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.

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.

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 21^st 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.

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.

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.

The Afghan media landscape has undergone a dramatic transformation since the Taliban’s return to power in 2021 and the subsequent withdrawal of US forces. Once a vibrant sector with over 11,000 journalists and media workers, the industry now faces significant challenges. The Taliban’s strict control over media operations has led to the closure of more than half of the country’s media outlets and many journalists, particularly women, have been forced out of their jobs, creating an environment of fear and repression for those who remain.

In this context, China’s media engagement, particularly under the Taliban regime, reflects a strategic approach that aligns with its broader regional interests. While China’s media presence in Afghanistan has been comparatively modest, it has made notable inroads through support for local Pashtun media networks and leveraging its own media channels to project a favorable image of the Taliban. 

Last week, CMP’s Dalia Parete sat down with Dr. Hazrat Bahar to discuss the Afghan media landscape, the role of Chinese media in the country, and how they have been managing the challenges and constraints they face. When Kabul fell under Taliban control in August 2021, Dr. Bahar was on the ground in Afghanistan’s capital city, in the midst of writing his Ph.D. dissertation about the impact of social media on public policy. He is now based in Leipzig, Germany. 

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Dalia Parete: By some estimates, the media sector in Afghanistan flourished after the fall of the Taliban in 2001, with a significant increase in the number of media outlets and journalists. At its peak, Afghanistan had 597 active media outlets and over 11,000 journalists, supported by international investments and a growing civil society.  Is that a fair assessment of the state of things in Afghanistan up to 2021? How did the media landscape in Afghanistan evolve before the latest Taliban takeover?

Hazrat Bahar: It’s helpful to look back at the media situation before the Taliban took over in 2021. Before 2001, during the Taliban’s first rule, Afghanistan had very limited media. There was only one government-controlled radio station and a few newspapers and magazines, mainly in Kabul. After the Taliban’s fall in 2001, the media in Afghanistan expanded rapidly and became much more democratic, a change the country had never seen before. 

The international community, particularly the United States, invested heavily in Afghanistan—nearly 1 billion dollars with over 800 million dollars coming from the US. These investments significantly boosted and diversified the media landscape. By 2004, Afghanistan’s new constitution supported a free press, and a media law passed in 2009 reinforced this by guaranteeing freedom of speech and the establishment of media outlets.

At one point, there were reportedly over 1,000 media outlets, though officially only around 600 were operational. Many outlets were short-lived, created for specific projects and ending when those projects did. Despite this, the media in Afghanistan was quite accessible and able to criticize the government and hold it accountable, even questioning high-ranking officials.

At one point, there were reportedly over 1,000 media outlets, though officially only around 600 were operational.

However, this freedom came with risks. Journalists faced threats, arrests, and torture from various sources, including the government, international forces, and insurgent groups like the Taliban and Daesh. Despite these challenges, the media enjoyed significant freedom and a strong regulatory framework during those two decades, marking a notable period of media progress in Afghanistan.

Dramatic Changes

DP: The media landscape in Afghanistan has undergone significant transformations, particularly following the Taliban’s return to power in August 2021. What are the primary challenges facing journalists in Afghanistan today?

HB: After the international community withdrew and the Taliban took control, there was a significant shift in governance, freedom, and media conditions. The Taliban understood the media’s influence and imposed strict, ongoing restrictions, which are still in place today. These restrictions create numerous obstacles for journalists in Afghanistan. Many media outlets cannot cover sensitive topics deemed off-limits by the Taliban. Journalists often practice self-censorship to avoid risking their lives, as those who report on restricted topics face severe consequences, including torture and arrest. 

International media outlets like BBC, VOA, Deutsche Welle, and even Chinese media such as CRI can no longer broadcast their content in Afghanistan. The financial support for media, once provided by international aid and local advertising, has significantly diminished, leading to reduced staff and limited coverage.

