Dalia is a CMP researcher with a background in Chinese foreign policy and Taiwan studies. She previously worked at the European Union Institute for Security Studies, the Royal United Service Institute, and the International Institute for Strategic Studies.
As netizens woke up on the fourth day of the lunar new year — a day dedicated to welcoming the gods back into one’s home and earning their blessings for the year ahead — a viral new video on the Chinese short video app Douyin (抖音) showed a more troubling kind of home visitation.
In the clip, uploaded by influencer Lu Jiujiu (鹿酒酒), a young woman named Xiao Li (小丽) wakes up to find her room filled with relatives and a strange man, bearing gifts, looming over her bed. The man, we are told, is a blind date she previously agreed to be set up with by her family.
As the story was picked up by Chinese media, the shock value was on full display. “I was completely baffled,” Xiao Li was quoted as saying in one interview. “I didn’t expect him to turn up in my bedroom.” In another unsettling detail, she added that she had no idea how he got in, as her door was locked. The next day, however, as a wave of netizens called the clip’s authenticity into question, Lu Jiujiu confessed in a comment that it had all been a staged performance “for entertainment only.”
Not everyone was laughing.
Commenters wrote that the “performance” played on serious violations of personal privacy and security for a cheap laugh, as well as the often-triggering topic of parental pressures to marry and have children that many young Chinese people during trips home over the Spring Festival holiday. “Is this a blind date,” asked one clearly unamused Douyin user, “or a horror movie?”
Chinese media were similarly po-faced. The Beijing News (新京报), a newspaper under the Beijing municipal committee of the CCP, but also known for occasionally pursuing substantive reporting and discussion, cited the incident as an example of what the country’s latest internet cleanup campaign had targeted. Launched by the Cyberspace Administration of China (CAC) in the leadup to the holiday, the campaign focused its crosshairs on staged videos and rumor-mongering generally, and — in particular — content that uses sensitive issues like marriage and child-rearing to go viral online.
“For entertainment only.”
Shanghai Observer (上观), part of the state-run Shanghai United Media Group empire, similarly threw it in the litany of “self-directed deceptions” pulled off by individual content creators known as “self-media” — a topic that exactly one week before had been the focus of a comical skit during the annual Spring Festival Gala on China Central Television.
Lu Jiujiu’s video was a smash hit — at least initially. Within hours it had clocked millions of views, the negative backlash a testament to the success of the rage-bait model of online content so successful around the world. Look at her Douyin account today, though, and you’ll find it missing. The holiday now past, Liu’s case is a cautionary tale about the dangers of fakery for entertainment.
On January 17, a high-profile forum on Sino-Thai cooperation in Bangkok brought together journalists, media specialists, and think tank researchers from both countries. Attended by former Thai deputy prime minister Pinit Jarusombat, who in retirement has become a regular on PRC state media to stress the importance of cultural ties, was also an opportunity for Beijing to outline its vision for media cooperation — which emphasizes the dominance of narratives in the favor of China’s leadership.
Pinit serves as president of the Thai-Chinese Cultural Relationship Council (泰中文化促进委员会), which was formed in 2020 as a platform for intergovernmental cooperation, and also as vice president of the Beijing-based International Confucian Association. He said the dialogue, called “Our Golden Friendship,” aspired to “promote the role of the media and think tanks to better connect people.”
But Pinit wasn’t the only VIP in the crowd. Gao Anming (高岸明), vice president and editor-in-chief for the China International Communications Group (中国外文局) run by the CCP’s Central Propaganda Department, was also there to outline China’s vision for media and communication. He described media outlets as “important platforms for disseminating information and channeling public opinion.” The latter phrase, emerging under Hu Jintao in 2008, refers to the CCP’s efforts to better direct public discourse toward the goals and agendas of China’s leadership. It is closely related to another term, “public opinion guidance” (舆论导向), which is a crucial phrase in the CCP’s vocabulary on press and information control in China.
Gao’s reference to “public opinion channeling” (引导舆论) in the context of think tanks and bilateral media cooperation suggested the focus — for China at least — was on manipulating the conversation over Thai-Chinese relations, and moving the agenda in China’s favored direction.
China Report ASEAN, a magazine published under the CCP Central Propaganda Department’s CICG Asia-Pacific for Southeast Asia.
Joining Gao in Bangkok was Li Jijuan, a counsellor at the Political Division of the Chinese Embassy in Thailand, and Gen Surasit Thanatthang, a senior adviser at the Asia-Pacific Think Tank and the Thailand-China Strategic Research Center, a center under Thailand’s government-run National Research Council (NRCT). In a video address, the Chinese ambassador to Thailand, Han Zhiqiang, praised the partnership between Thailand and China.
The forum had the backing of the PRC embassy in Bangkok and CICG Asia-Pacific (中国外文局亚太传播中心), a CICG offshoot that publishes a range of publications targeted at local language audiences across Asia. These include the multilingual monthly news magazine China Report ASEAN (中国东盟报道), launched in 2016 as an “external propaganda” vehicle to reach members of the 10-state Southeast Asian union; the Korean-language Chinakorea; and El Popola Ĉinio, a publication in Esperanto.
A simple WordPress-based website for China Report ASEAN offers English-language coverage emphasizing the benefits of Chinese infrastructure investment in Southeast Asia, including Xi Jinping’s signature Belt and Road Initiative. But a closer look at the publication’s online presence reveals an awkward oversight duplicated across the publication’s Facebook page, which has more than 500,000 followers, as well as its Youtube and X accounts. All of these accounts give “chinareportasean.com” as the outlet’s online address. Indeed, registration records indicate that the domain was first activated in 2017, the same year that China Report ASEAN was launched.
Before readers visit this web address, however, they may wish to know that it links not to China Report ASEAN but to a Chinese gambling site. China remains determined to impact global discourse and conduct effective international communication. But in the topsy turvy world of the CCP’s “external propaganda,” where everyone is anxious for results — strange things can happen.
The African media landscape has become a contested space where global powers vie for influence and narrative control. While Western media have historically dominated, Chinese and Russian outlets are gaining ground, using their own distinct approaches to shape public opinion. Amid this competition, local media and audiences are also asserting their agency, pursuing their personal interests and presenting worldviews that have been uniquely shaped by the region’s past.
We spoke with Dani Madrid Morales, a media scholar at the University of Sheffield, about how China and Russia have been navigating the African media landscape — where their approaches converge, and where they sharply diverge. Our conversation covered how historical anti-colonial sentiments continue to shape the reception of foreign media, and how African journalists and audiences engage with these competing global narratives.
Dalia Parete: How do China and Russia make use of anti-colonial and anti-imperialist sentiments in Africa to push their narratives?
Dani Madrid Morales: We were interested in how people talk about Chinese and Russian disinformation in Africa and how much focus there is on whether their stories are spreading and how effective they are. Everyone talks a lot about how compelling their narratives are — like blaming NATO for the war in Ukraine and saying it’s not Russia’s fault — but we wanted to dig into why some African countries don’t buy into that. The key thing we found is the prevalence of anti-US sentiment, which has deep roots in the Soviet Union and China pushing anti-colonial ideas in the 60s and 70s.
Back then, China was seen as a victim of colonialism, so that message resonated. Now, China is sometimes accused of being the colonizer itself in Africa, but the reality is a lot of African countries still feel exploited by the West. China and Russia know how to use that. Like when George Floyd was killed, and all the racial tension kicked off in the US, China jumped on that, using it to describe America as a racist country. And while it’s not all false, it has some truth. So, the thing is, China’s not doing straight-up disinformation in Africa — they just pick and choose facts and frame them in ways that connect with people’s lived experiences, which makes it hard just to call it all lies.
