作者：Reng Feng（冯仍）
编辑：赵杰 校对：周敏 翻译：戈冰

近日读到中国民主党北京党部成员被重判的消息，我心情沉重，也深感愤怒。据《欧洲之声》报道，2025年10月8日，中国民主党北京党部在北京成立；到2026年1月，多名成员被捕；3月30日闭门开庭，3月31日被以“颠覆国家政权罪”重判，其中副主席王石被判七年半，其余成员分别被判处七年至三年不等及缓刑。

《欧洲之声》报道截图-网址：sinoeurovoices.com

这起案件最刺痛人的地方，不只是判决之重，而是它再次暴露了中国现实政治中的一个根本荒谬：宪法写有“结社自由”，现实却把和平建党当作重罪。

《中华人民共和国宪法》第三十五条明文规定：“中华人民共和国公民有言论、出版、集会、结社、游行、示威的自由。”这说明，“结社自由”并不是海外民主人士强加给中国的概念，而是中共自己写入宪法的政治承诺。全国人大官网公布的现行宪法文本中，这一条至今仍在。(npc.gov.cn)

问题在于，这样的条文在中国长期停留于纸面。

如果公民真正按照公开、理性、和平、非暴力的方式组织起来，宣读党章、选举负责人、表达政治理念，本来正应属于“结社自由”的范围；可在中共治下，这样的行为非但得不到保护，反而会被定为“颠覆国家政权”。这就说明，中共宪法中的“自由”，很多时候只是门面，真正起作用的，仍然是一党专政下的政治禁令。

中共当然不会直接承认自己否定宪法。它更常用的办法，是在宪法之外建立一套审查、登记和监管体系，将公民自由层层架空。现行《社会团体登记管理条例》表面上说是为了保障公民结社自由，实际上却要求社会团体必须经过主管单位审查并依法登记，同时不得触碰所谓“基本原则”和“国家安全”边界。(xzfg.moj.gov.cn)

在现实政治中，这种制度安排早已不只是管理程序，而是政治过滤机制：凡是不挑战体制的组织可以存在，凡是真正独立、具有民主诉求的组织，几乎不可能获得合法空间。

因此，北京党部案所揭示的，绝不只是个别人的命运，而是整个制度的真相：中共最害怕的，不是暴力，而是中国人认真地把宪法上的自由，当成真实权利来使用。

据公开消息，中国民主党北京党部所强调的原则是“公开、理性、和平、非暴力”，所表达的目标是在遵守宪法、平等竞争的基础上，推动中国走向自由民主与社会公正。(sinoeurovoices.com)

这样的主张，在现代文明社会中，本应属于正常的公民政治活动；可在中共眼里，却成了必须消灭的威胁。这再次说明，中共所不能容忍的，不是暴力革命，而是和平结社；不是阴谋活动，而是公开表达；不是非法颠覆，而是人民不再甘于沉默。

Freedom House 在《2026年世界自由度报告》中，继续将中国列为“Not Free”，总分仅9分（满分100分）。

Freedom House 在《2026年世界自由度报告》-网址：freedomhouse.org

这个评价一点也不令人意外。一个连宪法所写“结社自由”都不能兑现、反而把和平建党定成重罪的国家，何谈真正的法治，何谈现代政治文明？

更值得警惕的是，这并非孤例。2026年2月，杭州法院又以 “寻衅滋事罪” 判处浙江民主党人邹巍有期徒刑三年六个月，独立作家昝爱宗有期徒刑三年。自由亚洲电台报道，案件开庭时家属旁听同样受到限制。

自由亚洲电台的报道-网址：rfa.org

北京案与杭州案，罪名不同，逻辑却完全一致：只要你试图在党的控制之外保留一点独立人格、独立思想和独立组织空间，维稳机器就会迅速启动。

北京是中国的首都，是中共权力最集中的地方。也正因为如此，中国民主党北京党部在北京成立，才具有格外强烈的象征意义。它所传递的信息非常明确：中国人不是只能永远活在一党专政之下，中国人也有权追求民主、多党竞争和政治自由。

我自己也是从中国走出来的人。我越来越深地意识到，在中国，很多人不是不知道压迫，而是不敢碰；不是没有公民意识，而是在一党专政下，真正像公民那样生活，往往就要付出沉重代价。也正因如此，每当我看到国内仍有人明知危险却坚持和平、理性、公开、非暴力地表达民主理念，我心里都充满敬意。因为他们的站出来，本身就是一种见证：见证中国并不是没有追求自由的人，见证中国民主运动并没有熄灭，也见证中共所谓“法治”常常不过是政治镇压的外衣。

从1998年中国民主党在大陆公开成立，到今天依然有人在北京重新举旗，这说明自由的火种并没有被扑灭。哪怕中共用抓捕、审判和判刑去压制，也无法消灭中国人对自由的渴望。

今天被重判的这些民主党人，不应被遗忘。

他们的名字，不应只停留在一纸判决书里。

海外的我们，也不应只是转发消息后继续沉默。

因为沉默，只会让暴政更加肆无忌惮；发声，至少能告诉世界，也告诉中国人民：问题从来不在人民追求自由，而在一个政权把宪法写成门面，把结社自由写成摆设，把和平建党都视为敌人。

宪法写着结社自由，现实却把和平建党判成重罪。

这不是法治的威严，而是制度的自我揭穿；

这不是国家的自信，而是专制的深层恐惧；

这不是现代文明，而是对现代政治文明最基本原则的公然践踏。

愿更多人记住这些人的名字。

愿更多中国人看清这个制度的真相。

也愿中国有一天，不再因为一次结社、一场宣誓、一句真话，就有人失去自由。

The Constitution guarantees freedom of association, so why has the peaceful establishment of a political party become a serious crime?

Author: Reng Feng
Editor: Zhao Jie Proofreader: Zhou Min Translator: Ge Bing

Recently, upon reading the news that members of the Beijing branch of the China Democratic Party had been handed down heavy sentences, I felt a heavy heart and deep anger. According to a report by *Sino-European Voices*, the Beijing branch of the China Democratic Party was established in Beijing on October 8, 2025; by January 2026, several members had been arrested; a closed-door trial was held on March 30, and on March 31, they were handed down heavy sentences for “subversion of state power.” Among them, Vice Chairman Wang Shi was sentenced to seven and a half years, while the remaining members received sentences ranging from three to seven years, some with suspended sentences.

Screenshot from the Voice of Europe report – URL: sinoeurovoices.com

What is most painful about this case is not merely the severity of the sentences, but that it once again exposes a fundamental absurdity in China’s political reality: while the Constitution guarantees “freedom of association,” in practice, the peaceful establishment of a political party is treated as a serious crime.

Article 35 of the Constitution of the People’s Republic of China explicitly states: “Citizens of the People’s Republic of China enjoy freedom of speech, of the press, of assembly, of association, of procession, and of demonstration.” This demonstrates that “freedom of association” is not a concept imposed on China by overseas democrats, but a political commitment the CCP itself enshrined in the Constitution. This provision remains in the current text of the Constitution published on the National People’s Congress website to this day. (npc.gov.cn)

The problem is that such provisions have long remained mere words on paper in China.

If citizens were to genuinely organize in an open, rational, peaceful, and non-violent manner—reading the party charter, electing leaders, and expressing political views—such activities would naturally fall within the scope of “freedom of association.” Yet under CCP rule, such behavior is not only denied protection but is instead labeled as “subversion of state power.” This demonstrates that the “freedoms” enshrined in the CCP’s Constitution are often merely window dressing; what truly prevails are the political prohibitions imposed under one-party dictatorship.

Of course, the CCP would never directly admit to disregarding the Constitution. Its more common approach is to establish a system of censorship, registration, and oversight outside the Constitution, thereby eroding citizens’ freedoms layer by layer. The current “Regulations on the Registration and Administration of Social Organizations” ostensibly aim to safeguard citizens’ freedom of association, but in reality, they require social organizations to undergo review by competent authorities and register in accordance with the law, while strictly avoiding any infringement upon so-called “fundamental principles” and “national security” boundaries. (xzfg.moj.gov.cn)

In the reality of politics, this institutional arrangement has long ceased to be merely a management procedure; it has become a political filtering mechanism: any organization that does not challenge the system is allowed to exist, while any truly independent organization with democratic aspirations finds it virtually impossible to secure a legal space.

Therefore, what the Beijing Party Branch case reveals is by no means limited to the fate of a few individuals; it exposes the truth of the entire system: what the CCP fears most is not violence, but the Chinese people earnestly exercising the freedoms enshrined in the Constitution as genuine rights.

According to public reports, the principles emphasized by the Beijing branch of the China Democratic Party are “openness, rationality, peace, and non-violence.” Its stated goal is to promote freedom, democracy, and social justice in China on the basis of constitutional compliance and equal competition. (sinoeurovoices.com)

In a modern civilized society, such advocacy should be considered normal civic political activity; yet in the eyes of the CCP, it has become a threat that must be eliminated. This demonstrates once again that what the CCP cannot tolerate is not violent revolution, but peaceful association; not conspiratorial activities, but open expression; not illegal subversion, but a people no longer willing to remain silent.

