However, the real winner might be China’s military-industrial complex, according to some analysts and Chinese nationalists. Pakistan’s government claimed to have shot down three of India’s new French-made Rafale jets (at least one was confirmed) using Chinese-made J-10C fighter jets. Over 80 percent of Pakistan’s military equipment comes from China, while India’s military is increasingly reliant on Western countries. The conflict seemed to give Chinese weapons a significant boost in credibility, with the Chinese manufacturer of the J-10 announcing that its shares had risen by over 40 percent in two days. “There’s no better advertisement than a real combat situation … This came as a pleasant surprise for China … the result is quite striking,” Yun Sun from the Stimson Center told the Financial Times. Eric Olander at the China-Global South Project noted that some analysts described this as China’s “DeepSeek Moment” for military technology:

There was a palpable sense of euphoria in China this weekend as Chinese-made J-10C and JF-17 fighter jets saw combat for the first time over the disputed Kashmir region — and performed impressively.

The J-10C’s successful use of electronic jamming and reports of downing several Indian Air Force Rafale jets (the exact number remains disputed) were widely celebrated in Chinese media. Many likened the moment to another "DeepSeek Moment" — a reference to China’s growing confidence in its domestically developed technologies.

But beneath the excitement was also a deep sense of relief. These jets had never been tested in actual combat, and despite public bravado, few could say with certainty how they’d perform under pressure.

[…] Now, it appears China has succeeded — and the world should take note. [Source]

On Weibo, the hashtag “US officials claim J-10 shot down at least two Indian warplanes” attracted over 35 million views, and state-affiliated media published promotional content about the Chinese aircraft. Perhaps the most notable example of nationalism to emerge from the Chinese internet was a viral video by a Chinese influencer “Brother Hao” mocking India’s downed military jets, featuring Chinese actors dressed up in Indian costumes singing along to a remix of the Indian song “Tunak Tunak Tun.” Yuanyue Dang reported for the South China Morning Post:

The minute-long parody video, which has even gone viral overseas, has fuelled a new wave of nationalist fervour in China. Similar videos have appeared on Pakistani social media, while Indian social media users expressed anger.

The video is the latest celebration among Chinese netizens over the performance of the J-10C fighter jet in last week’s India-Pakistan conflict, although Beijing has remained cautious about commenting on the issue.

[…] “Brother Hao” has nearly 16 million followers on Douyin, China’s version of TikTok, and is known for creating videos in which he adapts songs from other ethnic groups and imitates people from those cultures, including Indians and Arabs.

The influencer is no stranger to controversy. His parody videos often show him wearing Indian clothing, sporting a small moustache and painting his face brown, with frequent references to “curry”. In 2023, an Indian TV channel accused him of racism.

Some people have expressed concern that the video could harm China-India relations, but nationalist influencers have defended the content creator. [Source]

While the majority of comments under Chinese social-media posts sharing Brother Hao’s video were supportive, some criticized the video as being racist. CDT Chinese editors published a compilation of some of these critical comments, which referenced past incidents of double standards applied to Chinese citizens’ tolerance of discrimination. Some examples include the recurrent blackface skits aired on CCTV’s Spring Festival Gala, racist fan encounters during iShowSpeed’s recent China tour, and nationalist deflections of Chinese-commissioned African “shout-out” videos. The CDT Chinese article about the Brother Hao video analyzed some of the dualities surrounding racial and ethnic discrimination in China. One netizen comment referenced online speculation about whether Ms. Dong, a trainee doctor involved in the recent “4+4” medical scandal, benefited from nepotism in her career by being born into a family of "Beijing Brahmins"—in other words, a well-educated and well-connected family:

Some netizens have commented that Chinese people exhibit both hypersensitivity to racial discrimination (when accusing others of insulting China) and extreme insensitivity (when casually insulting others). "They are outraged when others racially discriminate against them," wrote one, "yet take unmitigated glee in racially discriminating against others". […] Of course, many Chinese also expressed strong criticism of Brother Hao’s video. As one said, "This willingness to resort to anything just to generate online hype is a disgrace to all Chinese people." Another wrote, "If the shoe were on the other foot, would Chinese people be considered the victims of racism, or just hypersensitive?" One netizen observed sharply: "We ourselves are guilty of dividing people into hierarchies. Just last week, we were talking about whether Miss Dong had been born into a family of ‘Beijing Brahmins,’ but now we’re suddenly finding some kind of ethnic cohesion in insulting Indians." [Chinese]

The India-Pakistan conflict also revealed certain similarities between those countries and China when it comes to media control. Jon Allsop at the Columbia Journalism Review wrote about the “fog of war” resulting from both governments trying to control the narrative. The Indian government blocked thousands of social media accounts belonging to prominent figures and media outlets, removed Pakistani audio-video content from platforms, blocked news websites, and arrested journalists who reported critically on the conflict. The Pakistani government, ironically, lifted a long-standing ban on the social-media platform X in order to enlist its citizens in the battle to control the global narrative. Government-backed disinformation has been propagated by both sides. (All of these media censorship tactics are common in China.)

Other pieces highlighted the narrative front of the conflict. Global Voices provided an analysis of the narratives regarding Kashmir. And the Eye on China Substack, produced by the Takshashila Institution, a research think tank based out of Bengaluru, India, argued in a recent article that the Chinese government’s public messaging during the conflict expressed implicit support for Pakistan. The author, Anushka Saxena, stated that coverage by Xinhua and CCTV was notably similar to that of Pakistani media. She also noted that Chinese military analysts had eagerly written that a hot war would be an opportunity to test all of the “Made in China” defence products acquired by Pakistan’s military.

Translations by Cindy Carter.

The controversy entered the public eye in late April, courtesy of a leaked letter from the estranged wife of Dr. Xiao Fei, a thoracic surgeon at Beijing’s prestigious China-Japan Friendship Hospital, to the hospital disciplinary committee. The letter contained details of the doctor’s alleged affairs with several colleagues (including one Dong Xiying, a young resident at the hospital), and an allegation that Dr. Xiao left a patient anesthetized on the operating table for 40 minutes while he left the operating theatre to comfort Ms. Dong. After a brief investigation, Dr. Xiao was sacked by the hospital and expelled from the Chinese Communist Party.

But that was simply the first act in what would become a much larger controversy. Internet sleuths who dug into Ms. Dong’s background discovered that she was a “returnee” who had earned an economics degree at Barnard College in the U.S., was from a fairly influential family background, and had enjoyed an academic and career trajectory that may have been helped along by nepotism and string-pulling. Perhaps most controversial was Dong’s rapid rise via the “4+4” accelerated-degree pilot program at Peking Union Medical College (PUMC), which allows a small number of “elite” university graduates—even those with undergraduate degrees unrelated to medicine or biology—to attain a medical degree in only four years, a much shorter timeline than is typical for medical students in China. Netizens also raised questions about Ms. Dong’s publication history, including a graduate thesis that was suspiciously short, and author credits on research papers for projects she didn’t seem to have played much of a role in. (For more background on the multifaceted scandal, we recommend What’s On Weibo’s excellent account of the key protagonists and events.)

Discussion of the scandal proved so popular that at one point, it accounted for more than half of the top 50 “hot search” topics on Weibo, according to WeChat blogger “History Rhymes.” But just a few days later, as the blogger noted on May 5, they had disappeared from the list:

I checked Weibo’s “hot search” list today, and there are no longer any topics about Miss Dong, Peking Union Medical College, etc.

Keep in mind that just a couple of days ago, more than half of the top 50 “hot search” topics were about or related to her.

But just because it’s not trending, doesn’t mean that people aren’t discussing it. Netizens are still digging into the matter. [Chinese]

In addition to Weibo apparently muting the topic, there was also self-censorship on the part of PUMC, which removed content related to Ms. Dong from its website and edited her name out of a 2023 commencement speech given by the college president. Ms. Dong’s graduate thesis and other publications mysteriously disappeared from the academic database portal CNKI (China National Knowledge Infrastructure). After their removal was noticed, it briefly became the top trending search topic on Weibo.

CDT Chinese editors have archived 21 articles and essays related to the “4+4” scandal and its various corollaries; at least three of these have since been censored. The first of these deleted articles appeared on May 1, under the headline, “Could Miss Dong’s Family Be Considered Beijing Brahmins?” Written by journalist Wang Mingyuan, who runs the WeChat public account Fuchengmen Courtyard No. 6, the article argues that Ms. Dong’s family are simply upper middle class, not highly privileged cadres, suggesting that the kind of string-pulling behind her career could be even more pervasive and concerning. Wang’s article also includes a widely circulated (and now censored) meme poking fun at hospital corruption. In the now iconic cartoon, every doctor, nurse, patient, lamp, and piece of medical equipment in the operating theater claims to have gotten into the hospital by leveraging connections:

Patient on the operating table: I got in here through connections.
Doctor: Me, too.
Row of nurses: I did, too. Me too! Same here.
Various medicine cabinets and items of medical equipment: Me, too.
Overhead surgical lamp: Same here!
Another item of medical equipment, with a thought bubble: Hey, didn’t we all?
(source: Wang Mingyuan/WeChat)

Another now-deleted article, published on May 4 by WeChat account Elephant News, provides details about PUMC’s accelerated “4+4” doctoral degree program, and compares it to the usual "5+3+4" route for Chinese medical students: five years of undergraduate-level medical education, followed by three years of master’s-level medical coursework and four years of doctoral-level medical coursework. The author notes how unusual it was that Dong Xiying, whose undergraduate degree was in economics, was allowed to help perform surgery when she was only in her second year of medical school. The article also includes a screenshot showing angry comments left under a PUMC social media account, with netizens complaining that going to see a doctor now feels like “making a holy pilgrimage,” expressing concerns that their doctors might not be qualified if they graduated from the accelerated “4+4” program, and demanding that PUMC make the list of “4+4” program participants public.

On May 5, CDT Chinese editors archived a deleted WeChat article by Sina Finance, which reproduced the answer given by Tencent’s Yuanbao AI chatbot in response to a Sina editor’s query about what other individuals might be implicated in violating the regulations of PUMC’s “4+4” program. The chatbot gave a detailed answer organized into four headings, the first of which listed known participants in the “4+4” program. The second listed individuals who may have benefited from personal connections or affiliations. The third section, enumerating some characteristic examples of systemic privilege, claimed that “35% of the ‘4+4’ program participants have parents who are departmental-level or higher-level cadres, which far exceeds the proportion found among students in typical medical school programs (2.1%).” The chatbot also claimed to have found admission loopholes (“Some of the ‘4+4’ students did not meet the pre-med course requirements”) and possible academic fraud (“Some of the students’ thesis papers did not meet the required page length, with some only 12 pages long”). The fourth and final section in the AI’s answer discussed the broader public opinion controversy over the “4+4” scandal.

One WeChat essay, published on May 6 and still available online, provides an interesting personal and historical perspective on how socioeconomic privilege has evolved since the beginning of China’s Reform and Opening. In "Deteriorating Circumstances Have Given Rise to ‘Second-Generation Privilege,’” essayist and commentator Xipo (“Western Slope”) explores how slowing economic growth, fiercer competition, and fewer opportunities for social mobility in recent years have spurred those with privilege to resort to ever more extreme measures to pass on that privilege to their children:

After publishing my last article [“All that Remains of the ‘4+4’ Scandal Is the Meme About It”], a friend and I discussed the phenomenon of “second-generation privilege.” That discussion made me realize that the unchecked proliferation of second-generation privilege is actually the result of deteriorating [socioeconomic] circumstances. It took me a while to realize this, but now that I do, it makes a lot of sense.

This friend of mine works at a scientific research institute in southern China. He was at university around the year 2000, a critical juncture in time [for the purpose of our discussion]. I won’t mention his field of study, but let us call him “Professor A.”

Professor A recalls that when he was at university, few of his classmates were what we might call “second-generation scions.” While there were some who excelled at their studies and followed conventional paths mapped out for them by parents, most students pursued majors in different fields from those of their parents.

Back then, of course, the overall population was much less educated than it is today. Many university students had parents who were farmers or factory workers, which is something we should keep in mind.

Professor A observes that when he was a student, even the children of professors and department heads rarely followed in their parents’ footsteps. “In those years, there was an abundance of choice when it came to academic majors and career paths. The children of faculty members chose various majors, regardless of what their parents happened to be teaching.”

But there has been a palpable shift over the past six or seven years, he notes. Now an academic advisor to university students, Professor A has found that most of his colleagues’ children are pursuing the same fields of study as their parents.

Thinking back over the news and public discourse of the past few years, I found that many things instantly clicked into place. That oft-repeated term “involution” [内卷 nèijuǎn, a profound sense of burnout caused by cutthroat academic and socioeconomic competition], suddenly took on a concrete form.

As the old saying goes, “Pavilions situated closest to the water are the first to bask in the moonlight” [近水楼台先得月, jìnshuǐlóutái xiān dé yuè; in other words, proximity has its benefits]. But in order to benefit from structural proximity, there must first be a structure in place. If we examine the history of China’s gaokao [university entrance exam], the most illuminating example can be found in the large cohort of post-Cultural Revolution exam-takers. [This cohort encompassed individuals across an unusually diverse age range, from teens to thirty-somethings whose education had been interrupted by the chaos of the Cultural Revolution.] Back then, teachers and students alike were starting from scratch, and everyone was positioned at the same starting line.

As the educational system gradually returned to normal and became more standardized, a certain group of people (or more accurately, a certain group of families) came to occupy central positions in the hierarchy of academia, scientific research, and resource allocation. This is not to dismiss them entirely, of course, for their contributions were essential as China was starting again from scratch.

During the phase of socioeconomic expansion, this wasn’t too big a problem. Right around the year 2000, for example, socioeconomic conflict was still largely centered in rural areas, and the “three rural issues” (agricultural production, rural development, and rural income) commanded nationwide attention. Although this was only a couple of decades ago, it now feels like a distant memory.

Naturally, by then, some far-sighted types had already begun grooming their second-generation successors. But it was also a time in which emerging industries were booming, culture was vibrant, and society was suffused with ambition and optimism. Even privileged members of the “second generation” didn’t just want to ride their parents’ coattails: they wanted to outdo them, to leave them in the dust.

But as China began to transition from one phase to the next, from expansion to contraction, both the first and second generations came to realize that the most reliable path to success was for children to follow in their parents’ footsteps.

By the latter half of the 2010s, China’s period of breakneck urbanization and industrialization was drawing to a close, and [socioeconomic mobility] had begun to congeal. There were also harbingers that China’s integration into the international economic system had run its course.

Now that we’re as materially well-off as other countries, and are more or less able to compete at the same level, our once-blue oceans of opportunity have become churning red seas of competition.

This is the point at which the first generation advises their children to follow in their footsteps, the better to avail themselves of a wealth of parental first-hand experience and ready-made resources. If the children demur, the parents might say, “Fine, go out and try to make your own way in the world. See how you like competing with a mob of people, all fighting over the same lousy job.” And after taking a quick look around and sizing up the competition, the second generation might think to themselves, “Sure, I’ll take your advice. Work is work. What more could I want?”

Uncertainty about the future is spurring those who already occupy lofty positions to marshal all available resources to pass their competitive advantages on to the next generation. This type of survival strategy does not differ fundamentally from that seen in the animal and plant kingdoms.

Naturally, these sorts of collective choices can have extremely negative consequences. Amid deteriorating circumstances, second-generation scions may happily “settle” for enjoying their second-generation privilege, but today’s bona-fide “first generation,” those with no parental legacy to lean on, suffer a dual blow. There are fewer opportunities available to them, and increasingly unfair competition for the few opportunities that do remain.

With this in mind, I have even more empathy for young people today. The ones wailing in frustration are those who bear the brunt of this “dual blow.”

Yet I would still advise them not to conflate their own career development with critical analysis of the socioeconomic environment. As I’ve said before, we can’t wait for society to improve before we start living our own lives. Even in conditions of unfair competition, we must take the initiative and find our own ladder to success. But I now have a deeper understanding of the dejection that so many are feeling right now.

And to those privileged first and second generations, I would like to say: “Other people still exist, even if you don’t see them. Other voices still exist, even if you don’t hear them. They are not simply your competitors; they are emblematic of shared opportunity and a path forward for everyone.”

Although humans are part of the animal kingdom, too, we should be able to do better than simply adhere to the doctrine of “survival of the fittest.” Even beavers know how to shape the environment to their advantage by building dams. Human beings, especially those who consider themselves “elites,” must learn to take responsibility for the environment they shape and inhabit.

After all, someone needs to think about the long-term prospects and overall health of our society. [Chinese]

Over the past 100 years, the most important achievement of theoretical innovation and practical development of the Party’s labour movement cause has been the formation of the trade union development path with Chinese socialist characteristics. This path adheres to the Party’s comprehensive leadership over the labour movement cause and trade union work, ensuring that the labour movement always advances in the correct direction.

[…] Trade unions at all levels must fully implement the decisions and arrangements of the Party Central Committee, promote the high-quality development of trade union work, and write a more magnificent chapter of our country’s labour movement cause in the new era.