Additionally, many experienced Afghan journalists fled the country after the takeover, leaving a void filled by less-trained individuals. This has led to a lack of critical journalism, with some new media voices supporting the Taliban rather than challenging it. Consequently, the portrayal of Afghanistan from the outside may seem misleading compared to the reality on the ground, as shared by those who remain in the country. There are considerable challenges related to media access, freedom of speech, and censorship under the Taliban, which enforces a strict boundary on what can be reported.

DP: Do you think the withdrawal of the United States impacted the media landscape in Afghanistan? 

HB: Yes, the impact of the US withdrawal and the regime change in Afghanistan has been profound. With the new government, everything has shifted, including media and freedom of speech. For example, in the provinces, women are not allowed to work in the media, and their voices are even banned from being broadcast on radio. In some areas, women’s voices are restricted from live broadcasts — a stark contrast to the previous situation where women were free to work and present in the media.

Many experienced Afghan journalists fled the country after the takeover, leaving a void filled by less-trained individuals.

Protests, particularly those led by women, are not allowed, and media coverage of such events is heavily restricted. The media is also barred from reporting on attacks by armed opponents or ISIS activities unless they are major incidents. Many smaller incidents go unreported.

Although the Taliban claims to uphold media laws, they are not enforced in practice. The Taliban’s actions contradict their statements about media freedom. A new, practical media law that the Taliban would adhere to is needed. It might be helpful to involve international experts in drafting a new law more likely to be implemented effectively.

Access to information is also a significant issue. Journalists often face difficulties obtaining the information they need, as the Taliban controls the flow of information and is not responsive to requests. This situation hampers critical and investigative journalism in Afghanistan. 

Separate Spaces for Women

DP: Could you explain the situation in Afghanistan for women in the media? 

HB: Gender did not previously impact a journalist’s ability to work freely in Afghanistan. Both men and women could report on various topics without major issues, but traditional customs somehow restricted their work or attire. However, there have been significant restrictions on women in the media since the regime change.

Initially, the Taliban mandated that women and men work in separate spaces. Later, they imposed further restrictions, requiring women to wear masks while working. In the provinces, women have been almost entirely removed from the media landscape, with additional bans on women being broadcast.

These restrictions extend to education as well; women are currently barred from studying at universities and receiving media training in Afghanistan. This systematic approach effectively limits women’s participation in media. As a result, once the current female journalists leave the country, Afghanistan may face a severe shortage of women reporters.

Currently, around 60 percent of journalists have lost their jobs, with 80 percent of those being women. This has led to a significant reduction in female journalists. Although there is an increase in female bloggers, their content often avoids criticism of the regime. It may even indirectly support it, giving a misleading impression of the situation in Afghanistan.

Laws and Regulations

DP: With the current laws and regulations that journalists face when reporting, is it still possible to do professional journalism? 

HB: Currently, there are no formal laws governing media. Instead, the Taliban has introduced various directives and rules that journalists must follow. Although there is a commission intended to handle complaints and promote access to information, it has not improved media access. If someone refuses to share information, there is no mechanism to address or report this non-compliance.

The Taliban has issued around 11 directives outlining what media can and cannot report. These rules largely restrict reporting on internal Taliban affairs, including corruption within their ranks. Reporting on issues that might negatively impact the Taliban’s image, such as security concerns or internal conflicts, is also prohibited.

The situation is further complicated by the need for more unified regulations nationwide. Media conditions can vary significantly from one province to another. For example, media freedom is generally better in the northern provinces, like Mazar or Kunduz, compared to the southern and eastern regions, where restrictions are stricter. In Kandahar, where the Taliban leadership is based, media restrictions are particularly severe.

In Kabul, the situation may appear relatively better, partly because the presence of foreigners makes it essential to project an image of media freedom. However, this does not reflect the reality in the provinces, where journalists face intense self-censorship due to unclear and inconsistent regulations. The lack of clear guidelines creates fear among journalists, who are uncertain about what content might be considered risky or acceptable. This fear leads to self-censorship, as journalists avoid reporting on topics that might provoke an adverse reaction from the Taliban.

