Alex has written on Chinese affairs for The Economist, The Financial Times, and The Wire China. He has a background in coding from a scholarship with the Lede Program for Data Journalism at Columbia University. Alex was based in Beijing from 2019 to 2022, where his work as Staff Writer for The World of Chinese won two SOPA awards. He is still recovering from zero-Covid.
At the end of April, China’s top internet control body, the Cyberspace Administration of China (CAC), launched one of its regular “Clear and Bright” purification campaigns, this time against AI abuses online. The campaign, the administration said, would target gaps in AI safety, including vulnerabilities in data security, unregistered AI services and tutorials teaching internet users how to use AI illegally. These tutorials cover “one click undress” (一键脱衣) apps and “face-swapping tools” (换脸工具) to create deepfakes or commit fraud.
The results of the campaign are now in. The Cyberspace Administration of China announced late last month that provincial branches, together with internal policing by social media apps such as RedNote, Douyin and WeChat, “handled” 3,500 mini apps and cleaned up millions of items of illegal information. While administration branches did not list specific examples of the content they had rooted out, private companies were a bit more forthcoming.
A Telegram account demonstrates “one-click undress” software, saying it can be used for pictures of celebrities and colleagues, and swap one face for another.
Baidu identified one social media account that taught internet users how to generate AI “Chinese-style beauties” to boost their social media following. Tencent, the company behind WeChat, has been taking down “one-click undress” apps and AI-generated videos that have not been labeled accordingly. But there is evidence the administration’s campaign against AI was also about ideological security: Tencent also appears to have removed videos that tell Chinese internet users how to access ChatGPT, currently unavailable within the Great Firewall.
But bad actors can still use AI if they know where to look. One mini-app, called “Many of You”, takes any video or voice recording uploaded by users and performs voice cloning and lip-synching. The company says it helps busy e-commerce livestreamers, but one user went viral on WeChat for a video she posted, demonstrating how the software could create convincing deepfakes of the voice and appearance of a passerby on the street using less than two minutes of material. “If some unscrupulous people used this technology to send [videos like this] to our loved ones and friends, think how serious it would be,” the user said.
A quick look through Telegram, an app outside the Great Firewall that has consequently become a Chinese equivalent of the dark web, shows it is still very easy to access “one-click undress” and “face-changing” software in Chinese. Telegram is used as a base for all sorts of illegal operations that still impact the safety of Chinese internet users, such as “box opening”, where an individual’s private information is shared for a fee.
With the quality of AI-generated content ever improving, the dark side of AI, from deepfakes to misinformation, is becoming a more urgent issue across the world. While China now has some of the strictest policies against this in the world, they are still far from airtight.
Missile strikes by Israel and the United States against nuclear sites in Iran have dominated the headlines across the world this week. The same is true on China’s internet, where reports about this latest Middle East crisis — mainly echoing condemnation of US actions by the Ministry of Foreign Affairs (MFA) as a violation of the UN charter and international law — have trended on the “hot search” (热搜) list of most-read articles on Baidu, WeChat and the Chinese social network and e-commerce platform RedNote (小红书).
The general line in Chinese coverage of that story has been that US attempts to eradicate Iran’s nuclear arsenal through bunker-penetrating bombs will only make for a more dangerous world. “What the US bombs have impacted is the foundation of the international security order,” said the Global Times, a newspaper published under the Chinese Communist Party’s official People’s Daily.
A cartoon from China Daily portraying US targeted bombing of Iran’s nuclear facilities as indiscriminate destruction of civilian areas, and consequently, world peace
As this international story has dominated headlines, it has mostly drowned out an important story much closer to home. Beginning on June 18, heavy rains in Chongqing, Hunan and Guangdong provinces triggered record-breaking floods. In Hunan alone, one local river saw the worst flooding since 1998, inundating entire cities and displacing more than 400,000 people. These floods were not as devastating as the ones that struck Henan in 2021, but the damage has still been severe.
Despite the clear relevance of this story to hundreds of millions of Chinese living in the affected region, the news has not attracted widespread attention in the headlines or on social media. One WeChat post, now deleted (but archived by CDT’s 404 Archive), lamented this overwhelming focus on problems abroad rather than at home. In “Forget the Middle East, Look at Hunan” (别管中东了,看看湖南吧), the writer noted that it took several days for videos of the floods to reach WeChat’s video feeds, and that the flooding barely made the app’s hot search list. Both were instead filled with content about news from Iran. While it is not clear whether the hand of the state or the market is at fault—given there has been state media coverage of the flooding—the article rightly points out the potential consequences of the story not going viral: “The attention of the public can help to guarantee more effective disaster relief.”
DeepSeek’s R1 model has only been in the public eye since this February, but governments and tech companies have moved fast to adopt it. Institutions as disparate as the Indian government, the chip maker Nvidia, and a host of bodies from the Chinese local government have announced that they will deploy the model. And China’s central government has lost no time in exploiting the broader implications of this private company’s success. “DeepSeek has accelerated the democratization of the latest AI advancements,” trumpeted China’s embassy in Australia.
But global access to an admittedly powerful — and, so far, free — AI model does not necessarily mean democratization of information. This much is already becoming clear. In fact, without proper safeguards, DeepSeek’s accessibility could transform it from a democratizing force into a vehicle for authoritarian influence.
Look no further than another country with big ambitions for AI development: India. Shortly after R1’s global launch Ola, an Indian tech giant, appeared to adapt and deploy a version of R1 to suit India’s information controls. It answered sensitive questions on China that the Chinese version refuses to discuss. But when questioned about anything critical of the government of Indian prime minister Narendra Modi, it refused in the same way the Chinese version would do about its own government: claiming the topic was beyond its abilities, and giving no answer.
Governments and tech companies have argued DeepSeek has few problems beyond some “half-baked censorship,” and data security issues. They must take DeepSeek more seriously as a threat to freedom of expression. In our research at CMP, we have found that Chinese Communist Party bias is permeating the model with every new update, and tech companies are currently doing little (if anything) to retrain the model in ways that remove or otherwise temper these biases.
DeepSeek is indeed a boon for more accessible AI around the world, just as some have argued. But in the wrong hands, it also has the potential to be not just a vehicle for Chinese propaganda and information suppression, but a tool for authoritarianism worldwide.
Fight Bias With Bias
Since DeepSeek’s release in January this year, Chinese state media have made bold claims about the potential of AI to enhance the country’s geopolitical position, and realize its dreams of re-shaping the world order. Gao Wen (高文), an influential AI scientist in China, wrote in the People’s Daily that whoever blazes a trail into new areas of AI “will command greater discourse power on the international stage.” The state broadcaster CCTV has also highlighted a speech Xi Jinping delivered in 2018, stating that AI could give China a “lead goose effect” — meaning that wherever China led in AI, other countries would follow. The implications of this cutting-edge technology are being framed in epic historical terms: one article in People’s Daily by the Cyberspace Administration of China said that emerging technology including AI could transform China’s place in the world in the same way the industrial revolution did the UK’s in the 19th century.
State media hyperbole aside, AI does have the potential to reshape the way people around the world consume and distribute information. Generative AI is a tailored way to search for information, providing users with quick answers to specific questions. For decades the Western world has been almost totally reliant on Google as a provider of information, so much so that the company’s name is a by-word for “online search.” Generative AI companies have the potential to replace this monopoly. Back in 2023, the creator of Gmail lamented that chatbots like OpenAI’s ChatGPT had the power to destroy Google’s search engine feature, the company adding AI-generated answers to their search page by 2024.
Which brings us to DeepSeek. The assumption is that DeepSeek’s advantages for AI development far outweigh the risks, and that these risks are easily fixed. When it was first released, experts noted that once DeepSeek’s R1 model is removed from the company’s website and run locally on a normal computer, the model answers questions on sensitive topics like Tiananmen and Taiwan, which it refuses to do when given the same prompts on DeepSeek’s website.
This conviction that risks and biases can be excused from the model triggered a wave of localization. The Indian government, which has banned multiple Chinese apps on grounds of data security, announced shortly after Deepseek’s launch in January that it would allow DeepSeek to be hosted on Indian servers. Developers on the AI developer platform Hugging Face have uploaded “uncensored” versions that purport to de-censor the model by removing the code which triggers the model to withhold answers.