We must adhere to the correct political direction and unite the broad masses of workers and labourers closely around the Party. We must resolutely uphold the authority and centralised unified leadership of the Party Central Committee, and implement the Party’s leadership throughout the process and in all aspects of trade union work. Persist in using the Thought on Socialism with Chinese Characteristics for a New Era to arm minds, guide practice, and promote work; resolutely shoulder the political responsibility of leading the workers and labourers to listen to the Party and obey the Party… [Source]

Some Chinese state-media reports unintentionally revealed the tension between the government and the people over what constitutes fair labor practices. One example, described by China Media Project (CMP), involved the aftermath of a heroic rescue of a child stuck in a narrow well by Bupatam Abdukader, a 24-year-old female auxiliary police officer in Xinjiang. As the story went viral online, many netizens wondered why she had been working in an informal role with pay and benefits that lagged behind her formally employed counterparts. This public pressure led Xinjiang authorities to give her a promotion, but only within the confines of her auxiliary status. This in turn led to more public pressure and forced the authorities to make an announcement—praised by CCTV and a Xinhua-run official journal—advocating the importance of following strict procedures of career advancement. CMP summarized the situation as such:

At its core, Bupatam’s story is about a gap in visions of what heroism means, and how it should be rewarded. While public sentiment called for the officer’s brave human acts to be rewarded with real and tangible benefits, and the dignity that comes with truly equal status, the authorities managed to contain her within the Party’s limited vision of heroism. In that vision, the hero’s extraordinary sacrifice works only to serve and preserve the system — even if that system is premised on the most ordinary perpetuation of inequalities. [Source]

In other cases of divergent visions of ideal labor conditions, netizens directed their criticism directly at the media. This was seen in reactions to a viral Weibo topic, covered favorably by state-aligned media, about a construction worker who had ostensibly saved two million yuan over nine years by carrying bricks on his back. In one WeChat article commenting on the story last week, author Song Qingren wrote skeptically about state media’s propagandistic glorification of such low-paid and physically gruelling work, and noted that only a few carefully selected comments with scant likes appeared under the high-engagement post: “Propaganda is very inspiring, sure, but will people actually buy into it? No, not only will people disbelieve such content, they will sigh in frustration and proceed to ridicule and mock it. And the more the media publishes such content, the lower they will fall in the public’s estimation, the more they will be despised.” Another WeChat article, by Unyielding Bamboo, excoriated media coverage that purports to be encouraging but in fact treats workers as little more than beasts of burden to be exploited:

The media, rather than doing what they ought to be doing—that is, exposing and reporting on serious issues—are instead encouraging people to sacrifice their health and well-being in pursuit of profit. Rather than tell the truth, they fritter away their time penning fictitious scripts; rather than bring problems to light, they focus on manufacturing delusions. I simply cannot comprehend such misplaced priorities. [Chinese]

Avenues for successfully pushing back against poor labor conditions are limited. As China Labor Watch has argued, workers in China “are routinely denied their fundamental right to strike and to both form and join unions of their choice and take part in relevant activities.” Those that attempt to strike are often met with violence. In April, police reportedly beat some of the hundreds of female workers at Hubei’s Chenlong Electronics who went on strike to protest six months of unpaid wages and two years of missing social security contributions. Nonetheless, China Labour Bulletin has documented at least 573 strikes across the country since the start of 2025, almost identical to the number of strikes in the same period from last year.

Perhaps in reaction to public pressure, some companies have enacted policies encouraging employees to work less, such as mandatory clock-off times and bans on after-hours meetings, according to Reuters. A Beijing law firm was also given a rare fine in March for failing to take corrective measures after illegally extending staff working hours. But as The Economist reported last month, this new phenomenon of limiting working hours might also be motivated more by the state’s economic self-interest than by a concern for labor rights:

These new policies align with two of the Chinese state’s current priorities. One is to try to curb a phenomenon known as neijuan—often translated as “involution”. People use the term to describe a situation in which extra input no longer yields more output, like running to stand still. The government wants to prevent this intense, self-harming competition. Perhaps not surprisingly, the new policy has met plenty of cynicism from involuted workers. One newspaper summarised their online snark with the question: “Are the companies that long enforced brutal overtime now going to lead the fight against involution?” Some point to Europe’s new ban on products made with forced labour, including “excessive overtime”, as the motivation for export companies to take action.

The second priority is to give people more time off in order to help bring about the much-needed switch in the economy away from exports and infrastructure towards consumption. In March the government presented a new “special action plan” to increase domestic demand, vowing to deal with “prominent pain points such as the prevalence of overtime culture”, and to protect “rest and vacation rights and interests”. It increased the number of public holidays this year by two days. Getting people to eat out and spend money is difficult if they are stuck at their desk. [Source]

Translations by Cindy Carter.

1. There can be no “national rejuvenation” without systemic political reform
2. The People do not want a political party with unchecked power.
3. China does not need someone to “point the way forward.” Democracy is the way forward. [Chinese]

The three banners hanging from a pedestrian overpass near Chengdu’s Chadianzi Bus Station. Local netizens confirmed the location of the photo, which is close to Chengdu’s Third Ring Road, based on the street layout and the illuminated signs visible in the background.

The date of the protest is significant because it was the anniversary of the April 15, 1989 death of former General Secretary Hu Yaobang—who for many symbolizes a more progressive, possibly even more democratic “path not taken.” (In the spring of 1989, mourning for Hu’s death coalesced into the massive protests that would later be crushed in the June 4 Tiananmen crackdown.) The language used in the slogans is quite measured, and references the CCP’s oft-lauded goal of “national rejuvenation.” Although Xi Jinping is not mentioned by name, the third slogan is a clear reference to the standard Party formulation of Xi Jinping “pointing the way forward” on various policy issues (at least 240, by one recent count).

Although such offline expressions of political dissent are rare in China, they are not without precedent. CDT Chinese editors have documented three other solitary protests that have occurred over the past three years. The Chengdu protest called to mind antecedents such as the January 2022 “Luohu Warrior” protest in Shenzhen. It also echoed the October 2022 Sitong Bridge banner protest in Beijing, in which solitary protester Peng Lifa displayed banners calling for more freedom, an end to pandemic lockdowns, and for work and academic strikes to topple Xi Jinping. The Chengdu protest also recalled the banner and loudspeaker slogans of Fang Yirong’s one-man protest on a pedestrian overpass in Xinhua county, Hunan province in July 2024.

The protester in Chengdu contacted several well-known whistleblower accounts on X—including Teacher Li (@whyyoutouzhele) and Yesterday (@YesterdayBigcat)—to amplify his message. He sent them his protest slogans, photos of the scene, and even a photo of his ID card, which revealed his identity as Mei Shilin, age 27, from Muchuan county in Sichuan province. Mei soon fell out of contact and his whereabouts are unknown; it is likely that he has been detained by public security officers. (Mei’s name and photo were only shared on social media after he had disappeared and after his identity had been revealed on YouTube.)

Content related to Mei’s protest has been thoroughly scrubbed from the Chinese internet, and CDT editors have noted that his name is now a sensitive word on numerous Chinese platforms and social media sites. Some Chinese netizens who learned of the protest via overseas sites voiced admiration for Mei’s bravery and expressed concern for his safety. A selection of Chinese-language comments from X about Mei’s bold protest have been translated below:

DEMAXIYA159: He’s a hero. It takes a lot of courage for an individual to do something this big. If every city had such a hero, the government would have to face up to its problems. If everyone had such courage, then dictatorship wouldn’t dare raise its head. Democracy means that everyone has the courage to raise their own voice.

President_JC23: Respect to that lone warrior. I hope he can stay safe.

wulijin11: Brave warrior, you did what I lacked the courage to do.

Running_Program: It takes a lot of courage to do this “within the wall.”

leaf_sen: It’s impossible to see this [news] in China because the internet is so completely controlled.

Mrdoorvpn: That brave warrior will definitely go down in history, whether you agree with him or not.

geleilaoshi: You are not alone!

rt_cou66416: Whoa, Peng Lifa has returned!

Fulefull: All of society is stagnant, but now and then, there’s a little spark.

wudiniu7764: The security guards in Chengdu are screwed. They’ll have to guard the bridges again. [Chinese]

Many observers and human rights groups are justifiably concerned for Mei Shilin’s safety. In a recent article titled “Another ‘Bridge Man’ in China Forcibly Disappeared,” Human Rights Watch China Researcher Yalkun Uluyol called on the Chinese authorities to immediately disclose Mei Shilin’s whereabouts. It remains unclear when and where Mei was detained, where he is currently being held, and whether he has access to legal representation. An update this week from Qian Lang, reporting for RFA Mandarin, discussed what steps the authorities might take next in a case that they almost certainly wish to suppress:

One of the two sources [familiar with the case], Qin from Chengdu, said if Mei was found by investigators to have overseas ties, he would be handed over to the State Security Bureau and transferred to the Municipal State Security Bureau Detention Center.

“If no substantial evidence of collusion with foreign forces is found, he will be handled by the Chengdu police,” added Qin, who wanted to be identified by a single name for safety reasons.

Legal experts believe authorities may charge Mei with “picking quarrels and provoking trouble” – a common criminal accusation in China that authorities level against political, civil, and human rights advocates.

“They (the prosecution) may file a case for the crime of picking quarrels and provoking trouble because they don’t want to give him a more glorious charge, such as inciting subversion of state power or subverting state power,” Lu Chenyuan, a legal expert in China, told RFA.

“They are now more inclined to depoliticize (the Mei Shilin case) and want to reduce its political significance,” added Lu. [Source]

The safety and whereabouts of many previous protesters remain unknown. In the case of the “Luohu Warrior,” even his real name is unknown to the public, and for over three years, there has been no official information about where he is being held or whether he has been or will be tried. The most widely known of the protesters is Peng Lifa, dubbed “Bridge Man” after the famous “Tank Man” of the 1989 Tiananmen Square demonstrations. Peng Lifa disappeared soon after his Sitong Bridge protest and has not been heard from since. Peng’s courageous lone protest—which in turn inspired the late 2022 “White Paper Protests” that led to the end of China’s pandemic lockdowns—continues to resonate with a new generation of Chinese citizens. Fang Yirong, the young man in Hunan who used a banner and a loudspeaker to make his political demands heard, has likewise not been heard from since his protest in July of 2024.

The US Empire’s confidence has three roots: the USD, its armed forces, and high technology.

Our confidence has three different roots: tree bark, wild herbs, and Guan Yin clay! [Chinese]

Tree bark, wild grass, and Guan Yin clay (so-called for its use in Buddhist figurines, and potentially fatal to ingest) were three things widely eaten to stave off hunger during China’s Great Famine, in which as many as tens of millions are estimated to have died.

State media have sought to paint a rosier picture of the trade war. A recent report from state broadcaster CCTV, for example, focused on a Zhejiang manufacturer of home appliances which said its overseas orders had actually increased slightly since it turned toward other markets in response to U.S. tariffs. CCTV plugged the story with the hashtags “#Number of overseas orders actually increased after loss of U.S. orders” and “#For Cixi Home Appliances, the East Brightens as the West Dims.”

The story became a “rollover scene” (翻车现场 fānchē xiànchǎng), attracting widespread attention and mockery. CDT Chinese editors compiled a number of reactions from Weibo and X, ranging from the apparently convinced to sarcastic endorsement to outright scorn. Several of the comments play on the tendency for state media to wring claims of victory for China out of any new development.

蔚蓝的白日梦： If we’re winning this much after losing the U.S. market, imagine how much we’d be winning if we lost all of them.

用户130000： Winning this much, and still filtering the comments … our country is modest indeed.

股海东方不败： The point of this news is to convince everyone that even though we’ve lost the American market, business just keeps getting better and better.

心向阳光-奔跑吧少年： China May Be The Biggest Winner

花衿茵梦： Orders drying up? Cixi Appliances says just change the packaging and sell, sell, sell!

长安静轩阁主： Out of respect, I’ll take your word for it. In the meantime, you do you.

财金条： Supplier defeats customer

崇正视角： The days when they could swindle the masses like a bunch of fools are long gone. Unfortunately our bureaucrats are still deluding themselves about their prowess.

zrw2017： Striking first brings swift victory; striking harder brings more wins. Apparently in this trade war they struck too softly, too late.

bodyno214755： Isolated examples can’t show the big picture. This is just a typical propaganda play.

Momo20240808： This is just one very specific, unrepresentative example. What are things like for the majority of businesses?

轻风细雨大叔新号： Looks like everything’s great—raising tariffs boosted exports. The more sanctions, the better!

五更不惑： Looks like it’s a good thing, so let’s have more of the same!

W因紫而来： Whatever you do, don’t tell Trump about this—he’d blow his top.

OL1EiqcQJpZL9nr： Actually this isn’t impossible. According to the article, they relaxed the minimum orders, i.e. they started accepting smaller orders, and lowered the required quantities. The claim is that the number of orders increased, but it didn’t say anything about profits. If a factory does smaller production runs, then unit costs will go up. It’s obvious whether this is a good thing or not.

冲浪冠军很多年： I haven’t seen a single news report so far describing adverse effects from the trade war on domestic businesses.

jenner70873905： "A bit more suffering for the masses"—Ming Dynasty 1566 [A historical TV drama: "During the Ming dynasty, as economic prosperity masked social unrest, the corrupt official Yan Song’s oppressive policies spark a power struggle and intrigue within the imperial court."] [Chinese]

Other aspects of the Russia-Ukraine war that have received widespread coverage recently are the role of foreign fighters—including a small number of Chinese mercenaries—in the conflict, and the extent to which Chinese companies are supplying Russia with “dual-use” goods that might be used in the war effort. At The Kyiv Independent, Lucy Pakhnyuk reported that this week, Ukraine presented China with evidence that Chinese citizens and companies are providing the Russian military with manpower and munitions to assist in the invasion of Ukraine:

During a meeting with Chinese Ambassador to Ukraine Ma Shengkun, Deputy Foreign Minister Yevgen Perebyinis shared evidence that Chinese citizens and companies are involved in the war in Ukraine.

[...] Perebyinis also called for China to "take measures to stop supporting Russia" in its aggression against Ukraine, and assured that Ukraine "values ​​its strategic partnership with China and expects that China will refrain from taking steps that could hinder bilateral relations."

The Chinese Foreign Ministry on April 18 rejected Zelensky’s claims of weapons deliveries as "groundless," insisting that Beijing remains committed to a ceasefire. The same day, Zelensky announced sanctions against multiple entities based in China.

Although China has officially claimed neutrality with regard to Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, Beijing has deepened economic ties with Moscow, supported Russia against Western sanctions, and emerged as a top supplier of dual-use goods that feed the Russian defense sector.

Earlier this month, Ukraine captured two Chinese citizens fighting for Russia in Donetsk Oblast. President Volodymyr Zelensky has claimed that "several hundred" Chinese nationals are fighting on Russia’s side in the war. [Source]

As CNN’s Andrew Carey and Victoria Butenko reported last week, although the extent to which foreign fighters participate in the war remains murky, Ukraine has undoubtedly captured a number of non-Russian POWs, including small groups from former Soviet republics, China, North Korea, Sri Lanka, and Nepal, plus individuals from Somalia, Republic of Congo, Sierra Leone, Egypt, and Syria. A Ukrainian press conference featured two captured Chinese POWs who stated that they had signed contracts with the Russian military for personal reasons—an attractive monthly salary in one case, and the promise of Russian citizenship in the other. Unlike North Korea, whose government has sent over 14,000 of its soldiers to fight on the Russian side, the Chinese government does not encourage its citizens to get involved in the war, and may even criticize them if they do. In Part One of investigative journalist Chai Jing’s video interview with “Macaron,” a Chinese citizen fighting on the Russian side in Bakhmut, one Chinese mercenary complained that the Chinese embassy refused to help him because it claimed he had made a “personal decision” to enlist in the Russian army. Despite this, it is likely that China’s “no limits partnership” with Russia, strongly pro-Russia state-media coverage of the war, and tolerance of bellicose social media content has fueled the desire of some Chinese men—particularly the unemployed, indebted, or estranged—to go and fight for Russia in Ukraine.

Part Two of Chai Jing’s YouTube interview with Macaron is translated in full below. (It begins at the 22:47 timestamp in the YouTube video.) Their wide-ranging conversation, conducted by video from a bunker in Bakhmut where Macaron was bivouacked, is interspersed with copious photos, videos, and social media posts from Macaron and other Chinese soldiers involved in the Russia-Ukraine war. This second part covers such topics as drone and trench warfare, landmines, battlefield deaths and injuries, mental health, abandoned homes and animals, the role of foreign mercenaries in the war, and larger moral questions about the morality of warfare. (For more CDT coverage of the Russia-Ukraine war, see “Four Censored Essays on the Ukraine Crisis,” “Netizen Voices on Ukraine,” and a censorship directive with instructions to “keep Weibo posts on Ukraine favorable to Russia.”)

Chai: Would it be possible for you to escape on your own, to just leave the battlefield, say, and walk off? Could you do that?

Macaron: No way. There are checkpoints everywhere. And to be honest, in the areas around us, there’s nothing to stop anyone from just shooting and killing you. This place, there’s no law, no morality, no constraints against … [There is a long pause, as the video becomes choppy and voices are audible in the background. Macaron moves into what looks like a different area of the bunker.] There’s none of that here.