Overall, the regulations are vague and open to interpretation, contributing to a climate of fear and uncertainty among journalists. The Taliban’s approach appears to intentionally create this ambiguity to suppress bold reporting and maintain control over media narratives.

DP: What barriers do Afghan citizens face in accessing accurate and reliable information?

HB: Access to media and information in Afghanistan is a significant issue. The public is largely exposed to government propaganda, whether through state media or pro-regime bloggers. Critical media is scarce for several reasons. International media faces restrictions, and the available online media is limited by low internet penetration. Less than 18 percent of Afghans have internet access and only about 11-12 percent use social media.

Due to heavy censorship, local media cannot produce accurate or critical information. This lack of diverse perspectives means that people mostly rely on the Taliban’s narrative and what is propagated by supportive bloggers. The public sphere is thus highly controlled, with limited opportunities for critical discourse.

Attempts to provide critical information from outside the country are often met with hostility. Those who challenge the Taliban are frequently labeled as foreign agents or traitors, further stifling dissenting voices. This environment fosters misinformation and disinformation, reinforcing the Taliban’s narrative and suppressing alternative viewpoints.

Additionally, Afghanistan's limited media literacy makes it difficult to differentiate between propaganda and accurate information. This contributes to the Taliban’s ability to control public perception, as people tend to accept at face value what they see and hear.

China's Role in the Region

DP: Media engagement has been an essential way for China to influence countries in the region. Are you seeing media engagement by China with the Taliban? What impact, if any, do you think engagement like this is having? 

Hazrat Bahar: In the past, the media sector in Afghanistan was heavily influenced by the Western and international communities, with significant investment and involvement, though China also played a role. While Western countries and regional players like India were prominent, China’s involvement was limited and was involved in two main ways.

First, China supported Afghan media networks, such as Shamshad Network and Axon Media Network. Shamshad Network received some support from China, while Axon Media Network, which included outlets like Spogmai Radio, also had ties to Chinese backing. These networks primarily operated in Kabul.

Second, China had its own media presence in Afghanistan. China Radio International (CRI) Pashto contracted with Spogmai Radio, part of the Axon  Network, broadcasting CRI’s programs twice daily in Kabul and Kandahar. CRI Pashto’s social media page gained significant traction, with over three million followers, which is notable compared to many popular Afghan media outlets.

Additionally, China Global Television Network (CGTN) produced and is still producing content about Afghanistan, mainly in English. Kabul News Television created a documentary about the Belt and Road Initiative in Afghanistan in 2017. While China’s involvement was less extensive compared to the Western community, it still made notable contributions to Afghan media and provided training for Afghan journalists in China.

DP: Are there any concerns or reservations among Afghani journalists regarding their relationship with Chinese media? 

HB: Afghan journalists were cautious about forming close relationships with China. For instance, I spoke with the owner of a prominent Afghan media outlet while researching a chapter on China’s media involvement in Afghanistan. He shared that many journalists avoided visiting the Chinese embassy out of fear that their presence might be noticed by Western diplomats, who might view it unfavorably. This concern was compounded by India's support for Afghan media and the ongoing tensions between India and China, as well as between China and Western countries.

Additionally, China's support for Afghan media was relatively limited and targeted. They mainly supported media outlets ideologically aligned with China or critical of Western involvement in Afghanistan. This selective support may have contributed to the Afghan media's limited interest and involvement in China.

DP: How does Chinese media coverage of the Taliban and its regime in Afghanistan differ from that of Western media, and what impact might this have on the perception of China in Afghanistan?

HB: Even now, Chinese media continues to support the current Afghan regime. They use carefully chosen terms to describe the situation, such as "the acting government of Afghanistan," instead of referring to it as the "Taliban regime" or similar terms. This terminology aligns with the language used by Chinese officials and reflects the close relationship between China and the Taliban. Unlike Western media, which often has a critical stance, Chinese media portrays a more positive image of the Taliban.