In its 2026 Freedom in the World Report, Freedom House continues to classify China as “Not Free,” with a total score of just 9 out of 100.

Freedom House’s *2026 Freedom in the World Report* – Website: freedomhouse.org

This assessment comes as no surprise. How can a country that fails to uphold the “freedom of association” enshrined in its own constitution—and instead treats the peaceful formation of political parties as a serious crime—claim to have true rule of law or modern political civilization?

What is even more alarming is that this is not an isolated case. In February 2026, a Hangzhou court sentenced Zou Wei, a member of the Zhejiang Democratic Party, to three years and six months in prison, and independent writer Zan Aizong to three years in prison, both on charges of “picking quarrels and provoking trouble.” Radio Free Asia reported that family members were similarly restricted from attending the trial.

Radio Free Asia report – URL: rfa.org

The Beijing case and the Hangzhou case involve different charges, yet their logic is entirely consistent: as soon as you attempt to retain even a modicum of independent identity, independent thought, or independent organizational space outside the Party’s control, the “stability maintenance” apparatus springs into action.

Beijing is China’s capital and the place where the CCP’s power is most concentrated. Precisely for this reason, the establishment of the Beijing branch of the China Democratic Party in Beijing carries exceptionally strong symbolic significance. The message it conveys is crystal clear: the Chinese people are not destined to live forever under one-party dictatorship; they, too, have the right to pursue democracy, multiparty competition, and political freedom.

I, too, am someone who has left China. I have come to realize more and more deeply that in China, many people are not unaware of oppression, but dare not confront it; they are not lacking in civic consciousness, but under one-party dictatorship, living as true citizens often comes at a heavy price. Precisely for this reason, whenever I see people in China who, despite knowing the dangers, persist in expressing democratic ideals peacefully, rationally, openly, and nonviolently, I am filled with deep respect. Their very act of standing up serves as a testament: a testament that there are indeed people in China who seek freedom; a testament that the Chinese democracy movement has not been extinguished; and a testament that the CCP’s so-called “rule of law” is often nothing more than a cloak for political repression.

From the public establishment of the China Democracy Party on the mainland in 1998 to the fact that people are still raising its banner in Beijing today, this shows that the flame of freedom has not been extinguished. Even if the CCP uses arrests, trials, and sentencing to suppress it, it cannot eradicate the Chinese people’s yearning for freedom.

These members of the China Democracy Party who have been handed down heavy sentences today must not be forgotten.

Their names should not be confined to a mere piece of paper—a court verdict.

We overseas should not merely share news reports and then remain silent.

For silence only embolden tyranny; speaking out, at the very least, tells the world—and the Chinese people—that the problem has never been the people’s pursuit of freedom, but rather a regime that treats the constitution as a facade, freedom of association as a mere formality, and the peaceful establishment of a political party as an act of treason.

The constitution guarantees freedom of association, yet reality condemns the peaceful establishment of a political party as a grave crime.

This is not the dignity of the rule of law, but the system’s self-exposure;

This is not national confidence, but the deep-seated fear of an authoritarian regime;

This is not modern civilization, but a blatant trampling of the most fundamental principles of modern political civilization.

May more people remember the names of these individuals.

May more Chinese people see through the true nature of this system.

And may the day come when, in China, no one loses their freedom simply for forming an association, taking an oath, or speaking the truth.

作者：付静争
编辑：赵杰 校对：周敏 翻译：戈冰

近日，在中国北京，中国民主党副主席王石被判刑7年半，党组成员：李武、赵强、李云、孙帅、李飞、于阳、被判处三至七年不等的刑期及缓刑，党主席：王蕴溥已流亡海外。被北京第二人民法院闭门判刑“颠覆国家政权罪”这样被秘密审判并判处重刑的消息，引发外界高度关注。作为一名身处海外的中国民主党成员，我对此深感震惊与愤怒。

这些被判刑的民主党成员，以公开、理性、和平、非暴力方式进行政治表达。他们主张宪政、法治与基本人权，这些理念，在任何现代社会中都应属于公民的基本权利范畴。然而在中国，这样的行为却被定性“颠覆国家政权”这是刑事的重罪。

值得注意的是，中国现行宪法序言中明确提出：“中国共产党领导的多党合作和政治协商制度将长期存在和发展。”然而，这一制度在现实运作中，主要限于体制内党派。既然是共产党的体制内的多党派，那请问：何谈民主多党协商？还是你共产党自己说的算。任何试图在这一体系之外独立组织力量的行为，往往会被迅速压制，甚至被定性为“颠覆国家政权” “扰乱社会治安、“寻衅滋事”等很奇怪的罪行。

这种文本与现实之间的落差，不仅削弱了法律本身的权威，也使公民对制度的信任不断流失。一个真正稳定与自信的社会，不应惧怕不同声音，更不应将和平表达视为威胁。

近年来，类似案件在不同地区反复出现。从拘捕、秘密审理，被消失，没收护照，限制出境，软禁不许与家人接触等等，这些做法持续引发外界对基本权利状况的担忧。言论自由、结社自由以及政治参与权，早就没有了。

在此，我郑重发出以下呼吁：

第一，呼吁国际社会，特别是美国政府，将相关案件纳入人权评估、签证政策及外交议题之中，对涉及严重人权问题的行为施加持续关注与实际压力；

第二，呼吁海外华人社会，不应对正在发生的现实保持沉默。无论立场如何，基本人权问题不应被忽视，更不应被遗忘；

第三，要求中国政府遵守其已签署并承诺推进的人权原则，并切实履行已批准的国际人权义务，停止以“国家安全”为名打压和平表达、释放所有因言论、曾教与结社而被拘押的人员。

历史反复证明，压制无法消除对自由的追求。相反，在持续的高压之下，仍有人选择站出来，这本身就说明，追求权利与尊严的意志从未消失。

也许个人的声音有限，但当越来越多的人拒绝沉默，改变便有可能发生。

我发声，并非因为没有恐惧，而是因为深知沉默的代价更为沉重。

When “Multi-Party Cooperation” Exists Only on Paper: A Member of the China Democratic Party’s Realistic Concerns and Appeal

Author: Fu Jingzheng
Editor: Zhao Jie Proofreader: Zhou Min Translator: Ge Bing

Recently in Beijing, China, Wang Shi, Vice Chairman of the China Democratic Party, was sentenced to seven and a half years in prison. Party members Li Wu, Zhao Qiang, Li Yun, Sun Shuai, Li Fei, and Yu Yang were sentenced to prison terms ranging from three to seven years, with some receiving suspended sentences. Party Chairman Wang Yunpu has gone into exile overseas. The news of these secret trials and harsh sentences—handed down behind closed doors by the Beijing No. 2 Intermediate People’s Court on charges of “subversion of state power”—has drawn significant international attention. As a member of the China Democracy Party living abroad, I am deeply shocked and outraged by this.

These sentenced members of the China Democracy Party engaged in political expression through open, rational, peaceful, and nonviolent means. They advocate for constitutional government, the rule of law, and basic human rights—principles that should fall within the scope of citizens’ fundamental rights in any modern society. Yet in China, such actions are characterized as “subversion of state power,” a serious criminal offense.

It is worth noting that the preamble to China’s current Constitution explicitly states: “The system of multiparty cooperation and political consultation under the leadership of the Communist Party of China will continue to exist and develop for a long time.” Yet in practice, this system is largely confined to parties operating within the regime. If these are merely “multi-party” entities within the Communist Party’s framework, then one must ask: where is the democratic multi-party consultation? Or does the Communist Party simply call the shots? Any attempt to organize independently outside this system is often swiftly suppressed and even labeled with bizarre charges such as “subversion of state power,” “disturbing public order,” or “picking quarrels and provoking trouble.”

This disconnect between the text of the law and reality not only undermines the authority of the law itself but also causes citizens’ trust in the system to erode continuously. A truly stable and self-confident society should not fear dissenting voices, nor should it view peaceful expression as a threat.

In recent years, similar cases have repeatedly emerged in various regions. From arrests and secret trials to “disappearances,” passport confiscations, travel restrictions, and house arrest with no contact allowed with family members—these practices continue to raise international concerns about the state of fundamental rights. Freedom of speech, freedom of association, and the right to political participation have long since vanished.

Here, I solemnly issue the following appeals:

First, I call upon the international community, particularly the U.S. government, to incorporate these cases into human rights assessments, visa policies, and diplomatic agendas, and to maintain sustained attention and exert practical pressure on actions involving serious human rights violations;

Second, I call upon the overseas Chinese community not to remain silent in the face of these unfolding realities. Regardless of one’s stance, fundamental human rights issues must not be ignored, much less forgotten;

Third, I demand that the Chinese government adhere to the human rights principles it has signed and pledged to advance, and earnestly fulfill the international human rights obligations it has ratified. It must cease suppressing peaceful expression under the pretext of “national security” and release all individuals detained for their speech, teaching, or association.

History has repeatedly proven that suppression cannot extinguish the pursuit of freedom. On the contrary, the fact that people still choose to stand up in the face of sustained oppression demonstrates that the will to pursue rights and dignity has never faded.