Chai: Our interviews were often interrupted by Russian soldiers. As someone fighting in a foreign army, someone who doesn’t understand the language, Macaron’s constant tension, vigilance, and uneasiness is palpable.

Macaron: This isn’t a good place to be a foreigner. For example, when we’re being shelled, they’ll tell you to get down on the ground, but you won’t understand (the order). They say to turn left, but you turn right instead. The language barrier is a huge obstacle. Once when I was coming back from the bathroom, I saw this wire on the ground. It was a tripwire, and if I’d stepped on it, I would’ve been dead for sure. It was connected to a landmine. Luckily, I stepped over it. When I got back inside, I asked (the other soldiers), “Why didn’t you tell me there were mines out there? Why didn’t you say you’d planted mines outside?”

Chai: Did no one else in your unit know about the mines, besides the person who planted them?

Macaron: Someone might have. Or maybe the person who planted it was already dead.

Chai: It all sounds extremely disorganized. Would that be fair to say?

Macaron: Yes, that’s how it is in war. It’s complete chaos.

Chai: In the [Russian-occupied] Southern Military District, [another Chinese mercenary named] Zhou Zhiqiang described a similar level of chaos. During a battle in the trenches, one of the men in his unit, a Nepalese mercenary, started firing his assault rifle indiscriminately and killed some of his fellow soldiers. Abandoning his injured comrades, the man tried to escape, only to step on a landmine. While fighting in the trenches, Zhou Zhiqiang also came face-to-face with a Ukrainian soldier he dubbed “Grandpa.” During the confrontation, the elderly Ukrainian soldier abandoned his gun, with the safety still on, and fled.

Chai (V.O.): According to the U.S. Department of Defense, as of October 2024, Russian forces had sustained over 600,000 casualties. But Ukraine’s resistance and counteroffensive has also exacted a heavy toll. In August of that same year, Zelenskyy stated that 43,000 Ukrainian soldiers had been killed, and another 370,000 wounded.

Macaron (V.O.): [in a video showing bowls of chicken soup] Last night, we stormed and captured a position, so our commander’s rewarding us with some chicken soup. Despite our lousy equipment, we put up a good fight. But both sides suffered heavy casualties. I won’t even go into the details, it’s too gory.

Chai: Before you made the choice to see these people as “the enemy,” did you ever think to yourself that maybe instead of being the enemy, they’re just victims?

Macaron: Honestly, from Ukraine’s perspective, we are the invaders. Because we’ve attacked their soldiers, we’ve occupied their territory. But from Russia’s perspective, it’s about maintaining peace in the Donbas region and preventing NATO’s expansion. Personally, I don’t have a particular stance.

Chai: But by choosing one side over the other, aren’t you essentially deciding who your enemy is, and whose values you’re defending?

Macaron: For me, it’s not about values. It’s just a job.

Chai: But Macaron, you must realize that a big part of your job involves … killing people.

Macaron: But since we’re an assault unit, most of the time, when we’re far from the enemy, they usually spot us first. Because they have drones. When they spot us, they launch drones—suicide drones—and artillery attacks against us. It’s rare that we really get that close, close enough to see them face to face. That sort of thing is rare. It hardly ever happens.

Chai: I feel like you’re dodging the question a bit. In fact, you are aware that they’re there, and you do come face to face with them, don’t you?

Macaron: Yes. In certain situations, yes, that’s true.

Chai: In that moment when you’re face to face with another human being and you raise your gun at them, do you ever ask yourself if what you’re doing is wrong?

Macaron: In combat, just a few seconds can determine whether you live or die. It all happens so fast, I don’t have time to think about things like that. What I spend most of my time thinking about is how I can get out of this brutal war alive.

Chai: Is it that you don’t have time to think, or that you’re afraid if you start to question things too much, you’ll lose your resolve, and that will put your life in danger?

Macaron: Both. If I hesitate, or overthink, or let my emotions get the better of me, it makes me vulnerable. And that means I could end up like them (other soldiers who have died). Over time, I’ve become numb. Now I’m just numb.

Chai (V.O.): Bakhmut, where Macaron is stationed, was the site of the bloodiest and most protracted battle of the Russia-Ukraine war. This city that was once home to 70,000 residents is now a trench-scarred wasteland. Its schools, hospitals, and churches lie in ruins, and stray cats and dogs wander the streets.

[Chai’s voiceover is accompanied by a photo of a fire in a building in Bakhmut; a video of a huge explosion leveling a vast swath of the city; a photo of a man squatting down to embrace a large stray dog lying in the middle of a road; and a video surveying the collapsed, rubble-strewn interior of a building.]

[In another video, Macaron pets a purring, grey brindled cat standing on the ground near his feet.]

Macaron (V.O.): This is my cat. He’s really friendly. Sometimes when I go out on patrol, he comes along. Look how happy he is to see me. I feed him canned food whenever I can, whatever I can find. Sometimes he even sleeps with me at night. It’s nice. See right there, where his fur is singed off? He got too close to the stove and burned himself.

Chai: But you know you’re standing in someone else’s home, in someone else’s city. You also know that what you’re doing is destructive. Since you have such sympathy for a cat, I would guess that you still have some sympathy for people, too.

Macaron: Actually, I saw this post on Xiaohongshu [Red Note] a while ago. You know Xiaohongshu, right? This post was from a Ukrainian talking about Bakhmut, where I am now. [a video taken by Macaron in Bakhmut shows broken trees, deserted roads, collapsed buildings, and ground littered with debris] He said, “Bakhmut, where my family lived for generations, used to be my home. But now, because of the war, I’ve had to leave.” I sent him a reply saying I was in Bakhmut, and asked him where his house was. He told me it was long gone, just ruins now. I said that’s just how war is. Even though I knew there was nothing I could do to change things, it stirred up a lot of feelings, and I really did want to be his friend. Because if this were my hometown being destroyed, my house being captured by the enemy, I’d be devastated, too. That’s just a normal human reaction. All I could do was try to console him, and maybe I was also trying to fool myself, to numb myself, by saying, “Yeah, that’s just how war is.”

Chai: Macaron, it feels like there are two personalities at war within you.

Macaron: Yeah. Right now, I’m part of this army, so I have to behave according to its rules. But I also have my own thoughts and feelings. And I’ve been treated unfairly, unjustly, and even cruelly by Russians, too. So yeah, I do feel conflicted. It’s complicated.

[The screen fades to a darkened video, with a voice speaking in Russian and explosions in the background.]

Chai (V.O.): When he’s not fighting, Macaron spends most of his time sitting in the dark, listening to the ceaseless gunfire and explosions. Before enlisting in the war, he had cut ties with his parents and broken up with his girlfriend. Over the past year and a half, nearly all the foreign fighters he trained with have died in battle, and those still alive are exhibiting signs of mental breakdown.

Macaron (V.O.): [in another video, showing several pots of instant noodles] There was this Russian guy with a red beard who just disappeared. You could tell he was already fucking starting to lose it. [a fellow soldier shouts incoherently in the background] You get used to it. People just vanish.

Macaron: [speaking with Chai Jing again] A lot of guys here get injured, sent to hospital, and start drinking on the sly. When they drink, it’s like they’ve gone totally insane. I think a lot of soldiers here are like that. Because some have been fighting for two, three years, and it drives them to extremes. Some even use drugs.

Chai: Can you get drugs on the front lines?

Macaron: I don’t know, but some people must have connections. I’ve heard that in the fields around some Ukrainian cities, they grow stuff, but I’m not sure. Me, I don’t normally smoke tobacco, but if we’re taking fire on the battlefield, I need a cigarette just to calm my nerves.

[In another video, Macron speaks to a rat perched on scaffolding against a gray concrete wall.]

Macaron (V.O.): Hey, little buddy, you’re back. What are you doing here? [As the rat scuttles away, there is a booming explosion in the distance.] Fuck.

Chai: I can imagine that when you’re trapped underground like that, in complete darkness, it must be easy to fall into despair.

Macaron: Yeah, it was dark and damp, and you couldn’t even relieve the stress by talking to anyone. It was pretty awful. But by now, I don’t really care anymore, because I’ve gotten used to it. Sometimes I just feel lucky I’m still alive. And if I don’t survive, that’s fine, too. Just make it a quick death, you know? Don’t torture me, just make it quick. I can deal with that. What I can’t deal with is being alive but wanting to die and not being able to. They don’t kill you straight away. First they might blow your leg off, leave you crawling on the ground, then blow away your arm. Then they’d … that’s what they’d do. [Macaron falls silent and looks down. Chai gives a long sigh.] That’s just how war is. It’s the same for soldiers on both sides.

[A photo of a soldier reaching out a hand as if to stop the military drone hovering above him.]

Chai (V.O.): Dreading that kind of suffering, Macaron always carries a grenade with him.

Macaron (V.O.): [in a video, Macaron holds a grenade in one hand] Going into battle, I always keep one last grenade for myself, just in case.

[A photo of a soldier raising both hands in the air as a large military drone approaches. Chinese social media posts about drone attacks.]

Chai (V.O.): Many Chinese mercenaries have been killed by drone strikes. According to Zhou Zhiqiang, after his unit captured a trench, they were struck by explosives dropped by unmanned drones. Afterward, Zhou found [his friend and fellow mercenary] Zhao Rui covered in blood, dead on his back with eyes open, staring at the sky. Zhou, whose leg had been blown off, managed to escape by first playing dead, and then crawling out of the combat zone. It took him six hours to cover the one-kilometer distance.

Zhou Zhiqiang: [In a darkened video, Zhou wears a military-green muffler that covers his neck and mouth. Only his nose and eyes are visible.] Our trenches were bombed. We were bombed, and a lot of people died. I was hit seven times, and it was a miracle I survived. I made it back alive to tell you: don’t come here. Whatever you do, don’t come. My friend Zhao is dead, and it wasn’t a peaceful death.

Chai (V.O.): Zhao Rui had once told Zhou Zhiqiang that his final wish, if he died in battle, was for Zhou to bring a lock of his hair back to his parents, so his “soul could return home.” But there were no scissors at hand on the battlefield, so Zhou only managed to bring back his friend’s ID. [a photo of Zhao Rui in uniform with other soldiers, above a photo page from his passport] It reads: “Zhao Rui. 38 years old. Unmarried. Resident of Chongqing.” This is the last video that Zhao Rui recorded before he died.

Zhao Rui: [In a video, Zhao speaks to the camera. He is dressed in a green camouflage jacket with a hood and a tan mask over the lower half of his face.] Here’s some advice for you guys who’ve messaged me about coming here: don’t come. There’s nothing for you here. Get a job back home. If you work hard, you’ll earn just as much as you would here.

[As Zhao continues speaking, the video switches to grainy drone-based footage of a lone man trudging through the wilderness along a dirt path. The man wears a large backpack, and carries what appear to be two heavy jugs of water. A bomb of some sort falls from the drone, and the man begins racing down the path, raising clouds of dust. Another bomb falls toward the man, and the footage fades to black.]

Zhao Rui (V.O.): It’s been so long since I’ve had food from my hometown. I miss it so much, and wish I could go back. [sigh] I think about what I miss eating the most. I just keep thinking and thinking about it. I think about how much seasoning you’re supposed to add, and how long you should stir-fry it. [laughs]

Chai (V.O.): Zhao Rui was the first confirmed Chinese casualty in the Russia-Ukraine war. There are no reliable statistics on the total number of Chinese mercenaries killed or injured, but Macaron estimates that out of a hundred-plus Chinese fighting there, more than half have been killed or wounded.

[During Chai’s voice-over narration, we see various images and videos: a selfie of Zhao Rui in fatigues with two other foreign soldiers. A video Zhao Rui took upon his arrival in Moscow of a military-themed display of funeral wreaths, photos of fallen soldiers, and various flags, including a flag from the PMC Wagner Group.]

[Another video just shows the ground, and a shadow on the ground. A man speaks, and loud explosions are audible in the background.]

Man in video (V.O.): Every day there’s bombing. Why would you want to come to a place like this?

Chai (V.O.): Macaron made a public announcement about the deaths of four of those men.

[A black-and-white screenshot shows a social media post and video from Macaron, asking for help informing the families of four Chinese men who died in the fighting: Liu Jie, Liu Hongwei, Xu Hang, and Pan Da.]

Chai (V.O.): On August 1, 2024, 20-year-old Liu Jie and his friend Liu Hongwei were both killed by landmines and bombs. It was their first day on the battlefield.

Macaron: [speaking to the camera, in a video he posted to Douyin] From what I heard, four days ago, Liu Jie and Liu Hongwei were carrying out a mission. Liu Hongwei stepped on an IED that injured his leg. Then a drone dropped five bombs and he was killed. The other guy, Liu Jie, the little guy, was killed by bombs from two FPV ["first-person view," or radio-controlled] drones. If anyone out there knows their families, friends, or classmates, please contact me, and I’ll do my best to communicate with the Russians here, so that at the very least, their families can get some closure.

Chai: Back home, some of these guys had seen your videos. So on some level, you may have inspired them, or been a factor that influenced their decision to come here. How did you feel when you heard they had died?

Macaron: I think it’s probably true that I did mislead them, to some extent. But after I reported what happened to them, after I exposed their deaths, Douyin straight up banned my account.

Chai: Why do you think that happened?

Macaron: Maybe because they didn’t want people to know that Chinese soldiers were dying here.

[Close ups of the photos of Liu Jie and Liu Hongwei in uniform.]

Chai (V.O.): Did the families of those soldiers who were killed in action ever receive the 5 million rubles (less than 400,000 yuan, or $55,000 U.S.) in compensation that Russia had promised them? Macaron isn’t sure. No one ever contacted him.

[More photos of Liu Jie and Liu Hongwei in uniform, followed by a screenshot of journalist Lu Yuhuang’s online letter to Putin.]

Chai (V.O.): Phoenix TV journalist Lu Yuguang later wrote a letter to Putin, which was published online. The letter stated that a month after Zhao Rui’s death, his parents had yet to receive their son’s remains, or even an official notification. Lu urged Putin to “handle the matter as promptly as possible to ensure that the deceased can receive a dignified burial.” Macaron has some experience helping with the disposition of the remains of soldiers who died in action, but he is reluctant to talk about it.

Chai: Some families didn’t get the promised compensation, did they?

Macaron: Yeah, I think that’s true. A lot of Russian families can’t even find the bodies of their dead relatives. And if there’s no body, they’re considered “missing in action.” It’s a mess, the chaos of war.

Chai: If you were fighting for your own country, maybe you wouldn’t be so … forgotten. You’d be remembered as a martyr.

Macaron: I know. But here we’re nobodies, like flies. From a psychological or moral standpoint, there’s nothing remotely meaningful about this. That’s why I say I have no particular stance. I’m just an ordinary guy who made the wrong choice and got involved in this war. My role is to be a grunt, or maybe more accurately, to be cannon fodder. [chuckles]

[Aerial footage of a Russian soldier in a trench, reading a note dropped from a Ukrainian drone urging him to “follow the drone and surrender.” In subsequent footage, the soldier is seen communicating with the drone via gestures, and later, following the path of the drone in order to surrender to the Ukrainians.]

Chai (V.O.): I’d seen videos of Russian soldiers surrendering to Ukrainian drones. I once asked Macaron why he didn’t do the same: Why not just surrender to the Ukranians, so he could go home?

Macaron (V.O.): Because I’m not Russian. It’s that simple. If you’re Russian, you might have been drafted or conscripted, just like the Ukrainians. Some of these guys were forced to fight, they had no choice, so there’s some mutual understanding there. But for foreign soldiers like us, the Ukrainians are going to wonder why we decided to come here. Was it for the money, or maybe for the thrill of killing? They’re going to feel more hostile toward us.

Chai (V.O.): Macaron believes that unless the war comes to an end, neither the Ukrainians nor the Russians will allow him to leave.

Macaron: [speaking to the camera, in a video posted to social media] They won’t let you leave this place alive.

[Screenshot of the Chinese-language New York Times website with a photo of Presidents Trump and Zelenskyy gesturing at each other during Zelenskyy’s February 28, 2025 visit to the White House.]

Chai (V.O.): Macaron says his only hope is for the war to end. But with the current level of geopolitical instability, ceasefire negotiations will be an uphill battle. The day after our interview, Macaron told me he had finally been transferred out of the assault unit, and allowed to lay down his weapons.

Chai: What do the Russian soldiers think about the current situation?

Macaron: Most of them think the war will be over soon. They don’t want to fight anymore. They just want to go home. All of us feel that way, to be honest. We’re sick of this war.

Chai: How so?

Macaron: Anyone who’s experienced battle, who’s seen war up close, never wants to experience it again. And they don’t tend to glorify it, either. It’s the people online hyping up war and acting all heroic that I find most disgusting. In war, there are no heroes. Everyone’s a villain, because you have no choice but to kill.

Chai: Would you include yourself in that, too?