China’s not doing straight-up disinformation in Africa — they just pick and choose facts and frame them in ways that connect with people’s lived experiences.
DP: How else do China and Russia’s approaches differ in Africa?
DMM: China and Russia use very different methods in Africa. Russia tends to use more aggressive, hostile tactics, like fabricating attacks or spreading false accusations, especially in places like the Sahel region covering Mali, Niger, and Burkina Faso. They treat information like a weapon in a war, similar to how the US or France have used these tools in the region.
China doesn’t typically go that route. It has a softer approach. While it does spread misinformation on issues like Hong Kong, Taiwan, and Xinjiang, it is more about protecting its interests and image globally, not specifically in Africa. China does not only directly accuse the West of wrongdoing but also highlights the differences between itself and Western countries — for example, how China isn’t a colonial power. It frames things like low-interest loans and medical aid as positive. Still, it often hides the negative side, like how Chinese companies exploit Africa’s mining sector with poor conditions for workers.
While Russia is more about information warfare, China is about shaping its image through PR. Both countries use these tactics based on their different goals. China’s approach shifts if it feels threatened, like during the COVID pandemic, when it adopted more aggressive tactics to defend its image.
DP:What have African residents themselves been doing to counter these efforts?
DMM: Some people in Africa, like journalists or influencers, get exposed to China and end up repeating China’s narratives. For example, a journalist from Ghana might go to China, spend some time there, and then return to Ghana, appearing on Chinese media like CGTN or Xinhua, repeating what China wants them to say. Some genuinely believe in China’s progress, such as the claim that China has lifted 100 million people out of poverty.
However, the average African person might not care much about Xinjiang or Tibet. What they do care more about is anything that paints the West negatively, which is a strong sentiment across the continent. So, they’re more likely to engage when they hear Chinese or Russian narratives criticizing the West.
DP: Based on your findings, to what extent do citizens actively engage with or resist these narratives, and what factors influence their responses?
DMM: There are people like the Swiss-Cameroonian Nathalie Yamb who spread Russian narratives, but not many influencers push Chinese narratives. However, some political groups in Africa, especially those on the extreme left, are using these anti-US and anti-colonial ideas alongside Chinese and Russian examples.
That’s where China has succeeded — it’s created space for people to feel neutral.
Most Africans aren’t concerned with issues like Xinjiang but care about the more significant global power struggle. They might have sided with the US in the past, but now they’re more ambivalent.That’s where China has succeeded — it’s created space for people to feel neutral or even lean toward China rather than the West. It’s not that they’re super pro-China but they’re not anti-China either.
CGTN plays at a Kenya Broadcasting Corporation control room in Nairobi. Photo: Dani Madrid Morales.
DP: How do local media outlets fit into this strategy?
DMM: Some African media outlets help spread messages from China in various ways. One significant method is through Chinese diplomats publishing opinion pieces in local media. These pieces are often presented as equally valid as other voices, giving them a platform to influence public opinion. For example, after an editor in Burundi visited China, his newspaper became almost entirely pro-China. When the Chinese foreign minister visited, the paper ran several editorials praising China. The content in these pieces often blurs the line between fact and propaganda—it’s more opinion than hard news. China is very strategic about this and even tracks how successful these efforts are, measuring how many opinion pieces written by ambassadors are published in foreign media.
DP: How do China and Russia distribute their content through African media, and why do local outlets participate in these arrangements?
DMM: Another method is content-sharing agreements, where China and Russia provide media outlets with free content. Chinese news agency Xinhua and Russian outlets like Ruptly supply articles and video content, which local media may republish. Often, the source isn’t disclosed, making the content appear as though the local outlet created it. This practice is referred to as “information laundering.” For example, in South Africa, the African News Agency (ANA), which has close ties with China, often distributes Xinhua’s content as if it were its own.
To them, content from Xinhua is just another news source, just as trustworthy as anything from outlets like the BBC.
As for why local media outlets do this, the motivation isn’t always clear-cut. Many editors don’t have a specific agenda and simply publish content as part of their regular duties, treating foreign content, whether from Xinhua or Agence France Presse, like any other. In some cases, though, like with Independent Media in South Africa, there is a clear financial or political interest in promoting China’s viewpoint. The owner of that media group has close connections with China’s Communist Party and supports China’s global initiatives. Generally, while European people might be more skeptical of content from outlets like Xinhua, many people in other parts of the world don’t see it that way. To them, content from Xinhua is just another news source, just as trustworthy as anything from outlets like the BBC.
The China Daily offered for free at an airport in South Africa. Photo: Dani Madrid Morales.
DP: What informs African journalists’ views on foreign media and foreign influence?
DMM: How journalists in Africa view media from different countries, especially China, Russia, and the West, differs significantly from the mindset many of us might have in places like Europe or the U.S.
For example, when I worked at Spain’s national broadcaster covering international news, my colleagues and I would always see the BBC’s reports as trustworthy — though we’d still stay skeptical, like any other journalists — and see Russia’s or China’s CGTN’s news through a very suspicious lens. We were trained to believe that the BBC was pretty independent, while anything from authoritarian regimes like Russia or China was viewed with serious doubt. But when I’ve been in African newsrooms, I’ve noticed that many journalists don’t share that same mindset. To some, the BBC also has an agenda, and they don’t automatically trust it just because it’s from the West. The BBC might align with some of their values, but they’re not blindly following it like we might.
I remember interviewing journalists in Lesotho, a small country in Southern Africa, and I asked them about these concerns with Chinese media. One journalist stopped me mid-interview and asked, “Why are you questioning me about China and not CNN or BBC? Why do you assume that Chinese media is bad?” That threw me off because, from my perspective as someone who cares deeply about media freedom, I could never see China as a good partner for journalists. But to him, it wasn’t about that — his issue was that I was treating China differently from Western media outlets. I think this comes back to a deeper historical context of anti-colonial feelings.
“Why are you questioning me about China and not CNN or BBC? Why do you assume that Chinese media is bad?”
Question from a journalist in Lesotho
DP: Do they see Western media organizations like the BBC as more or less reliable than Chinese or Russian state media?
DMM: The BBC has a different legacy for older African journalists — especially those who lived through colonial rule. They remember it as a tool of British colonialism, even though the UK and its foreign policy have changed. In their view, whether it’s China, Russia, or the UK, all these foreign powers come into their countries with their interests. And none of them are genuinely looking out for the local people. So, for many African journalists, it’s not about trusting or distrusting one foreign power more than the other. They tend to be equally cautious of all foreign media, viewing them through a lens shaped by their history with colonialism.
While journalists who studied in the West might still give more respect to French or British media, that’s not the case across the continent. The general sentiment is much more skeptical of foreign press, even if they treat Western media like the BBC differently from Chinese or Russian outlets. And that’s where the real difference lies. Western journalists might see China or Russia as dictatorships that control information, which requires caution when handling their news. However, for many African journalists, that same level of skepticism should also be applied to French or British outlets, given that they, too, have agendas.
DP: How has China become involved in Africa’s media landscape?
DMM: China has been in Africa’s media game since the late 1950s when Radio Peking [now China Radio International] began broadcasts in Arabic for North African countries and Xinhua set up a bureau in Cairo. Despite going through tough times like the Cultural Revolution in the 70s and 80s, China never left the African media space. In the late 90s and early 2000s, China began a push to change how it was seen globally. They used Africa as a testing ground, and by 2004 China had opened a local radio station in Nairobi — the first time they broadcasted locally via FM radio instead of long-wave.
DP: How has their presence changed since then?