Perhaps the voice of an individual is limited, but when more and more people refuse to remain silent, change becomes possible.

I speak out not because I am without fear, but because I know full well that the cost of silence is far heavier.

《全球覺醒》第六十八期

自由之鐘 時刻敲響 全球覺醒 民主聯盟 消滅獨裁 推翻暴政

活動主題：譴責中共非法重判北京黨部成員 民主火種不滅 自由意志不屈

2026年3月30日，中共當局在黑箱操作下，對中國民主黨联合总部北京黨部的七名志士實施了喪心病狂的秘密審判與非法重判。北京黨部副主席王石被非法判處有期徒刑七年六個月，其餘六名成員也分別遭到三年至七年的重刑。這不僅是對這七位勇士個人的政治迫害，更是中共對所有追求自由、嚮往憲政的中國人的公然恐嚇。

這些志士所從事的，是基於「公開、理性、和平、非暴力」原則的政治表達。他們主張在憲政框架下推動法治，這本是人類文明社會賦予公民的神聖權利。然而，在中共這個極權毒瘤的邏輯裡，和平的訴求竟成了必須用重牢鎮壓的罪名。他們害怕有組織的理性反抗，更害怕中國民主黨的信念在民間紮根生輝。

中國民主黨自1998年由王炳章、王有才等先賢籌建以來，始終是當代民主運動的中流砥柱。這次北京黨部在極端高壓下的堅守與犧牲，正是這種「公開組成、公開活動」精神的延續。中共妄想透過幾張非法的判決書就掐滅火種，這完全是癡心妄想。歷史早已證明，牢獄鎖不住靈魂，屠刀殺不死信念。

我們要在這裡正告領館內的官僚：只要中國民主黨還有一個成員在呼吸，我們揭露暴政、追求自由的腳步就永遠不會停止。我們將動員全球的正義力量，持續營救這些為自由付出代價的先行者，直到所有的高牆被推倒，直到民主的陽光照亮每一寸國土。

我們的口號：

释放王石，释放所有政治犯！

结社自由无罪，秘密审判可耻！

坚持和平理性非暴力，抗议中共政治迫害！

强烈谴责非法审判，立即释放北京党部成员！

時間：2026年4月19日（星期日）3:30PM (下午)

地點：中共駐洛杉磯總領館

地址：443 Shatto Pl, Los Angeles, CA 90020

活動召集人：劉廣賢/廖军

活動規劃： 孫曄/ 王付青

活動主持：易勇

組織者：

胡月明4806536918/史洪亮 9099263777

劉玉芝6263210146/ 王磊 6262354824

周蘭英6264924286/陳文輝6263412820

活動義工：于海龍 /王尊福/楊郭軍/朱明昌/穆偉/李克輝/于越/陳健/孔德翠

攝影：Ji Luo /劉樂園

主辦單位：

中國民主黨聯合總部美西黨部

中國民主黨聯合總部美南黨部

自由鐘民主基金會

攝影記者：關永傑
編輯：鍾然 校對：程筱筱 翻译：周敏

2026年4月11日，由灣區香港人社區中心（HKCC）及美國香港人會館（US HongKongers Club）發起，一場以「新聞自由無價」為主題的義賣籌款活動在灣區舉行。來自灣區各市，甚至從洛杉磯遠道而來的香港人齊聚一堂，以實際行動支持在高壓環境下仍然堅守崗位的香港新聞工作者，並向長期捍衛新聞自由的香港記者協會致敬。

（熱心人士捐贈的義賣品——自由無價）

主辦方代表在開場致辭中指出，媒體不僅承擔著客觀報導事實的責任，更是法治社會中不可或缺的「第四權力」，對公權力進行監督，維繫社會應有的制衡機制。一旦新聞工作者無法獨立履行職責，公眾的知情權亦將隨之受損，社會的透明度與公義基礎也會受到嚴重影響。

【熱心人士捐贈的義賣品——以香港獅子山為背景：Truth Matters in the Old Time (2026)，To most Hongkongers, freedoms of speech and press have always been a right that are there to embrace until they are gone in a flash. However, from the loss of it, we should learn how to use our wisdom and critical minds to grasp and understand truth, especially in this world of fake media.】

主持人在介紹香港新聞界現狀時，引用無國界記者公布的世界新聞自由指數，香港在2002年獲得歷史上最高排名：全球第18位，當時香港曾被視為亞洲新聞自由的堡壘。而在剛過去的2025年，香港獲得有史以來最低的評分，排名跌至140位，狀況等級已跌至接近該組織定義的最差級別（Very serious）。這是香港首次跌入該組織所界定的最差區間，因此近年來香港記者所面臨的環境愈發嚴峻，壓力來自多個層面。

首先，在法律層面，記者及相關組織不斷捲入司法程序。香港記者協會近年持續通過司法覆核，為新聞採訪權及資訊獲取權據理力爭，但相關案件不僅耗時漫長，亦伴隨著高昂的法律費用風險。部分案件雖未能改變整體環境，仍體現新聞界對原則的堅持。其次，行業支援需求顯著上升。隨著媒體生態收縮，不少記者失去原有崗位，香港記者協會需為受影響從業者提供短期經濟援助、專業培訓，以及法律與心理支援。這些原本屬於行業基礎保障的工作，在當前環境下變得尤為關鍵，同時也對協會的資源構成沉重壓力。

（熱心人士捐贈的義賣品——有灣區名人親筆簽名的週年紀念版紅酒一瓶）

在採訪環境方面，主持人特別強調，自我審查現象日益普遍且複雜。過去，編輯層面的取捨較為常見；而今日，記者在採訪及報導過程中往往需要同時考慮法律風險、機構立場，甚至受訪者的安全。有時，即使掌握事實，也需反覆權衡是否完整呈現，以避免對他人造成潛在風險。這種「全方位審查」已成為不少前線記者的日常處境。

（熱心人士捐贈的手工藝品）

此外，主持人還提到，香港記者協會在籌款及日常運作上亦面臨困難，包括活動場地臨時取消、資源獲取受限等問題，使維持正常運作更加艱難。然而，儘管挑戰重重，該會仍持續運作，致力為新聞工作者發聲，並探索支持獨立記者及小型媒體的新方式。

當晚活動採取義賣及聚餐形式進行，既為籌款，也讓參與者在交流中凝聚共識。主辦方表示，希望通過「化整為零」的方式，讓更多身處海外的香港人參與支持行動，在不同國家與地區延續對新聞自由的關注。義賣競投環節中，與會者反應熱烈，港人的堅韌與團結精神，賦予了義賣品更多情感意義，令競投價格一再攀升。活動最終籌得的款項，超出主辦方預期。

（展示現場籌得的部分款項，主持人感謝熱心人士的支持）

活動最後，主持人再次感謝所有到場人士的支持，並強調，每一份捐助都將轉化為對新聞工作的實際支援。在充滿不確定性的時代，這種跨地域的連結與守望，正是新聞自由得以延續的重要力量。

Bay Area Hongkongers Hold Charity Sale to Support HKJA

Photojournalist: Kwan Wing-kit
Editor: Zhong Ran Proofreader: Cheng Xiaoxiao Translator: Zhou Min

Summary: Bay Area Hongkongers organized a charity sale and fundraiser to support the Hong Kong Journalists Association (HKJA). The event focused on the deteriorating press freedom and industry hardships, gathering overseas strength to support front-line journalists and continuing the guardianship of and attention to journalistic values.

On April 11, 2026, a charity fundraising event themed “Press Freedom is Priceless” was held in the Bay Area, initiated by the Hong Konger Community Center (HKCC) and the US HongKongers Club. Hongkongers from various cities in the Bay Area, and even some who traveled from as far as Los Angeles, gathered to take practical action in support of Hong Kong news practitioners who still hold their posts under high-pressure environments, and to pay tribute to the Hong Kong Journalists Association for its long-term defense of press freedom.

(Charity sale item donated by a warm-hearted individual — Freedom is Priceless)

In the opening remarks, a representative of the organizers pointed out that the media not only bears the responsibility of reporting facts objectively but is also the indispensable “Fourth Estate” in a society governed by the rule of law. It monitors public power and maintains the necessary checks and balances of society. Once news practitioners are unable to perform their duties independently, the public’s right to know will suffer accordingly, and the transparency and foundation of justice in society will be severely affected.

【Charity sale item donated by a warm-hearted individual — featuring Hong Kong’s Lion Rock as the background: Truth Matters in the Old Time (2026). “To most Hongkongers, freedoms of speech and press have always been a right that are there to embrace until they are gone in a flash. However, from the loss of it, we should learn how to use our wisdom and critical minds to grasp and understand truth, especially in this world of fake media.”】

While introducing the current status of the Hong Kong news industry, the host cited the World Press Freedom Index published by Reporters Without Borders (RSF). Hong Kong achieved its highest historical ranking in 2002: 18th in the world. At that time, Hong Kong was regarded as a bastion of press freedom in Asia. However, in the just-passed year of 2025, Hong Kong received its lowest score ever, with its ranking plummeting to 140th. Its status level has dropped to near the worst category defined by the organization (“Very serious”). This is the first time Hong Kong has fallen into the worst bracket defined by the organization; thus, the environment faced by Hong Kong journalists in recent years has become increasingly severe, with pressure coming from multiple levels.