Macaron: I’d say so, yeah. I made a mistake, a wrong choice, and now I’m stuck fighting this Slavic war. Every inch of territory here is paid for in blood. It’s not at all cool or fun. It’s inhumane and immoral. Especially the way rank-and-file soldiers get treated if they’re captured. Some are humiliated, tortured, or killed. That sort of behavior just goes against basic human decency and morality. It really sucks.

Chai: Before this program aired, Macaron sent me a message saying that he had been injured in a bombing while helping to evacuate the wounded. He had suffered injuries to his arms and legs, and had been sent to a hospital far from the front lines. But for once, he sounded hopeful. He said that of all the things that could have happened to him in this war, this was the best outcome he could have hoped for.

Chai: [speaking to Macaron again, before his injury occurred] After this war is over, would you ever fight in another?

Macaron: I just want the war to end. And if it does, I’d much rather help people than hurt them. Haven’t we been hurt enough? And haven’t we hurt others enough? I think so.

Chai: From what you’re saying, it sounds like even though you try to tamp down your feelings or not succumb to emotional weakness, you do feel … guilty about harming others.

Macaron: I think I do. Even though we try to comfort ourselves, or deceive ourselves, by saying “Oh, this is just how war is,” at some point we have to face reality.

Chai: Over this past year or so of war and everything else you’ve experienced, was there ever a moment that made you feel particularly uncomfortable, or guilty?

Macaron: That sort of thing happens a lot. Especially here in Bakhmut, where we’re often going into empty houses, and there are still things like furniture and stuff inside. If we see something we can use at our command post, we’ll take it. And honestly, that doesn’t seem right to me, taking things that don’t belong to us. Even if no one is coming back for them, they belonged to ordinary people, ordinary Ukrainians. It doesn’t feel right for us to trash or loot or take their things. So sometimes I feel bad about that.

[A video of a soldier, seen from behind, sitting in a wooden chair and playing a piano in an empty house.]

Chai: In one of Macaron’s videos, he and his comrades find a dusty piano in the ruins of someone’s home.

Macaron (V.O.): If I’m honest, sometimes I get a bit emotional when I’m standing there in these wrecked houses, looking at the ruins around me. Sometimes in my mind, I silently apologize to the owners, to the people who used to live there. I feel like I should apologize for my behavior. [the piano video fades away and is replaced with Macaron speaking to Cai Jing again] Even though I wasn’t the one who did it, even if the place was trashed before I showed up, I’m still part of the system. I’m on the side that did this to them, so I’m complicit.

Chai: You said you don’t want to harm people anymore. You want to do something to help, instead. What kind of things?

Macaron: Well, there are a lot of kids in the Donbas region. [A photo shows a blasted-out school building with charred, twisted pieces of metal playground equipment outside.] I used to see kids begging at the train station in Donetsk. Someday if I get the chance, I’d like to do something to help them, even if it’s just making sure they have enough to eat or enough to wear.

Chai: Before this program aired, Macaron was injured. [A video shows only Macaron’s arms and legs. He is sitting in a wheelchair, his right arm encased in a white cast.] Unable to walk, he was evacuated from the front lines to a hospital. In two more months, his contract will be up. When he was in pain and couldn’t sleep at night, he wrote this poem and sent it to me:

[Chai Jing reads the poem, to the accompaniment of tinkling piano music and a video showing Macaron walking outdoors, on patrol with other soldiers amid empty roads and demolished buildings. Lastly, there is an aerial shot of a neighborhood in Bakhmut where all the buildings have been bombed or burned, with smoke still rising from the ruins.]

Chai Jing (V.O.):
I like the pain
because it reminds me
I’m still alive.
Trees have been blasted apart,
but young saplings will bud again.
Houses have been bombed to rubble,
but engineers will rebuild them.
It is only the dead,
their limbs torn asunder,
who won’t be coming back.
The dead watch the living die,
and the living wish the dead could revive.
I am in Bakhmut—
a city destroyed by war. [Chinese]

In the two weeks since Trump launched what he called his “Liberation Day” tariff blitz, Chinese diplomats have taken to X and Facebook — platforms that are banned within China — to post archival footage of President Ronald Reagan deploring trade wars and former Chinese leader Mao Zedong declaring China’s determination to defeat the United States in the Korean War.

Chinese state media have reposted a TikTok video made with AI that shows unhappy American workers sewing garments and assembling smartphones, with the caption: “Make America Great Again.” Several times a week, the state-run China Media Group has been sending personalized emails to reporters covering the trade war, offering them updates on China’s perspective.

[...] “It is not so much a change in China’s propaganda tactics, but that Trump himself messed up, allowing China’s propaganda to score points,” said Deng Yuwen, former deputy editor of the Communist Party-affiliated Study Times, who now lives in the U.S. “The huge controversy caused by the Trump administration has allowed the Chinese government’s methods to win points.”

[...] Now, Beijing is also delivering that message in catchy short videos and snarky memes aimed directly at Americans. A video posted on Facebook earlier this month by Guo Jiakun, a Foreign Ministry official, featured images of stock market indexes crashing and streets full of American protesters, while a narrator intoned in English: “The so-called global beacon now puts America first. … With China here, the sky won’t fall.” [Source]

Some of these efforts have backfired against domestic Chinese audiences. A CCTV account on Douyin published an AI-generated video that showed a factory assembly line of gloomy American government officials, including Trump and J.D. Vance, which evoked a satirical future of revitalized U.S. manufacturing that Trump seeks through his trade war. As CDT Chinese editors highlighted, many netizens criticized the video for its tone-deaf mockery of lower-income, labor-intensive jobs that many Chinese citizens are forced to endure in the present. In response to the avalanche of comments, the account closed the comment section and eventually deleted the video. A selection of critical comments have been translated below:

枫落秋末：The work you look down on is exactly what Chinese workers do every day.

¥金金：I don’t even know who this is trying to humiliate.

热拿铁：What’s the point of this? You’re mocking your own people.

BFSUNSET2887：What you hate is my life.

Xiaxia1357346：Officials know that factory work is grueling and poorly paid, yet they still claim that Chinese folks are poor because they don’t work hard enough.

sinji198183：You’re shooting yourself in the foot here.

WeileiFromSanqi：This is basically the consensus of the Chinese elite: the lives of the lower class are not worth living. If by some stroke of bad luck, they could no longer live an upper-class life, they would rather die.

Nick22022420863：This isn’t America’s desired future; it’s the Chinese people’s present. [Chinese]

Le Monde reported that Chinese influencers have flooded American social media platforms and urged American users to bypass American tariffs by buying goods directly from Chinese factories, which allegedly procure the same goods for a cheaper price than retailers. Some of these videos have received millions of views, propelling Chinese cross-border e-commerce app DHgate, which allows users to buy directly from Chinese factories, to become the second-most popular app on Apple’s App Store in the U.S. on Wednesday. But this alleged workaround may not last long, since the Trump administration’s elimination of the de minimis rule—which exempted Chinese shippers from paying U.S. taxes on goods worth less than $800—will go into effect on May 2. Moreover, many Chinese workers are already suffering from the impacts of the trade war. Yaling Jiang and Rongrong Zhuge at the Following the Yuan Substack shared RedNote posts by Chinese exporters and factory workers, including one from an employee who had just been laid off from their job at a cross-border e-commerce company:

“Who understands? I’ve been working at this company for almost four years, thinking I’d be here until retirement… But then, I received the news — the company had to close down due to 🇺🇸 tariffs! Our boss was truly amazing. He treated all of us like friends. Not only did he pay us our full month’s salary, but he also prepared personal farewell gifts for everyone. I’m so moved 🥹

No fake marketing here, just sharing my personal dramatic experience. I didn’t expect so many others are in the same situation. Please, don’t misjudge based on this.”

Comments:

• So soon, shouldn’t your company wait and see? Maybe your boss has been wanting to quit for a while, that’s why they’re lying flat. // The payroll cost must be high, I assume most of their businesses are with the US. The policy isn’t stable and the uncertainty may last a while. [Source]

"Return to Wuhan: The Unfinished Story From Five Years Ago,” a now-deleted longform article from WeChat public account “Aquarius Era” (水瓶纪元, shuǐpíng jìyuán) includes interviews with journalists, doctors, artists, activists, and others about the early days of the COVID pandemic and the lockdown of Wuhan. (Although the article has been censored on WeChat, it remains available through the Substack account @aquariuseras.) The article also chronicles more recent attempts to combat official “amnesia” with online and offline commemorations of the whistleblowers, citizen journalists, and victims of the pandemic. The translated excerpt below describes some of the restrictions on remembrances of Dr. Li Wenliang, and the daunting challenges of keeping his memory alive:

Li Wenliang was buried in the Wuhan’s Jiufengshan Cemetery of Revolutionary Martyrs, along with Peng Yinhua, Liu Fan, and others who were recognized as “martyrs” because they sacrificed their lives in the fight against COVID-19. Many local residents who went there to mourn discovered that to enter area two, the section of the cemetery where Dr. Li is buried, they were required to hand in their mobile phones; sign a register with their names, household registration, health codes, and other information; and be escorted by cemetery staff to visit Dr. Li’s grave. Sometimes staff members would say kindly, “If everyone were as cooperative as you, our jobs wouldn’t be so hard.” Other times, staffers would scold coldly, “Make sure to write your ID number clearly, because we have to check it!” Five years on, we no longer have the right to freely visit someone’s grave.

[...As far back as] June 2020, not long after the pandemic in Wuhan had abated, the artist known as "Brother Nut" found that his personal Shimo account [Shimo, which translates as “Graphite,” is a Chinese cloud-storage and document-sharing service similar to Google Docs] was blocked because he included the name "Li Wenliang" in a document title, and he was unable to export any of content from the stored document. When he attempted to defend his rights by filing a complaint, the response from platform customer service was: "You published a document advocating large-scale collective rights protection," and "Your content is politically sensitive."

“The impact of the pandemic period seems much like the virus itself: invisible, intangible, and traceless," said [journalist] Wang Shengnan. [Chinese]

Another longform article noting the fifth anniversary of the Wuhan lockdown was published in early March by RFA-affiliated media outlet Wainao. The now-defunct Chinese-language organization, also known as WHYNOT, was forced to close in mid-March due to steep U.S. funding cuts to the U.S. Agency for Global Media (USAGM). Titled "Five Years After the Wuhan Lockdown: The Traces of Pain That Remain, and the Ordinary People Resisting ‘Amnesia’ in Their Daily Lives," the article explores the phenomenon of collective amnesia while noting some exceptions—such as the many commemorations still being posted to “Li Wenliang’s Wailing Wall,” the popular comment section under Dr. Li’s final Weibo post.

In Wuhan, to this day, "76" remains a number of special significance. From the beginning of the lockdown on January 23, 2020, until its lifting on April 8, Wuhan residents experienced exactly 76 days of being confined at home and almost completely deprived of their freedom.

Despite all the difficulties that Wuhan residents endured, nowhere in the city is there any acknowledgement of what the people of Wuhan went through during that period—no memorial, no exhibition hall, no genuine commemoration of their suffering.

[...] Wuhan Central Hospital, where Dr. Li Wenliang once worked, was one of the hospitals hardest hit by COVID infections among doctors, nurses, and other medical personnel.

The hospital is located on Nanjing Road, opposite the historic cultural district Xian’an Fang, famed for its narrow alleyways and red-brick exteriors. Nowadays, apart from some chain restaurants, the area is mainly home to an array of distinctive boutiques. Memories of the pandemic occasionally resurface here.

[...] In 2021, as reported in the media, a nearby café menu once featured a coffee item named "Whistleblower Coffee—100% Controversial.” Today, this café no longer exists. In a stylishly decorated bar [near Wuhan Central Hospital], there is a feminist-themed book display where customers can leave books and post book recommendations. The bookshelf display contains many comments about death and even a book about ophthalmology, but there is no trace of Dr. Li Wenliang. It seems that there is a tacit understanding not to publicly mention Dr. Li.

Dr. Li Wenliang, who worked as an ophthalmologist at Wuhan Central Hospital, later became known as “the whistleblower of the COVID-19 pandemic.” As one of the first to sound the alarm about the emerging coronavirus—in an online alumni group chat—he was admonished by authorities and labeled a "rumormonger." In the early hours of the morning on February 7, 2020, Wuhan Central Hospital announced that 34-year-old Li Wenliang had died of COVID-19, setting off shock waves on the internet.

At Exit F of Wuhan’s Xunlimen subway station, only an eight-minute bike ride from the hospital where Li Wenliang once worked, there is a large shopping mall featuring shops similar to those found in many other Chinese cities: bubble tea shops, beauty salons, and a food court. Across from the mall, there is a small kiosk that specializes in replacing phone screen protectors. "Who is Li Wenliang?” asks the kiosk’s owner [in response to our question], as he wipes a mobile phone screen with an alcohol swab. “I don’t know him!"

Upon further questioning, it turns out that the kiosk owner is not a local, but had come from Hunan to work in Wuhan three years ago. Most Wuhan locals have heard of Li Wenliang. Nowadays, when his name is mentioned, they are likely to respond: "Oh, that doctor who died."

At the hospital where he once worked, the name of the late Dr. Li Wenliang is absent from a wall displaying the names and photos of hospital specialists. Staffers at the hospital information desk answered our questions cautiously: "He used to work here, but we didn’t know him, and don’t know much about it." The owner of a newsstand at the hospital entrance said, "He died, and the pandemic is over. I don’t know much about it. It’s not something we should be blabbing about. Go look it up online if you want to know more.”

In February 2025, a patient walks past the “specialist wall” inside Wuhan Central Hospital. (source: Wainao/photographer Zu Weina)

On the internet, DeepSeek AI—which Chinese people proudly herald as a rival to ChatGPT—is incapable of answering the question "Who is Li Wenliang?" Instead, DeepSeek offers this line of text: "Hello, I am unable to answer this question at the moment. How about we change the topic and chat about something else?"

But there are other places in which Li Wenliang has not been forgotten. On Sina Weibo, Dr. Li’s last public post, dated February 1, 2020, remains frozen in time: “Today, [my] nucleic acid test results came back positive. The dust has settled, there is finally a diagnosis.”

Ever since, there have been daily updates to the comments under that post, with over one million comments posted. [That number is likely higher, but the counter under the post is capped at “one million plus.”] On Valentine’s Day 2025, one commenter confided chattily to Dr. Li: "We split up right around the Lantern Festival and Valentine’s Day. I know it’s the right decision, but who’s ever happy about breaking up, right? And I’m going to take my driving test soon. Hope I pass on the first try." Another expressed their longing thus: "Doc Li, the flowers in Beijing are about to bloom."

While in Wuhan, there is nary a tribute to Dr. Li, countless Chinese people continue to remember him fondly. [Chinese]

The comments section under Li Wenliang’s final Weibo post, mentioned in the article above, has become known as China’s “Wailing Wall,” a place netizens come to mourn and to celebrate, to mark personal milestones or comment on current events, and to wish Dr. Li well and assure him that his sacrifice will not be forgotten. (CDT editors continue to regularly archive and publish updates on recent Wailing Wall content.) The most recent update includes comments left during the April 4 Qingming festival, also known as “Tomb-Sweeping Day,” when many Chinese remember or visit the gravesites of deceased family members. The following Wailing Wall comments were compiled between April 1-April 5:

四灵妖王: Doctor Li, we haven’t forgotten you.

溜溜溜只洋芋: The cherry blossoms are in bloom, Dr. Li.

不想熬夜的夜猫子666: It’s another Qingming Festival, and I miss you. 🕯️ I hope you are doing well in the other world. 🕯️

momomokoo: Dr. Li, I’m afraid of blind dates, and even more afraid of being rejected.

GEVEYteam: "At Qingming, in the drizzling rain / the bereft wander through the lanes." It rained today. [The quoted lines are from the well-known poem “Qingming” by Tang Dynasty poet Du Mu.]

想翻身的孩子: Dr. Li, nothing has changed here, or if anything, it’s worse. I hope you are safe and well, and that things are better now.

不被团结的nevermore: Good evening, Dr. Li. You’ve had a hard day, too, so turn in early and get some rest.

积极创想曲: When I’m feeling lost, I like to visit this Weibo’s comment section and read about people from all walks of life.

我想我喜欢你1997: Dr. Li, I’m confused about my future, what should I do?

晓阳205011: Hi Dr. Li, I’m back. The unbearable month of March is finally over. I hope you’ll bless me with a bit of better luck in April. Because life’s been rough, too rough.

潮汐夕阳杨桃-: I’ve been daydreaming about a lot of things, but it’s these daydreams that keep me going. [Chinese]

CDT’s Wailing Wall archive is compiled by Tony Hu.

Hu Yaobang remained a taboo topic for many years after Tiananmen, albeit with some degree of rehabilitation under Xi Jinping. Hu Dehua was an outspoken advocate for his father’s cause of reform. He criticized Xi Jinping’s analysis of the fall of the U.S.S.R. and its causes in a speech in 2013; in an interview with South China Morning Post the following year, he lamented the stalling of reform in China and the lack of constitutionally guaranteed rights such as freedom of speech and freedom of assembly. In an earlier video, Hu Dehua contrasted his father with Deng Xiaoping, saying: “one cared about saving the people and the other cared about saving the Party … Hu Yaobang believed people should always have a place to speak, that the freedom and power to speak were necessary. But Old Deng only permitted people to say the Party was good.” Later, Hu Dehua was a senior figure at the liberal Party journal Yanhuang Chunqiu prior to its aggressive overhaul in 2016.