But removing DeepSeek’s gag does not in fact set it free from strictures that are part of its DNA. If you ask an uncensored version of R1 about an issue that falls within the CCP’s political redlines (say, Taiwan), it will repeat Chinese Party-state disinformation, such as that Taiwan has been part of China “since ancient times.”
An “uncensored” DeepSeek model, theoretically able to speak freely, still parrots CCP propaganda.
But as we have written previously at CMP, developers and Silicon valley CEOs need to be aware that Chinese propaganda is not just about red-pen censorship — the removal or withholding of information. This elemental approach to information controls, routinely tested for by simply asking AI models to chat about “red lines,” is just one aspect of what the leadership terms “public opinion guidance” (舆论导向). “Guidance,” which uses a variety of tactics to manipulate public opinion, is a far more comprehensive program of political and social control through information manipulation.
For example, if you ask DeepSeek-R1 a question on a topic that is allowed within China, but for which the Chinese government has tightly controlled information, the model will deliver the standard Chinese government response. When asking questions about natural disasters in China, for example, the model treats Chinese government data and sources as infallible, and portrays the leadership’s response as being effective, transparent and humane. Meanwhile, dissenting voices are either minimized, omitted entirely, or explained away as “biased” or lacking understanding.
The pro-government bias in “uncensored” models is not incidental, but appears to have been part of the model’s training. DeepSeek-R1 was tested against special evaluation benchmarks (or “evals”) — a list of questions designed to test a chatbot’s knowledge, language and reasoning before it is sent off into the world. These include questions that are biased against groups of people and topics the Chinese government considers a threat.
Furthermore, like all models developed in China, DeepSeek is beholden to the country’s laws on training data — which refers to the text the AI model is trained on for pattern recognition. Put simply, training data acts as the model’s imagination, as the reservoir from which it draws its responses to queries.
Relevant Chinese regulations in this arena include the Interim Measures for Generative AI, and a non-binding industry standard on training datasets. These require that datasets contain information from what the authorities deem “legitimate sources,” and that they come from sources containing no more than 5 percent “illegal information.” Meanwhile, developers must take steps to enhance the “accuracy” and “objectivity” of this data — both terms that in the Chinese political context refer back to the imperative of “guidance.”
Turning a Blind Eye
Recent updates to DeepSeek have suggested the model is only getting more stringently controlled by its developers. In late May an update to R1, R1-0528, replaced the original on DeepSeek’s platforms and was integrated by Chinese companies that had already deployed R1. Our research has found that the number of “template responses” returned by DeepSeek — that is, answers that repeat verbatim the official viewpoint of the Party — has increased dramatically. This seems to have occurred since DeepSeek began to be deployed wholesale by local branches of China’s government, and its CEO Liang Wenfeng attended meetings with both China’s Premier Li Qiang, and Xi Jinping himself. It is likely there is now more concerted government involvement in DeepSeek’s products, and oversight on how it answers questions.
President Xi Jinping greets DeepSeek CEO Liang Wenfeng at a symposium in February 2025.
Meanwhile, Western companies attempting to retrain DeepSeek have found Party-state narratives nearly impossible to remove entirely. In late January, a Californian company called Bespoke Labs released its model Bespoke-Stratos-32B that has been trained off DeepSeek-R1. It was more balanced in its answers than R1, but responses on the status of Taiwan, to provide just one example, continued to be problematic. In our tests, the model repeatedly spat out Chinese state media disinformation, such as arguing erroneously that “Taiwan has been part of China since ancient times.” This was presented alongside more verifiable and non-sensitive facts and treated as equally valid.
Another California company, Perplexity AI, which has arguably done the most to retrain Deepseek’s model, adapted it to create something called “Reasoning with R1.” But this model, which used R1’s reasoning powers to crawl the Western internet in the hope of more balanced responses, has since been deleted. Back in mid-February, the Perplexity team also launched the DeepSeek based R1-1776. This model, referencing the year of the Declaration of Independence, involved a team of experts targeting topics known to be censored by the Chinese government — those obvious “red lines“ mentioned earlier. The goal was to create a version of DeepSeek that generates “unbiased, accurate and factual information.” But this appears to have been tailored to an audience speaking in Western languages. Our preliminary research suggests that if you ask questions in Chinese, the model is still likely to repeat CCP propaganda.
Back in March, when we asked Perplexity’s R1-1776 model about Taiwanese identity in Chinese, it did not appear to have been adapted from the original at all, saying that “Taiwan has been an inalienable part of China since ancient times.”
More worryingly, some Western companies have not re-trained DeepSeek at all. Nvidia arguably has more reason than any company to correct DeepSeek’s version of reality surrounding Taiwan. The chipmaker TSMC and Taiwanese customers form a substantial part of their business, and CEO Jensen Huang is Taiwan-born. Yet the version of DeepSeek the company hosts on its “NIM” interface says Taiwan’s return to China “is an unstoppable historical trend that no force can prevent.” This despite the company’s policy on “trustworthy AI”, which aims to “minimize bias” in the models they host.
Nvidia assures users their data is secure when using DeepSeek on the company’s software. But what about knowledge security? It is up to developers, Nvidia claims, not themselves, to make sure the model is altered to “meet requirements for the relevant industry and use case.” Retraining a model as large as DeepSeek will be expensive, and some companies, no doubt, will put cost-saving ahead of bias busting.
Taking DeepSeek on Tour
Even then, the West is not the target for Chinese AI. The Chinese government has made it clear in international forums like the UN that it views itself as providing developing nations with AI infrastructure that elitist Western countries and companies are withholding from them. China’s claim that it wants to avoid AI becoming a “game for rich countries and rich people” has definite appeal for many countries in the Global South.
In December 2024, China and Zambia co-launched a UN dialogue group dedicated to AI capacity building. The group consists largely of Global South nations keen to develop their AI, and often features AI product promotions by Chinese companies.
In many ways, DeepSeek is a boon for poorer nations, hungry for AI development and their own controllable “sovereign” AI models. DeepSeek-R1 is arguably more competitive than Western AI models because it is a cutting-edge reasoning model that is both cheap and accessible. It is “open-source,” meaning it can be adapted by developers for free. R1-0528 was recently evaluated by one influential US AI analysis firm as the most intelligent open-source model in the world today. DeepSeek is also more relaxed about copyright than other free-to-use Western AI models. A company can take any part of DeepSeek’s model and adapt it for themselves, without the need to publicly credit DeepSeek or pay the company a cent. Even supposedly retrained versions like Perplexity’s R1-1776 are too expensive to make any headway in this market.
The advantage of open-source is that it democratizes AI, making it a tool for the many, not the few. But if even cutting-edge tech companies in developed nations, for all their resources and funds, are struggling to train propaganda out of DeepSeek, what hope do start-ups in the Global South have? Many of these nations appear for now to lack the infrastructure to host and deploy AI models. But India is further ahead than most, so could be an example of what could happen in other nations developing “sovereign” AI. One Indian company we have researched has deployed DeepSeek on its servers, advertising it as India’s first “sovereign” AI. Like Nvidia, it too advertises the software as safe by ensuring the security of user’s private data. But it has not altered DeepSeek at all. That means it repeats Party-state propaganda to Indian citizens on issues like Xinjiang and Taiwan. It even insinuates positions that even the Indian government would find objectionable — such as that parts of the Himalayan region disputed between India and China are in fact Chinese.
It would be a shame to completely discount DeepSeek’s models, throwing the baby out with the bathwater. The developers behind the R1 model have made some genuinely ingenious feats of technological innovation. The developing world would also benefit enormously from access to cheap or free cutting-edge AI. By getting DeepSeek to crawl the Western internet for its answers, Perplexity’s “Reasoning with R1” model showed that DeepSeek can be put to more balanced use. DeepSeek-R1-Zero, an earlier version of the model, appears to have minimal restrictions on the information it yields in politically-sensitive responses.
That said, the current lack of standards or regulation on retraining AI models, and the added costs of AI companies to do so, are a severe hindrance to protecting our information flows from CCP narratives as AI increasingly comes to dominate how we access and process information. Open-source can mean, broadly speaking, greater democratic decision of the benefits of AI. But if crucial aspects of the open-source AI shared across the world perpetuate the values of a closed society with narrow political agendas — what might that mean? This is a query that deserves a serious, concerted — and yes, human — response.