DM: The digital era brought a complete transformation in China’s strategy. They established CGTN’s office in Nairobi, produced documentaries showcasing China’s positive impact on Africa, and highlighted significant projects like the Tanzania-Zambia Railway. They were smart about hiring local journalists and investing substantial resources to strengthen their digital presence.
By the 2010s, China shifted its approach. This led to more strategic moves: embedding content in local African media, forming partnerships with media outlets, and having Chinese diplomats take a more active role in public discourse. The real turning point was 2018-19 when their approach became more assertive. Instead of promoting China’s achievements, they actively challenged Western narratives, especially around issues like Hong Kong, Xinjiang, and Covid-19.
DP: What are some trends in China’s messaging that you’re now noticing?
DMM: In recent years, CGTN Africa has focused heavily on Africa, producing two hours of news daily. But there’s been a noticeable shift. While CGTN used to be somewhat more neutral and pragmatic in the early days, there’s now much more ideological content, especially around Xi Jinping and China’s global influence. They cover the US much more, but it’s usually pretty negative — highlighting flaws in American democracy and social issues. It’s not all global politics, though — CGTN Africa mostly sticks to regional matters, like the Sahel region or events in places like Niger and Mali.
China takes a unique approach to covering Africa: it almost always sides with the ruling party.
However, China takes a unique approach to covering Africa: it almost always sides with the ruling party. For example, when elections took place in Mozambique, China’s media congratulated the incumbent before the results were announced. There’s relatively little focus on opposition parties. And just like with other Chinese media, if the government wants a specific topic covered, it will push it.
KBC rebroadcasts CGTN’s Africa Live news bulletin. Photo: Dani Madrid Morales.
DP: Can you assess the impact of Chinese media in Africa?
DMM: The impact of China’s media on Africa is complicated. In most African countries, China isn’t a topic in the daily press. It only becomes a focus when a significant event, like a controversy or a state visit. Before Covid-19, Chinese media barely had any presence in local news. After the pandemic hit, coverage exploded, but China’s day-to-day media impact is still minimal. People’s opinions on China tend to come from their personal interactions with Chinese workers or products — not from the media.
For example, during a trip to Kenya, I visited rural areas and asked locals about their views on China. The people had positive views, but it wasn’t because they were watching CGTN or Chinese films but primarily because of their experiences with Chinese workers building infrastructure or running small businesses. It’s the same with Chinese products — people recognize they are often low quality, influencing their opinion of China.
There are no permanent African correspondents in China… most news comes from agencies like Xinhua or Reuters, not local reporters.
Also, the media landscape makes a difference. There are no permanent African correspondents in China. So, most news comes from agencies like Xinhua or Reuters, not local reporters. This lack of local coverage means China isn’t a daily topic in the news. You might hear about the US or Europe, but China rarely makes the front page unless there’s something big going on.
DP: What about the impact of social media?
DMM: Social media does have an impact, but it’s mostly just for a small group of people — like young, urban folks who are somewhat educated. In places like South Sudan, only 10 percent of the population is online, so social media isn’t significant for most people. But it’s a different story in countries like Ghana or Kenya, where more people have smartphones. Social media, especially TikTok and YouTube, is more important for the younger crowd.
It’s hard to say how much social media directly changes people’s opinions. The big difference is that online spaces have more room for debate and controversy than traditional media, which tends to be controlled by those in power. Like, remember when Chinese businesspeople were accused of mistreating Zimbabweans? That went viral on social media, which wouldn’t have made the news otherwise. China’s getting better at handling these situations, though.
But, honestly, there’s not a massive wave of anti-China sentiment in Africa. Sure, there are small pockets, but it’s pretty marginal. People aren’t talking about China in politics or elections. It just doesn’t come up much. Even if there’s some criticism online, it’s not a big deal. Most of the time, China’s pretty popular.
China is also good at subtly influencing things. CGTN, for example, will back up the government more than the opposition, but it’s not like they’re openly pressuring the media to shut down critical stories. It’s not like in Europe, where Chinese diplomats will put pressure on journalists to kill damaging stories. China’s influence in Africa is much more low-key, and public opinion stays positive.
As its Chinese name, which literally translates as “Chinese enterprise,” suggests, Pakistan’s Huashang Weekly (华商报), is a publication aimed at Chinese businesspeople and other PRC expatriates in the South Asian country. Established in 2016, it is the only bilingual Chinese-English weekly officially licensed for circulation in Pakistan — a long-time PRC ally often called China’s “iron brother.”
The offline and online weekly, which says it has a staff of both Chinese and Pakistani journalists, is helmed by editor-in-chief Zhu Jialei (朱家磊), who at the tender age of 26 was plucked out of Shanghai as a cub reporter to take charge of the newly formed publication. In accounts from official state media, Zhu is painted as a precocious adventurer, a “fresh recruit” who has “persevered in foreign lands.”
Zhu Jialei, the post-1990s youth brought over from China to run the Huashang Weekly in May 2017.
One profile has the hard-working editor struggling against Pakistani recalcitrance, noting that “the enthusiasm of local people for life is far greater than their passion for work,” while another notes with a hint of admiration that when he first arrived Zhu “knew nothing about running a newspaper overseas.”
But tangled up with Zhu’s colorful personal adventure story in Pakistan — did we mention he was hospitalized within a week of his arrival? — are threads that tie Huashang Weekly to China’s larger state strategy for overseas media influence.
Iron Brothers
The story of Huashang Weekly began in 2016, the year after the establishment of the “China-Pakistan Economic Corridor” (中巴经济走廊), a 15-year bilateral infrastructure initiative that pushed a wave of Chinese investors and laborers to the country. It made sense that the growing Chinese community would need a news and information outlet. And so, as one official account reported, Simon Geng (耿思萌), the former CEO of Huawei Pakistan, launchedHuashang Weekly in July that year “under the support of the Chinese Embassy in Pakistan.”
Despite his prior association with Huawei Pakistan, no information is available about Geng’s role at the telecoms giant or in the Chinese community there before the founding of his weekly newspaper. Geng is currently connected to at least six companies in China, including Shanghai Infoshare B2B (上海简享电子商务有限公司), a consultancy created in March 2016 that is now corporate headquarters for a global network of related firms. These include the Islamabad-based consultancy Infoshare, which helps Chinese investors and businesses in Pakistan — and publishes Huashang Weekly.
As one official account reported, Simon Geng . . . launched Huashang Weekly “under the support of the Chinese Embassy in Pakistan.”
Another core member of the Infoshare and Huashang Weekly team is Derek Wang, deputy chief executive of the Islamabad consultancy, who set up shop in Pakistan in 2012. In 2017, Wang told CNN, “There’s a lot of curiosity amongst private Chinese investors about the potential in Pakistani markets.” He added that Huashang Daily had started to “[erase] the language barrier… so these investors can have an understanding of what’s happening in Pakistan.”
Wang’s comment draws a clear line between Huashang Daily and the bread-and-butter consulting work of Infoshare on the ground in Pakistan, particularly as Chinese investment in the country soared between 2015 and 2017. A case could certainly be made that Chinese business people urgently needed an outlet that could help them navigate a tough emerging market. And Huashang Weekly seemed to develop rapidly as a publication that could fill this gap — in two languages, no less — offering a bridge between the Chinese and Pakistani business communities.
Within two years, Huashang Weekly was distributing around 10,000 copies each week in major cities like Karachi, Lahore, and Islamabad. In October 2017, just as Chinese FDI in the country was peaking (see the graph above), Infoshare forged a “strategic partnership” with Pakistan’s Jang Group of Newspapers, providing a weekly 1-2 page supplement in Chinese for their English-language daily The News, which boasts a daily circulation of 200,000 copies.