First, at the legal level, journalists and related organizations are continuously embroiled in judicial proceedings. In recent years, the Hong Kong Journalists Association has persisted in fighting for news gathering rights and the right to access information through judicial reviews. However, these cases are not only time-consuming but also carry the risk of high legal fees. Although some cases failed to change the overall environment, they still embody the journalism industry’s adherence to principles. Secondly, the demand for industry support has risen significantly. As the media ecology shrinks, many journalists have lost their original positions. The HKJA must provide short-term financial aid, professional training, and legal and psychological support for affected practitioners. These tasks, which originally belonged to basic industry protections, have become particularly crucial in the current environment, while also posing a heavy strain on the Association’s resources.

(Charity sale item donated by a warm-hearted individual — a bottle of anniversary edition red wine with the personal signature of a Bay Area celebrity)

Regarding the reporting environment, the host particularly emphasized that the phenomenon of self-censorship is becoming increasingly prevalent and complex. In the past, selection and omission at the editorial level were more common; today, however, journalists often need to simultaneously consider legal risks, institutional stances, and even the safety of interviewees during the interview and reporting process. Sometimes, even when the facts are in hand, one must repeatedly weigh whether to present them in full to avoid potential risks to others. This “all-encompassing censorship” has become the daily reality for many front-line journalists.

(Handicrafts donated by warm-hearted individuals)

Furthermore, the host mentioned that the Hong Kong Journalists Association also faces difficulties in fundraising and daily operations, including the last-minute cancellation of event venues and restricted access to resources, making it even harder to maintain normal operations. However, despite the numerous challenges, the Association continues to operate, striving to speak up for news practitioners and exploring new ways to support independent journalists and small media outlets.

The event that evening was conducted in the form of a charity sale and dinner, serving both as a fundraiser and a way for participants to build consensus through exchange. The organizers stated that they hoped to use a “decentralized” (break into parts) approach to allow more Hongkongers living overseas to participate in supportive actions, continuing the focus on press freedom across different countries and regions. During the charity auction segment, participants responded enthusiastically. The resilience and spirit of solidarity of the Hong Kong people gave the items more emotional significance, causing the bidding prices to rise repeatedly. The final funds raised by the event exceeded the organizers’ expectations.

(Displaying a portion of the funds raised on-site; the host thanks the warm-hearted individuals for their support)

At the end of the event, the host once again thanked all attendees for their support and emphasized that every donation would be transformed into practical support for journalistic work. In an era full of uncertainty, this cross-regional connection and mutual support are precisely the vital forces that allow press freedom to endure.

作者：陀先润
编辑：李晶 校对：熊辩 翻译：周敏

前不久，富华国际集团荣誉主席、中国紫檀博物馆馆长陈丽华在北京去世，享年85岁。消息传出后，舆论迅速聚焦于她与《西游记》中“唐僧”扮演者迟重瑞的婚姻，以及其规模庞大的家族财富。与以往类似公众人物离世后的叙事路径相似，关于她的评价很快被归纳为“励志传奇”：从北京胡同中的普通女工，到赴港发展，再回到北京成为地产领域的重要人物，打造长安俱乐部、金宝街等项目，并以“紫檀女王”之名广为人知。

然而，若对其发家路径进行更为细致的梳理，这一“白手起家”的叙事却存在诸多值得追问之处。与其说这是一个典型的商业成功故事，不如说它更像是改革开放初期特定历史条件下，个体通过特殊渠道与资源整合迅速积累财富的案例之一。这种现象本身，也反映出当时制度转型过程中权力、资源与市场之间复杂的互动关系。

根据公开资料及其本人陈述，陈丽华早年为高中文化，在家具修理厂工作，并因此获得“第一桶金”。1981年至1982年前后赴香港发展，通过房地产投资迅速致富，至1986年已跻身富裕阶层。坊间还流传其在香港低价购入多栋法院拍卖物业并转手获利的说法。

但上述叙事在细节层面存在多重疑问。首先是“第一桶金”的来源问题。较为广泛流传的说法认为，她曾通过渠道接触到存放文革时期抄家所得的贵重古典家具，并将其转售获利。若此类说法成立，则涉及两个关键问题：其一，这类物资的取得渠道在当时是否对普通个体开放；其二，这些资产如何在当时市场环境下实现价值变现。

需要指出的是，20世纪80年代初，中国尚未形成成熟的古董家具市场，相关交易极为有限。如果在国内出售，其所得人民币在外汇严格管制的背景下，如何转移至香港用于后续投资？如果选择直接将家具运往香港，则涉及跨境运输审批、进出口管制等多重制度限制。对于一位缺乏制度性资源的普通从业者而言，这些操作的可行性值得进一步讨论。

其次是其赴港路径及初始资本来源。1980年代初期，大陆居民赴港定居需经严格审批，且通常需具备一定资金证明。若相关说法属实，则其启动资金来源及审批过程同样有待说明。

再看其回到北京后的发展轨迹。陈丽华以“港商”身份进入房地产领域，其代表项目包括长安大厦、长安俱乐部及金宝街改造等。这些项目均位于北京核心地段，特别是长安街沿线开发，在当时属于高度敏感区域，审批权限集中于更高层级。相关项目的获取与推进，显然不仅仅是一般市场主体所能完成。

以长安俱乐部为例，其定位为高端会员制会所，准入机制严格，更多承担的是信息交流与关系网络构建功能，而非单纯的商业盈利空间。这类场所的存在，本身也反映出当时经济与权力结构之间的某种交织。

此外，金宝街项目涉及大规模城市改造与历史建筑拆除，在当时亦曾引发争议。相关地块原有机构与资源属性复杂，其开发过程所依赖的制度条件，同样值得纳入分析。

另一个值得关注的现象是信息的“低可见性”。与许多同体量企业不同，富华集团长期以来公开信息相对有限，除紫檀博物馆等文化项目外，其核心业务及项目细节较少进入公众讨论。这种低曝光状态，在一定程度上也增加了外界理解其商业路径的难度。

围绕其早年经历，还存在诸如“保姆背景”等未经证实的传闻。此类说法本身或许难以考证，但其流传范围之广，恰恰反映出公众对这一“成功叙事”的不确定感与解释需求。

相比之下，关于其婚姻的讨论则更为个人化。陈丽华与迟重瑞因京剧相识，婚姻持续三十余年。无论外界如何评价，其家庭关系本质上属于私人领域，无需过度延伸解读。

陈丽华的去世，让这一“传奇人生”再次进入公共视野。值得强调的是，对个体经历的反思，并非否认其在特定领域（如紫檀文化保护）所作的投入，而是试图在更宏观的历史语境中，重新审视“成功”的生成机制。

改革开放初期，中国正处于制度与市场并行探索的阶段，一部分人凭借信息优势、制度窗口与人际网络，获得了超出常规路径的上升机会。这类现象并非个案，而是一种阶段性特征。将其简单归结为“个人奋斗”，或许难以完整解释其复杂性。

因此，当类似“白手起家”的叙事再次被反复讲述时，有必要保持基本的审视意识：个体成功固然重要，但其背后的制度环境、资源分配方式以及权力结构，同样构成不可忽视的变量。只有在更透明与公平的规则之下，市场竞争才具有真正意义上的可复制性。

逝者已矣，但历史叙事不应止于表层的赞颂。对这些“传奇”的再讨论，本质上是对一段发展路径的反思。如何减少灰色空间、提升制度公正性，或许才是更具现实意义的问题。

From Ordinary Worker to Real Estate Tycoon: Structural Questions Regarding a Success Narrative

Author: Tuo Xianrun
Editor: Li Jing Proofreader: Xiong Bian Translator: Zhou Min

Not long ago, Chen Lihua, Honorary Chairperson of Fu Wah International Group and Curator of the China Red Sandalwood Museum, passed away in Beijing at the age of 85. Following the news, public discourse quickly focused on her marriage to Chi Zhongrui—famous for playing “Tang Sanzang” in Journey to the West—as well as her vast family fortune. Similar to the narrative paths taken after the passing of other public figures, evaluations of her were swiftly summarized as an “inspirational legend”: moving from an ordinary female worker in Beijing’s hutongs to developing her career in Hong Kong, then returning to Beijing to become a titan of real estate, creating projects like the Chang’an Club and Jinbao Street, and becoming widely known as the “Red Sandalwood Queen.”

However, upon a more meticulous examination of her path to wealth, this “self-made” narrative presents several points worth questioning. Rather than a typical story of commercial success, it appears more like a case study of an individual utilizing specific channels and resource integration to rapidly accumulate wealth under the unique historical conditions of the early Reform and Opening-up era. This phenomenon itself reflects the complex interaction between power, resources, and the market during that period of institutional transition.