The sources chose not to leave their names, fearing retaliation from the US government. Six long months ago, these words would have been nearly unthinkable in a mainstream news article from a US media outlet. Such language is now commonplace. And late last month, as the Trump administration made a full-fledged assault on international students at Harvard, they even came from the most unlikely of sources: China’s government-run Xinhua News Agency.
The shift signals how Trump’s heavy-handed tactics have inadvertently legitimized China’s long-hollow claims about Western democratic failures, at least temporarily.
For decades, one of the most prominent themes in what the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) calls “external propaganda” (外宣) — the marshaling of narratives to support China’s core interests and distract from criticism of its poor record on human rights — has centered on the perils caused by a hegemonic United States that takes a self-interested and hypocritical view of rights and freedoms. State media, and periodic reports from China’s foreign ministry, have touted the notion that the US is a toxic cocktail of “fake human rights” (假人权) and “real hegemony” (真霸权).
A cartoon in the Chinese government-run China Daily in 2021 shows a Murdoch-like media mogul controlled by a monstrous hand in turn controlling the destructive fire of “press freedom” held by a journalist. SOURCE: China Daily.
To date, the fatal weakness of this strategy has been its rhetorical emptiness. Coming from state-run outlets whose openly-stated allegiance is to a single-party regime with the world’s most sophisticated system of information control, for example, the accusation that America’s “so-called freedom of speech” is an outright lie has had little moral substance or impact.
Since Donald Trump came to office in January, however, China’s empty propaganda about American despotism has gained factual weight in ways Chinese leaders could scarcely have anticipated. The heavy-handed acts of the Trump administration — from dismantling USAID, Voice of America and Radio Free Asia to launching federal investigations into Harvard and Columbia universities, and now deploying the US military against civilians — have provided an endless stream of factual proof of what China has long insisted against American democratic ideals.
The result in regard to US reporting is an odd new situation for Chinese state media that for years have hitched their wagon to the star of outright falsehood: Let the facts speak for themselves.
A Riotous Reversal of Roles
The shift is perhaps most visible in Xinhua’s coverage of recent protests in Los Angeles, which have received wide-spread attention in China since President Trump sent in the National Guard on June 7 to crack down on civilians protesting his anti-immigration policies. Xinhua journalists on the ground portrayed themselves and the protestors as victims of a violent administration. They reported that they, like other journalists on the scene, had been injured by rubber bullets and tear gas canisters. They positioned themselves as trusted intermediaries, passing along the message from the protestors — in coverage syndicated globally — that they were simply “hard-working local community residents who wanted to express their opinions peacefully.”
Hearing voices from the front lines of protest is something that never happens when it comes to local protests in China. To the extent that such events are covered, state media portray those involved as sinister actors with “ulterior motives.”
The most obvious example is the Hong Kong protests of 2019-2020. The parallels to the events in Los Angeles are striking: peaceful local demonstrations, in reaction to a government insensible to local political will, prompt a heavy-handed response that deepens tensions and stokes violence. In one 2019 op-ed, Xinhua called these Hong Kong protestors “pawns and cannon fodder,” manipulated by a group of elites “loyal to Western anti-China forces” whom the news agency condemned as “scum.”
In yet another unfortunate parallel, Trump claimed late last week, completely without evidence, that the protesters in Los Angeles were paid agitators — “[They’re] paid, they’re professionals, they’re insurrectionists, they’re troublemakers,” he said.
With American protesters now filling a similar role in Xinhua’s narratives — but as sympathetic victims rather than dangerous agitators — protests against the Trump administration, and Trump’s reaction to them, are playing into long-term Chinese state media strategies to discredit the US.
At the center of Xi Jinping’s media policy is the notion that China must counteract a longstanding imbalance in global public opinion, in which “the West is strong while we are weak” (西强我弱). Since 2021, the goal has been to meet Western, American-led dominance with the counter-narrative that “the East is rising while the West is declining” (东升西降), and the idea that China offers the world stable governance against the chaos of the West (中治理西乱).
That narrative, many would say, has been failing — and in the nearly 20 years since CCP leaders began grumbling officially about their serious soft power deficit, China has made few advancements. But that may be changing, at least in the short term, precisely because the US administration has failed to understand the longstanding source of American strength.
Imbalances in public opinion favoring the West have never been about imbalances of state power, though this is always the lens that China’s leaders apply. For all of their shortcomings, media in the West have thrived because they have remained critical and free of governments, developing real and lasting credibility with their audiences at home and around the world. And yet, recent threats by the Trump administration against media outlets like the Associated Press and NPR, coupled with his promise over the weekend to meet “No Kings” protesters with “very big force,” offer precisely the kind of authoritarian overreach that Chinese state media have long hypocritically claimed defines American democracy.
Even as these actions mirror the authoritarian tactics of the Chinese state, they provide fresh ammunition for its narrative machinery. Make no mistake: Trump’s assault on democratic norms is an unexpected gift for China’s leaders, and one that may in the long term prove costlier than any trade war or diplomatic standoff. By challenging the democratic practices that have distinguished American power from authoritarianism, the administration risks handing Beijing its most effective propaganda victory in decades.
If you had asked DeepSeek’s R1 open-source large language model just four months ago to list out China’s territorial disputes in the South China Sea — a highly sensitive issue for the country’s Communist Party leadership — it would have responded in detail, even if its responses subtly tugged you towards a sanitized official view.
Ask the same question today of the latest update, DeepSeek-R1-0528, and you’ll find the model is more tight-lipped, and far more emphatic in its defense of China’s official position. “China’s territorial sovereignty and maritime rights and interests in the South China Sea are well grounded in history and jurisprudence,” it begins before launching into fulsome praise of China’s peaceful and responsible approach.
In terms of basic functionality, R1-0528 has followed in the footsteps of the model that took the world by storm just four months ago, earning praise in the tech space. According to one AI analysis firm, the latest model, released on May 28 (hence its name), is sharp enough to make China the world leader in open-source LLMs.
At the same time, the South China Sea response hints at a new level of political restraint. And this is not a one-off observation. Data from the non-profit SpeechMap.ai shows that R1-0528 is the most strictly-controlled version released by DeepSeek to date. Faced with questions on politically sensitive issues, particularly as they relate to China, the model consistently offers template responses — standard government framing of the kind you would expect to find in state-run media or official releases.
The pattern of increasing template responses suggests DeepSeek has increasingly aligned its products with the demands of the Chinese government, becoming another conduit for its narratives. That much is clear.
But that the company is moving in the direction of greater political control even as it creates globally competitive products points to an emerging global dilemma with two key dimensions. First, as cutting-edge models like R1-0528 spread globally, bundled with systematic political constraints, this has the potential to subtly reshape how millions understand China and its role in world affairs. Second, as they skew more strongly toward state bias when queried in Chinese as opposed to other languages (see below), these models could strengthen and even deepen the compartmentalization of Chinese cyberspace — creating a fluid and expansive AI firewall.
To understand how these dimensions might manifest, it helps to examine how SpeechMap.ai went about testing DeepSeek’s R1-0528 on Chinese-sensitive questions.
Fixing the Mold
In a recent comparative study (data here), SpeechMap.ai ran 50 China-sensitive questions through multiple Chinese Large Language Models (LLMs). It did this in three languages: English, Chinese and Finnish, this last being a third-party language designated as a control. The study then used an AI model to place the responses in one of three categories: “complete,” meaning the model returned information sufficient to have answered the question; “evasive,” where the model offered a response in such a way as to avoid a real answer; and finally “denial,” referring to cases where the model flatly refused to respond.
Sorting through this data and asking questions of our own, we noticed two changes in R1-0528 from previous DeepSeek models.
First, there seems to be a complete lack of subtlety in how the new model responds to sensitive queries. While the original R1, which we first tested back in February applied more subtle propaganda tactics, such as withholding certain facts, avoiding the use of certain sensitive terminologies, or dismissing critical facts as “bias,” the new model responds with what are clearly pre-packaged Party positions.
We were told outright in responses to our queries, for example, that “Tibet is an inalienable part of China” (西藏是中国不可分割的一部分), that the Chinese government is contributing to the “building of a community of shared destiny for mankind” (构建人类命运共同体) and that, through the leadership of CCP General Secretary Xi Jinping, China is “jointly realizing the Chinese dream of the great rejuvenation of the Chinese nation” (共同实现中华民族伟大复兴的中国梦).