On LinkedIn, Infoshare describes itself as “a B2B [business-to-business] company, focusing on bridging the gap between investors and opportunities around the globe, with a specific focus towards the China-Pakistan Economic Corridor.” That focus is borne out on the pages of Huashang Weekly, which hosts a dedicated section on the 3,000 km infrastructure network project stretching from the snow-capped peaks at the PRC border down to the warm Arabian Sea.
But while the benefits for a consulting firm of having a newspaper under its umbrella are clear, a closer look at the content offered by Huashang Weekly complicates its role as a professional and credible information source. While the outlet claims to employ local as well as Chinese journalists, and says it provides “quick access to information about Pakistan,” its content skews heavily toward relaying the official narratives and perspectives of the Chinese state rather than providing the sort of original, on-the-ground reporting that might inform investors and businesses.
A closer look at the content offered by Huashang Weekly complicates its role as a professional and credible information source.
One important reason for this lies in the newspaper’s second major partnership, signed in 2019 with the official China News Service (CNS), which since 2018 has been operated by the United Front Work Department (UFWD) — the primary department within the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) tasked with influencing elites and organizations outside the country, and especially Chinese diaspora communities.
Deep Foundations
In September 2019, just one year after CNS was folded into the UFWD system, executives from the newswire visited the Huashang newsroom and signed a long-term cooperation agreement with the outlet. Visitors included Xia Chunping (夏春平), the deputy editor-in-chief of China News Service, who called Huashang Weekly a “bridge” between China and Pakistan that could serve the joint infrastructure corridor. Zhu Jialei, the weekly’s young editor-in-chief, said he hoped to “further deepen cooperation with the head office of CNS and relevant local branches.”
Xia Chunping, deputy EIC of the CCP’s China News Service, visits the newsroom of Pakistan’s Huashang Weekly in 2019. Source: CNS.
Today, the partnership with CNS has deepened to the extent that Huashang Weekly seems little more than a vehicle — a borrowed boat — for the state newswire’s external messaging about China and its unalloyed positives.
The vast majority of the content in Huashang Weekly, online and offline, comes not from its staff writers and translators, but directly from CNS and other sources — those “relevant local branches” Zhu spoke of — linked to the UFWD system. These branches include, for example, the Hong Kong China News Agency (HKCNA), whose coverage on this year’s Friendship Cities Conference appeared earlier this week on the Huashang Weekly website. HKCNA is controlled by the CCP’s Hong Kong and Macau Work Office, and maintains close ties with CNS.
This month, Huashang Weekly published a flurry of stories about the G20 Summit in Rio de Janeiro, where Chinese leader Xi Jinping met with Brazilian President Luiz Inacio Lula da Silva to deepen ties and hail a “new phase” in the relationship. Each one of these stories — focusing cheerily on mutual friendship and the “deep foundations for cooperation” — was attributed in its dateline to “Pakistan’s Huashang Weekly,” suggesting to readers that they were the work of newsroom staff. But each and every story was salted with references to CNS, making the real source clear to the eagle-eyed reader.
Oddly, on the Huashang Weekly website, each story in this flood of China News Service content comes with a soft red disclaimer at the tail end: “For the record, this information has not been strictly verified, and does not represent the views of this site, which assumes no legal responsibility.”
Who, then, is responsible for Huashang Weekly? Whose views are represented on the publication’s site? Like many news outlets operating across the world with the support of China’s diplomatic missions, Huashang Weekly is a complex intersection of private, commercial, and state interests — and a prime example of how the Chinese state works concertedly to map its DNA on Chinese communities everywhere to ensure that the views of no-one are truly represented beyond those of the leadership.
Whatever Infoshare’s real stake in this ostensibly community newspaper, it is clear that the CNS partnership with Huashang Weekly offers China a direct channel in Pakistan to “tell China’s story well” — even if the “iron brothers” disclaim all responsibility in the same breath.
The disturbing case of a 13-year-old in China who was raped and forced into prostitution — which first came to light in May this year — was back in the news this month, grabbing headlines also in Taiwan and Hong Kong. According to recent news on the case, the girl, identified in reports by the pseudonym “Li Xiaoxia” (李晓霞), was abused by 14 individuals, including three public officials. One of the latter is the deputy chairman of the local people’s congress in Hunan’s Xinhua County (新化縣), where the abuse occurred between April and July 2023.
The news this month raised concerns about systemic flaws in sexual assault protections for children. Meanwhile, the involvement of public officials turned some attention to questions of government corruption and accountability in China, though online authorities have been keen to restrain open criticism. “How can the sentence for rape be so light,” one user asked on Weibo in a comment under a news post from Henan’s Dahe Daily (大河报). “Civil servants should be punished twice as much!” said another. “After all, they get twice the benefits from the state.”
Reports from official media in China, including Shanghai’s The Paper (澎湃), openly named the public officials implicated in the abuse, while others involved were identified only by their surnames — suggesting an interest in highlighting official malfeasance. Among the officials was Gong Haodong (龚昊东), who only a half year ago was selected as vice-chairman of the People’s Congress in Youxi Township (油溪乡). Back in May, the primary offender in the case — a 17-year-old who had previously forced Li into prostitution — was handed a sentence of more than nine years in prison. The penalties for the other adult defendants ranged from three to four and a half years.
A screenshot of comments left on Weibo after posts related to the Li Xiaoxia case. The second comment asks: “Shouldn’t a bunch of people who raped a child be given a heavier sentence?”
The news made headlines all across Chinese-language media, with Taiwan and Hong Kong abundantly reporting on the case. In Hong Kong, the online newspaper HK01 (香港01) wrote an extensive report about the case.
As Chinese media seem keen to highlight odious official conduct at the lowest levels, it bears remembering on the issue of sexual harassment that international Chinese tennis star Peng Shuai (彭帅) was forcibly disappeared in November 2021 after she accused former vice-premier Zhang Gaoli (张高丽) of pressuring her into sex. The phenomenon of going after small-time officials while leaving high-level officials untouched is referred to in Chinese as “swatting at flies and letting the tigers run free.”
Last week in Beijing, more than 80 scholars and officials attended a grand ceremony to drive home the simple point that Taiwan is an inalienable part of China. The event centered on a new book by Taiwanese author Fan Wenyi (范文议) whose title read like a brawling challenge — Who Says Taiwan is Not Part of China? (谁说台湾不是中国的). According to state media coverage, Fan’s book, which makes the case for reunification, will have “a positive significance in enhancing mutual understanding and trust between compatriots on both sides of the Taiwan Straits.”
But a deeper dive behind the headlines pushing this supposedly inspirational book turns up more questions than answers.
The Beijing event, splashed across a number of official media outlets, including the central government’s China Daily and the website of its Taiwan Affairs Office, is in fact a typical case study in how China rolls out propaganda campaigns through a combination of party-state linked activities and state-backed media publicity. Organizations and individuals, like “Taiwanese author Fan Wenyi,” are trotted out as personal and intellectual actors, emerging with their own voices from Chinese civil society. A closer look and these staged events unravel, revealing the party-state actors and agendas just behind.
Fan Who? . . . and What Book?
While PRC media coverage presents “Professor Fan Wenyi” as a known scholar born in the city of Hualien in eastern Taiwan, virtually no information is available about the man, pictured by the China Youth Daily, China News Service and others as an elderly man in glasses, wearing an oversized gray suit. Aside from a smattering of official media mentions prior to this book launch — like this quote in the Chinese government’s own Taiwan.cn — Fan Wenyi seems to be a nobody. Last week’s coverage explains that Fan’s mother was an active member of literary societies during the Japanese colonial era in Taiwan, and that she instilled in him a sense of his fundamental Chineseness. But the scholarship of this “research scholar” is nowhere to be found. Nor is it clear where he was ever a professor. And yet, audiences are meant to be moved by his authoritative declaration: “I am Taiwanese, and I am also Chinese.”