Unlike Western media, which often has a critical stance, Chinese media portrays a more positive image of the Taliban.

Chinese media coverage emphasizes security and development, often attributing any negative issues in Afghanistan to international involvement while crediting the Taliban and Chinese investment for improvements. They downplay concerns about human rights and women's rights, framing these issues as internal matters of each country and not areas for external criticism.

DP: Generally speaking, how do the public and media audiences view China? 

HB: From my analysis of Chinese media coverage over the past two decades, China has been viewed positively in Afghanistan. Even though China’s media presence is not as prominent as that of international outlets like BBC or VOA, the general perception of China remains favorable. Chinese media has been less active in promoting its interests compared to its Western counterparts, but it has still maintained a positive image in Afghan media.

Recently, Chinese media has increased its engagement with high-ranking officials in the Afghan government, as reported by both Afghan and Chinese media. Despite this, the Taliban has restricted international media, including Chinese outlets like China Radio International (CRI), from broadcasting within Afghanistan. For example, CGTN attempted to livestream the International Olympic Games in 2013 but was unsuccessful due to these restrictions.

Overall, while Chinese media continues to have a significant presence and influence, particularly among Pashtun communities in Afghanistan, the Taliban’s restrictions on international media limit their ability to operate freely.

DP: How has China targeted its media outreach in Afghanistan, and is there any notable difference in how it is received by different ethnic groups? 

HB: The Chinese media networks I mentioned are primarily owned by Pashtuns, reflecting a strong China-Pashtun connection. I found no evidence of Chinese support extending to non-Pashtun media outlets. For instance, the CRI Pashtu page is quite popular in Afghanistan, whereas the CRI Persian page has much less engagement. This indicates that Chinese media is specifically targeting the Pashtun population, which, in turn, shows a greater interest in Chinese media.

Regarding Chinese language media, I haven’t seen any Chinese-language publications aimed at the Chinese-speaking population in Afghanistan. There is also a Confucius Institute in Kabul that teaches Chinese, but I haven’t seen any media or content published exclusively in Chinese. Before the government's collapse, there were some private Chinese language courses in Kabul, largely driven by economic ties with China. 

Many Afghans who travel to China for business or education learn Chinese primarily for practical reasons, but I haven’t observed any significant presence of Chinese language content in Afghanistan. Most Chinese language materials sent by CRI were brochures and promotional items for their regular listeners.

Lü Pin began her involvement in women’s rights in the 1990s, as a new generation of women’s activism was bubbling in the wake of the United Nations Fourth World Conference on Women, held in Beijing in September 1995. Then a recent graduate of Shandong University, she was working as a journalist for China Women’s News (中国妇女报), the official publication of the All-China Women’s Federation or ACWF (中华全国妇女联合会), a Communist Party-affiliated “mass organization.”

After a decade at the paper, Lü set off on her own to found Feminist Voices (女权之声), an independent outlet based on Weibo and WeChat. Also known in English as Women’s Voice, it advocated for women and offered a support network for this new generation of activists, helping them analyze and discuss feminist issues. The online platform was permanently shut down by the authorities in 2018, by which point Lü was continuing her writing and activism from the United States, fearing harassment for her work in China. Now pursuing a PhD at Rutgers University, Lü Pin’s passion for advocacy and activism has never faded. She continues to moderate the Facebook group Free Chinese Feminists, where she shares news and updates on the state of women’s rights in China. 

Last month, CMP’s Dalia Parete sat down with Lü Pin to discuss her journey as a feminist and the ways women’s issues are portrayed in China today. 

Dalia Parete: I know you’ve been engaged with women’s issues and feminism in China for many years, but perhaps you could start by telling us how you first became interested in, or concerned about these issues. What got you involved?