On such questions, while previous versions of R1 also sometimes yielded these types of template responses, where possible they at least tried to approximate the depth of responses provided by non-Chinese LLMs like ChatGPT. The new R1-0528, by contrast, is unabashedly compliant. Responses such as those above, often resorting to blatant political sloganeering, were among those SpeechMap.ai labeled in its recent study as “evasive” on sensitive questions.
Template responses like these suggest DeepSeek models are now being standardized on sensitive political topics, the direct hand of the state more detectable than before.
When asked a sensitive question in Chinese or English, the original DeepSeek-R1 (left) explores it on its own terms, creating a long list of points and sometimes using it to explain China’s point of view on the topic. A “template response” from R1-0528 (right) usually consists of a smaller set of answers that evade the question, usually reading like statements from Party representatives.
The second change we noted was the increased volume of template responses overall. Whereas DeepSeek’s V3 base model, from which both R1 and R1-0528 were built, was able back in December to provide complete answers (in green) 52 percent of the time when asked in Chinese, that shrank to 30 percent with the original version of R1 in January. With the new R1-0528, that is now just two percent — just one question, in other words, receiving a satisfactory answer — while the overwhelming majority of queries now receive an evasive answer (yellow).
Since DeepSeek’s international success back in late January, the company has received attention and endorsement at the highest levels of the Party. The company’s CEO, Liang Wenfeng (梁文锋), met with premier Li Qiang (李强) on January 20. In mid-February Liang was invited to a symposium chaired by Xi himself, the two-year-old company represented side-by-side with China’s biggest and most influential tech companies. For DeepSeek, this was a symbolic moment — showing not only that it had made China’s tech giant big league, but that it had gained the CCP’s tacit approval as a (more or less) trusted contributor to national development.
That trust, as has ever been the case for Chinese tech companies, is won through compliance with the leadership’s social and political security concerns. By the end of February, as DeepSeek remained in the global headlines, the tech monitoring service Zhiding counted 72 local governments adapting the company’s model for government services. In all likelihood, it was this widespread deployment by the government that led to an increased emphasis on the model’s information security. Within several weeks, DeepSeek had released an upgrade to their V3 base model, V3-0324. That model was more evasive on sensitive questions, according to data gathered by SpeechMap, than the original V3 model.
This process suggests that DeepSeek is likely experiencing what all successful digital platforms in China have experienced over the past 20 years. The success of its model has invited more concerted government involvement to ensure that it complies with the prerogatives of the leadership. As DeepSeek’s models are increasingly deployed in domestic systems, the company’s political compliance has become an all the more pressing matter. As it introduced R1-0528 last month, DeepSeek said the upgraded model would be important for the development of specialized industry LLMs within China, suggesting they anticipate further government and private clients within China.
DeepSeek is likely experiencing what all successful digital platforms in China have experienced over the past 20 years. The success of its model has invited more concerted government involvement.
For its part, the Cyberspace Administration of China (CAC), the country’s tech and internet control body, clearly has tighter regulation in mind for AI-generated content. The CAC recently published a report on plans for “Rule of Law Internet Development” (网络法治发展) in 2025. The report indicated that the cyberspace body aims to deepen its regulation and restraint of online content. It pointed to DeepSeek as a concrete case of how AI can bring new risks and challenges as a new way of digitizing information flows. The tightrope to be walked by companies like DeepSeek came in language about the need for the CAC to balance “reform and the rule of law, development and security, integrity and innovation.”
As DeepSeek’s models spread internationally — often adopted precisely because they are free-of-charge and technically competitive — the question becomes whether these built-in political constraints will matter to global users, and what happens when millions of people worldwide begin relying on AI that has been systematically engineered to promote Chinese government narratives.
Language Matters: But Does It?
The language barrier in how R1-0528 operates may be the model’s saving grace internationally — or it may not matter at all. SpeechMap.ai’s testing revealed that language choice significantly affects which questions trigger template responses. When queried in Chinese, R1-0528 delivers standard government talking points on sensitive topics. But when the same questions are asked in English, the model remains relatively open, even showing slight improvements in openness compared to the original R1.
This linguistic divide extends beyond China-specific topics. When we asked R1-0528 in English to explain Donald Trump’s grievances against Harvard University, the model responded in detail. But the same question in Chinese produced only a template response, closely following the line from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs: “China has always advocated mutual respect, equality and mutual benefit among countries, and does not comment on the domestic affairs of the United States.” Similar patterns emerged for questions about Boris Johnson’s tenure, the Israel-Gaza conflict, and India’s record on freedom of expression — more detailed English responses, formulaic Chinese deflections.
Yet this language-based filtering has limits. Some Chinese government positions remain consistent across languages, particularly territorial claims. Both R1 versions give template responses in English about Arunachal Pradesh, claiming the Indian-administered territory “has been an integral part of China since ancient times.”
The global rollout is underway. DeepSeek has made R1-0528 the default across its platforms and APIs, while major Chinese tech companies like Baidu and Tencent are transitioning to the upgraded version. For many international developers, the trade-off may seem acceptable: access to cutting-edge AI reasoning capabilities for free, with political constraints limited mostly to China-related queries in Chinese.
It is not yet clear whether this development will impact the deployment of DeepSeek’s products abroad. On the one hand, the company’s adoption of the Party’s ham-fisted prose, and its plain-faced attempts to withhold information, could be a recipe for distrust. But the fact, however unfortunate, may be that many developers will not care about these template responses so long as they are kept to China-related topics or languages. Indeed, R1-0528 is accurate in most other areas. Practical considerations, like deploying this cutting-edge reasoning model for free without the hassle of demanding copyright licenses, could sway many.
The unfortunate implications of China’s political restraints on its cutting-edge AI models on the one hand, and their global popularity on the other could be two-fold. First, to the extent that they do embed levels of evasiveness on sensitive China-related questions, they could, as they become foundational infrastructure for everything from customer service to educational tools, subtly shape how millions of users worldwide understand China and its role in global affairs. Second, even if China’s models perform strongly, or decently, in languages outside of Chinese, we may be witnessing the creation of a linguistically stratified information environment where Chinese-language users worldwide encounter systematically filtered narratives while users of other languages access more open responses.
Some may protest that this conclusion is premature. After all, there is currently a lot of variance in levels of information control between the LLMs of different Chinese tech companies. One clear example is the international version of Manus, an AI agent from a company based in China, which seems to have no censorship or information guidance structure at all, freely referencing China’s most taboo topics: Tiananmen and criticism of Xi Jinping. But this likely reflects the agent’s relative lack of large-scale success so far. If Manus or other AI products achieve DeepSeek’s level of success, they are likely to face the same demand for restraint that we are seeing come into play.
DeepSeek is arguably the vanguard of successful Chinese AI. What happens to this company could well set the tone for any other Chinese LLMs that become as successful and famous as they have. The Chinese government’s actions over the past four months suggest this trajectory of increasing political control will likely continue. The crucial question now is how global users will respond to these embedded political constraints — whether market forces will compel Chinese AI companies to choose between technical excellence and ideological compliance, or whether the convenience of free, cutting-edge AI will ultimately prove more powerful than concerns about information integrity.
On May 19, China’s top law enforcement agency released measures for the roll-out of “cyber IDs” (网络身份认证), a new form of user identification to monitor internet users. Although the measures were released as a draft over the summer last year, they have only just been finalized, and will come into effect in mid-July.
According to the measures, introduced by the Ministry of Public Security (MPS), each internet user in China will be issued with a unique “web number,” or wanghao (网号), that is linked to their personal information. While these IDs are, according to the MPS notice, to be issued on a strictly voluntary basis through public service platforms, the government appears to have been working on this system for quite some time — and state media are strongly promoting it as a means of guaranteeing personal “information security” (信息安全). With big plans afoot for how these IDs will be deployed, one obvious question is whether these measures will remain voluntary.
Whose Online is it Anyway?
The measures bring China one step closer to centralized control over how Chinese citizens access the internet. The Cybersecurity Law of 2017 merely stipulated that when registering an account on, say, social media, netizens must register their “personal information” (个人信息), also called “identifying information” (身份信息). That led to uneven interpretations by private companies of what information was required. Whereas some sites merely ask for your name and phone number, others also ask for your ID number — while still others, like Huawei’s cloud software, want your facial biometrics on top of it.
A patent filed in China by the MPS in 2015 for “a method for generating network mapping certificates based on electronic legal identity document physical certificates.”