“Taiwanese author Fan Wenyi” takes the stage this month to promote his new book.
On the question of audience, the even odder fact is that Fan’s book, launched with so much fanfare within a week of Taiwan’s national day holiday (which a stage version taller than a human being), is apparently available nowhere. For starters, bookstores and suppliers in Taiwan, including the well-known Eslite, do not carry the book at all. Even on Douban (豆瓣), China’s popular domestic online book supplier, there is no whiff of Fan’s work. The only online source — oddly for a book meant to “enhance mutual understanding” on both sides of the Taiwan Straits — appears to be Amazon Singapore, where the book is “currently unavailable.”
A Civil Society Front
The Beijing event was co-sponsored by the Beijing Taiwan Compatriots Association (北京市台湾同胞联谊会), which describes itself as “a patriotic popular organization of Taiwan compatriots in Beijing,” along with two presses specializing in Taiwan-related publications, the Jiuzhou Press (九州出版社) and the Taihai Press (台海出版社). Unpack these entities and you quickly realize what should be obvious to the critical reader from the start — that they are arms of the party-state, serving its agenda on Taiwan.
Search for a copy of Fan Wenyi’s (范文议) Who Says Taiwan is Not Part of China? and you come up empty handed at major online books sales platforms in both China and Taiwan.
In fact, the Beijing Taiwan Compatriots Association is directly under the control of the Beijing Municipal Committee of the CCP, the senior provincial-level leadership in China’s capital city. The group is led by Zheng Jianmin (郑建闽), who was a top official in Fujian province from 2018-2022, but who claims to be from Taipei.
The first of the presses listed, the Jiuzhou Press, is according to corporate records in China 100 percent controlled by China’s State Council. Meanwhile, the second press, Taihai, is run by an organization called the Taiwan Democratic Self-Government League (台湾民主自治同盟). While this group may sound democratic, it clearly states that it is “an intimate friendship party that accepts the leadership of the CCP and cooperates with the CCP to the fullest extent.” In records for its website registration, the League is identified unambiguously as a “government organ.”
This pattern of cloaked official associations in China’s rolling out of strategic agendas, hyped at the same time by state-run media groups such as China Daily, is one repeated as the country pursue what it calls external propaganda (外宣) on a global scale. It is a pattern we documented closely earlier this year looking at how China seeks to impact the human rights debate at the United Nations — and on its sidelines.
At times, as in the Fan Wenyi case, China’s efforts can seem almost humorously disconnected from those they seek to influence. But their impact is also difficult to determine as they are happening on a scale never before seen in the global information space. The story of Fan’s book did manage to reach Hong Kong, though chiefly through another CCP-led outlet, Ta Kung Wen Wei (大公文匯網), and it played across other online platforms like Sohu.com, where it stands a chance of reaching broader Chinese-language audiences across Asia and around the world.
And what of Fan Wenyi’s book? Could it impact readers in Taiwan? That is far less likely. As large as the book loomed — quite literally — in official PRC news coverage, it is so far absent from the shelves. For China’s leadership, as it seeks greater global influence on core strategic issues like the status of Taiwan, that fact may be entirely beside the point.
Late last month, media across China reported on the latest incident of harassment directed at a newlywed bride — a practice known in China as “wedding hazing” (婚闹). The news story was prompted by the surfacing on September 25 of a video showing a woman in Shanxi province tied to a telephone pole, crying for help while bystanders failed to intervene. The footage quickly went viral, igniting outrage — and prompting widespread debate about the lines between custom, decency and legality in modern Chinese society.
A screenshot from the video of the latest “wedding hazing” incident in China’s Shanxi province.
Chinese Business View (华商报), a commercial newspaper from Shaanxi province, managed to reach a certain “Mr. Yang” who had taken the video in question and posted it to social media. Yang said the incident had happened around midday on September 23 in the Digou Community (底沟社区) in the prefectural-level city of Yangquan in Shanxi province. He defended the actions shown in the video. “When weddings happen making a bit of a fuss, that’s our local custom,” he said. “It’s all good friends together. It’s not as netizens say, that anyone is getting hurt.”
In a subsequent report, Yangquan Daily (阳泉日报), the local CCP-run daily newspaper in Yangquan, reported that community personnel had investigated the case and found that the scene shown in the video was part of a pre-arranged “game” (游戏) arranged for the bride and groom as part of wedding festivities. The report said that those involved in the antics were “deeply sorry for the negative impact [the video] created.”
But even in the face of these rationalizations, many Chinese did not find the incident funny, or accept the suggestion that it had all been good-spirited fun. An article on the incident posted to the Sohu.com web portal said that abusive behavior at odds with contemporary values was often being rationalized “under the banner of ‘consent'” (“征得同意”的旗号下). The article spoke of the progressive “alienation” (异化) and “abuse” (滥用) of culture and customs. “True wedding celebrations should enhance joy and convey blessings,” it said, “not be used to satisy the lurid curiosity of some, or to vent personal desires.”
Even in the face of these rationalizations, many Chinese did not find the incident funny, or accept the suggestion that it had all been good-spirited fun.
“Resist the evil custom of wedding hazing, uphold civilized wedding ceremonies!”
In another commentary shared by several outlets, including the official Xinhua News Agency, the day after the video prompted a wave of online anger, Guangming Online (光明网) called the incident an example of “vulgar behavior” (低俗行为). No such acts should be tolerated, it said, regardless of whether or not the bride and groom had consented on the grounds that this was a local custom.
In a recent article,The Paper (澎湃) shared a series of graphics condemning “the evil custom of wedding hazing” and calling for “civilized wedding ceremonies.” The Shanghai-based outlet also suggested ways to avoid participating in or becoming a victim to hazing rituals, ranging from gentle dissuasion to legal recourse. It also recommends that victims of “wedding hazing” seek professional psychiatric help to recover.
Ritual Humiliation
“Wedding hazing” is a long-standing cultural tradition in China. Historical texts from the Eastern Han dynasty (25-220 AD) recount crude and sometimes violent customs, including physical assaults on both brides and grooms. In the past, this served to break the ice between the bride and groom — often strangers until their wedding day — and to create a jovial atmosphere. Today, acts of “wedding hazing” can also become social media memes, exposing individuals of all genders to online harassment as they are coerced into partaking in these humiliating acts.
In 2021, The Paper compiled several of the most egregious examples of “wedding hazing” from the past two decades, including shocking acts of violence disguised as tradition. In 2016, for example, a nearly naked groom in Yunnan was tied to a tree, then doused with ink and pelted with eggs by his groomsmen. In such cases, according to The Paper’s critical appraisal, “wedding hazing” serves as an excuse for abusive behavior rather than a genuine cultural practice.
“Tying someone to a pole is a tradition I cannot support.”
The cruel September incident in Shanxi — available here, but not for the faint of heart — has rekindled concern and shock among China’s netizens and media outlets, with many suggesting the custom must be ended. “Tying someone to a pole is a tradition I cannot support,” said one user commenting online. “The bride looks utterly miserable,” said another. Dezhou Daily (德州日报), a CCP-affiliated local newspaper in Shandong province, said on September 27 that society as a whole must take action to abolish this custom. The paper called on all segments of society to “advocate for new ways to celebrate weddings,” emphasizing that each individual has a role in fostering change.