According to public records and her own statements, Chen Lihua possessed a high school education in her early years and worked in a furniture repair factory, where she reportedly earned her “first pot of gold.” Around 1981 to 1982, she moved to Hong Kong to develop her career, quickly amassing wealth through real estate investment; by 1986, she had already joined the ranks of the wealthy. Rumors also circulated that she profited by purchasing multiple properties at low prices through court auctions in Hong Kong and flipping them.

Yet, there are multiple questions regarding the details of this narrative. First is the issue of the source of that “first pot of gold.” A widely circulated version suggests she gained access through specific channels to valuable classic furniture confiscated during the Cultural Revolution and profited by reselling them. If this version holds true, it raises two critical questions: first, whether the channels for obtaining such materials were open to ordinary individuals at that time; and second, how these assets could be liquidated within the market environment of that era.

It should be noted that in the early 1980s, a mature antique furniture market had not yet formed in China, and related transactions were extremely limited. If sold domestically, how was the resulting RMB transferred to Hong Kong for subsequent investment given the context of strict foreign exchange controls? If she chose to ship the furniture directly to Hong Kong, this would involve multiple institutional hurdles, including cross-border transport approvals and import-export controls. For an ordinary practitioner lacking institutional resources, the feasibility of these operations merits further discussion.

Second is the path of her move to Hong Kong and the source of her initial capital. In the early 1980s, mainland residents required strict approval to settle in Hong Kong and usually needed to provide certain proof of funds. If the relevant accounts are true, the source of her startup capital and the approval process similarly require clarification.

Looking further at her trajectory after returning to Beijing, Chen Lihua entered the real estate sector as a “Hong Kong businesswoman.” Her representative projects include the Chang’an Mansion, the Chang’an Club, and the renovation of Jinbao Street. These projects are all located in core areas of Beijing; specifically, development along Chang’an Avenue was a highly sensitive zone at the time, with approval authority concentrated at the highest levels. The acquisition and progression of such projects were clearly not tasks an average market entity could accomplish.

Taking the Chang’an Club as an example: positioned as a high-end, members-only club with strict entry mechanisms, it functioned more as a hub for information exchange and networking rather than a purely commercial profit-making space. The existence of such venues reflects a certain intertwining of the economic and power structures of that time.

Furthermore, the Jinbao Street project involved large-scale urban redevelopment and the demolition of historical buildings, which sparked controversy at the time. The institutions and resource attributes originally associated with those plots were complex; the institutional conditions relied upon during the development process also deserve to be included in this analysis.

Another phenomenon worth noting is the “low visibility” of information. Unlike many enterprises of a similar scale, Fu Wah Group’s public information has long been relatively limited. Aside from cultural projects like the Red Sandalwood Museum, details of its core business and projects rarely enter public discussion. This state of low exposure has, to some extent, increased the difficulty for outsiders to understand its commercial path.

Surrounding her early experiences, there are also unconfirmed rumors, such as a “nanny background.” While such claims may be difficult to verify, their wide circulation reflects the public’s sense of uncertainty and the need for an explanation regarding this “success narrative.”

In contrast, discussions regarding her marriage are more personal. Chen Lihua and Chi Zhongrui met through their shared interest in Peking Opera, and their marriage lasted over thirty years. Regardless of public opinion, their family relationship belongs essentially to the private sphere and does not require excessive interpretive extension.

Chen Lihua’s passing has once again brought this “legendary life” into the public eye. It is important to emphasize that reflecting on an individual’s experience is not a denial of their investments in specific fields (such as the preservation of red sandalwood culture), but rather an attempt to re-examine the generative mechanisms of “success” within a broader historical context.

During the early stages of Reform and Opening-up, China was in a phase of simultaneous institutional and market exploration. Some individuals, by virtue of information advantages, institutional windows, and interpersonal networks, obtained upward mobility opportunities that exceeded conventional paths. This phenomenon was not an isolated case but a characteristic of that era. Simply attributing it to “individual struggle” may fail to fully explain its complexity.

Therefore, when narratives like “self-made” are recounted repeatedly, it is necessary to maintain a basic sense of scrutiny: while individual success is important, the underlying institutional environment, resource allocation methods, and power structures constitute non-negligible variables. Only under more transparent and fair rules does market competition possess true replicability.

The deceased has passed, but historical narratives should not stop at surface-level praise. Re-discussing these “legends” is, in essence, a reflection on a specific path of development. How to reduce gray areas and enhance institutional justice is perhaps the issue of greater practical significance.

作者：冯仍

编辑：李晶 校对：熊辩 翻译：周敏

2026年4月4日，我来到美国南加州自由雕塑公园，参加高智晟律师雕像的揭幕活动。站在现场，看着雕像正式揭幕，我心里有很深的触动。那种触动，不只是因为一尊雕像立起来了，更因为我在现场听见了许多不该被遗忘的声音，也因此对高智晟、对中国、对我们这些流亡海外的人，有了更深的思考。

高智晟曾是中国非常优秀的律师，甚至被评为“全国十佳律师”之一。但后来，因为他替弱势群体发声，替基督徒发声，替维权人士发声，替那些没有声音的人发声，最终被吊销执照，遭受绑架、酷刑和长期打压，最后被强制失踪。一个原本可以在体制中安稳生活的人，最终却落到这样的境地，这本身就已经说明了中共体制的黑暗。

在揭幕现场，美国优先政策研究所中国政策高级主任陶智先生的发言，让我印象很深。他提到，高智晟作为一名基督徒，非常清楚地表明：人的尊严，来自于人是按着上帝的形象被造的。听到这句话时，我心里很受触动。因为我自己也是基督徒，我越来越明白，中共之所以敢任意羞辱人、践踏人、消灭人，正是因为它根本不承认人的尊严来自上帝，也不承认人在政权之上，还有更高的价值和审判。

Piero Tozzi （左）翻译：傅希秋牧师（右）

而高智晟最可贵的地方，就在于他在那个人人都被逼着低头的环境里，仍然守住了这样的底线。他不只是一个勇敢的律师，更是一个不肯向邪恶妥协的人。对今天的中国来说，这样的人太少了，也太珍贵了。

陶智先生还谈到，中共的跨国镇压已经延伸到美国本土，甚至延伸到我们当天所站立的这片土地上。他提到，自由雕塑公园过去曾遭到破坏，陈维明老师的作品和工作室也遭受过袭击。听到这些，我心里既沉重，又愤怒。因为这说明，中共不仅要在中国境内压制不同声音，甚至连人在美国、站在自由土地上，也还想继续恐吓、继续伸手控制。

这让我想到，我们这些流亡海外的人，虽然离开了中国，但并不等于中共的阴影就完全远去了。很多人依然会遭到骚扰、威胁和监视。中共不仅想控制人的身体，也想控制人的记忆，控制人的恐惧，甚至控制人离开中国以后的生活。也正因为如此，在自由雕塑公园为高智晟立像就更有意义。它不只是纪念一位失踪的人权律师，更是在公开宣告：我们不会因恐吓而沉默，不会因威胁而遗忘。

那天站在雕像前，我一直在想，中共为什么会害怕一个律师？后来我越来越明白，它真正害怕的，不只是高智晟这个人，而是他身上那种不肯低头的良知，是他在黑暗中仍然坚持真理、公义和信仰的生命。因为在一个谎言成为常态的制度里，一个坚持说真话的人，本身就是一种控诉。

整个揭幕现场，也让我感到一种特别深的力量。大家聚集在那里，不只是为了看一尊雕像，而是为了共同见证：高智晟没有被彻底抹去，他的名字还在被呼喊，他的精神还在被纪念。这本身就是一种反抗：反抗遗忘，反抗谎言，反抗冷漠，也反抗中共最希望看到的那种结果——让一个人彻底从历史和记忆中消失。

作为一个流亡到美国的中国人，那天站在高智晟雕像前，我也更深地感到，我们今天还能站在自由的土地上说话、纪念、见证，并不是理所当然的。也正因为如此，我们更不能只是把自由当成一种环境，而应当把它当成一种责任。既然今天我们还能发声，就不应沉默；既然今天我们还能记住，就不应遗忘；既然今天我们还能见证，就不应退缩。

这次参加高智晟雕像揭幕活动，对我来说不只是一场活动，更像是一次提醒。提醒我不要忘记中国，不要忘记那些仍然被关押、被监视、被消失的人；也提醒我，不要因为流亡生活的忙碌，就慢慢失去对真相和正义的敏感。

高智晟至今仍然没有自由，但他的名字不该消失。而一个还愿意记住高智晟的中国，才可能还有希望。

At the Unveiling Site, I Rediscovered Gao Zhisheng’s Significance

Reflections on Attending the Unveiling Ceremony of Gao Zhisheng’s Statue

Author: Feng Reng

Editor: Li Jing Proofreader: Xiong Bian Translator: Zhou Min

On April 4, 2026, I traveled to the Liberty Sculpture Park in Southern California to attend the unveiling ceremony of lawyer Gao Zhisheng’s statue. Standing there, watching the statue officially being revealed, I felt a deep stir in my heart. That stirring was not just because a statue had been erected, but because I heard many voices on-site that should not be forgotten. It led me to deeper reflections on Gao Zhisheng, on China, and on those of us living in exile.