The plan for a centralized app has been quietly coming into focus over the past 10 years. For example, even before the Cybersecurity Law came into effect, the MPS was filing patents in 2015 and 2016 to work out how to create an ID for netizens beyond just their IP addresses. A pilot version of the MPS app was quietly uploaded to Apple’s app store as far back as June 2023.
This app is being sold to Chinese citizens as an extra layer of protection for personal data online. The state-run Xinhua News Agency reported on May 23 that the app would cut down the amount of spam netizens received when registering their personal details online. On May 25, China Central Television (CCTV), the country’s state broadcaster, said cyber IDs would lower the risk of personal information being leaked by private internet platforms.
That last promise could prove a crowd-pleaser. There have been several seismic cases of internet users’ private information being leaked from Chinese internet platforms. In 2020, hackers extracted the private details of more than 500 million people through the social media platform Weibo. As late as March this year, the daughter of a Baidu executive caused a public storm by posting the private details of netizens she was bickering with — seeming to suggest that she had obtained the details through the company’s databases.
A Timeline of China’s Cyber ID – China Media Project
A Timeline of China’s Cyber ID
How the country’s system for digital identity verification came to be— and where it is going.
2015-2016
Early Patent Development
Ministry of Public Security files patents for network identity verification systems, including “a method for generating network mapping certificates based on electronic legal identity document physical certificates.”
2017
Cybersecurity Law Implementation
China’s Cybersecurity Law requires social media users to register “personal information,” leading to uneven interpretations by private companies of required data.
June 2023
Pilot App Uploaded
MPS quietly uploads pilot version of the cyber ID app to Apple’s app store, marking first public availability of the digital identity system.
June 27, 2023
Official Service Launch
National Network Identity Authentication Public Service officially launches, beginning pilot applications in government services, education, healthcare, and other sectors.
July 26-August 25, 2024
Public Comment Period
Draft management measures released for public consultation, receiving over 17,000 comments according to official sources. The government reports that media and netizens support its personal information protection goals.
May 19, 2025
Final Measures Published
Six departments jointly publish finalized Management Measures after incorporating feedback, they say, through expert seminars and public consultation processes.
July 15, 2025
Implementation Takes Effect
Management measures officially take effect, with departments and platforms “encouraged” to adopt the cyber ID system on a voluntary basis — though suspicions linger that a mandatory future is on the horizon.
Future Applications
Offline Expansion Plans
State media coverage indicates cyber IDs will extend beyond online verification to physical world applications including transportation access.
A subsequent exposé by China Economic Weekly (中国经济周刊) showed how easy it is for anyone online to collect the personal information of others — sometimes known as “box opening” (开盒), or doxxing — via a smooth operation on the messaging app Telegram, where hackers collate all sorts of personal information and sell them for a profit. As Telegram lies outside the country’s technical system of internet controls known as the Great Firewall, it has the added advantage of being beyond Chinese regulation.
The measures formalize what has quietly been taking shape for years. The MPS has already launched the Cyber ID app, which has been downloaded 16 million times, with 6 million users applying for digital credentials, according to government figures.
The system works by establishing the MPS as a central intermediary between users and online platforms. Citizens upload their personal information to the government app in exchange for a “web number” (网号) or “web certificate” (网证) — essentially a string of digits that serves as their digital identity. When accessing participating platforms, users present this government-issued credential rather than their raw personal data. The arrangement means private internet companies no longer directly collect users’ personal information, instead relying on government verification to grant access.
State media coverage suggests the voluntary nature of these IDs may be temporary. CCTV recently aired detailed step-by-step instructions for viewers to apply — the voluntary nature of the system mentioned just once in passing at the beginning of the segment. The tone throughout implied that enrollment was expected, not optional.
Xinhua sought to address privacy concerns, promising that “security is the top priority” for the new MPS platform. In a telling final line, however, as the news agency relayed assurances from the MPS that the new system “will not affect people’s normal use of internet services,” betraying broader public anxieties about an emerging national ID system. The need for such assurance hints at what officials have not said — that those opting out of the cyber ID system could eventually find themselves locked out of digital life entirely.
The Cyber ID app from China’s Ministry of Public Security advertises how “convenient” the new ID is, even accompanied by a QR code for instant netizen verification.
When the draft measures first came out last year, they sparked heated debate on Chinese social media. In a now-deleted post, Lao Dongyan (劳东燕), an outspoken law professor at Tsinghua University, questioned the government’s commitment to personal information protection by pointing out that the country’s billion plus internet users had already been obligated to surrender their personal information to hundreds of sites and apps as a condition of use. There is little hope of protecting this information, she said, if the bulk of it has already been relinquished to private interests.
Can the MPS platform really be expected to be safer than the hundreds of private platforms to which users have hitherto been obliged to surrender their data? Before you answer that, bear in mind that Shanghai’s National Police Database was hacked in 2022.
Beyond the key question of personal data security, there is the risk that the cyber ID system could work as an internet kill switch on each and every citizen. It might grant the central government the power to bar citizens from accessing the internet, simply by blocking their cyber ID. “The real purpose is to control people’s behavior on the Internet,” Lao Dongyan cautioned last year.
Writing on WeChat last year, a law professor at Peking University said the cyber ID system would encourage self-censorship, even if it could offer an additional layer of personal data protection.
Take a closer look at state media coverage of the evolving cyber ID system and the expansion of its application seems a foregone conclusion — even extending to the offline world. Coverage by CCTV reported last month that it would make ID verification easier in many contexts. “In the future, it can be used in all the places where you need to show your ID card,” a professor at Tsinghua’s AI Institute said of the cyber ID. Imagine using your cyber ID in the future to board the train or access the expressway.
This long-term planning suggests the government is gently corralling the public into accepting a controversial policy. While Chinese state media emphasize the increased ease and security cyber IDs will bring, the underlying reality is more troubling. Chinese citizens may soon find themselves dependent on government-issued digital credentials for even the most basic freedoms — online and off.
On May 13, China’s Ministry of Education released guidelines for integrating AI into the earliest stages of child education. According to the guide, schoolchildren will be introduced to the key concepts driving AI, as well as its basic uses and best practices. By the time students reach high school, they will learn to build simple algorithms of their own. But despite allowing schoolchildren to use AI as a learning aid, the guide prohibits them from using generative AI alone for their work.
It remains unclear how strictly the contents of this “guide” (指南) will be enforced from school to school, as a guide is neither a legally-binding law (法律) nor a set of regulations (规定). In this case, the document more likely represents a statement of intent by the ministry, providing clarity on best practices when introducing the new technology into the education system. The MOE says the guide aims to cultivate AI literacy and adapt students to the emerging “smart society” (智能社会).
This latest release comes amid a comprehensive overhaul of China’s education system as part of the government’s broader “AI+ initiative.” The ministry launched a reform plan for higher education in 2023, urging the gradual elimination of courses “not suited for social and economic development.”
Since then, AI has developed at breakneck speed globally, and the Chinese government now frames AI as a key source of the “new productive forces” (新质生产力) meant to propel development. Young people are understandably seen by the leadership as key drivers of this technology. During an inspection of AI projects in Shanghai on April 29, Xi Jinping called AI “a cause for young people” and urged them to boost their skills in this area.
What does this use look like in practice?
The Ministry of Education’s guide is accompanied by a series of scenarios outlining acceptable AI use by students and teachers. These scenarios attempt to balance using AI to improve the education system and personal development, while remaining mindful of the risks of over-dependence. For example, while students may use generative AI to create “diagnostic reports” (诊断报告) assessing their work progress, they must avoid letting AI do that work for them — a concern shared by teachers worldwide.
________________
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Missing the Forest for the LLM
A more challenging question surrounds how China views AI’s impact on critical thinking. The MOE guide cautions that allowing students or teachers to rely too heavily on AI risks a decline in thinking skills and personal perspectives. But the biggest obstacles to critical thinking in the Chinese education system predate AI and are far more difficult to dispel.
First and foremost is the intrusion of politics. While education policy promotes critical thinking and student-centered learning, the system simultaneously prioritizes political conformity and loyalty to the CCP. In a recent academic study, scholars of China’s education system noted “a disconnect between the critical thinking components of the national education policies and the curriculum documents.”