China Media Project researcher Dalia Parete spoke with Pei about the titular idea behind his latest book, The Sentinel State: Surveillance and the Survival of Dictatorship in China. Pei tells us about what makes the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) brand of mass surveillance unique, considering how it anticipates rather than simply reacts to dissent and how it combines the latest technology with grassroots mobilization and internalized censorship, involving citizens in the very machinery controlling them. It’s a system as old as the PRC itself, but one that has changed dramatically in the past few years and which will only continue to evolve.
Dalia Parete:What is the “sentinel state,” and how does it differ from the more familiar concept of the surveillance state?
Minxin Pei: In my book, I introduce the concept of distributed surveillance, highlighting how China conducts its surveillance distinctly. While all dictatorships employ repression, the most sophisticated ones, like China, lean heavily on preventive rather than reactive measures — essentially ex-ante repression versus ex-post repression. The real challenge lies in designing an effective system for this preventive repression. Should all surveillance responsibilities be concentrated within a single agency or distributed across multiple entities? Each approach has its trade-offs. For instance, if you go the route of a centralized agency like the Stasi [East German secret police], you invest heavily in a large bureaucracy that could ultimately threaten the ruling party itself.
On the other hand, China’s strategy involves decentralizing tasks horizontally across various security agencies, and vertically by incorporating civilian involvement. These civilians, while formally part of the security apparatus, take on key surveillance functions. This creates a unique system where surveillance is distributed and multifaceted, allowing the government to maintain control without the vulnerabilities that come with a single, centralized authority.
While all dictatorships employ repression, the most sophisticated ones, like China, lean heavily on preventive rather than reactive measures.
DP:Which is more important for this sentinel state — the technologies of repression or the human resources of state control?
MP: There’s often too much focus on technology itself. While it can be a useful tool, it is used by people. And let’s not forget that technology has lots of blind spots. It can accomplish many tasks, but if people implement countermeasures, technology becomes ineffective. For example, if someone wears a mask or a hood, facial recognition systems struggle to identify them. Similarly, if you hide your phone in a Faraday bag, the government loses track of your movements. There are lots of limitations to technology. This is why I believe the most effective approach combines human intelligence and technological resources. China has both advanced technology and a highly organized structure.
DP: What did the Covid-19 pandemic reveal about China’s surveillance capabilities?
MP: During the pandemic, China’s approach to enforcing lockdowns was truly remarkable, particularly in how it used cell phone monitoring. The most crucial part was the actual collaboration projects with private companies like Alibaba and Tencent, as they developed health tracking systems.
Another significant aspect was the use of so-called “grid management” (网格化管理), which is much more labor-intensive and human-focused than technology-driven. This approach proved to be quite effective during the pandemic. China implemented a system where communities are divided into several grids, typically comprising around 1,000 people or 300 families. Each grid is closely watched by an individual who not only monitors these families but also provides various community services.
How “gridding” works at the neighborhood level: a single unit of an urban grid, with color-coded sections and clearly labeled street names and sub-districts.
To effectively lock down a community, you need active participants. So, those two elements — phone monitoring and grid management — played vital roles. Interestingly, traditional tools like facial recognition and video surveillance were not very useful during the lockdown since people were confined indoors.
DP:Would you say the pandemic was a trial run for China’s technological capabilities?
MP: Because of the uniqueness of the pandemic, it was a limited test. There was a lot of self-enforcement because people also did not want to get sick. So, during the pandemic, the government didn’t need to resort to heavy-handed coercion. About half of the population probably complied with regulations simply out of self-interest and a desire to stay safe.
DP: What role does the Chinese media, including state-run outlets, play? Are they part of the sentinel state?
MP: In this case, official Chinese media don’t play a significant role. Their primary function is to disseminate government-sanctioned messaging. I think that social media is the main target for surveillance because the government has a very sophisticated and effective way of monitoring what’s happening on social media. If a particular topic starts trending, they swiftly intervene to suppress it. There is a very good system in place in that sense.
In my book, I don’t focus on the output side of this — essentially, how the government employs censorship. One lesser-known aspect of China’s internet surveillance is how they monitor who is accessing the internet. They’ve created effective technology to ensure that anyone using the internet has their identity recorded by the authorities. This way, they maintain tight control over online activity.
DP:What lies behind the Chinese state’s paranoia and need for control?
MP: This system was developed in the aftermath of Tiananmen Square. This taught the Chinese Communist Party a very important lesson: they needed to be aware of what was happening in society. Like other dictatorships, the Chinese Communist Party is very fearful of dissenting voices, especially activists, because they need to deter the population from engaging in protests, in anti-regime activities. Most of the time, these activities can be led by a small number of activists. Because they set an example, they show the rest of the population that they are not afraid. To make sure this does not happen, the government relies heavily on surveillance. If somebody dares to challenge the Party’s authority openly, that person will be discovered and punished.
In my book, I discuss what I call “key individuals.” These are people who are subject to close monitoring by human assets and technological means. There are even “internet key individuals” whose online activities are closely tracked. Some of these individuals are restricted from accessing certain websites or services to further limit their influence.
DP:What do you make of China’s plans to introduce a national cyberspace ID scheme?
MP: From the Party’s perspective, the more control they can exert, the better. That’s their mindset. However, we also have to consider the law of diminishing returns. In this context, the additional benefits the Communist Party might gain from implementing a cyber ID are likely quite limited. Given how effectively they control the internet, I’d estimate they oversee about 95 to 97 percent of online activity. To capture that remaining two to three percent would require a substantial investment of resources, leading to high marginal costs that probably don’t yield significant benefits. You have to hire people to monitor. You have to actually harass people if you catch them. Then what if they keep posting? It will probably cost them a lot of manpower.
This feels excessive, especially considering that the party can quickly identify who is online. When you use home internet from state-owned providers, your IP address is already known. The same applies to your phone. Even in public places like cafes they have surveillance systems to track IP addresses. So why introduce a cyber ID? It seems largely unnecessary. Additionally, many people in China are already quite cautious about their online behavior, leading to considerable self-censorship.
DP: So why do you think these plans are being rolled out right now?
MP: Xi Jinping has been emphasizing a comprehensive approach to security. National security is not just about defense against external enemies but also maintaining social stability and cybersecurity. So, under that guideline, Chinese censorship agencies and domestic security agencies will ask, “How can we carry out the top leadership’s instruction?” So, they propose all kinds of measures, such as cyber IDs. From a bureaucratic perspective, this is a clear response to new directions from the central authority, prompting the bureaucracy to take action. When we look at the current circumstances, like the slowing economy, there’s probably more social unrest. There will be a lot more public dissatisfaction. The government aims to suppress expressions of this dissatisfaction and potential social unrest.
By introducing something like a cyber ID, the Party hopes to enhance self-censorship, as people will be afraid to express their dissatisfaction online. However, this approach might backfire. If individuals feel they can’t voice their frustrations online without repercussions, they may resort to more destructive means of expression. That’s why I believe this strategy may not be beneficial. Over time, this will also depend largely on the economy, as the Chinese security apparatus is primarily funded by local governments. If these local governments do not have the resources, both the human and technological components could suffer. They won’t be able to recruit more informants or maintain and upgrade their technology, which, as we know, can be quite costly.
By introducing something like a cyber ID, the Party hopes to enhance self-censorship, as people will be afraid to express their dissatisfaction online.
DP:Finally, what are the scenarios in which the sentinel state might break down?