Gao Zhisheng was once an exceptionally talented lawyer in China, even named one of the “Top Ten National Lawyers.” However, because he spoke up for marginalized groups, for Christians, for human rights defenders, and for those without a voice, he eventually had his license revoked and suffered kidnapping, torture, and long-term suppression, eventually becoming a victim of enforced disappearance. That a man who could have lived a stable life within the system ended up in such a state is, in itself, an indictment of the darkness of the CCP (Chinese Communist Party) regime.

At the unveiling, the speech by Mr. Piero Tozzi, Senior Director of the China Policy Initiative at the America First Policy Institute, left a deep impression on me. He mentioned that as a Christian, Gao Zhisheng clearly understood that human dignity stems from the fact that humans are created in the image of God. Hearing these words touched me profoundly. As a Christian myself, I have come to understand more clearly that the reason the CCP dares to arbitrarily humiliate, trample, and eliminate people is precisely because it does not recognize that human dignity comes from God, nor does it acknowledge that there are values and a judgment higher than the state.

Piero Tozzi (Left) | Translation: Pastor Bob Fu (Right)

Gao Zhisheng’s most precious quality lies in the fact that, in an environment where everyone is forced to bow their heads, he maintained such a bottom line. He is not just a brave lawyer, but a man who refuses to compromise with evil. For today’s China, such people are far too few and far too precious.

Mr. Tozzi also discussed how the CCP’s transnational repression has extended to American soil—even to the very ground we stood on that day. He mentioned that the Liberty Sculpture Park has been vandalized in the past, and artist Chen Weiming’s works and studio have been attacked. Hearing this, I felt both heavy-hearted and angry. It proves that the CCP not only wants to suppress dissenting voices within China but even attempts to continue its intimidation and control over people standing on the soil of freedom in America.

This made me realize that for those of us in exile, although we have left China, it does not mean the CCP’s shadow has completely vanished. Many are still subjected to harassment, threats, and surveillance. The CCP seeks not only to control people’s bodies but also their memories, their fears, and even their lives after leaving China. Because of this, erecting a statue for Gao Zhisheng at the Liberty Sculpture Park is even more significant. It is not just a commemoration of a disappeared human rights lawyer; it is a public declaration: we will not be silenced by intimidation, nor will we forget because of threats.

Standing before the statue that day, I kept wondering: Why is the CCP so afraid of a lawyer? I eventually understood that what they truly fear is not just Gao Zhisheng the individual, but the unyielding conscience he embodies—his life that persists in truth, justice, and faith amidst the darkness. In a system where lies are the norm, a person who insists on speaking the truth is, in himself, an accusation.

The entire unveiling scene gave me a sense of particularly deep strength. People gathered there not just to see a statue, but to witness together: Gao Zhisheng has not been completely erased. His name is still being called; his spirit is still being commemorated. This is a form of resistance in itself: resistance against forgetting, against lies, against indifference, and against the very outcome the CCP desires most—to make a person vanish entirely from history and memory.

As a Chinese person living in exile in the United States, standing before Gao Zhisheng’s statue that day, I felt more deeply that our ability to speak, commemorate, and witness on free soil is not something to be taken for granted. Because of this, we must not treat freedom merely as an environment, but as a responsibility. Since we can still speak today, we must not remain silent; since we can still remember, we must not forget; since we can still witness, we must not shrink back.

Attending this unveiling ceremony was more than just an event for me; it was a reminder. It reminded me not to forget China, not to forget those who are still imprisoned, monitored, or disappeared. It also reminded me not to let the busyness of life in exile slowly dull my sensitivity to truth and justice.

Gao Zhisheng is still not free, but his name must not disappear.

Only a China that is still willing to remember Gao Zhisheng can still have hope.

作者：张致君
编辑：李晶 校对：熊辩 翻译：彭小梅

2026年通过的《中华人民共和国民族团结进步促进法》，在文本上构建了一套关于民族关系的理想叙述：平等、团结、互助、融合。这种叙述延续了中国长期以来关于“多民族统一国家”的政治想象，并试图以法律形式将其制度化。

当我们将这部法律置于中国过去数十年的民族治理实践之中考察时，一个难以回避的问题浮现出来：这部法律所承诺的“平等与尊重”，在现实中真的具备可验证的制度基础吗？

该法反复强调“各民族一律平等”“禁止歧视和压迫”，并提出“尊重和包容差异性”。这些表述在形式上符合现代国家关于民族政策的基本原则。然而，中国的问题并不在于这些原则是否正确，而在于这些原则是否具有现实的约束力，是否能够对国家行为形成有效限制。

在一个以强权国家为特征的治理体系中，法律更多体现为治理工具，而非权利边界。当法律主要用于“引导”“促进”“管理”社会关系时，其对权力的约束功能就会弱化。该法文本中的“平等”与“尊重”，更多停留在宣示层面，而非制度实践。

该法在文化领域提出“尊重少数民族语言文字”“推动文化传承与发展”，同时在第15条中又强调“全面推广国家通用语言文字，任何组织和个人不得妨碍公民学习和使用国家通用语言文字”，在数条法条中提到“增强中华文化认同”“增强对中国共产党的认同”；如第11条“引导各族群众坚定对中华民族、中华文化、中国共产党、中国特色社会主义的认同”；第12条“国家组织开展中国共产党史、新中国史、改革开放史、社会主义发展史、中华民族发展史宣传教育，引导各族群众牢固树立正确的国家观、历史观、民族观、文化观、宗教观“；第14条” 突出各民族共有共享的中华文化符号和中华民族形象”。

以上2种的组合本身即蕴含张力。

以近年来内蒙古的语言政策调整为例，内蒙古中小学教育中减少蒙古语授课比例，推广国家统编教材，引发了广泛讨论，现实施行中政府手段强硬，在地方公立教育中不允许用民族语言授课。支持者认为，这是提升教育质量、促进社会流动的必要措施；批评者则指出，这种政策在客观上削弱了民族语言的使用空间，使其逐渐边缘化，更有批评者在2020年在行使自身宪法权利的时候，在抗议现场多次被抓捕与软禁。

类似情况也出现在新疆与西藏区域，双语教育逐渐转向以普通话为主导的教学体系。在形式上，这种转变被解释为“提高就业竞争力”，但在实际效果上，它也意味着把民族语言从“教育载体”转变为“文化符号”，其功能被显著压缩。

从制度逻辑来看，当国家在教育、媒体、公共空间中持续强化统一语言与文化符号时，多样性虽然似乎被承认，在现实中却难以获得对等地位。

这种模式可以被理解为一种“结构性同化”：差异被允许存在，但必须在统一框架之内运作。

法律中提出“宗教应当与社会主义社会相适应”，这一表述在中国既有政策中已有体现。其关键问题在于“适应”的标准由谁界定，边界如何划定？

在新疆，一系列围绕宗教活动的治理措施长期受到关注。例如，对宗教场所的审批管理，对宗教内容的规范，以及对宗教行为的限制。这些措施通常被置于“去极端化”和“反恐”的框架之下进行解释。

在西藏，宗教活动同样受到严格监管，特别是在宗教组织、转世认定、宗教教育等方面，国家具有决定性影响力。

从国家角度看，这种治理模式旨在防范风险、维护稳定；但从权利角度看，则引出了一个重要问题：当宗教实践必须符合国家设定的标准时，宗教自由是否仍然是一种“权利”，还是转变为一种“经许可的活动”。

这一转变意味着，宗教不再是一个独立的社会领域，而是被纳入政权统一的政治与治理体系之中。

该法多次提及“反对分裂”“防范风险”“维护国家安全”。这些表述反映出一个重要象征，民族问题已经被纳入国家安全框架进行理解与处理。

在政治学中，这一过程被称为“安全化”。一旦某一议题被定义为安全问题，其治理方式就会发生变化，比如政策优先级的上升，手段趋于强化，权利让位于稳定。

新疆的治理模式是一个典型例子。在反恐与去极端化的背景下，大规模的社会管理措施得以实施。这些措施在官方叙述中被视为维护安全与稳定的必要手段，但在外部观察中，引发了关于人权与自由的持续争议。

当“民族认同表达”被解释为“潜在风险”时，民族文化与社会生活的正常发展空间将受到极端的压缩。

从制度设计上看，该法对国家机关、公职人员、社会组织与公民均提出了要求。但是仔细分析可以发现，这部法律对公民和组织的行为规定更为具体，责任更为明确，而对国家机关的约束多为原则性要求，问责机制模糊。

例如，法律规定，国家机关“不履行职责”将被“责令改正”或给予处分，但缺乏独立监督机制来确保问责的实施。

这种结构意味着这部法律更强调自上而下的治理责任，而非自下而上的权利保障。

在中国缺乏独立司法与外部监督的情况下，权利条款难以转化为现实中的可操作机制。

法律中多次使用“破坏民族团结”“不利于民族团结的观念”等表述。这些概念在政治上具有明确指向，但在法律上却缺乏清晰边界。

这种模糊性带来的问题是不同地区、不同部门在类似的案件上会有不同解释，执法标准难以统一，个体行为的合法性边界变得不确定。

在实践中，这类概念就会被用于限制言论、学术研究或文化表达，尤其是在涉及民族历史、宗教问题或政策讨论时。

更加需要特别注意，该法特别在强调了未成年人的“民族教育”中体现热爱中国共产党，并特别标注香港、澳门的开展，以及海外组织及个人的行为约束。

“第二十条各级人民政府应当推动将铸牢中华民族共同体意识的要求融入家庭、家教和家风建设。”