One deleted post marking Hu Dehua’s death was the following reflection from the WeChat public account 闻道不分朝夕—an earlier tribute to the late General Secretary republished on April 1 with a brief foreword noting that "we know that commemoration of Hu Dehua is actually rooted in gratitude to Hu Yaobang."

I’ll often kill time by chatting with friends.

There are many topics of conversation, of course—we cover everything under the sun. But they always seem to involve anecdotes about notable people. I once asked a friend: Do you still remember Yaobang? To my surprise, he replied, “Who’s Yaobang?”

I was struck speechless, unsure how to respond. But on reflection, it’s not so strange—there can’t be many youngsters born in the 90s and after who remember him.

History marches on.

But there are some people, and some things, that will always be remembered by someone or other. Hu Yaobang made two groundbreaking contributions to China’s reform: discussion of standards of truth, and rehabilitation of the falsely accused. What later generations remember him for is liberating minds, on one hand, and liberating people, on the other. And it was those whose bodies and minds that were liberated that went on to become the driving force of reform.

Of course, he didn’t accomplish this on his own, but it’s undeniable that he fought the hardest, risked the most, and showed the most courage, insight, and resolve.

[…] By an incomplete count, more than three million wrongfully convicted cadres were rehabilitated across the country between 1978 and 1982; more than 470,000 people had their Party membership restored; and tens of millions of cadres and others who had been baselessly implicated were exonerated.

Restoring order and justice on this scale, and bringing about historical reconciliation across the whole breadth of society, allowed for the almost complete reconstruction of the nation’s social foundation. This momentum, this atmosphere, was the spring thaw that melted the snow and ice that had been piling up since 1949.

Given these astonishing figures, there were some who wondered whether Hu Yaobang had rehabilitated too many. Hu’s immediate retort was: Why did no one ask if there were too many when people were seized in the first place?

The late Dai Huang, a former senior correspondent at Xinhua, wrote:

In 1994, Du Daozheng, head of the publisher of the journal Yanhuang Chunqiu, asked me to write about Hu Yaobang. He already had a title in mind: "Hu Yaobang and the Righting of Wrongful Cases." I agreed at once.

In November of the following year, to mark what would have been Hu Yaobang’s 80th birthday, Yanhuang Chunqiu published an excerpt from what I had written, which was then republished by dozens of newspapers including Southern Weekend.

But getting the book published proved to be difficult. The initial publishing contract was with the People’s Press. They had nearly finished editing the manuscript when they decided to unilaterally break off the contract. Later I was approached by the head of the Central Party School Press and one of his editors, so I gave them the manuscript. They edited the whole manuscript of several hundred thousand characters in just three days, but then the head of the press told me they couldn’t publish it right away, and that I should leave the manuscript in their hands while we waited it out. Worried that it might be a very long wait, I went back to the Central Party School Press and managed to get the manuscript back, although they were reluctant to part with it. [Chinese]

Another deleted post was the following one posted on April 4 by Wang Mingyuan on his WeChat public account Fuchengmen No. 6 Courtyard. This focuses more on Hu Dehua himself, and on the author’s personal relationship with him:

On the whole, Mr. Hu Dehua finally began to take some time for himself in the last few years, concentrating his energies on examining the evolution of his father’s thinking, and reflecting on a number of historical issues. He had two main focal points: first, how Hu Yaobang gradually diverged from revolutionary orthodoxy, and secondly, why he drifted apart from Deng Xiaoping on questions of reform. Much of Hu’s analysis is informed by his unique perspective.

Mr. Hu Dehua would often say: "When Deng Xiaoping visited the United States in 1979, he said that those who aligned with the U.S. became richer, but I actually think the flipside of that is also very important: that is, that those who aligned with the U.S.S.R. all became poorer. Why they become poorer is a question well worth asking, but this sort of introspection is rare.”

[…] Mr. Hu Dehua described his father as very upright and inimicably opposed to wrongdoing, never the bearer of grudges, and always inclined to treat others well. He was kind to his personal staff and his subordinates on the Communist Youth League Central Committee, concerning himself not only with their work but also their lives outside it, even though they had denounced him during the Cultural Revolution. Many of his close comrades-in-arms had also turned on him, but afterwards, Hu Yaobang chose to forgive them. At times, his children would anxiously warn him: "Father, don’t you know he’s one of the bad ones? He did so much to hurt you behind your back—how can you be so good to him?" Hu Yaobang would say, with a little smile: "How could I not remember that? But if everyone keeps seeking revenge, when will it end?" [Hu] Deping [Hu Yaobang’s eldest son] and Dehua both said that their father was extremely well versed in political machinations and trickery, but never used them himself. When he became General Secretary, he had said: "If you play Liu Bang [Emperor Han Gaozu], and I play Cao Cao [a key figure in the later dissolution of the Han Dynasty into the Three Kingdoms period], then our China will never move forward. We must practice what we preach, and drive forward rules for civilized politics."

Mr. Hu Dehua inherited his father’s sincerity, candor, and decency. Tao Siliang once said, "Uncle Yaobang’s forthright character made countless people like and feel close to him. His magnanimity and sincerity were his two most outstanding traits." The same could be said of Dehua. He never discriminated by class, and was invariably respectful toward people like waiters, drivers, and guards. He’d never refuse a request for his phone number or WeChat contact.

[…] Mr. Hu Dehua lived very modestly—previously with his mother in a courtyard house on Beichang Street. He’d usually only eat out with friends at places like Zeyuan restaurant—a restaurant for ordinary people set up by Mao Zedong’s chef Cheng Ruming after he retired—ordering simple dishes like corn porridge, scallion pancakes, or soy-braised pork. Whenever I went to see him after he moved to Tianshui Yuan, we’d usually go to Qingfeng Steamed Buns [where Xi Jinping famously acquired his "Steamed Bun" nickname] or McDonalds. He’d enthusiastically put away a 15-yuan plate of six steamed buns dipped in vinegar—which of the other diners would have guessed that his father once led the Chinese Communist Party?! As far as I can recall, the best meal we ever had together was a "luxury banquet" at Huishang Guli for about a thousand yuan [$135]. [Chinese]

Wang also writes of Hu Dehua that: “In business, he kept his hands clean, never colluding with officials or profiting from the national interest, and always relying on his own abilities to get by. As a result, he never made a great fortune.“ The modesty of Hu’s later life may be somewhat overstated in this account: he complained in 2013 that his luxury Beijing villa complex and real estate development company had been targeted by a small army of thugs hired by a rival; and he was named in the 2016 Panama Papers as a shareholder, director, and beneficial owner of an investment vehicle in the British Virgin Islands. Hu subsequently told South China Morning Post that the offshore company was the dormant remnant of an unsuccessful stock exchange listing in Hong Kong. His public comment was itself unusual: asked why other prominent Chinese figures named in the leaks had declined to comment, he said: “This is my style of doing things – a habit I’ve formed over all these the years. But I can’t demand everyone to be like me.”

A third apparent target of censorship is a lengthy account by Hu Dehua himself, recounting his father’s ordeals during the Cultural Revolution, the grace with which he bore them, and the developing relationship between father and son who had been estranged for many years. The piece remains online elsewhere, but reposts following Hu Dehua’s death have reportedly been removed from WeChat. The text both begins and ends with Hu Yaobang’s admonition to his son after the young Hu Dehua suggested that his father endorse false accusations against others in exchange for softer treatment:

“Every word I say must stand up to history’s judgment. In the end, one can only stand up to historical scrutiny by seeking truth from facts. I cannot talk rubbish in exchange for a lighter beating or lesser hardship, and have future generations point at me and say I was spineless. I can’t do it, and I don’t believe our Party will be that way either. I don’t know who wrote those big-character posters [accusing others], but I absolutely believe that in the end, our Party will not be like that, that in the end it will seek truth from facts ….” [Chinese]

The first two captured Chinese citizens. Today, investigators from the Security Service of Ukraine spoke with them. We are working to establish all the facts regarding the involvement of these and other Chinese citizens being part of the Russian occupation army. Ukrainian… pic.twitter.com/PkBpBjI2Qm

— Volodymyr Zelenskyy / Володимир Зеленський (@ZelenskyyUa) April 9, 2025

At the Financial Times, Christopher Miller reported that the two Chinese fighters, aged 33 and 31, had been captured by Ukrainian forces while fighting with Russian soldiers in the eastern Donetsk region. This prompted Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy to instruct his foreign minister Andriy Sybiha to summon the Chinese chargé d’affaires in Kyiv for an explanation:

It is unclear whether the Chinese fighters were soldiers in the country’s army or mercenaries who joined Russia’s military on their own. There have been reports of Chinese nationals joining the Russian army independently and western officials said they had not seen any evidence of state sponsorship.

Zelenskyy said Kyiv has “information that there are significantly more Chinese citizens” fighting in Russia’s army and he had tasked his intelligence agencies with clarifying the facts.

[Ukraine’s Foreign Minister Andriy] Sybiha said the participation of Chinese citizens in the Russian army “calls into question China’s declared position on peace and undermines trust in Beijing as a responsible permanent member of the UN Security Council”.

Moscow has also recruited mercenaries from countries across the world to fight with its forces in Ukraine. Many have come from Cuba, India, Yemen and several African nations.

The only regular soldiers known to have officially entered the war have come from North Korea. Pyongyang sent more than 11,000 troops to help Russia last autumn, according to Ukrainian and western officials. [Source]

Posts on Chinese social media show that there are, indeed, a number of Chinese citizens currently fighting for Russia, either as mercenaries or regular army recruits. Some of these fighters post videos set to music, or use their social media presence to gain more followers or sell products online. Le Monde’s Harold Thibault recently profiled “Fen,” a Chinese man who fought for Russia in Ukraine, spent much of his time there in hospital, and has since returned to China. On social media platforms, particularly Douyin, the Chinese version of TikTok, Le Monde “identified around 40 social media accounts belonging to Chinese individuals who, backed by photo evidence, claim to have signed up with the Russian forces. Fen only met seven of his compatriots on the front lines, but estimated that a few hundred may have joined the fighting.”

CDT Chinese has republished an interview between investigative journalist and documentary filmmaker Chai Jing and a Chinese citizen nicknamed “Macaron,” who has been fighting with the Russian army in Ukraine. The wide-ranging interview, conducted via video and interspersed with copious posts from Chinese soldiers involved in the Russia-Ukraine war, details Macaron’s demoralizing experiences with perilous battlefield conditions; inadequate rations and equipment; racism against Black, Asian, and other foreign fighters; the motives of Chinese fighters, who according to Macaron can also be found on the Ukrainian side, though in smaller numbers; and desperate attempts to escape the fighting and return home to China. (For more CDT coverage of the Russia-Ukraine war, see “Four Censored Essays on the Ukraine Crisis,” “Netizen Voices on Ukraine,” and a censorship directive with instructions to “keep Weibo posts on Ukraine favorable to Russia.”)

Below is Part One of CDT’s full translation of the interview, published with Chai Jing’s permission. Some explanatory links and descriptions of audio-visual content have been added for clarity.

Chai Jing: Three years into the Russia-Ukraine war, the conflict has reached a critical juncture. The situation is highly volatile, and its outcome will have a significant impact on the future global order. Upon this battlefield, there are also Chinese citizens—some fighting for Russia, and others fighting for Ukraine. In upcoming programs, I will be interviewing participants from both sides in order to understand their differing viewpoints and beliefs, and through their eyes, to glimpse the inner workings of a war that is often inaccessible to journalists.

In today’s program, I will be interviewing "Macaron," a Chinese mercenary in the Russian army. He spoke via video, from an underground bunker on the front lines.

Interview transcript:

Macaron: Actually, there are a lot of people who … [hearing a noise and turning his head to look] Did you hear that gunfire?

Chai: That was gunfire? Are you on the front lines?

Macaron: Yeah, yeah. They’ve got these unmanned drones flying over, and sometimes we shoot them down.

Chai: I realize that your current location is quite sensitive, but to the extent that you’re able, can you tell us roughly where you are?

Macaron: Oh sure, it’s fine, I can tell you straight up—it’s Bakhmut. The Russian army started the assault on Bakhmut in October of 2022 … uh, no, it started in August. By May of 2023, we’d taken control of the city, but there’s always been intense fighting on the outskirts.

Chai: And what’s your role in this?

Macaron: I’m part of an advance team, an assault unit.

Chai: And what’s your team’s mission?

Macaron: To continue the forward advance by attacking and infiltrating the enemy lines. We’re actually quite close to the combat zone, just a few kilometers away—five or six kilometers at most.

Chai: You talk about "we" and "the enemy." As you can imagine, this program will provoke a lot of discussion, including criticism of you. Are you prepared for that?

Macaron: Oh, that’s no big deal, seeing as this is the path I chose. Since I realize that one of these days, I might die here on the battlefield, I’ve decided to share some real-life experiences. China, and the Chinese people, haven’t experienced war in a long time, so I want to tell them what war is like for an ordinary soldier, especially a foreign soldier.

Chai: What do you want to tell the Chinese people?

Macaron: I hope China can maintain a sensible stance and avoid rashly starting or getting drawn into a war. A lot of people watch these exaggerated patriotic dramas that glorify war—like “Wolf Warrior” and “Drawing Sword”—and they get all fired up. But the reality of battle is incredibly brutal. It’s literally hell on earth.

Chai (V.O.): Macaron himself was once a fan of “Wolf Warrior” and “Drawing Sword.” He was born in 1995 in Shandong and previously served in the [Chinese] military. When the Russia-Ukraine war broke out, he was working for the military as a team-building instructor.

On February 24, 2022, Russian President Putin announced a "special military operation" against Ukraine.

[Video of Putin speaking]

Putin: “I decided to conduct a special military operation.”

Chai (V.O.): Ukrainian President Zelenskyy responded.

[Video of Zelenskyy speaking]

Zelenskyy: "But if we are attacked by the [enemy] troops, if they try to take our country away from us, our freedom, our lives, the lives of our children, we will defend ourselves."

Chai (V.O.): On March 2, the United Nations General Assembly passed a resolution condemning Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, with 141 countries voting in favor, 5 against, and China abstaining. In November 2023, Macaron arrived in Moscow on a tourist visa and joined the [Russian] military.

Chai: [speaking to Macaron] Since no one asked you to join this war, no one forced you into it, and it isn’t even your war, why did you decide to join up?

Macaron: There were a lot of reasons. Money was part of it, but not the main reason. Honestly, the salary isn’t even that high. Also, I used to be a soldier when I was in China, but I never experienced war, so I had no idea what it was really like. I originally wanted to join the French Foreign Legion—that’s where I wanted to go—but getting a visa for Europe was a huge hassle. It’s really hard to get a visa for Europe.

Chai: If getting a visa for Ukraine had been just as easy [as getting a visa for Russia], would you have gone to fight for Ukraine instead?

Macaron: Hmm, speaking hypothetically … yeah, it’s possible. It’s definitely possible. I think there are at least a few hundred Chinese fighting for the Russian army, and some fighting for the Ukrainian side, but not very many. I’m sure the visa issue plays a role in that. Also, there are a lot of people who think that helping Russia means helping China.

Chai (V.O.): According to Phoenix TV journalist Lu Yuguang, the first Chinese mercenary killed fighting for Russia in this war was named Zhao Rui. (His fellow mercenary Zhou Zhiqiang said) Zhao joined the war because he’d heard he could fight the Japanese and [other members of] the “Eight-Nation Alliance.” It is unclear whether Zhao Rui was aware that Russia itself had once been part of the Eight-Nation Alliance.

Many Chinese mercenaries justify their involvement by invoking a more common bit of nationalist rhetoric. They say, “China and Russia are in the same boat,” and "We both oppose NATO expansion." They firmly believe they’re on the winning side.

[A TikTok video of Sun Ruiqi, a Chinese citizen fighting for Russia, with a group of other soldiers]

Sun: Attention! Stand by for orders!
Crowd of soldiers: Standing by, sir!
Sun: Greetings, comrades!
Crowd: Greetings, comrades!
Sun: You’ve served well, comrades!
Crowd: We serve with honor, sir!
Sun: Send me into battle first …
Crowd: Send me into battle, sir …
Sun: And victory is assured!
Crowd: And victory is assured!
Sun: Okay!
Crowd: Okay!

Chai (V.O.): However, Chinese nationalists have always had mixed feelings about Russia. After the war [in Ukraine] started, a list of Russia’s past territorial invasions of China circulated on social media, with some people comparing Russia’s incursions to Japan’s establishment of the puppet state of Manchukuo. This pressure forced some Chinese mercenaries fighting for Russia to justify their choices.

[A Bilibili video from a Chinese soldier fighting for Russia who goes by the name of “Warden”]

Warden: Some people tell me I’m “selling out to the enemy.” First of all, you’ve got to understand who’s paying my salary, who’s keeping me fed. If I go back [to China], are you going to put food on my table? No, right? So let’s be real, let’s tell it like it is: I’m loyal to whoever pays me. It’s that simple. When I can’t even afford to feed myself, you’re going to lecture me about ideals? [Warden’s defense strongly echoes justifications offered by Chinese censorship workers in recent interviews.]