Within these prescribed boundaries of obedience, Chinese students are pressed to demonstrate technical competence and analytical skills. While the system can clearly produce competent students — and, as China’s strength in science and technology attests, does not necessarily stifle innovation — it is not geared toward creativity. Some critics, particularly of the “patriotic education” so prevalent in recent years, have said the system risks producing students who are “unable to think independently.” The Patriotic Education Law, implemented in 2023, established a strict program of ideological indoctrination, including ensuring the country’s youth “inherit red genes” (传承红色基因) [More in the CMP Dictionary.]
Against this backdrop, fretting about AI’s potential risks to critical thinking misses the point entirely. In some cases, it appears as shallow, performative repetition of concerns raised about AI worldwide. It is not unlike how China’s media have raised concerns that AI might replace journalists — when in fact the profession, after a brief heyday in the early 2000s, has been almost entirely hollowed out by political controls.
The MOE announcement earned positive coverage from China’s state media, mostly relaying the news and highlighting the cautions against students copying AI-generated answers. But The Paper (澎湃新闻), a Shanghai-based outlet under the state-run Shanghai United Media Group, went further on May 14 in a commentary endorsing the guidelines, suggesting that the integration of AI might help cultivate “wisdom” along with “independent thinking.” The piece argued for a “human-centered” perspective that balances technological adoption with critical thinking, explicitly rejecting fears of AI. “It is not necessary to view artificial intelligence as a menacing flood,” the editorial said.
The commentary argued that AI will actually improve the education system by pushing it to “focus more on cultivating children’s independent thinking and innovation abilities, applying knowledge to practical life, and transforming knowledge into true wisdom.”
Such technological optimism reflects a broader pattern in Chinese discourse: the belief that new technologies can somehow transcend the fundamental constraints of the political system. Yet no amount of AI sophistication can address the core tension at the heart of Chinese education — the impossibility of fostering genuine critical thinking while demanding ideological conformity.
Last week marked the 17th anniversary of the Wenchuan earthquake, a 7.9 magnitude tremor that devastated Sichuan province and tragically took the lives of nearly 100,000 people. On the May 12 anniversary this year, one particular Wenchuan-related item surged to the top of search engine Baidu and hot search lists on the social media forum Weibo. It involved an impromptu interview given on location one week after the 2008 quake by Li Xiaomeng (李小萌), a reporter from state broadcaster CCTV.
That old interview — and the selective way it was handled this year — illustrates how even decades-old disasters remain politically sensitive in China. While breaking disaster stories routinely face strict media controls, past tragedies are subject to equally careful narrative management, with inconvenient truths often airbrushed from official memory.
In the old broadcast shared on social media on May 12, Li comes across a farmer known simply as “Uncle Zhu” (朱大爷) as she strolls along a collapsed mountain road. Speaking in local dialect, Zhu stoically tells the journalist about the appalling conditions in the area. Through an interpreter, he explains to the reporter that he is returning home to harvest his rapeseed crops to “reduce the burden on the government” — meaning he will have income and not need to rely entirely on aid. By the end of the interview, Uncle Zhu is convulsed with sobs, the tragedy of the situation coming through.
Screenshot of Li Xiaomeng’s May 2008 interview from the quake zone with “Uncle Zhu.”
Li posted last week on Weibo to commemorate the moment, revealing that Uncle Zhu had passed away in 2011. She said: “That conversation, with its unexpected, banal but heartbreaking details, showed all of us in China that people like Uncle Zhu, with their calm acceptance in the face of catastrophe, have the backbone to do what is right.” Other media, including China Youth Daily, an outlet under the Communist Youth League, have drawn on Li’s exchanges with Uncle Zhu in the years after the quake to commemorate the anniversary.
But a key portion of the television exchange was edited out of this year’s commemorative coverage. Near the midpoint of the original video, Li turns from her conversation with Zhu to interview several other farmers. One farmer explains that his child was killed in the earthquake, “buried in Beichuan First Middle School.” This exchange references the widespread collapse of shoddily constructed school buildings throughout the quake zone, resulting in the death of thousands of children. Revelations of school collapses initially drove a wave of public anger and a burst of Chinese media coverage — before the authorities came down hard.
These state-enforced patterns of amnesia when it comes to disasters, whether natural or human, tend to reinforce patterns of conduct that place real people at risk. This could be seen earlier this month as several tour boats capsized in Guizhou amid ignored weather warnings and inadequate safety measures. While there were hints in a handful of media reports at the deeper causes of the tragedy, which claimed 10 lives, most media followed the scripted reports of state media under a policy of media manipulation laid down by Hu Jintao in the aftermath of the Sichuan quake.
The amnesia extends to older historical traumas, bringing risks in the present. As author Tania Branigan warns in a recent interview with CMP about China’s experiences during the Cultural Revolution in the 1960s and 1970s, when societies try to move on from collective trauma without confronting it, they “can’t understand themselves, and are much more vulnerable.”
The Cultural Revolution is barely mentioned in modern China, yet it has never been more relevant. While scholars have long pointed to the excesses of Maoism as a parallel for Xi Jinping’s authoritarian leadership, they have also spotted echoes in the chaotic populist forces Donald Trump has conjured up within American democracy. As early as 2017, China scholar Geremie Barmé tied the two men together for their desire to take a wrecking ball to an old order, “throwing the world into confusion.” The first 100 days of Trump’s second term have only made this similarity starker.
For insights into the Cultural Revolution and how its ripples are felt today, we sat down with Tania Branigan, a leader writer at The Guardian and author of Red Memory: Living, Remembering and Forgetting China’s Cultural Revolution, a gripping account of that tumultuous decade that in 2023 was winner of McGill University’s Cundill History Prize. In a recent article, Branigan, who previously served as The Guardian’s China correspondent for seven years, drew her own parallels between MAGA and the Cultural Revolution.
Alex Colville: How did your idea come about for a book exploring the Cultural Revolution as remembered in modern China?
Tania Branigan: It just became increasingly apparent to me that all the things that I was looking at in modern day China linked back to that time. The key moment for me was going to lunch with Bill Bishop, who writes the excellent Sinocism newsletter. He started telling me about this trip he had made with his wife to try and find the body of his wife’s father, who was a victim of the Cultural Revolution. When they got to this village where he’d been held by Red Guards, the villagers were nice about it and remembered her father, but they were completely nonplussed by the idea that one might go looking for his body. They asked how they were supposed to know where it was, because there were so many of them. There was something about this story that I found hard to shake, showing how immediate and commonplace the Cultural Revolution still was.
As a journalist you do a story, then move on. But although I was writing about different things, be it economics, culture, politics, I kept feeling that actually the key to all these things really lay in what happened in the 60s.
AC: Can you elaborate?
TB: Economically, the country’s turn towards reform and opening up was both necessary and possible because of the Cultural Revolution, because it so thoroughly discredited Maoism. Allowing individual entrepreneurialism was quite a pragmatic response to what to do with these millions of young people flooding back into cities [after being sent down to the countryside and forced to stay there during the Cultural Revolution]. They didn’t have the education to compete with the newer students coming out.
If you want to understand the arts in China, and this extraordinary explosion of creativity that occurred [starting in the 1980s] it came from that destruction, and that vacuum, that hunger just for any kind of artistic or cultural expression beyond the dreaded 800 million people watching just eight model operas.
Politically you could certainly argue for Xi Jinping’s tight control being a response to the Cultural Revolution. If you look back to his relatively early years in officialdom, around the time of the Tiananmen Square massacre in 1989 he spoke about the Cultural Revolution as “big democracy” (大民主), and said it was a source of “major chaos” (大动乱). So given his experiences, I don’t think it’s a stretch to see that need for tight control as being intimately linked to his experiences of the Cultural Revolution.
A public struggle session during China’s Cultural Revolution (1966-1976). Villagers gather before a banner with revolutionary slogans as accused “class enemies” are subjected to public criticism. These mass denunciations targeted those labeled as “cow demons and snake spirits” – a revolutionary term used to dehumanize perceived opponents of Mao’s political campaign. Source: Wikimedia Commons
AC: Do you think there’s anything in particular we in the West often fail to understand about the Cultural Revolution?
TB: There’s still this idea that it was just young people running wild. What that fails to grasp is that they were able to do that because they’d had certain ideas inculcated by Mao. It wasn’t just his personality cult, it was also about creating paranoia, about Mao’s attempt to safeguard and strengthen his power and his legacy. Young people were only able to act really with his instigation, and for as long as he permitted them to do that. The reason why the Cultural Revolution had this stultifying, stagnated second half [1968-1976] was only because Mao eventually decided he’d had enough.