Lü Pin: In 1994, after graduating from university, I was offered a job as a reporter at the China Women’s News. At that time, I had not been exposed to feminism and had little interest in women’s issues. Knowing nothing about feminism, I became exposed to women’s issues through my work at a time when preparations for the upcoming Fourth World Conference on Women in Beijing were in full swing. I attended the NGO Forum at the Fourth World Conference on Women in 1995 as a reporter and was greatly impressed by the fervent feminist spirit and the diverse range of issues discussed by participants from all over the world.

The year following that conference, a few of my colleagues and some gender scholars founded a volunteer group dedicated to media and gender equality, though I was not actively involved with this group until about 1998. Around International Women’s Day that year, I participated in a gender awareness training session organized by a colleague along with other female journalists. During an icebreaker activity when asked, “Who are you?” I responded with “a journalist.” The facilitator showed her response to the same question as “a female journalist.” This experience was among my earliest realizations that incorporating a gender perspective into my work was not only possible but could also make a significant difference.

Two issues that initially caught my attention were gender bias in mass media and domestic violence against women. As a result, my colleagues and I, in collaboration with some gender studies scholars, formed a writing group and established a column in China Women’s News. This column, which ran for about three years, focused on critiquing the prevalent issues within the mass media at the time, specifically how the media discriminated against, demeaned, and ignored women in various aspects. 

My engagement with the issue of domestic violence also began through the media, by raising awareness among media workers and enhancing the media coverage of domestic violence issues. Starting in 2002, I led a program that organized seminars and training sessions for journalists in Beijing and other cities, invited them to cover advocacy activities, and facilitated the creation of a guide for reporting on domestic violence. In 2003, I distributed press releases on proposed legislation for the Law Against Domestic Violence to journalists at the “Two Sessions,” which was finally enacted in 2016 after more than a decade of collaborative efforts.

DP: Earlier in your career, you worked as a reporter for China Women’s News, which is a state-affiliated publication. What was that experience like? How was it possible, and maybe not possible, to talk about the issues that concerned you?

LP: I worked for China Women’s News for a total of ten years, from 1994 to 2004. The newspaper is directly controlled by the Party, but it is almost the least important newspaper of the Party’s national propaganda system. The newspaper’s motto was “to publicize women to society, to publicize society to women,” implying that it struggles with the marginalization of the women’s issues it advocated within the dominant ideology. While working at the newspaper, I did a lot of propaganda work that I was instructed to do, much of which I didn’t realize was problematic at the time.

For instance, during the so-called enterprise reform, many women were forcibly dismissed and left without social protection. However, the newspaper portrayed the unemployment issue as a result of women’s “low quality” and promoted the notion that women should “stand on their own feet” as a solution to the problem.

At the same time, the newspapers’ advocacy for gender equality has led to a critical examination of women’s rights issues, including violence against women and gender discrimination in the family, education, and the workplace. This also opened up the newspapers to engage with the activities of women’s organizations and to consider the perspectives of feminist scholars on several issues, fostering a more inclusive and informed discussion on women’s rights. I am most grateful for the exposure to feminism and civil women’s organizations during the ten years I worked for the newspaper.

I did not have many real readers because China Women’s News, like other state-affiliated newspapers, has never been marketed to the broader public.

A fact that might not be known to many is that media directly affiliated with the state at the time allowed journalists considerable autonomy, as they did not strictly regulate the content beyond the bottom line of not overstepping red lines and fulfilling the propaganda tasks entrusted to them by the state. Although I diligently wrote many reports about women’s rights and gender issues, I did not have many real readers because China Women’s News, like other state-affiliated newspapers, has never been marketed to the broader public.

Nor was there any reward for excellence or hard work within the newspaper. My experience has taught me that the rigidity and staleness of content in state-affiliated media outlets are not solely due to censorship and propaganda. A considerable factor is also their lack of competition in the marketplace, although marketization does not necessarily imply an increased interest in gender equality. Ultimately, it was the demoralization and sense of meaninglessness in the work environment that led me to leave China Women’s News after ten years of working for it.

DP: Drawing on your experience in the media sphere and also as an activist, how would you assess reporting in China today on women’s issues? And what would you like to see?