Chai (V.O.): To gain followers on social media, Chinese mercenaries often post soundtracked videos of themselves marching or doing training exercises. Many of those fighting also hawk products online.

[A Chinese social-media video set to music shows soldiers on the march.]

Macaron: A lot of people were deep in debt back home, so they rolled the dice and came here. I guess they figured it was worth the risk of dying. A lot of guys also have these fantasies about being in battle. I got so many DMs that I stopped replying. I used to try to talk them out of it, but now I don’t bother—there are just too many of them, complaining about how bad the Chinese job market is, or how much debt they’re in.

Chai: Are they [Russia] paying you a decent salary?

Macaron: It’s typical, pretty typical. About 15,000 yuan per month [$2,500 U.S. dollars], more or less. But the purchasing power here is terrible. What 10,000 yuan buys you here might only cost 2,500 yuan back in China. Also, the pay isn’t commensurate with the danger and difficulty of the job. I work 365 days a year with no vacation, no time off—I’m constantly on duty. It’s a highly dangerous job, plus you don’t have any freedom.

Chai (V.O.): On June 4, 2023, Ukrainian forces launched a counteroffensive against Russian-occupied territories in the southeast. This marked a critical point in the war. In the year prior, Russian conscription efforts had met with significant backlash at home. In response, they shifted their recruitment efforts, offering bonuses to new recruits and trying to appeal to their masculinity.

[A Russian recruitment ad features stirring rock music and heroic-looking soldiers emerging from the smoke of a battlefield. Russian captions read “You’re a real man. Be one,” and offer enlistment contracts with monthly salaries equivalent to nearly $2,500.]

Chai (V.O.): Macaron doesn’t speak Russian. He first joined the pro-Russian militia in the Donbas [region of Ukraine]. In May of 2024, he signed a contract with the Russian Defense Ministry to enlist in the regular Russian army.

During the Battle of Bakhmut, the Russian army, under the command of the Defense Ministry, focused on launching artillery strikes from the periphery of the city, while Wagner Group mercenaries, particularly those recruited from prisons, led the deadly ground assaults. Before arriving at a military training camp in Rostov, Macaron was unaware of these details.

Chai: Hearing these things, some might say you’re just being used as cannon fodder.

Macaron: Hm, as awful as it sounds, they’re right.

Macaron: [in a previous video posted to social media] Why should I be cannon fodder in someone else’s war? Before I came, I didn’t know that’s how they’d treat me. Once I arrived at the training camp in Rostov, I saw there was serious racism—against Black people, and against Chinese people. Why risk your life for people who treat you like that?

Macaron: The Russian commanding officers would openly insult Black soldiers. They’d say these really horrible, racist things—about Black, Arab, and Chinese soldiers. One officer even said, "Right now, it’s wartime, the war is still going on. But once the war’s over, how about we kill the lot of you? You won’t be going home alive …"

Chai: Hang on—

Macaron: It’s true, that’s what he said.

Chai: Wait, hang on—who did he say they would kill?

Macaron: He meant us (the foreign mercenaries). I don’t know if he was joking, or if it was coming from some deep-seated racism, I just don’t know. But our translator at the time quit right on the spot. He was an Arab from Egypt, and he told me he was so disgusted by the commander that he was quitting. After I heard that, I said I wanted to leave, too. I wanted out, but they told me I couldn’t break my contract.

Chai (V.O.): Before signing the contract, Macaron had used translation software to check that he understood it. One section stipulated that enlistees had three months in which to revoke the contract, if they so wished. But when Macaron broached the subject, he was told it was out of the question. Macaron was left with no choice, no way out. He was issued a weapon: a gun that was nearly 80 years old.

Macaron: [in a previous social-media video] Yesterday, the commander gave me a gun—a machine gun, I think, but I don’t really know what kind. I wanted to see how old it was, so I checked the manufacturing date on the gun, and it said 1948, a year before the PRC was founded. Looking at this antique, my heart sank, and I wondered if it even worked anymore. Take a look at this gun. I forgot to tell you the story behind it. See those four notches on the lower part? You know what they mean? They represent “four souls." They told me that when they gave me the gun. I said it was too old, and I didn’t want it, but they kept insisting I take it. I said I didn’t want to use a broken gun, but he (the commander) told me that I had to take it. He said this gun had belonged to four other people, four people who died in battle, and that’s what those four horizontal notches meant. But how they died, I have no idea.

Chai (V.O.): Macaron used his own salary to purchase a helmet, body armor, and other combat gear, but when he went to the hospital for an illness, he was whisked off directly to the front instead—and his equipment never arrived.

Macaron: They didn’t give me the things I needed to survive on the battlefield. Instead, they gave me some dilapidated old gear from soldiers who’d died in battle. It was in really bad shape—the helmet they gave me actually had holes in it. They just handed me this junk and sent me into battle.

Chai: Why didn’t they give you the equipment you’d purchased for yourself?

Macaron: I think it’s because they don’t care. They just don’t care about these things. In a wartime situation, everything moves fast. They’re shipping in groups of soldiers, then shipping them off to the front. No one has time to think about equipment, or care about stuff like that.

Chai: So, in that sense, would it be fair to say that they don’t really care whether you live or die?

Macaron: Yes, you could say that. Because in battle, we’re the assault team, the commandos. Casualties are high, and not many come back alive.

Chai: What’s the survival rate, roughly?

Macaron: From my experience, for every three or four of our soldiers killed, or maybe every five or six, only one Ukrainian soldier dies. That’s the ratio.

Chai (V.O.): Sun Ruiqi, the soldier who shouted, "Send me into battle first, and victory is certain!" eventually made it to the battlefield. I checked his social media and saw a video he’d posted about an older soldier in his unit whose only equipment was a plastic bag. Inside the bag was a single change of clothes. When Sun asked the other soldiers about it, they told him that everyone, including the old soldier himself, believed it wouldn’t be long before he died on the battlefield. Two weeks later, the old soldier had disappeared, and no one ever asked what had become of him.

This is some of the video footage Macaron recorded, showing the material privations on the front lines. He often used candles or gas to cook small portions of noodles. Rice was extremely scarce, and rats had gnawed through the bags used to store bread.

These privations led to internal strife, with Russian soldiers sometimes exchanging “friendly fire” when competing for supplies. The chocolates, sausages, tea, and coffee distributed to soldiers during holidays were used for photo ops: Macaron would be given these items, but as soon as the photo was taken, he would have to hand them back.

Macaron: I told them, "Either don’t give that stuff to me, or don’t take photos. If you’re just going to take it all back, what’s the point? Better not to give it to me in the first place." That sort of thing happened all the time.

Chai: From what you say, it sounds like there’s a certain amount of corruption.

Macaron: Probably. When it comes to stuff like that … [laughs] In the army, especially during wartime, commanders have immense power, but the lives of rank-and-file soldiers are seen as kind of … trivial.

Chai (V.O.): On November 11, 2023 in the Russian Southern Military District, Zhou Zhiqiang and Zhao Rui recorded their first experience as soldiers on the front lines.

[Video recorded by Zhou Zhiqiang, in darkness]

Zhou: The Russians don’t see us as human beings, but as suicide squads. We were ordered to seize some trenches, so we did, but because they didn’t send any reinforcements, we suffered heavy casualties. Out of a few dozen, only six or seven of us made it out unscathed.

Chai (V.O.): On November 18, Zhao Rui’s unit found themselves surrounded by Ukrainian forces. These are videos that Zhao Rui took during the siege.

[The first video shows about a dozen uniformed soldiers sitting or sleeping on the floor of a room. The curtains are drawn, one window is blocked with sandbags, and the soldiers’ weapons are propped up against the walls. An injured man lies on a bed.]

Zhao: It’s our third day under siege. This guy is injured, and we’ve got to evacuate him or he’ll die.

[The second video shows the same room, slightly darkened. A few of the men are standing and talking in the background.]

Zhao: Day four. All last night, we tried to evacuate our wounded, but we couldn’t get him out. We tried to make a break for it, but it was hopeless.

[The third video shows the same room, the ground now strewn with garbage and some unopened water bottles. There are fewer soldiers than before, only five or six sprawled on the floor.]

Zhao: It’s our fifth day under siege. Last night, the Ukrainian troops launched a raid against us. There are only a few of us left now … just us few. We can’t hold out much longer.

[The fourth video pans around the room, where several soldiers are sitting and talking.]

Zhao: It’s been six days now.

[Another video just shows the floor, even more littered now, and the feet and legs of several soldiers standing around.]

Zhao: Last night, some Ukrainian APCs and tanks appeared near our position. I don’t think they noticed us because it was so dark, but they hit another building nearby. It was close, really close.

Chai (V.O.): On October 24, after being besieged for six days, they finally managed to retreat.

[A video shows soldiers sitting in the back of a moving military truck with their duffel bags, weapons, and a spare plastic tank of petrol.]

Zhao: When we came, we had a truck full of soldiers. Look how few of us are left. You can count for yourself. Just a few of us. You still want to come here?

Chai (V.O.): In a text message, Macaron told me that, in his experience, the average survival time of a soldier in a combat zone is about three days.

[A video of Macaron, looking exhausted and upset, speaking slowly and directly to the camera.]

Macaron: The night before last, we launched a surprise attack. I was armed with 10 magazines, 10 bullet clips, and five grenades. It was the middle of the night, and we were right in the line of fire. Artillery from both sides kept shelling our position, and we were getting hit by mortar fire, even from our own side, so a lot of us were injured. I don’t know how to describe it, but it was bad, a real bloodbath.

Chai (V.O.): But the only bulletproof equipment he could find were two rusty iron plates.

[A video of Macaron, just his hands and feet visible, lifting two rusty iron plates from the rubble-strewn ground. Each plate is about the size and shape of the head of a small shovel, only much thicker and heavier.]

Macaron: These are great. Two bulletproof plates, pure iron. I just stripped them off someone (a fallen soldier). Heavy as hell, but not bad.

Chai (V.O.): Hoping to reclaim his helmet and body armor, essential for his survival, Macaron filed a complaint with the Russian military police against his commanding officer. His complaint was met with a swift reprisal.

[A video of Macaron in what appears to be a small underground pit with metal bars overhead. The bars are so low that he is unable to stand without ducking his head.]

Macaron: [peering through the metal bars] Hi everyone, I’m Red Macaron. These fucking Russians locked me up in here. I can’t even stand up straight. Just checking in to let you know I’m still alive. It’s been 11 days, but I’m fine, and I’ve got a lot of people trying to help me.

Chai (V.O.): As a result of his complaint, Macaron was thrown into a sort of dungeon—a deep pit in the ground, reinforced with iron bars. It was only three or four square meters [32-43 square feet] in size, and so low he could not stand upright in it. He was allowed to leave it only once a day to use the toilet.

The independent Russian media outlet Important Stories, through eyewitness accounts and satellite imagery, was able to confirm the existence of such “punishment pits” and their use by the Russian army. Two Russian soldiers were also imprisoned in the pit, alongside Macaron.

Chai: Why are soldiers punished in this way?

Macaron: The other two (the Russian soldiers) refused to fight. The thing is, as you know, the Russian army is always pushing forward, always advancing, whereas the Ukrainians are mostly defending. These two didn’t want to fight. They just wanted to hold the line, stay on defense. They didn’t want to kill anyone.

Chai: What happened to them afterward?

Macaron: Well, one of them … actually, there are some things I just can’t tell you. You know, because this kind of thing … If I were to tell you something too bleak, you know, the consequences would be unbearable.

Chai (V.O.): For Macaron’s safety, we have decided to omit the details of what happened. But one thing that we can confirm is that the two Russian soldiers, in the end, did not alter their principles.

Chai (V.O.): After being imprisoned for 21 days, a terrified Macaron made his escape while going to the toilet. He jumped from the third floor of an abandoned house and ran to another Russian military unit, where he demanded to be transferred away from his original commanding officer.

Chai: What if he’d retaliated against you, or done something else?

Macaron: Well, yeah, he did retaliate. He beat me up. [laughs nervously, then falls silent] Not just once, but twice. Not that I couldn’t fight back, but he had a gun.

Chai: Doesn’t that sort of thing strip away a soldier’s sense of pride?

Macaron: Sure it does. After the first time I was released from the pit, my will to fight was gone. Why would I want to fight for someone who throws me in a dungeon, someone who treats me like that? I felt like they had no respect for me at all.

Chai: Did you ever consider leaving the battlefield? Leaving for good, and going home?

Macaron: There was no way I could, and I don’t think the Chinese embassy would have helped me.

Chai (V.O.): Sun Ruiqi, the soldier who had shouted about certain victory on the battlefield, posted another video as he headed for the front.

[Video shows Sun Ruiqi and a large group of soldiers preparing to depart for the front. The uniformed soldiers all have blue duffel bags with them, and a troop transport truck is visible in the background.]

Sun: [speaking to the camera] We’re heading out. The whole unit is getting ready to move out.

Chai (V.O.): Not long afterward, Sun became a trending topic once more.

[Video of Sun Ruiqi, bundled in a heavy camouflage coat with a hood, buffeted by wind and snow.]

Sun: [breathing heavily] I trekked for almost 40 minutes through heavy snow just to get a signal so I could send this message. I contacted the Chinese Embassy in Russia [Moscow] and told them it was urgent, but they said it was a personal matter and couldn’t help me. So now I’m asking for help from the public, asking my fellow Chinese to contact the Chinese Ministry of Foreign Affairs. I need to terminate my contract so I can go home for medical treatment. Around here, there are no medical facilities or medical equipment of any kind. I’m going to die here.

Chai: [speaking to Macaron again] Maybe the embassy considered it a personal matter, since you volunteered to come here and fight. You came on your own, without the support or approval of the Chinese government, so maybe they felt they weren’t in a position to intervene.

Macaron: Yeah, but I think some stuff, like what they show in those “Wolf Warrior” movies [which depict the Chinese military efficiently evacuating Chinese civilians abroad] is just totally fake.

[A promotional poster for the nationalistic military blockbuster “Wolf Warrior 2” shows lead actor Wu Jing holding a Chinese flag. This is followed by a video of Wu Jing—the writer, director, and star of the “Wolf Warrior” films—waxing patriotic.]

Wu: A Chinese passport is a ticket to safe passage. [pretending to hold up a Chinese passport] What does this say? It says Chinese people are the bomb.

Macaron: But when your actual citizens are in trouble … Sure, we volunteered to fight this war, but still … Take India, you know? There were a lot of Indians getting killed here, but then their Prime Minister Modi came and talked to Putin, and all the Indian mercenaries got sent home. Their contracts were terminated, and they were able to go home.

Chai (V.O.): A BBC report confirmed Macaron’s account. In July 2024, following reports of heavy Indian casualties and viral videos of Indian mercenaries begging for help, Indian Prime Minister Modi visited Moscow and discussed the matter with Putin. Two months later, over 90 Indian mercenaries were released from military service and sent home. Conversely, the Chinese mercenary known as Warden, who once said “I’m loyal to whoever pays me,” found that even after his contract expired, he wasn’t allowed to leave.

[Video of Warden speaking directly to the camera]

Warden: The boss called me in for a chat. He said my contract only ends once the war is won. They’re also planning to transfer me to head up the scariest of all the Storm Trooper units—the Black Mamba unit [a military unit made up of ex-convicts]. What’s he thinking? I don’t even know what to say about it. [pauses] But what the hell, I’ll go. I guess I’ll keep fighting until it’s over. I’m not the type to chicken out. I can’t afford to lose face. Two of my men deserted, and we’re hunting them down. If we catch them, they’re as good as dead. As for me? I’ll keep going. Cause I’m brave. No fear.

Chai (V.O.): Not long afterward, an announcement of Warden’s death was posted to his Douyin account, asking his followers to commemorate the passing of this “great international Communist warrior.” The video’s IP location was Henan province, where an assistant allegedly posted it. But his fans scarcely had time to mourn before a livestream surfaced, claiming that Warden had “come back to life,” used his martial wisdom to outwit the enemy, and beat a tactical retreat to Moscow. Sun Ruiqi also claimed to have made it back to China on his own. The details of how they returned remain unclear. Foreign media reports suggest that some mercenaries have shot themselves to escape from the front lines, while others have bribed their way out, but outright escape is nearly impossible. [Chinese]

The second half of the translation will be published soon.

According to officials in Beijing’s Changping district, the City Management Command Center has used Deepseek to break down “information barriers in grid management,” accurately meeting complex needs like “cross-domain collaboration.” In addition, the local government has integrated DeepSeek’s deep analysis technology with HD video from the Sharp Eyes project (a rural grid management-based “mass public security prevention and control project” using networked video surveillance), establishing an “All-Weather Urban Awareness Network,” which has “eliminated the need for time-consuming, labor-intensive patrols.”