未成年人的父母或者其他监护人应当依法履行家庭教育责任，教育和引导未成年人热爱中国共产党、热爱祖国、热爱人民、热爱中华民族，树立中华民族一家亲的观念，不得向未成年人灌输不利于民族团结进步的观念。

“第二十一条国家支持香港特别行政区、澳门特别行政区开展中华民族历史、中华文化和国情教育，引导香港特别行政区同胞、澳门特别行政区同胞自觉维护国家主权、安全、发展利益。”

“第六十三条中华人民共和国境外的组织和个人，针对中华人民共和国实施破坏民族团结进步、制造民族分裂行为的，依法追究法律责任。”

当我写下这篇文章的时候，由于《民族团结进步促进法》的模糊性，违法的这把刀或许就已经悬在了我的头上。

综上，《民族团结进步促进法》构建了一种关于“中华民族共同体”的宏大叙事。在这一叙事中，团结被置于核心位置，而差异则被纳入统一框架之中进行调节。问题并不在于“团结”本身，而在于当团结成为最高原则时，差异如何被对待，权利如何被保障。

从新疆、西藏、内蒙古等地的具体实践来看，当前中国对民族差异化的治理模式是以统一为目标，以稳定为优先，以政治安全为边界。

在这样的框架下，“平等”更多表现为形式上的一致性，而非实质上的多样性保障；“尊重”则需要在既定政治边界内实现。

因此，这部法律的根本问题可以概括为：它在语言上强调多元与包容，在结构上强化统一与控制；它将民族问题从“权利议题”转化为“治理议题”，并进一步纳入“安全议题”。

如此，法律不再作为限制权力的主要工具，而成为整合社会与塑造认同的机制。

而这正是更进一步质疑中国政府颁发法律是“虚伪”的制度根源所在。

Under the Name of “Unity”: The Constraint of the Ethnic Unity and Progress Promotion Law on Ethnic Development

Author: Zhang Zhijun
Editor: Li Jing Proofreader: Xiong Bian Translator: Peng Xiaomei

The Ethnic Unity and Progress Promotion Law of the People’s Republic of China, passed in 2026, constructs in its text an ideal narrative about ethnic relations: equality, unity, mutual assistance, and integration. This narrative continues China’s long-standing political imagination of a “multi-ethnic unified state,” and attempts to institutionalize it in legal form.

When we place this law within the context of China’s ethnic governance practices over the past several decades, an unavoidable question emerges: does the “equality and respect” promised by this law truly have a verifiable institutional foundation in reality?

This law repeatedly emphasizes that “all ethnic groups are equal,” “discrimination and oppression are prohibited,” and proposes “respecting and accommodating differences.” These expressions formally conform to the basic principles of modern states regarding ethnic policy. However, China’s problem does not lie in whether these principles are correct, but in whether these principles have real binding force, and whether they can effectively constrain state behavior.

In a governance system characterized by a strong state, law more often manifests as a tool of governance rather than a boundary of rights. When law is mainly used to “guide,” “promote,” and “manage” social relations, its function of constraining power is weakened. The “equality” and “respect” in the text of this law remain more at the level of declaration than institutional practice.

In the cultural sphere, the law proposes “respecting the languages and scripts of ethnic minorities” and “promoting cultural inheritance and development.” At the same time, Article 15 emphasizes “fully promoting the national common language and script; no organization or individual may obstruct citizens from learning and using the national common language and script.” Several provisions also mention “enhancing identification with Chinese culture” and “enhancing identification with the Communist Party of China.” For example, Article 11 states: “guide people of all ethnic groups to firmly identify with the Chinese nation, Chinese culture, the Communist Party of China, and socialism with Chinese characteristics”; Article 12 states: “the state organizes publicity and education on the history of the Communist Party of China, the history of New China, the history of reform and opening up, the history of socialist development, and the history of the Chinese nation, guiding people of all ethnic groups to firmly establish correct views on the nation, history, ethnicity, culture, and religion”; Article 14 states: “highlight the shared symbols of Chinese culture and the image of the Chinese nation shared by all ethnic groups.”

The combination of these two aspects itself contains tension.

Taking the recent adjustment of language policy in Inner Mongolia as an example, the proportion of Mongolian-language instruction in primary and secondary education has been reduced, and nationally unified textbooks have been promoted, which has sparked widespread discussion. In actual implementation, government measures have been forceful, and the use of ethnic languages in local public education is not permitted. Supporters believe this is a necessary measure to improve education quality and promote social mobility; critics point out that such policies objectively weaken the space for the use of ethnic languages, gradually marginalizing them. Some critics were even arrested multiple times and placed under house arrest in 2020 while exercising their constitutional rights during protests.

Similar situations have also appeared in Xinjiang and Tibet, where bilingual education has gradually shifted toward a Mandarin-dominated teaching system. Formally, this transformation is explained as “improving employment competitiveness,” but in actual effect, it also means transforming ethnic languages from “a medium of education” into “a cultural symbol,” with their functions significantly compressed.

From an institutional logic perspective, when the state continuously strengthens a unified language and cultural symbols in education, media, and public space, diversity appears to be acknowledged, but in reality, it is difficult to obtain an equal position.

This model can be understood as a form of “structural assimilation”: differences are allowed to exist but must operate within a unified framework.

The law states that “religion should adapt to socialist society,” an expression that has already appeared in existing policies in China. The key issue lies in who defines the standard of “adaptation,” and how the boundaries are drawn.

In Xinjiang, a series of governance measures surrounding religious activities have long attracted attention. For example, the approval and management of religious venues, the regulation of religious content, and restrictions on religious behavior. These measures are usually explained within the framework of “de-extremification” and “counterterrorism.”

In Tibet, religious activities are also strictly regulated, especially in areas such as religious organizations, reincarnation recognition, and religious education, where the state holds decisive influence.

From the perspective of the state, this governance model aims to prevent risks and maintain stability; but from the perspective of rights, it raises an important question: when religious practice must conform to standards set by the state, is religious freedom still a “right,” or has it transformed into a “permitted activity”?

This transformation means that religion is no longer an independent social sphere but is incorporated into the unified political and governance system of the regime.

The law repeatedly mentions “opposing separatism,” “preventing risks,” and “maintaining national security.” These expressions reflect an important signal: ethnic issues have been incorporated into the national security framework for understanding and handling.

In political science, this process is called “securitization.” Once an issue is defined as a security problem, its mode of governance changes—for example, policy priority increases, methods become more forceful, and rights give way to stability.

Xinjiang’s governance model is a typical example. Under the background of counterterrorism and de-extremification, large-scale social management measures have been implemented. These measures are regarded in official narratives as necessary means to maintain security and stability, but in external observation, they have triggered ongoing controversy regarding human rights and freedom.

When “expressions of ethnic identity” are interpreted as “potential risks,” the normal development space of ethnic culture and social life will be extremely compressed.

From the perspective of institutional design, the law sets requirements for state organs, public officials, social organizations, and citizens. However, careful analysis reveals that the law provides more specific behavioral regulations and clearer responsibilities for citizens and organizations, while constraints on state organs are mostly principled requirements, and accountability mechanisms are vague.

For example, the law stipulates that if state organs “fail to perform their duties,” they will be “ordered to make corrections” or disciplined, but there is a lack of independent supervisory mechanisms to ensure the implementation of accountability.

This structure means that the law emphasizes top-down governance responsibility rather than bottom-up rights protection.

In the absence of an independent judiciary and external supervision in China, rights provisions are difficult to translate into operational mechanisms in reality.

The law repeatedly uses expressions such as “undermining ethnic unity” and “concepts unfavorable to ethnic unity.” These concepts have clear political orientation but lack clear legal boundaries.

The problem caused by this ambiguity is that different regions and departments may have different interpretations in similar cases, making it difficult to unify enforcement standards, and rendering the boundary of legality for individual behavior uncertain.

In practice, such concepts are used to restrict speech, academic research, or cultural expression, especially when involving ethnic history, religious issues, or policy discussions.

It is particularly noteworthy that the law emphasizes, in the “ethnic education” of minors, the promotion of love for the Communist Party of China, and specifically mentions its implementation in Hong Kong and Macau, as well as behavioral constraints on overseas organizations and individuals.

“Article 20: People’s governments at all levels shall promote the integration of the requirement to forge a strong sense of the Chinese nation community into family, family education, and family traditions.“

Parents or other guardians of minors shall, in accordance with the law, fulfill their responsibilities for family education, educating and guiding minors to love the Communist Party of China, love the motherland, love the people, love the Chinese nation, establish the concept that the Chinese nation is one family, and shall not instill in minors ideas that are unfavorable to ethnic unity and progress.