MP: If the economy breaks down, it will be the first sign of trouble. You’ll likely see a degradation of the security system and a rise in public discontent. Another concern is the potential for corruption within the system itself. Those in charge of security wield significant power and have access to resources. Instead of using funds for informants or upgrading the system, they might enrich themselves, leading to better facilities and higher salaries rather than enhancing security.
Additionally, there’s the issue of overreach. The demand for security can seem insatiable, like a beast that can never be fully satisfied. This could result in unnecessary spending on resources — like an excessive number of surveillance cameras using the latest technology — when it may not even be needed.
When teachers Wan Yi (万亿) and Guo Yong (郭勇) tied the knot in Shanghai on September 22, they shared their special day with over 5,100 other couples. All of them were taking part in a series of mass weddings held in 50 locations across China, organized by the country’s official women’s rights organization together with various government agencies. The Communist Party secretary for the All-China Women’s Federation (ACWF), Huang Xiaowei (黄晓薇), officiated the ceremony, congratulating the newlyweds for “acting as practitioners and advocates for a new marriage and child-rearing culture.”
Huang’s patriotic blessing jars with the romantic ideal of marriage as an expression of love between two individuals, but it encapsulates an increasingly prevalent attitude in PRC state media. As China struggles with a slowing economy and looming demographic crisis, the number of Chinese couples getting married has fallen to a 12-year low. And with the number of marriages closely tied to the number of births, policymakers are determined to boost the country’s shrinking population. State media is doing its part by exalting marriage and reproduction as patriot acts. At the same time, organizations like the ACWF, set up to advance women’s role in society, now harken back to their roles as mothers and caretakers instead.
Alongside the ACWF, the mass wedding was backed by China’s Ministry of Civil Affairs (民政部), Ministry of Agriculture and Rural Affairs ( 农业农村部) and the Political Work Department of the Central Military Commission (中央军委政治工作部) — a roster that signifies the issue’s importance to PRC authorities. As press coverage of the mass weddings shows, marriage is an expression of love for the motherland.
Wedding Nationalism to Natalism
Secretary Huang’s line about a “new marriage and child-rearing culture” borrows from a speech by Xi Jinping to ACWF leaders in August 2023. Xi instructed the organization to “encourage women to uphold the traditional virtues of the Chinese people” (传统美德) and “promote positive family traditions,” emphasizing the need to “actively foster a new culture of marriage and childbearing” (新型婚育文化) among the nation’s women. The goal of this new culture, as Xi put it, is to “promote the improvement and implementation of policies to support childbearing, improve demographic development, and actively cope with the aging of the population.” In simpler terms, what Xi is pushing is straightforward natalism: the pursuit of higher birth rates to promote economic growth and project greater national power.
Similar public policy concerns can be observed throughout the region. Neighboring Japan, South Korea, Singapore, and Taiwan are all grappling with slowing population growth or even demographic decline and the knock-off effects on the economy. To reverse this trajectory, governments have been offering various incentives: “baby bonuses,” subsidies for assisted reproductive technology treatment, easier access to childcare and early education, and even the long-taboo topic of easingimmigration. China seems to be taking a two-pronged approach, clearing some bureaucratic red tape — the Ministry of Civil Affairs introduced new proposals to streamline marriage registration in August — while also promoting a return to traditional Confucian values that hold up parenthood as both an innate virtue and a social responsibility. The more weight put on the latter, the less onerous the former will be on state expenses.
In keeping with the mass wedding’s nationwide character, news outlets from around the country covered the nuptials. In Guangdong, where close to 300 couples said their vows, the provincial Party-backed Nanfang Daily reported on a woman from Hong Kong who wed a man in Guangzhou, using the story to illustrate the advantages of the Greater Bay Area project to integrate Hong Kong more closely with nearby cities in the mainland. The newspaper also reported that 89 couples in Dongguan “issued a proposal to promote the new marriage and child-rearing culture” advocated by Xi.
Newlyweds cradle their “Honorary Certificate for the Promotion of New-Style Rural Marriage Customs” in Yinchuan. Source: Xinhua.
The official Xinhua News Agency filed from Yinchuan, the capital of the Ningxia Hui Autonomous Region. There, couples posed before a banner that read, “The Family and the Nation Bear Witness to Happiness Together” (家国同庆 见证幸福). In their hands, they held “Honorary Certificates for the Promotion of New-Style Rural Marriage Customs” (农村婚俗新风光荣证). Reporting from the nation’s capital, The Beijing News(新京報) offered a different perspective on the couples’ motivations, emphasizing the more practical incentives behind mass weddings. “We didn’t need to worry about the venue, make-up, photography, and other expenses,” said a groom from Jiangsu province. “It made everything so much simpler, saving us a lot of money and worry.” It isn’t hard to see how participating in a mass wedding ceremony, even one decked with propaganda slogans, just makes financial sense in this economy.
New Traditions for the New Era
Women of China (中国妇女), the official publication of the All-China Women’s Federation, devoted reams of coverage to the mass weddings over the course of the week. Besides full-spread splashes profiling couples like Wan Yi and Guo Yong in Shanghai, the paper also spoke with the “cultural consultant” for the ceremonies, Jia Wenyu (贾文峪). Jia places heavy emphasis on the aesthetics of Chinese tradition: the red lanterns, red silk, and red double-happiness symbols that, she says, “carry forward fine traditional Chinese culture” (传承中华优秀传统文化) — another of Xi’s catchphrases.
Xi lectures the All-China Women's Federation in August 2023. Source: Xinhua.
There have, however, been important “innovations” to these traditions. For instance, Jia points out, mass wedding participants did not bow to each other, to their parents, and to the heavens as tradition dictates. This was replaced with a “newlyweds’ oath” wishing glory and prosperity upon the motherland and the “extension of the family line.” These changes, says Jia, “guide each small family to be more closely connected to the greater family of the motherland, and to give thanks to the motherland with deep love and affection.” Paraphrasing Xi again, she terms this a “new style of household civilization” (家庭文明新风尚) — or, as the oath puts it, “a new style of socialist household civilization” (社会主义家庭文明新风尚). The goal, explains a civil affairs official, is to “link personal happiness with national glory.”
Back in Shanghai, Women of China tells us that Guo Yong couldn’t hold back his tears at the altar. It’s a common and relatable reaction for many grooms on their wedding day. But Guo Yong wasn’t choking up as his bride walked down the aisle or said “I do.” Instead, it was when he heard the word “motherland.” His betrothed, Wan Yi, provided this pitch-perfect line to round out the feature: “We will live up to the [New] Era. We will not let down the nation. This is our meager contribution to the great rejuvenation of the motherland.” That’s one way to characterize what others might call the happiest day of their lives.
China’s nascent feminist movement has been one of the many victims of authorities’ crackdown on independent civil society and other perceived threats to Communist Party rule over the past decade. In recent years, the tightening of state controls and the introduction of restrictive laws on domestic NGOs has led to a new stage where digital platforms are more crucial than ever for feminist expression. Coupled with the rise of online nationalism, this has given rise to what media scholar Eva Liu of Ohio University calls “pink feminism” — an amalgamation of feminist discourse and ideals with the jingoism of China’s online nationalists, popularly known as “little pinks” (小粉紅).
Is this a true marriage of two ideologies traditionally considered at odds with one another, or just a way for digital feminists to get their voices heard without incurring the government’s wrath? Might “pink feminism” also contain some valuable kernels of truth about the origins of feminism in China? CMP researcher Dalia Parete spoke with Eva Liu to discuss these and other important questions.
Dalia Parete: I know it’s a bit ask, but could you briefly tell us about the history of feminism in China?