The Public Security Bureau in Inner Mongolia’s Uxin Banner said that DeepSeek has improved the precision of safety and security work for major events and proven effective at preventing and controlling potential security risks. They explained that DeepSeek’s real-time analysis of factors such as participant information and event-site conditions can promptly detect unusual activity and provide early warning, “allowing for flawless safety and security work.”

The Public Security Bureau in Chongqing’s Rongchang district said that since DeepSeek went online, analytical law-enforcement tasks that would previously have taken three officers three days can now be accomplished by a single officer in 15 minutes, with “outstanding results in the field.”

A community propaganda worker in Shenzhen’s Bao’an district said that DeepSeek allows them to handle “public opinion” more “skillfully,” and has greatly boosted their productivity by helping them to quickly grasp “key public-opinion topics” and perform “quantitative analysis of public-opinion trends.” The head of the district’s neighborhood law-enforcement team also indicated that DeepSeek enabled them to more accurately pinpoint the sources influencing public opinion, anticipate risks, and provide strong support for their work responding to public opinion.

Cyberspace Administration authorities for Inner Mongolia’s Hinggan and Xilingol Leagues noted DeepSeek’s marked advantages in recognizing contextual complexities and identifying potential hazards, and said they would continue to push ahead with the use of AI in areas such as content management, “public opinion analysis,” and cybersecurity.

Shandong Province Internet Media Group, a province-level Party media organization, offered more details on DeepSeek’s application in "public opinion monitoring." The group indicated that since it adopted DeepSeek, it has seen great advances in both its efficiency at parsing "public opinion data" from across the internet and its ability to filter out noise, and that it can now more quickly identify potential hazards when monitoring hot topics. In addition, DeepSeek can automatically generate "strategic recommendations for public opinion response" based on its analysis of vast quantities of data, and provide smarter "suggestions for handling public opinion."

Topsec, an internet security monitoring company that works closely with the authorities, said that it is already using DeepSeek’s deep content recognition technology—together with other methods such as keyword scanning and optical character recognition—to comprehensively monitor sensitive information and promptly block activity that violates regulations.

Many local propaganda departments and Party media outlets have said that DeepSeek can automatically generate press releases based on real-time information, helping state-media journalists to quickly compose news reports.

The municipal government of Xinxiang, Henan, released a guide to a Smart Official Document Composition Assistant powered by DeepSeek. This reportedly includes a corpus of "official document templates from Party and state administrative units," and can automatically cross-reference with the latest official lists of words to be avoided or treated with caution in public materials. It can also automatically screen for core political terminology like the "Two Safeguards" and "Two Establishes" and compare it against central [government] documents.

The Party committee for Altay in Xinjiang said that DeepSeek enables thoroughly "smart" Party-building work. If you want to study central policy documents and really grasp their spirit, you can simply upload them and DeepSeek will generate a summary of the key points, highlighting and explaining specialist jargon and implementation challenges (e.g. “grassroots Party organization election procedures”), thus helping avoid misinterpretation by grassroots cadres. [Chinese]

The original post at Diyin includes links to source materials, some of which have since gone offline.

One now deleted report at Nanfang Daily, archived at CDT Chinese, focused on DeepSeek’s use in online public opinion monitoring in a Shenzhen subdistrict, noting public suspicions—denied by subdistrict officials—that AI systems may be used to delete or respond to public posts by local residents:

On February 20, the Xixiang subdistrict of Shenzhen’s Bao’an district held a training session on “DeepSeek + Public Opinion Response” for 50 leaders from departments and communities within its jurisdiction. Its goal was to draw on AI technology to enhance the subdistrict’s overall public opinion monitoring, analysis, and response capabilities, and enable it to more rapidly assess and respond to the concerns and requests of city residents.

While the news received “Likes” from many netizens, others had doubts: were government departments using AI in negative ways, such as responding to or deleting online posts? Xiao Bin, propaganda chief for Xixiang’s Office of Party, Government, and Legislative Affairs, responded that AI is not being used for content deletion and other such tasks, only for rapidly sifting through and organizing vast quantities of data to ensure that every resident’s concerns and requests can be handled and answered promptly.

Grassroots Cadres: More Professional Confidence, Less Stress

At the start of the training, the instructor emphasized the necessity of learning and using AI: “You won’t be replaced by AI, but by people who know how to use it.”

They explained the main points of DeepSeek’s technical features, applicability, and operation using a threefold framework of feature analysis, application scenarios, and practical demonstration. In the public opinion response segment of the training, the instructor gave a comprehensive introduction to workflow and methodology for online public opinion response, from monitoring and analysis to response and resolution.

The instructor stressed that in the digital age, public opinion can spread faster and further, so each subdistrict department and community needs to heighten its vigilance and, putting the people first, promptly respond to the masses’ concerns. At the same time, malicious rumors and incitement must be firmly dealt with in accordance with the law. The session also included practical discussion and simulated drills.

A propaganda committee member from Xixiang’s Liutang community commented, “In the past, I’ve often felt flustered when dealing with public opinion. We never had all the information, and responses were haphazard. Now that I understand DeepSeek’s formidable capabilities, like quickly picking the crucial points of public opinion from the flood of online data and performing quantitative analysis of public opinion trends, I can be more confident in follow-up response work, and less stressed.”

An official from Xixiang described the training as an important effort to innovate the subdistrict’s grassroots governance methods, and said that by adopting advanced AI technologies, they would be able to more effectively capture public opinion data and create a positive public opinion environment amenable to the subdistrict’s harmonious and stable development.

Subdistrict Clarifies: No AI Post Deletions

Xixiang’s “DeepSeek + Public Opinion Response” training drew widespread public attention. While much of this was positive, there was also suspicion among some netizens.

Therefore, I decided to speak with Xiao Bin, the propaganda chief for Xixiang’s Office of Party, Government, and Legislative Affairs. Xiao Bin explained that the subdistrict has always attached great importance to public opinion work. Using platforms such as “Quick Response to Public Opinion,” “Mediation and Dispute Resolution,” “Bao’an District’s ‘Scan for Instant Resolution of Unpaid Wages,’” and “Bao! You’re Hired!” to quickly gather information on the public’s various complaints and comments so that “when the people call, we answer.”

As a major Shenzhen subdistrict with over a million inhabitants, Xixiang processed, verified, handled, and responded to 1,050 public opinion cases of one kind or another in 2024. Issues like market supervision, urban management, transportation, and the environment featured heavily. Handling these cases brought swift resolution and response to a great many of the problems reported by city residents.

Xiao Bin refuted claims that government departments use AI for negative activities like post deletions. She noted that a real-name account is required for replying to posts, and registering pseudonymous accounts for automatic AI-generated responses would be not only technically difficult, but also probably illegal. She said the subdistrict’s public-opinion workers strive to be objective, fair, and responsible, taking every public-opinion case seriously and engaging in active communication with the public for the sole purpose of conscientiously resolving their problems.

“The significance of AI in public opinion work,” Xiao Bin said, “is in helping us rapidly filter and compile masses of data so that relevant departments in the subdistrict can accurately assign resources to quickly verify and deal with various issues, and ensure that every resident’s concerns and requests receive prompt resolution and response.”

Asked about plans for future work, Xiao Bin said that they would continue to optimize public opinion work mechanisms, treating the public’s online views and suggestions as “opportunities to deliver government services right to people’s doors,” and taking full advantage of AI to further improve the efficiency of public-opinion handling and provide the public with even better and more effective service, promoting harmonious and stable societal development. [Chinese]

At the Journal of Democracy last month, Valentin Weber placed DeepSeek in the context of the PRC’s steadily evolving surveillance ecosystem, writing that it “has massive potential to enhance China’s already pervasive surveillance state, and it will bring the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) closer than ever to its goal of possessing an automated, autonomous, and scientific tool for repressing its people.” The shortcomings of AI outputs, such as “hallucination” of false positives, only add to the potential risks of such a system.

There is some degree of performativity in the surge of very vocal DeepSeek adoption. The New York Times’ Meaghan Tobin and Claire Fu noted that “The enthusiastic embrace of the technology by China’s bureaucracy reflects, in part, what often happens when Mr. Xi, China’s most dominant leader in decades, puts his stamp of approval on something. (Mr. Xi has set off frenzies over soccer, winter sports and high-end manufacturing, for instance.) […] But it can be hard to parse the substance from the hype. While scores of officials have pledged to use DeepSeek in their work, few have described specific examples in which the technology has made that work more effective or efficient.”

Similarly, Wired’s Zeyi Yang wrote that while some companies “have found genuine uses for the domestic, affordable AI model with cutting-edge capabilities, […] others are merely doing it for the publicity boost or to virtue-signal their national pride.” (Yang noted that this AI gold rush does not have uniquely Chinese characteristics: “The whole frenzy resembles what happened in late 2022 when ChatGPT launched and a wave of American and European companies scrambled to find ways to signal to customers and investors they were engaging with what was then the most cutting-edge innovation in AI.”)

But there’s also another factor that has helped make DeepSeek particularly trendy in China: the fact that the West freaked out about it. “Its strong reception overseas has further boosted its popularity in China, serving as the firm’s best marketing campaign,” says Angela Huyue Zhang, a law professor who studies Chinese technology policy at the University of Southern California.

The narrative that DeepSeek is challenging US dominance in AI has contributed to a growing sense of national pride within China. A central part of the company’s heroic origin story is its development of resource-efficient models, which was seen as a direct response to US policies designed to cut off China’s access to cutting-edge semiconductors. As a result, DeepSeek’s success has fueled a growing belief in China that those measures may eventually fail.

“Where there is blockade, there is breakthrough; where there is suppression, there is innovation,” Wang Yi, China’s minister of foreign affairs, said in a speech on March 7 in which he also compared DeepSeek to China’s previous technological breakthroughs in areas like nuclear weapons development and space exploration. [Source]

The performative aspects of the DeepSeek wave, and the arguably overhyped technical leap that DeepSeek represents, do not necessarily diminish its significance. The Economist argued last week that “The true winner of the AI race […] may not be the country that invents the best models. It is more likely to be the country where governments, businesses and ordinary people use AI at scale every day. For everything from economic growth to military power, technological diffusion ultimately matters more than technological innovation. On that front, the race is closer than many in America believe.”

Becoming an official has always been something that countless people in China dream of.

From the ancient imperial examinations to the civil service exams of today, entering the realms of officialdom has long been synonymous with success, respect, authority, and affluence.

This deeply-rooted "officialdom complex" leads people to view official rank as life’s highest aspiration, as different from other stations as heaven is from earth, even to the point that our whole society revolves around it.

But any country that views becoming an official as the "one true path" to social mobility is a country whose developmental path is a dead-end.

An "officialdom complex” presents many dangers. Not only does it limit the flow of human talent and constrain market vitality, it also leads to pervasive formalism and bureaucratism within government itself, and of course it fuels corruption.

In the 40-plus years since the start of Reform and Opening, economic development has soared, but there are many places where power—rather than innovation, markets, or the labor force—remains the most valuable “natural resource.” How can we talk about modernization if this doesn’t change?

The most malignant aspect of the "officialdom complex" is that authority consumes everything.

China’s millennia of feudal history have deeply instilled the maxim that “when a person reaches attainment, even his dogs and chickens ascend to heaven.” As a direct result, power is less about responsibility than perks and privileges.

As a rule, Chinese people are infatuated with privilege. Even those who call for anti-corruption measures are actually jealous of those with the privileges of power. Were they able to enjoy those privileges themselves, they would quickly change their tune.

Although the market-driven economy has become the mainstream in today’s China, there are still many places where the official-centric mindset determines how society operates.

For example, there’s no shortage of places where entrepreneurs with any instinct for self-preservation rely not on innovation, but on cultivating guanxi; where those seeking to develop their talents rely not on ability, but on patronage.

The civil service exams are as hotly contested as ever each year, with candidates battling it out to enter the system not out of any passion for public service, but because the work is stable, prestigious, and confers various “hidden perks.”

The pervasiveness of such “all-consuming authority” has a number of serious consequences:

1. Markets are usurped by the authorities, and companies become less competitive. When bureaucratic authority determines the allocation of resources, business competition tends to rely on connections rather than product quality, and genuinely innovative firms often lose out.

2. Young people are demotivated, and society is drained of vitality. The best and brightest are drawn into the civil service instead of scientific research or entrepreneurship, and society loses a wellspring of innovation.

3. The government becomes a "resource referee" instead of serving society as it should. Instead of maintaining its proper role of establishing rules and guaranteeing fairness, it becomes the primary distributor of benefits, and may even become a resource-competitor itself.

These phenomena are not as common in countries with a less entrenched officialdom complex.

In the United States, for example, although elites still need a strong network, an officialdom complex like ours—in which official titles lead directly to privilege—is much weaker, and young Americans rarely view public service as highly prestigious.

In Germany, a highly skilled blue-collar worker can still achieve high social status. What’s really valued in countries like this is not authority but individual ability, creativity, and professionalism.

In Europe, with no officialdom complex, people’s values and pursuits are generally very diverse.

But in China, many people still see becoming an official as the best choice. Even some successful entrepreneurs, as soon as they’ve made their fortunes, neglect R&D investment and instead pull every possible string to sidle up to those in power—making donations, pulling in favors, and arranging jobs for officials’ children, all to ensure smooth sailing for their own businesses.

This phenomenon deprives market participants of a level playing field. For example, only the well-connected can obtain startup loans, while real entrepreneurs are shut out. The whole of society sinks into a kind of "power-centrism" in which it seems as if the only sense of security comes from proximity to power.

So, how can we break out of this officialdom complex? Truly changing all this will require a multifaceted approach:

1. The government should step back, and allow markets real control of resources. The government’s core responsibility should be the provision of public services, not direct control of economic resources. It should reduce oversight and regulation, and give businesses and individuals more room to grow.

2. Roll back officials’ privileges so that the system is no longer seen as a “golden ticket.” Make government a genuinely service-oriented institution, rather than a reaper of benefits. Reduce the hidden perks of officialdom, strengthen accountability, and put public service instead of personal advancement at the center of official work.

3. Promote respect for innovation and expertise. Give those with entrepreneurial, technical, and scientific skills their proper social status and rewards, so that young people can see that there are more possibilities in life than just becoming an official.

4. Strengthen rule of law so that power is constrained. If there is rule of law, officials won’t be able to arbitrarily interfere with the market, businesses will be able to succeed on their own merits, and individuals won’t have to rely on connections to get ahead.

There is no construction without destruction, no reform without sacrifice. If the officialdom complex is not reformed, there is no way we can move forward.

If the officialdom complex remains intact, society will be trapped in a vicious cycle of officials fixating on power, businesses fixating on befriending them, young people fixating on becoming officials, and the whole country’s energies wasted on meaningless power games.

If China is to truly modernize, it must rid itself of these ideological shackles, and let markets be markets, power be power, and talent gravitate to where it has real value.

This process won’t all be smooth sailing, but reform really is the only way forward. [Chinese]

The second post, from WeChat public account A Thousand Sheep On Fire, also highlights the longstanding grip that official employment has held on Chinese ambitions. It alludes to Fan Jin, the protagonist of the 18th century satirical novel “The Scholars,” whose successes in the civil service exams after decades of failure eventually drive him insane. It notes that the dream of an official career is currently enjoying a resurgence, as oversupply of graduates for hot career choices like medicine or computer science leads to less certain prospects, falling pay, and deteriorating working conditions. The post highlights a rise in the number of civil service exam candidates to 5.3 million this year, vying for a mere 166,000 vacancies. Next year, it adds, the number of hopefuls may pass seven million, with an unusually large graduating class exceeding this year’s by as many as 300,000.

[…] For now, I’ll just focus on this one issue: the public’s fixation on “system status” has almost reached the point of madness.

Compared with others these days, just standing still is getting ahead, whether in the eyes of judgmental elders or in terms of your value in the marriage market. Secure “iron rice bowl” jobs, once stereotyped as the last resort of the unambitious and academically mediocre, are now powerful trump cards.

Contrast this with programmers, lawyers, junior faculty, and doctors—across the board, these once-glamorous professions have lost their shine, with those who aren’t laid off facing low pay and fierce competition.

But let’s look at programmers, the occupation whose reputation has suffered the most. In fact, it’s not true that they’re all laid off at 35, or that 996 is the norm. (There’s a lot of overtime in some official jobs, as well.) They have access to a relatively broad field of job opportunities, and they can save enough to retire on before they’re cast aside, as long as they don’t sink those savings into a house.

(It’s not easy to join one of the big-name firms, of course, but compared with the cattle auction of the spring and autumn job fairs, computer science majors still find work more easily, and for higher pay.)

Apart from the lucky few who can move back home and become “full-time children,” most of those who’ve graduated in the last couple of years and haven’t yet found suitable work are probably living like hermits, preparing for the civil service exams. Even niche platforms like Douban now have communities of hundreds of thousands of exam preppers, and in groups that used to be carefree and artistic, the hot topics now are things like “Should I switch jobs or take the civil service exam?”

The consoling cliché among these civil service candidates is that “if you sit the exam enough times, you’re bound to make the cut.” But this is obviously impossible. Even a ratio as low as 30 candidates for each role means despite all their efforts, the other 29 amount to no more than cannon fodder. Those who live to “fight another day” in next year’s exam will be even worse off, competing with fresh graduates whose brains are in peak condition while their own have been numbed by endless practice tests.