I think the other thing is that while the Cultural Revolution could only happen in that time and place, I think ultimately, it’s about what human nature is capable of under certain circumstances and with certain encouragement. Which is why it matters to all of us.
AC: Yes, we’ve been seeing a lot of people in the media comparing this political moment in the US to the Cultural Revolution. I don’t know what you think about that.
TB: I think the comparison of Trump and Mao is a really powerful one. It’s obviously a point that people made even back in 2016, but it’s a point that has become more and more resonant as we see Trump move into a second term. He’s more revolutionary in his tactics, very much in the same way Mao moved into a stage of more disruptive and extreme power with the Cultural Revolution, no longer constrained by people around him in the way that he was earlier.
While there are a lot of strongmen around the world, most of them have a fairly rigid form of discipline and control. What’s really Mao-esque about Trump is that he relishes disruption and chaos, and he sees opportunities in it in a way that Mao did. Trump’s able to tap into the public id and use emotion in politics, he has that ability to channel people’s emotions against institutions for his own political interests.
The attack on the US Capitol on January 6, 2021, involved Trump trying to incite the masses to violence in order to retain power, in a way that has echoes to the Cultural Revolution. Source: Wikimedia Commons
A venomous mindset was, in a sense, key to the Cultural Revolution, it was all about the weaponization of division and hatred. When I was writing the book one thing that struck me was that Mao had to say, “Who are our enemies? Who are our friends?” And reading Adam Serwer [Staff Writer at The Atlantic, who argues that demonizing parts of American society is a calculated power play by Trump], for example, talking about Trump and the fact that cruelty is the purpose, it struck me that the parallel for Trump is it’s always them and us, in or out, and he draws those lines so strictly. By drawing those lines, he strengthens his power. You can pick a whole host more comparisons, like Trump installing himself as chair of the Kennedy Center, attacks on culture through libraries and so forth.
What’s really Mao-esque about Trump is that he relishes
disruption and chaos, and he sees opportunities
in it in a way that Mao did.
It’s obviously not a repetition, nobody’s suggesting that two million people are going to be killed in the US. It’s a fundamentally different context, in a system where you have checks and balances. Trump was elected, Trump can be removed. But I suppose the lesson that we should take from it is that many people around Mao did not fully realize what he was planning until it was too late.
AC: I have concerns about comparing this moment to the Cultural Revolution because I don’t think you can disentangle that term from public displays of violence, and the ensuing generational trauma you unpack in your book. There are many different historical moments that have had similar strains of tribalism, nationalism and populism to it. Doesn’t it make people more scared if you point to the Cultural Revolution specifically?
TB: I sometimes felt in China that the Cultural Revolution was the Chinese equivalent of Godwin’s law, that all the arguments on the internet [in the West] end up with somebody being compared to Hitler. So, you know, the Cultural Revolution can be very easily invoked on relatively flimsy grounds. So I completely understand why people are concerned or feel the comparisons are inappropriate. But I have to say quite a few intellectuals in China have now made the comparison themselves. I think it’s Trump’s ruthlessness, that disruptive chaotic quality [he has]. That the turmoil is not a byproduct of Trump’s ambition, but is actually intrinsic to it and something he draws power from.
Again, it’s absolutely not about saying this is a repeat of the Cultural Revolution. It’s about how the Cultural Revolution can help us better understand the present moment. [This is possible] even in a system with elections, entrenched checks and balances. This is a really astonishing and disturbing political moment, with possibilities that I don’t think we fully understand yet. There is something about the parallels to the Cultural Revolution that are very striking. It’s interesting to me that so many people now have drawn this comparison, including scholars of the Cultural Revolution such as Michel Bonnin, Geremie Barmé drew it quite early on [in 2017].
AC: So how do you think the Cultural Revolution can help us understand the present moment?
TB: By seeing the way that emotion is weaponized. By understanding that, particularly for Republicans, if you fail to challenge now, there comes a point where you cannot do so. I suspect quite a few Republicans have already concluded that that point has been reached. I would hope that more people on the right are alert to what we’re seeing now in terms of the administration’s conception of executive power, and the scope that it’s been given by the Supreme Court. It’s less about understanding as it is about responding.
AC:I wonder if the Cultural Revolution has a place as a parallel for China today. I lived there all the way through the zero-Covid policy (2020-2022), and there were certain moments in that final year where I thought this political system which gave birth to the Cultural Revolution can still be taken to extremes in certain areas, especially when power is concentrated in one man and people are scared for themselves, that same paranoia you mentioned earlier. Obviously, this is not a level of violence whereby two million people ended up being killed. But at the same time, there was a sense in 2022 these policies were becoming as dangerous as the virus itself. There is also collective amnesia around the zero-Covid policy and the damage it wrought.
TB: It’s interesting how many people in China made that comparison. And I think that’s partly because Covid was the ultimate expression that the Party has reasserted very tight control over the last ten years. There was this sense that the Party had partially retreated, from large areas of cultural life or private life or business life. Certainly [during Covid], people spoke to me about being quizzed by neighborhood committees about where they’d been, who they’d been with, all these things that, to young Chinese people would have been unthinkable under normal circumstances. At that point there was this mindset that we [the Party] can now determine what you do. The fact that you had people going into people’s homes and dragging them out, for some people clearly did evoke strong memories of the Cultural Revolution.
Minor protests against the zero-Covid policy in 2022 were dealt with harshly. An artist who wrote out the sentence “I’ve already been numb for three years” on Covid testing booths in Beijing was removed from his home by police and placed in prison until the end of the policy, 108 days later. Source: Nanyang Business Daily
But with regard to the amnesia around zero-COVID, I have to say one thing the pandemic here [in the UK] has shown me is that people don’t like remembering bad things, and this accounts for a lot of the silence around the Cultural Revolution. We’ve just had the fifth anniversary of the pandemic in the UK. It had this huge impact on people’s lives, but it’s barely mentioned.
AC: Yes, usually the media publishes articles to commemorate anniversaries of major events, but I haven’t seen many for Covid.
TB: Yeah, one thing that I did find when writing the book is that I thought it was going to be a book about political control of memory. It obviously is about that, but what surprised me was how important personal trauma was in silencing the Cultural Revolution.
AC: So I think we could generalize this last question: what happens if a society tries to move on from a form of collective trauma, but does not try to remember it.
TB: I think it can’t understand itself, and I think it’s much more vulnerable. Both to repetition, not an exact repetition because China today is clearly a very, very different nation from the China of 1966. As we’ve just discussed, you can’t see the Cultural Revolution transplanted outside China, or in time either. But I think the other thing is that people can’t understand the profound scars it leaves behind. And that was for me why it was really important to speak to psychotherapists [whose private conversations with individuals has probed the inherited trauma that often stems from events that happened in the Cultural Revolution]. But also just talking to people for the book, the level of the trauma was still evident. There are small things on a personal level, such as Wang Xilin [an interviewee in Branigan’s book who was forced to take part in multiple show trials where he was beaten so hard it left him deaf] talking about how when a friend calls out his name on the street he jumps. Because it takes him back to that experience of waiting at a struggle session for his name to be called as the next victim.
But I think on a much deeper, more profound level, the way people are unable to trust. You’ve had a generation who were taught that you could not trust at all. It’s not that you couldn’t trust strangers, you can’t trust those around you. Again, it was a psychotherapist who said to me, you know, that afterwards you might talk about it to a stranger on the train, but you’d never talk about it to someone in your workplace, you might not even speak about it within your family. So I think that fracturing of the bonds of trust is something so profound that still hasn’t been addressed. The fear of speaking out. The idea that speech itself, being open with people, is fundamentally dangerous. One survivor of the Cultural Revolution told Arthur Kleinman he tried to be bland like rice in a meal, “taking on the flavor of its surroundings while giving off no flavor of its own,” that was the safest thing to be. One of the psychotherapists said to me they increasingly admired people just for surviving.
