，1998年7月1日，正是收回香港的一周年，香港的好多报纸、电台、电视都转发了我上街散发组党传单被抓的消息，我无意中成为香港赤祸的“吹哨人”。

王有才觉得应该把我被抓的消息告诉我妻子，就与王东海一起去了我的家。他们将我被抓走的消息告诉我妻子后，我妻子十分平静。其实她1989年“64”后就经历过这样的事，况且那次被抓的动静要大很多：当时江干区政保科长张宝裕以我“参与动乱”的罪名接连抄了我的家、岳父家、妹妹家、妻舅家和我母亲家。“收容审查”27天，并抄没了二封信，一封民主墙时期北京《民主论坛》寄来的信，一封我老朋友徐正濂在1989年6月4日寄给我的信（他写信时还没有得到屠城的消息），最后放人了事。但是，我回单位后，房管局党委书记郑鸣庆还是以我“参与动乱”为名，撤掉了我工会负责人的职务，下放到基层南星房管站做物业管理员。（十年后，郑鸣庆也因为贪贿被判刑十一年。）

王有才怀着忐忑不安的心情上门，他想象的哭闹、找他要人的场面没有出现，他心存疑惑，对王东海说：“朱虞夫要么是他们（警方）的人，要么是个非常勇敢的民运人士。”

A Newborn Enters the World

The day after the application was submitted, Wang Youcai was taken in for interrogation by state security for eight hours. Though they let him go home afterward, he effectively lost his freedom—a plainclothes officer was stationed at his door to monitor him. This young officer, surnamed Jiang, would go on to become deeply entangled with the CDP, making a name for himself in the regime’s ongoing struggle with the democracy movement in Zhejiang, climbing the ranks along the way.

After learning that Wang Youcai had been placed under surveillance, many of his once-passionate comrades sensed the danger and quickly retreated to protect themselves. None continued the China Democracy Party’s efforts. Wang’s grand vision for reform and governance had no successor to carry it forward. At the time, Wang had a former classmate working in the Zhejiang Provincial Party Committee’s Organization Department, who secretly handed him a directory of all provincial-level cadres. Wang printed copies of the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights and planned to mail them, along with the CDP Founding Declaration, to these officials. His hope was to promote democratic reform from within the system.

But now, he was alone. With no one to help, Wang personally stuffed and mailed the documents himself. Being a bookish intellectual, he wasn’t seen as particularly dangerous. Moreover, since China was still in a “honeymoon” period with the U.S., the authorities hadn’t yet moved toward a full crackdown. The plainclothes officer assigned to watch him often wandered off, bored, leaving room for visitors to drop by Wang’s home. Even when seen, the guard rarely interfered. One visitor even asked, “What’s in it for me if I join your party? Do I get money or a government post?” Wang could only smile wryly.

The officer, surnamed Jiang, eventually asked to join the CDP himself. Wang agreed and admitted him. Officer Jiang likely misunderstood the political climate, thinking the CDP might truly be established. He tried to hedge his bets, keeping one foot in each camp.

Wang Youcai was arrested, not because of immediate necessity, but because the Chinese Communist Party needed a scapegoat. When international pressure rose, he was released. But whether he was in prison or out, he had no opportunity to participate in party affairs. His arrest and sentencing were purely political—a wrongful case. And I was the one who caused it.

Before his final arrest, we met in a teahouse across from Yue Temple. When I extended my hand, he pulled his back. He was deeply upset that I had taken the CDP in a direction opposite to his vision—onto the streets. In hindsight, I truly feel I wronged him and caused him great trouble.

In late November, during Wang’s trial, the gallery was filled with plainclothes security agents. Afterward, Zhang Jianhua, head of the National Security Unit in Shangcheng District, casually remarked to me, “Wang Youcai said it was you, Zhu Yufu, who ruined him.” I dismissed it as an attempt to drive a wedge between us. But now, thinking back—it was probably true.