Why is there such bias against certain occupations? Why does getting into the system cast such a spell? There are hundreds of hopefuls battling it out for a town or county post miles from home, shelling out large sums on training courses, giving up life experiences … and for what?

According to the logic of Chinese humor, the goal is probably a kind of “off-the-peg life”: more stable work begets higher social status, higher social status begets preferential treatment in selecting a mate, a premium mate begets premium offspring, and so on.

Those studying for the civil service examinations may be doing so mainly because they see no alternative. If they had a single decent job offer in hand, the fierce competition wouldn’t be so terrifying. Ultimately, given the stark reality of the acceptance ratio, all their efforts are laughably deluded.

From the point of view of society as a whole, using a couple of hundred thousand official vacancies to placate ten million young people is undoubtedly an epic feat of social engineering. But from another angle, a society of Fan Jins flocking toward a chance at stability runs a serious risk of ossification and imbalance.

I’ve really been quite struck by occupational bias recently. For degree-holders in some fields, the civil service exams are the only way out. [Chinese]

The brutality of the current job market was illustrated recently by a censored meme comparing attendees at a Hangzhou job fair with the famous Terracotta Warriors in Xi’an. “The Terracotta Warriors aren’t packed in as tightly,” quipped one Weibo user. “Different armies, same hole,” commented another.

This is not the first time Guo has been targeted by Chinese authorities: in 2023, as reported by VOA Chinese and Variety, he was prevented from renewing his passport and was subject to a travel ban, likely in retaliation for his support of the White Paper Movement and attention to the plight of Xiaohuamei (a woman who was trafficked, abused, and kept chained in a shed). What distinguishes this latest episode of law-enforcement harassment is the sheer distance at which it occurred: the authorities who levied the fine are located 2,000 miles from Hunan province, where Guo once filmed; and 2,500 miles from Dali, Yunnan province, where Guo currently lives.

CDT Chinese editors have archived a March 27 essay by WeChat blogger Li Yuchen, titled “The Film Was Shot in Hunan, but Xinjiang Confiscated Cameras and Imposed a 75,000 Yuan Fine.” In it, the author discusses the harsh penalties imposed by Xinjiang authorities on Guo Zhenming, and argues that this will have a chilling effect not only on filmmakers and other creative artists, but on China’s entire creative ecosystem, and on anyone who has ever picked up a camera:

I just read an announcement about an administrative fine levied by the Urumqi Municipal Bureau of Culture and Tourism.

The announcement said that the individual involved, Guo Zhenming, shot a documentary called "Tedious Days and Nights" in Hunan. Although the director did not obtain official permission to release the film, he submitted the documentary to be screened at the Berlin Film Festival in Germany. Afterwards, Guo traveled to Xinjiang where he shot some footage that was stored on a hard drive but not yet incorporated into a film.

The relevant authorities in Xinjiang reasoned that since Guo had already submitted the film he shot in Hunan to screen at a German film festival, there was reason to believe that the footage he shot in Xinjiang and stored on a hard drive would also be made into a film.

As such, they confiscated his camera and hard drive and slapped him with a fine of 75,000 yuan.

Is this some type of cross-provincial manhunt for filmmakers?

Xinjiang’s Bureau of Radio, Film and Television was of the firm opinion that even though the footage hadn’t been made into a film, let alone been released to the public, the simple fact that the director had previously flouted the rules by allowing a similar film to be screened overseas meant that the footage in this case could be treated as a film.

The sternly worded administrative penalty notice employed the following astonishing logic:

> Although the work filmed by the party concerned is not yet complete, the actors have already been hired and paid, the estimated running time is 60-80 minutes, the finished product will have a 16:9 aspect ratio, and there are plans to submit or screen it at film festivals. This meets the definition of ‘a film.’ Furthermore, said party has submitted similar works to foreign film festivals in the past, which further confirms that his actions were taken with the intent to make a film. Therefore, the work produced by Guo Zhenming should be classified as a film.

If they know the work is incomplete, how can they be so sure it’s actually a film?

Anyone will be able to discern the logical flaw here—that a film shot by Guo Zhenming in Hunan was judged to have violated regulations in Xinjiang.

Reasoning by Extrapolation

In other words, if a director has ever filmed in other provinces, authorities in Xinjiang think they have reasonable cause for suspicion, reasonable grounds to impose a fine.

By that logic, Chinese directors and cinematographers would seem to be caught in an inescapable dilemma: if they have ever participated in any overseas screening, exhibition, or competition, then no matter where they travel or what equipment they use, any footage they shoot will automatically be considered a film, putting them at constant risk of punishment.

Can it really be that for someone holding a film camera, all of China is enemy territory?

Urumqi also issued a harsh and detailed list of the penalties: a fine of 75,000 yuan, and confiscation of the equipment he used for filming—one hard drive, two cameras, one recorder pen, two filters, and a set of lights.

The administrative penalty notice was harshly worded, making it clear that there would be no leniency—as if they had actually nabbed some dangerous fugitive after a nationwide manhunt.

The “Crime” of Filmmaking

Upon closer examination, the legal basis for the punishment can only be described as "specious.” After all, if something is to be considered “a film,” it must be a completed work and be approved for public screening, or at the very least, there must be a clear intention to screen it as a film. But apparently now, simply by filming something in Hunan and screening it in Germany, you can be slapped with a fine by authorities located thousands of miles away, in Xinjiang. The laxity of such “supervision” is appalling—even if someone were to commit some heinous offense in Hunan, or in Germany, what on earth would it have to do with the authorities in Xinjiang?

On a slightly deeper level, we might ask: where exactly do the boundaries of filmmaking lie? What are directors allowed to film, and what are they not allowed to film? If authorities in Xinjiang can punish a director simply because they suspect him of making a film, who else is in danger of being added to the “punishment list”? Today it might be those filming natural scenery; tomorrow, bloggers shooting travel videos; and the day after that, independent content creators documenting their hometown customs.

Underlying this superficially serious (but patently absurd) law-enforcement logic is a deliberate blurring of boundaries, a hyper-vigilant stance against creative freedom, and above all, a self-imposed and never-ending expansion of administrative authority.

Administrative Overreach

Ultimately, once the boundaries of authority become blurred, the "comfort zone" of authority will continue to expand, while individuals and creators subject to the authority of the law will find their freedom increasingly restricted.

Lurking behind such absurd punishment is the phenomenon of dwindling creative freedom. Punishing creators with law-enforcement methods based on "cross-provincial suspicion" not only harms specific individuals, but also damages the entire cultural ecosystem. Because now, when creators raise their cameras, they will hesitate and wonder, "Will doing this cause me to be fined by some faraway province?"

Artistic creation requires an atmosphere of freedom and tolerance. But if authority expands to such a point that it becomes completely arbitrary, how—in such an environment—can we even talk about cultural development or outstanding works of art? Even more ironically, given the current emphasis on "cultural confidence," by punishing filmmakers in this way, authorities are actively stunting artistic creativity. This has prompted many to lament, "Xinjiang didn’t just punish a director; it punished artistic creation itself."

Film a movie in Hunan, and get fined by Xinjiang. It may sound utterly ridiculous, but it belies a serious problem: our ever-shrinking space for artistic freedom. If this nonsense continues, I fear that the next people punished for "illegal filmmaking" will be you, and me, and everyone we know who has ever used a camera or a mobile phone. [Chinese]

The frequently self-congratulatory “315 Gala” has long been accused of targeting low-hanging fruit, ignoring China’s glaring lack of consumer-product oversight, and naming and shaming only the most egregious offenders. One WeChat article, “Could Our Standards Possibly Fall Any Lower?,” complained that amidst a constant flood of product-safety scandals such as fake hot-pot ingredients, pig ears adulterated with glue, and dangerous fillings used in everything from sanitary pads to down jackets, March 15 Consumer Rights Day seems like nothing more than “a drop in the ocean.” A leaked censorship directive from 2018 reveals how Chinese news outlets, including state media, are encouraged to trumpet the successes of the “315 Gala,” particularly when the targets are foreign companies behaving badly. While a recent opinion piece in the China Daily acknowledged that “consumer rights protection should be a continuous effort, not just reliant on an annual gala that names and shames,” its main argument was that improving consumer rights protection is essential to stimulating consumer spending to shore up a flagging economy. Perhaps not coincidentally, on March 15 Chinese financial regulators also launched a crackdown on “rumors and fake news” about the stock market. According to the Securities Times, regulators plan to “hit early, hit hard, and hit at the heart" of the issue.

There is also some censorship of online discussion and comments critical of the 315 Gala. In one now-deleted comment, Weibo user 渝剑飘尘三代 (Yú Jiàn piāochén sāndài) highlighted the profound disconnect between the many public- and product-safety scandals and the insistence by the Chinese Ministry of Foreign Affairs that China remains one of the safest places in the world:

Food is unsafe, cafeterias are unsafe,
edible oil is unsafe, shopkeepers’ property is unsafe,
students’ lives are unsafe, our personal data is unsafe,
the elderly are unsafe, women are unsafe,
even sanitary napkins are unsafe.
—But the Ministry of Foreign Affairs says: “China is globally recognized as one of the safest countries in the world!” [Chinese]

CDT Chinese editors have archived five articles and essays about 2025’s Consumer Rights Day. The first, from WeChat blogger Xiang Dongliang, focuses on how lax supervision facilitates the sale of counterfeit and substandard goods (often classified as “white-label” or “bulk-sale” products) on Chinese e-commerce platforms. “Destroying one such ‘den’ might throw a scare into an industry and bring about a temporary pause,” the author writes, “but if the root cause—e-commerce platforms looking the other way and allowing counterfeit or shoddy “white-label” products to flood their sites—is not eliminated, then next year and the year after that will see yet another tainted industry, yet another dark scandal brought to light.” A lengthy article from WeChat public account “Uncle Lei Writes Stories” mainly discusses quality problems with sanitary pads and other products. The author praises e-commerce site JD.com for paying attention to quality control, but complains that other platforms neglect their responsibilities to consumers and are afflicted by brutal price competition that incentivizes them to keep advertising shoddy products from third-party sellers. A piece by WeChat public account Gen Z Lab also notes the ongoing problem of sanitary pad quality, in addition to a roundup of current issues and news events related to women, including the topic of domestic violence.

An article from the youth-focused WeChat public account “Fourth Ring Road Youth” highlights a viral exposé about the reuse of food scraps at certain franchise locations of the vast fast-food chain Yang Mingyu’s Braised Chicken with Rice. After some restaurant employees told a Beijing News investigative journalist that they collected food scraps at the end of the day, mixed them together, and reused them the following morning, the journalist reminded readers “not to order takeout before 11:00 a.m.” The story horrified netizens and it became a trending topic online.

An article from WeChat public account QUEERTAIK异见 described a consumer-rights-themed March 15 broadcast from Jiangsu Radio and Television and Lizhi News that called on certain language learning apps to ban LGBTQ+ content because it was “incorrect.” Some of the so-called "incorrect" English-language examples mentioned on the broadcast included the word “lesbian” and the sentence “My aunt has a wife.” Incredulous netizens accused the show of “trying to erase the existence of gender minorities” and heaped scorn on the broadcasters:

"Considering all of the TV shows I’ve watched about straight men and women falling in love, how come I haven’t become straight yet?"

“Do they think just reading the word ‘lesbian’ is going to make people gay?”

"Cartoons show Prince Charming kissing Snow White, but it’s not like after watching them, kids run around the next day randomly smooching people!” [Chinese]

Last month’s Chinese live-fire naval drills, while technically acceptable under international maritime law, took the Australian government and military by surprise, necessitated the rerouting of nearly 50 airline flights, and highlighted the weakness of Australian naval preparedness. Canberra’s new plan, reported last week, to arm Australian soldiers with anti-ship missiles and advanced-targeting radar systems seems likely to fuel even more online saber-rattling by expansionist-minded Chinese nationalists.

A recent question posted to the Q&A site Zhihu (“Why is everyone talking about ‘seizing’ Australia?”) elicited spirited debate on the topic, and inspired a number of articles and essays, at least one of which has since been censored. In a post titled "Why Was an Article Opposing a War of Aggression Deleted?," Wu Xingchuan from the WeChat public account “Dad Talks Science” (老爸讲科学, Lǎobà jiǎng kēxué) shared a notice from platform censors informing him that his article about the Zhihu question had been deleted. Wu reposted his censored article in full, prefaced by the following query: “I would like to ask the webmaster, by voicing opposition to war, which country’s laws did I break? Which company’s platform regulations did I violate? Or is the webmaster hoping to propagate values ​​that lead in another direction? I invite readers to give their opinions.”

CDT editors have also archived two articles, both of which are still available online, critical of those advocating a war of aggression against Australia. The first, from WeChat public account Zhang Beihai’s Natural Selection (章北海的自然选择, Zhāng Běihǎi de zìrán xuǎnzé) begins with the title "They’re Fantasizing Again, This Time About ‘Seizing’ Australia…" The author strongly criticizes online nationalists for recklessly advocating that Chinese People’s Liberation Army troops be put in harm’s way; likens those eager to get their hands on Australia’s iron ore to the Japanese Imperial Army’s resource-extraction policies in Manchuria; and features anti-imperialist, anti-expansionary quotes from former Chinese leaders Mao Zedong and Deng Xiaoping.

The second article, by current-events and science blogger Xiang Dongliang (of the WeChat public account “Constructive Suggestions”), takes a more satirical tone: “Well, This Seems Promising—We’re Actually Considering ‘Nabbing’ Australia!” In it, Xiang expresses utter shock that some of his compatriots could seriously advocate a military takeover of Australia, of all places. The article is translated in full, below:

Perhaps it’s due to a lack of boldness or imagination on my part, but for whatever reason, never in my life have I entertained a scenario in which China would dispatch troops to capture Australia.

Nor did I expect that some of my compatriots, brimming with confidence and grandiose ambition, would be imagining—and even mapping out—the geopolitical landscape that might follow our annexation of Australia.

A screenshot of one Zhihu user’s response to the question “Why is everyone talking about ‘seizing’ Australia?” received 11,000 likes and 1,295 comments. In comparing the pros and cons of invading Australia vs. invading Taiwan, the author notes that while Australia and Taiwan have similarly sized populations, Australia has a much larger land mass. Since both invasions would provoke harsh, across-the-board financial sanctions, reasons the author, it makes more sense to invade Australia, thus seizing more land and mineral resources, and eliminating one of the “enemy nations” that might impose economic sanctions on China. “If you don’t take what god offers you, you will suffer the consequences,” concludes the author. “If China doesn’t occupy [Australia], then Indonesia or some other country will, and China really will be ‘ambushed on all sides.’ Therefore, China must pour all of its efforts into building ships and then wait for the right opportunity!”

The thing that has most shaken my worldview in recent years is the appearance of that specific phrase "seize Australia," and the fact that these posts are still being widely disseminated on the internet.

Some critical threshold has been crossed.

Prior to this, some claimed that China’s economy had overtaken the U.S. economy, and that a monthly wage of 3,000 yuan provided a higher standard of living than a monthly wage of $2,000 U.S. dollars.

Prior to this, some claimed that the rabbit’s [China’s] fighter jets were far superior to the eagle’s [the U.S.’s] fighter jets, and that this would deter [the Americans] from “behaving rashly” in the event of a conflict over Taiwan.

Prior to this, some advocated “crushing” Japan and “making vassal states” of Vietnam and the Philippines.

Pretty arrogant stuff, but still, it stayed within certain limits.

On the one hand, these arrogant pronouncements were essentially limited to trash-talking, and were targeted at traditional "nemeses” such as the U.S., Japan, Britain, and France—countries against whom China holds historical grudges or with whom it is currently embroiled in disputes.

On the other hand, the claims being advocated were confined to the realm of "taking back territory and/or status that was once ours."

But Australia is a different case entirely.

Although it is considered a member of the “Five Eyes” and has experienced periodic frictions with China, Australia is nowhere near the top of the "nemeses” list. Moreover, Australia and China have no current territorial disputes, nor any history of competing or overlapping territorial claims—and they’re not even neighboring countries.

As illustrated by the screenshot above, some people’s support for seizing Australia is predicated entirely on dreams of territorial expansion, and the shockingly arrogant assumption that "taking Australia would be as easy as taking candy from a baby."

Here are two key takeaways about this assault on my worldview:

First, years of accumulated “ahead of the curve” propaganda and education appear to have coalesced into an alarming level of nationalist sentiment. It’s truly something fierce.

Second, the Russian-Ukrainian war has had such a profound impact on the Chinese mindset that many Chinese no longer feel the need to conceal expansionist aims, and unabashedly advocate putting them into practice. This is truly something I never expected.

I have nothing positive to say on this topic, nor any constructive suggestions. I simply wanted to share with all of you the immense shock I felt.

Popular sentiment really has shifted.

My heartfelt prayer, as a humble science blogger: May Buddha bless and protect us. [Chinese]

While Xiang highlights Russia’s invasion of Ukraine as an emboldening precedent, there are other recent developments from which Chinese nationalists might also have drawn inspiration.