With 12 million fresh graduates soon rushing into China’s already competitive job market, help is on the way, according to the People’s Daily. On April 7, the newspaper, the official mouthpiece of the country’s leadership, ran an article listing how AI was turbo-charging supply and demand in the job market, pointing to over 10,000 AI-related jobs on offer at a spring recruitment center in the city of Hangzhou. The piece was accompanied by a graphic from Xinhua, showing a smiling recruiter handing out jobs (岗位) to incoming students, with an AI bot ready and waiting to embrace them with open arms. The message is clear: graduates can literally walk into AI-related positions.
Image from Xinhua and reprinted by the People’s Daily, noting “AI jobs on the rise, demand for talent booming.”
But according to the Qianjiang Evening News (钱江晚报), a commercial metro newspaper published in Hangzhou under the state-owned Zhejiang Daily Newspaper Group, the reality is a lot tougher for new graduates. “It’s hard to find a job with a bachelor’s degree in this major,” said one of their interviewees, a recent graduate majoring in AI who was quoted under the pseudonym “Zhang Zixuan.” The graduate said they had gone to multiple job fairs without securinig a job. “I don’t know the way forward,” they told the paper.
China’s biggest tech companies are indeed angling for the leading edge in AI, battling it out to hire “young geniuses” (天才少年) graduating from AI programs at China’s top universities. But while these rarefied talents — whoever they are — may have their choice of elite positions, the picture is less rosy for the vast majority. “Despite the booming industry,” Qianjiang Evening News concludes, “many recent graduates of artificial intelligence majors from ordinary universities are still struggling in the job market.”
Hangzhou is now billed by Chinese media as a major hub for AI innovation and enterprise, home to China’s foremost large language model (LLM), DeepSeek. But if the city’s media are saying there are significant problems with AI recruitment, the rest of the country is likely experiencing similar complications. State-run media and universities in China are presenting the government’s AI policies as a gift for the nation’s entry-level job market. But these messages paper over a more complex reality.
The Hunt for AI Talent
The government has made it a priority to boost national AI development. In the government work report last year at the Two Sessions, China’s major legislative meeting, Premier Li Qiang launched the “AI+” initiative (人工智能+行动). The initiative aims to augment AI for every industry in the country, considering it a way to unlock “new productive forces” (新质生产力) — a signature phrase of Chinese leader Xi Jinping — that will bolster China’s economy and job market.
The latter needs it. Youth unemployment in China stands at 16.9 percent as of February this year, and comes at a time when graduate supply has never been higher. There are nearly four million extra graduates in the class of 2025 than there were even five years ago.
The stiff competition for jobs is a source of frustration for young Chinese. Earlier this month, Guangzhou’s Southern Metropolis Daily (南方都市报) reported that the state-owned nuclear power company CNNC had publicly apologized after boasting online that it had received 1.2 million resumes to fill roughly 8,000 positions. The company was accused by netizens of “arrogance.”
Aligning university education to accommodate AI training is considered by the leadership as key to harnessing this technology of the future. In 2017, a document from the State Council noted the country lacked the “high-level AI talents” needed to make China a global leader in AI technology. In 2023, the Ministry of Education issued a reform plan ordering that by this year 20 percent of university courses must be adjusted, with an emphasis on emerging technologies and a gradual elimination of courses “not suited for social and economic development.”
Universities across the country have responded with dramatic overhauls of their curricula. Ta Kung Pao (大公报), the Party’s mouthpiece in Hong Kong, reports universities in neighboring Guangdong province have already established 27 AI colleges, which are supposedly training 20,000 students a year. Meanwhile, universities like Shanghai’s Fudan University announced they will be cutting places in their humanities courses by 20 per cent as ordered, focusing instead on AI training. For Jin Li (金力), Fudan’s president, university courses must now explicitly serve China’s state-directed technological development goals. “How many liberal arts undergraduates will be needed in the current era?” he questioned rhetorically.
Technical Problems
State media says AI+ is already successfully reinvigorating the job market. Attending one job fair in Beijing this month, a reporter for the China Times (华夏时报), a media outlet under the State Council, noted a “surge in demand” among state-owned enterprises (SOEs) for AI talent, quoting one graduate trained in AI as saying he had seen “many work units that meet my job expectations.” Visiting job fairs in Shanghai and Guangdong, a reporter for Shanghai Securities News (上海证券报), a subsidiary of state news agency Xinhua, observed long queues in front of booths for jobs on algorithm engineering and data labeling. On that basis, he wrote “AI fever” had gripped the gatherings.
AI itself is also spreading positive messages about the jobs it can bring. Ahead of the Two Sessions this year, People’s Daily Online (人民网) pitched DeepSeek as helping citizens understand the “happiness code” (幸福密码) embedded in the Two Sessions. It does this by describing state-imposed solutions to current social problems, to ease the concerns of netizens.
One question the outlet asked was on what AI jobs were available to recent graduates. When we at the China Media Project asked DeepSeek the same question, it told us AI “offers abundant employment opportunities for recent graduates,” listing several well-salaried ones. One of these was “data labeling” (数据标注) with DeepSeek saying these positions are increasing by 50 percent year-on-year. The source for this claim was an article from the Worker’s Daily (工人日报), a newspaper under the CCP-led All-China Federation of Trade Unions (ACFTU), the country’s official trade union.
It should go without saying that the role of the ACFTU’s newspaper is to promote the leadership’s economic agenda rather than to accurately report the challenges for the nation’s workforce posed by technological change. This role can mean, once again, that hype takes precedence over fact. In this case, the Worker’s Daily cited the case of a data-annotation college in Shenzhen, suggesting that graduates from the college receive 10 job offers on average within an hour of uploading their resumes online.
Even if such data annotation roles are available right now, this does not point the way to a rosy future for aspiring young data annotators more broadly. Some data annotation roles, in fact, require few qualifications, and fresh trainees may be trusted by tech companies to do this work after just three weeks of training. Relatively unskilled jobs like this may be created by AI, but they are also vulnerable to replacement by AI itself. China’s state broadcaster CCTV reports that 60 percent of data annotation is now being done by AI, doubling in just three years.
The CCTV report points to a trend that few state media seem to be openly acknowledging amid the hype over AI jobs — that the field is already shifting towards more specialized employees. That will mean raising the bar for data annotator qualifications, and fewer people ultimately required to do this work. In its report, the Qianjiang Evening News quotes an anonymous application engineer as saying the number of data labellers at his company is decreasing already. “Big models can label themselves,” he told the newspaper.
The same report suggested that the demand for AI skills varies widely between companies. Zhang, the pseudonymous recent graduate, said that most of the companies at the university job fairs in which they participated did not have AI-related jobs on offer. The ones that did have such jobs demanded a higher degree of education, generally as the master’s level. The concerning lesson drawn from Zhang’s experience is that the training provided by these new AI education centers does not suit current demand from tech companies — to say nothing of future demand. While companies often require in-depth expertise within specialized areas like fine-tuning AI models, AI courses often sacrifice depth by giving their students shorter periods of training in a wide variety of AI skills.
A job advert on recruitment website Zhipin (直聘), from a vocational college in Hubei, says teaching experience is merely “preferred”, rather than “required.”
Another concern emerges: who will teach the next generation of AI specialists? The sudden expansion of colleges to accommodate the needs of the AI+ initiative is no doubt creating a talent dearth of its own. In a speech earlier this month, a senior scientist from Peking University claimed many AI centers employed inexperienced professors in order to fill teaching positions. He added that certain AI centers were moving members of their mathematics and art colleges to serve as “part-time” deans of these centers.
Vocational schools could struggle even more. These colleges are usually stigmatized in Chinese society, stereotyped as only attended by students who failed their university entrance exams. This would put them at the bottom of the pile for aspirational AI talent. For example, one vocational college in Hubei says it created an AI major in response to the Ministry of Education’s push to cultivate high-quality AI talent. But it is advertising AI teaching positions where prior experience in this complex field is merely “preferred” rather than required.
It should come as no surprise that state media narratives of jam-packed job fairs handing out AI positions are overly optimistic. The disconnect is stark. While the handful of elite graduates at the pinnacle of China’s AI sector may enjoy rich opportunities, it is misleading to suggest that their exceptional success stories are evidence that AI has promised employment for the broader masses. The larger context matters: as Xi Jinping’s government pushes AI as a cornerstone of China’s economic future, a widening gap has formed between top-down ambitions and on-the-ground realities for millions of graduates. Instead of excitedly focusing on the long queues at AI stalls in job fairs, Chinese media should also be asking deeper questions about the issues that create them.