”Article 21: The state supports the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region and the Macao Special Administrative Region in carrying out education on the history of the Chinese nation, Chinese culture, and national conditions, guiding compatriots in Hong Kong and Macao to consciously safeguard national sovereignty, security, and development interests.”

“Article 63: Organizations and individuals outside the territory of the People’s Republic of China that carry out acts that undermine ethnic unity and progress or create ethnic division against the People’s Republic of China shall be held legally accountable in accordance with the law.”

As I write this article, due to the ambiguity of the Ethnic Unity and Progress Promotion Law, the blade of illegality may already be hanging over my head.

In summary, the Ethnic Unity and Progress Promotion Law construct a grand narrative of the “Chinese nation community.” In this narrative, unity is placed at the core, while differences are incorporated into a unified framework for adjustment. The issue is not “unity” itself, but how differences are treated and how rights are guaranteed when unity becomes the highest principle.

From the concrete practices in Xinjiang, Tibet, Inner Mongolia, and other regions, China’s current governance model for ethnic differences takes unity as the goal, stability as the priority, and political security as the boundary.

Within this framework, “equality” is more a form of formal consistency rather than substantive protection of diversity; “respect” must be realized within predetermined political boundaries.

Therefore, the fundamental problem of this law can be summarized as follows: in language it emphasizes diversity and inclusiveness, while in structure it strengthens unity and control; it transforms ethnic issues from a “rights issue” into a “governance issue,” and further incorporates them into a “security issue.”

Thus, law no longer serves as the primary tool to restrain power, but becomes a mechanism for integrating society and shaping identity.

And this is precisely the deeper institutional root for questioning the “hypocrisy” of laws issued by the Chinese government.

作者：杨长兵

编辑：李晶 校对：熊辩 翻译：彭小梅

每年的复活节，都会让人重新面对一个古老而尖锐的问题：当真理被处死之后，它是否还能回来？

两千年前，耶稣被钉在十字架上。那不是一场偶然的悲剧，而是一场典型的“体制性处理”——一个不掌握权力、却影响人心的人，被视为威胁，从而被清除。从政治逻辑上看，这样的结局再熟悉不过：制造一个公开的终点，让所有人相信事情已经结束。

而在当代中国，“六·四”事件，同样被处理为一个“必须结束”的历史节点。1989年，北京街头曾聚集无数学生与市民，他们呼喊的不是暴力革命，而是更基本的诉求：反腐败、要对话、要表达的权利。然而，随着武力介入，这一切被强行终止。

枪声之后，是更漫长的沉默。与许多历史事件不同，“六·四”并没有在公共叙事中被反复讨论、反思、纪念；相反，它被系统性地从教育、媒体与日常语言中剥离。

仿佛只要不提起，它就不曾发生。这正是独裁社会处理“危险记忆”的典型方式。

不仅要结束事件本身，还要结束关于它的一切可能延续。

如果说十字架是对肉体的处决，那么遗忘，就是对历史的二次处决。然而，复活节所讲述的，恰恰是另一种结局。耶稣被安放在坟墓中，封石、看守、确认死亡——一切都符合“彻底终结”的标准。但第三天，坟墓是空的。

复活的意义，不只是生命的回归，而是对“终结权”的否定：权力可以宣告结束，但无法保证结束真的发生。这正是复活与独裁社会之间最根本的张力。独裁体制依赖一种能力——定义现实的边界:什么可以存在，什么必须消失,什么可以被记住，什么必须被遗忘。而“复活”则意味着，这种定义并不具有最终效力。

回到“六·四”，从表面上看，它似乎已经被成功“埋葬”：在许多人的日常生活中，它不被提起、不被讨论、不被教学，甚至不被搜索。但在另一个层面，它却始终没有真正消失。

它存在于流亡者的讲述中，存在于海外的纪念中，存在于零散保存的影像与文字中，也存在于一代人无法抹去的记忆里。这是一种“未完成的埋葬”。换句话说，它仍然在等待一种属于历史的“复活”。

当然，这种复活不会像宗教叙述那样以奇迹的形式出现。它更可能是一种缓慢而艰难的过程：

当更多人重新了解那段历史，当沉默被一点点打破，当记忆重新进入公共空间——那一刻，就是历史的回归。

然而，复活从来不是自动发生的。在耶稣复活之后，是一群门徒选择站出来见证。他们面对恐惧，却仍然讲述所发生的事。如果没有这些见证者，“空坟墓”只会成为一个无人知晓的秘密。

同样的，“六·四”的记忆是否能够延续，也取决于是否仍有人愿意记住、讲述、传递。在一个鼓励遗忘的环境中，记忆本身就是一种行动。它也许微弱，但并非没有力量。

因此，把复活节与“六·四”放在一起，并不是简单的类比，而是一种更深的提问：当一个时代试图埋葬真理，我们是否相信它仍然可能回来。复活节给出的回答是肯定的，但也附带一个条件：必须有人，拒绝把坟墓当作终点。在独裁社会中，真正被恐惧的，往往不是一次抗议，而是那种挥之不去的记忆——它不会立刻改变现实，却会在时间中不断积累力量。因为一旦人们意识到：被压制的并未消失，被禁止的仍可被记住，那么“完全控制”的神话就会出现裂缝。

或许，这正是复活节在今天最现实的意义：你可以埋葬一段历史，但你无法保证，它不会在某一天，被重新看见。

Easter and June Fourth: When Truth Is Buried

Author: Yang ChangbingEditor: Li Jing Proofreader: Xiong Bian Translator: Peng Xiaomei

Every year, Easter brings people back to face an ancient and sharp question: after truth has been executed, can it still return?

Two thousand years ago, Jesus was nailed to the cross. That was not an accidental tragedy, but a typical case of “systemic handling”—a person without power, yet influential over people’s hearts, was regarded as a threat and thus eliminated. From a political logic perspective, such an ending is all too familiar: to create a public endpoint, so that everyone believes the matter has already ended.

In contemporary China, the “June Fourth” incident has similarly been handled as a historical node that “must be ended.” In 1989, countless students and citizens gathered on the streets of Beijing. What they called for was not violent revolution, but more basic demands: opposition to corruption, the right to dialogue, and the right to expression. However, with the intervention of force, all of this was forcibly terminated.

After the gunfire came an even longer silence. Unlike many historical events, “June Fourth” has not been repeatedly discussed, reflected upon, or commemorated in public narratives; on the contrary, it has been systematically stripped from education, media, and everyday language.

As if by not mentioning it, it never happened. This is precisely the typical way an authoritarian society handles “dangerous memory.”

It is not only necessary to end the event itself, but also to end all possible continuations of it.

If the cross was an execution of the body, then forgetting is a second execution of history. However, what Easter tells is precisely another kind of ending. Jesus was placed in a tomb, sealed with a stone, guarded, and his death confirmed—everything met the standard of “complete termination.” But on the third day, the tomb was empty.

The meaning of resurrection is not only the return of life, but the negation of the “power to declare an ending”: power can declare an end but cannot guarantee that the end has truly occurred. This is precisely the most fundamental tension between resurrection and authoritarian society. Authoritarian systems rely on one capability—the ability to define the boundaries of reality: what may exist, what must disappear, what may be remembered, and what must be forgotten. And “resurrection” means that such definitions do not possess final authority.

Returning to “June Fourth.” On the surface, it seems to have been successfully “buried”: in the daily lives of many people, it is not mentioned, not discussed, not taught, and not even searchable. But on another level, it has never truly disappeared.

It exists in the accounts of exiles, in commemorations overseas, in scattered preserved images and texts, and in the memories that a generation cannot erase. This is a kind of “unfinished burial.” In other words, it is still waiting for a kind of “resurrection” that belongs to history.

Of course, such a resurrection will not appear in the form of a miracle as in religious narratives. It is more likely to be a slow and difficult process:

When more people come to understand that period of history again, when silence is gradually broken, when memory re-enters public space—that moment is the return of history.

However, resurrection never happens automatically. After Jesus’s resurrection, it was a group of disciples who chose to step forward to bear witness. They faced fear yet still spoke of what had happened. Without these witnesses, the “empty tomb” would only have remained an unknown secret.

Likewise, whether the memory of “June Fourth” can continue also depends on whether there are still people willing to remember, to tell, and to pass it on. In an environment that encourages forgetting, memory itself is an action. It may be weak, but it is not without power.

Therefore, placing Easter and “June Fourth” together is not a simple analogy, but a deeper question: when an era attempts to bury truth, do we believe it can still return? The answer given by Easter is affirmative, but it comes with a condition: there must be people who refuse to treat the tomb as the endpoint. In an authoritarian society, what is truly feared is often not a single protest, but that kind of lingering memory—it does not immediately change reality but accumulates power over time. Because once people realize that what has been suppressed has not disappeared, and what has been forbidden can still be remembered, then the myth of “total control” will begin to crack.

Perhaps this is precisely the most realistic meaning of Easter today: you can bury a piece of history, but you cannot guarantee that it will not, one day, be seen again.

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