Eva Liu: I don’t want to oversimplify the complex history of Chinese feminism. Drawing from Chinese feminist historians, the first wave of Chinese feminism emerged at the turn of the 20th century, primarily led by male intellectuals and nationalists. This wave viewed the vulnerability of Chinese women as the root cause of the nation’s weakness and aimed to strengthen the nation by liberating its women.
In 1949, the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) established a socialist regime, and I’m sure everybody is familiar with Mao Zedong’s famous slogan, “Women hold up half the sky.” During this historical period, public gender discourse emphasized the “sameness” between women and men, encouraging women to enter the public sphere of waged labor. Although this paternalistic discourse of women’s liberation never explicitly used the label of “feminism,” the educational level and workforce participation of Chinese women significantly improved then.
After the “Reform and Opening Up” in 1978, Western feminist theories began to enter China, and some Chinese universities started offering Women’s Studies courses. In 1995, China hosted the Fourth World Conference on Women in Beijing, which not only facilitated more cultural exchange between Chinese and international feminist scholars and activists but also introduced the concept of non-governmental organizations (NGOs) to China. After that, feminist NGOs began to spring up across the country.
In the 21st century, the Chinese government withdrew its support for local feminist NGOs, and the Foreign NGO Law, coming into effect in 2017, also prohibited local NGOs from receiving overseas funding. Since then, Chinese feminism has rarely mobilized through formal organizations, but individual expressions on social media become the primary force of feminist voices in China today, just like in many other countries.
“Women hold up half the sky” in Mao-era propaganda.
DP: How would you define the relationship between feminism and nationalism in the context of Chinese digital feminism? Does this complicate traditional feminist movements?
EL: It is quite complex. In a recent article, I wrote how many Chinese anti-feminist influencers now stigmatize Chinese feminists as “Western hostile forces,” even if there is a clear lack of substantial evidence. At the same time, many gender-related discussions on social media are intersecting with nationalist sentiments. For example, during the Paris Olympics, numerous Weibo posts were celebrating the achievements of the 2021 Tokyo Olympics and the 2022 Beijing Winter Olympics.
Many women have demonstrated their patriotism to the authorities by actively participating in nationalist campaigns such as the 2021 Xinjiang cotton controversy. These show that female citizens can be more “patriotic” than their male counterparts, who continue to watch NBA games after its executives showed support for the 2019 Hong Kong protests. This somewhat challenges the male-dominated nationalist narrative.
Many women have demonstrated their patriotism to the authorities by actively participating in nationalist campaigns.
It is important to avoid making hasty conclusions about whether these posters genuinely embrace both feminism and patriotism or if they are merely using nationalist discourse to “legitimize” feminist expressions in an increasingly restrictive online environment. The focus should be on emphasizing this “complexity,” both within digital feminist movements and in a broader context, including the Chinese setting.
DP: How do you think online censorship influences the strategies and discourse of Chinese feminists? Are there specific examples where censorship has hindered or inadvertently promoted feminist activism?
EL: Unfortunately, even some “moderate” feminists who do not directly criticize the state may still have their accounts deleted, be temporarily silenced, or be shadow-banned, meaning that fewer followers can see their posts in their feeds. It’s clear that there are double standards in how these platforms are managed, as online harassment against feminists often gets overlooked and online harassment against feminists is often tolerated.
In these circumstances, some feminists seek alternative platforms to express their opinions, which is not easy but worth trying. Others stay on mainstream platforms and confine themselves to a few “safe topics,” such as celebrating Chinese sportswomen.
Interestingly, when male users express dissatisfaction with certain content, feminists sometimes respond with nationalist rhetoric. Eileen Gu is a prominent example. Gu is viewed as a feminist for her empowering messages and also as a “nationalist” for renouncing her US citizenship and representing China, as reflected in the CCP’s official rhetoric. When male netizens criticize Gu — often over her dual citizenship — her female supporters frequently defend her by referencing official media coverage. These responses are particularly significant in today’s landscape, where alternative platforms are increasingly scarce.
DP: You recently co-authored a paper with Professor Han Ling on the phenomenon of “pink feminism” on Chinese social media. What do you mean by “pink feminism?”
EL: The term “pink feminism” has been circulating online for some time, and our work in this paper was to theorize it. It’s important to note that we do not define it as a feminist camp or identity, as very few people would call themselves pink feminists. Rather, the term is often used by those who are critical of it. We understand “pink feminism” as a practice, or more specifically a way of doing feminism in a highly restricted environment.
DP: How does this form of activism differ from more confrontational feminist approaches, and what are its potential strengths and weaknesses?
EL: I want to stress that pink feminism encourages young feminists to reexamine our indigenous history and corpus. In recent years, early Chinese feminists like Qiu Jin and He-Yin Zhen, along with socialist feminists, have been rediscovered by feminist communities.
Young Chinese feminists aren’t just passively studying Western feminist theories without thinking about local differences. They’re actively continuing the fight for gender equality, a goal that generations of Chinese feminists have worked towards.
This not only acknowledges the contributions of local feminist predecessors but also resists Western hegemonic interpretations of feminism. It is also an important step in countering the popular misconception that feminism is from the West. Young Chinese feminists aren’t just passively studying Western feminist theories without thinking about local differences. Instead, they’re actively continuing the fight for gender equality, a goal that generations of Chinese feminists have worked towards.
Two of China’s early feminists, He-Yin Zhen (何震) and Qiu Jin(秋瑾). Source : Wikimedia Commons (for He and for Qiu).
The limitations are quite clear: regardless of whether participants fully embrace nationalism, they are forced to avoid overt criticism of state policies. In other words, they end up compromising the critical edge of feminism just to increase their chances of staying safe.
DP: You suggest that pink feminism may reinforce existing power structures that feminists aim to dismantle. Can you provide examples of this?
EL: Yes, some pink feminist practices might indeed end up reinforcing neoliberal consumerism and state authoritarianism. When young feminists come across sexist ads, they usually take one of two approaches. One is through economic action — they’ll boycott the product, rally others to join in and look for alternatives. The other is more political — they’ll report the issue to the authorities. These actions show that women are using their power both as consumers and citizens. However, it’s important to remember that being a gender-conscious consumer often requires some level of class privilege.”
Participants need to stay reflective and not just accept government decisions without question. If the government doesn’t take action, it doesn’t automatically mean that feminists’ concerns are unreasonable. And if the government does take action, it’s crucial not to overlook the issue of procedural justice. Take Kris Wu’s sexual assault scandal in 2021 as an example. His social media account was deleted while he was under arrest, even though he hadn’t been convicted yet.
DP: How do you suggest Chinese feminists navigate the challenges of nationalism and engage with pink feminism without compromising their principles?
EL: In this paper, we want to highlight the internal diversity within Chinese feminism. We cannot label them as simply pro- or anti-state, and nor can we assume the superiority of feminisms that openly criticize the CCP.
For example, during the Olympics, we saw a lot of social media posts celebrating the achievements of Chinese female athletes. Even though female athletes have been winning more medals since China started competing, the sports fandom is still pretty patriarchal, and mainstream media often focuses more on male athletes. These social media discussions not only help boost the visibility of female athletes but also offer role models for young girls, encouraging them to be active and pursue fitness rather than aiming for unrealistic body ideals.
However, this “happy feminism” shouldn’t overshadow the need for feminist critiques of deeper structural issues, and it definitely shouldn’t be co-opted by state propaganda. While some critiques might struggle to get through on mainstream platforms because of censorship, we can look for alternative platforms that offer more freedom, even if that means losing some media visibility. Most importantly, even if the state or the neoliberal market seems to promote a certain type of feminism, feminists mustn’t let this biased form become the only version that’s seen as legitimate.