While Wang was under house arrest, I had already begun recruiting and organizing under the guidance of Wang Bingzhang and Wang Xizhe. I even took Wang Rongqing to visit Wang Youcai. Wang may have later heard that Wang Rongqing was unreliable, which further soured his view of me. I also tried to recruit several other Democracy Wall veterans, but they declined, saying, “If you brought in Wang Rongqing, we’re out.” I figured that was just a convenient excuse to avoid risk. Years later, after Wang Rongqing passed away, they still never joined.

To his credit, Wang Rongqing was enthusiastic in the early stages and contributed significantly. I also have evidence that he kept in contact with the secret police and passed them information—a way to hedge his bets. Logically, he should have been caught in the first wave of arrests, but he wasn’t. Only in his final years, when most of us had already been detained, did he provoke the police enough to be arrested and sentenced. In any case, since the CDP advocated openness and rational discourse, the intelligence he offered held limited value (though Mr. Yan Zhengxue, who was deeply betrayed by Wang, saw it differently). When Wang was detained, I helped him apply for medical parole, spoke with his ex-wife and brother to secure their support, and launched a fundraising campaign on his behalf.

On June 29, the fourth day after the registration application, a young man came to my house in the afternoon.

He introduced himself as Zhu Zhengming. After a short chat, he invited me to meet at 7 p.m. at the southeast corner of Wulin Square near the telecom building. He appeared kind and scholarly, so I agreed.

I arrived on time but waited nearly an hour. To this day, I don’t know why he made me wait so long. Finally, he showed up riding a small motorbike. Without dismounting, he motioned for me to follow. I got on my own bike and trailed him for about a kilometer to a large construction site—possibly where the new Hangzhou municipal government building now stands. He stopped by a landscaped strip and told me to wait. Then he disappeared into a thicket. I saw a dark figure briefly flash behind the trees. Zhu asked the person, “Did you bring it?” The man replied, “Yes.” Zhu said, “Go get it.” The figure vanished into the dark again, returning with a thick stack of papers. His body moved awkwardly—I soon realized he had a leg disability.

They approached my motorbike together. I could sense their tension and became nervous myself. Whatever it was, I figured I’d better take it first and ask questions later. I opened the storage box, and they placed the stack inside. It was the Founding Declaration of the China Democracy Party. I locked the box, and everyone seemed to relax a bit.

Zhu then formally introduced the man to me—his name was Wu Yilong. Wu asked, “Old Zhu, what are you going to do with those?” I felt a chill. I hadn’t asked for any of this. They clearly felt it wasn’t safe to hold onto themselves. Zhu said, “Take good care of them, Old Zhu.” I replied, “There’s nothing to keep. I’m going to distribute them on the street.”

Wu asked, “Who’s going with you?” I said, “No one. I’ll go alone.” I knew how risky this was—even if no one handed out leaflets with me, it would’ve been helpful to have someone watching from a distance in case I got arrested. But Wu just twitched his nose, adjusted his glasses, chuckled quietly, and said nothing more. I began to doubt his character. (Years later, I asked Wang Youcai about these two men. He told me that Wu Yilong had only joined shortly before Wang was arrested, and he didn’t know much about him.)

On Tuesday, June 30, 1998, I cleared all my work at the office in the morning. After lunch, I got on my small motorbike, ready to hit the streets with the Declaration. In my mind, I recited words of courage: “A warrior’s path—what is there to fear?” and “Though a thousand stand in my way, I go forth!”

Still, I couldn’t shake a lingering sense of fear.

As I was heading down Caihe Road, I planned to stop by Wang Rongqing’s place and ask him to keep a distant watch over me—at least to ensure that if I disappeared, someone would know.

Just a few hundred meters from his place, at a fork in the road bustling with passersby, I stopped my motorbike, pulled out the Declaration, and began handing it out. After I had distributed all the leaflets and was preparing to leave, a plainclothes officer blocked my path and said, “Don’t go!” I instantly understood I had fallen into police hands.

Without hesitation, I picked up a public phone at a nearby vendor stall and called Wang Donghai. Thankfully, he answered right away. I told him, “I’ve been detained while distributing the Declaration of the China Democracy Party. Please tell my wife, Jiang Hangli, not to wait for me for dinner. I don’t want her to worry.”

The plainclothes officer escorted me roughly 700–800 meters to Kaixuan Police Station, where he reported the incident and conducted an initial interrogation. I later learned that this officer’s name was Wang Zhenghong. He made a brief report but didn’t give me a hard time—he set me aside and ignored me.

Inside the station, a group of young officers were watching the World Cup with great enthusiasm. Toward evening, several others came in, gathered around me, and unexpectedly began discussing topics like “democracy” and “human rights.” These officers appeared to be relatively well-educated. One of them quoted the old saying, “When the granaries are full, people know honor and shame,” and argued that since China was still poor, it wasn’t yet the right time for democracy. Once the economy improved and the populace became more educated, democracy would come naturally. Another officer chimed in, “Your intentions might be good, but China is too big. If society descends into chaos, it’s the people who will suffer.”

I replied, “Deng Xiaoping once said, ‘Without reforming the political system, economic reform will never succeed.’ Political and economic reforms are like two legs—only when both move together can we progress. It’s been 20 years since economic reforms began, but the political system hasn’t budged. If we want continued social progress and to safeguard economic gains, political reform is absolutely essential.

“Our current political system was designed to eliminate private ownership and capitalism—that’s an aberration. Economic reform cannot be a temporary workaround; it must be backed by institutional change. Back when Deng pushed for reform, he faced fierce opposition from conservative elders. That resistance has led to the current distorted reality. But those people are gone now. The new generation of leaders should have the wisdom and courage to bring political reform to the agenda. And the risks you fear? They’re not insurmountable. Just like economic reform started in special zones, we can create ‘political special zones’ where democracy is trialed by a few first.”

Ten years later, in 2007, during my second imprisonment, I met Wu Weihu, then serving a suspended death sentence. He had been the police chief of Jianggan District in Hangzhou back in 1998. He told me, “When I heard someone was openly handing out flyers for a new political party, I was stunned. Everyone was focused on making money—was he mentally ill or something?” He immediately reported it and sent over a team of educated officers to “evaluate” me. That led to my grueling day of defending democracy, arguing until my mouth was dry and my voice hoarse.

On the other end, when Wang Donghai received my call, he immediately notified Wang Youcai. Wang rushed over, clearly shaken. I had become the first person arrested since the founding of the China Democracy Party, and his kind-hearted nature made him feel responsible.

Wang Donghai suggested notifying Lu Siqing of the Hong Kong-based Information Center for Human Rights and Democracy. But Wang Youcai opposed it, fearing it would provoke the authorities into harsher treatment. Still, Wang Donghai insisted on sending the news.

As it happened, the day after Lu Siqing issued a press release—July 1, 1998—marked the first anniversary of Hong Kong’s return to China. Multiple Hong Kong newspapers, TV channels, and radio stations picked up the story. Without intending to, I had become the “whistleblower” for China’s growing suppression in Hong Kong.

Wang Youcai felt it was necessary to inform my wife of my arrest. He and Wang Donghai went together to my home. Upon hearing the news, my wife remained remarkably calm. After all, she had already been through this kind of thing following the 1989 Tiananmen crackdown, and that time had been far more dramatic. Back then, Zhang Baoyu, head of political security in Jianggan District, raided our home and those of my in-laws, siblings, and even my mother. I was detained for 27 days under “shelter and investigation,” and two letters were confiscated—one from Democracy Forum in Beijing and another from my old friend Xu Zhenglian, sent on June 4, 1989 (before he knew of the massacre). In the end, I was released, but when I returned to work, the Party Secretary of the Housing Bureau, Zheng Mingqing, dismissed me from my post as union leader, demoting me to a property manager in a lower office.

(Ten years later, Zheng Mingqing himself was sentenced to 11 years for corruption.)

Wang Youcai had been bracing himself for tears, shouting, or blame from my wife—but none of that came. Surprised, he turned to Wang Donghai and said, “Zhu Yufu must either be working with the authorities—or he’s one of the bravest activists we’ve got.”