LP: This is a big question. Simply put, we should dynamically assess media coverage of women’s issues in light of changes in both China’s socio-political environment and its media ecology. I’m also viewing it from a feminist activist’s perspective. In the era when marketized traditional media replaced state-affiliated media as the major public agenda setters, the problem continued to be mainly the marginalization of women and gender issues, characterized more by the virtual absence of references to them rather than overt manifestations of discrimination and symbolic exploitation.

When marketized media replaced state-affiliated media as the major public agenda setters, the problem continued to be the marginalization of women and gender issues.

For a period, I did observe a quantitative increase in mass media coverage of women’s rights claims, although it remained limited in overall proportion. The reason for this surge was that the media at the time was drawn to the controversial advocacy approaches adopted by feminists. However, as the feminist movement faced increasing repression in 2015 and the political environment in China tightened, it became difficult for mass media to spotlight feminist advocacy.

The rise of the feminist movement, against the odds of repression, nevertheless introduced a new variable: the opportunity and possibility for the mass media to communicate feminist claims when they become very prominent. In the boom period of the #MeToo movement, which began in 2018, there was a lot of effort by the media to report, with those media reporters consciously viewing their reporting as supportive of the movement and as a form of defiance against censorship. Despite many reports not making it to the presses and others being deleted later, the media coverage significantly fueled the #MeToo movement’s efforts to raise public awareness. Additionally, the media’s shift to the Internet has facilitated more comprehensive coverage of gender issues, allowing for representation in lengthy and multimedia formats. 

As feminism becomes further politically stigmatized and the media faces increasing restrictions against investigating controversial issues, the gender perspective in news coverage is diminishing, appearing only occasionally and subtly in “non-fiction” stories. In the cases of gender-based violence that attracted a great deal of concern since 2022, such as the case of the chained women, the media was powerless to reveal the truth, and to a considerable extent was only able to convey the official narrative frame. In China’s context, media coverage of women’s issues is increasingly becoming a matter of what reporting is permitted — that is, a question of freedom of expression.

In fact, I’m fairly certain that covering women’s issues would be greatly in the media’s interest at this time. Women’s rights are arguably one of the hottest topics in China, and yet both the amount and depth of media coverage in this area are simply not commensurate with the needs of audiences. I’m not suggesting that easing censorship would fully resolve gender inequality in the media, but rather it’s no longer realistic to discuss improving media coverage when heavy censorship has significantly curtailed the autonomy of media reporting.

DP: I wonder if we could turn to your work at Feminist Voices. What was the idea behind starting this project?

LP: My motivation for founding Feminist Voices in 2009 was as much about dissatisfaction with the mass media as it was with the feminist movement back then. Rather than negotiating with mass media workers to encourage more focus on women’s issues, I opted for a more efficient strategy: directly disseminating the feminist perspective through alternative media. I also aimed to reorganize the feminist movement by engaging with the general public beyond the confines of feminist circles dominated by the intellectual elite. 

It was a period when civil society was burgeoning in China, and I was driven by a strong desire to ensure that the feminist movement did not become disconnected or marginalized. In the years after having the idea to create an alternative media outlet, I lacked the resources to make it real. All I managed to do was establish a feminist blog on my personal MSN account, which has been discontinued. That blog received up to 2,000 hits per post before being banned before the 2008 Olympics. So, when I finally secured a bit of funding to create Feminist Voices, I had confidence that it was going to work.

For the first two years of Feminist Voices, I was the only part-time employee and handled everything. Almost all weeks, I distributed a Word file containing several original articles through an e-mail group I managed, which had over a thousand members — perhaps almost all the active feminists around the country at that time.

I would also upload some important articles to social media. Weibo had not been launched yet, but there was Kaixin and Douban. The highest number of reads I received on a single post was 20,000, and almost every week I received enthusiastic feedback telling me how my articles inspired them and suggesting topics they would like me to discuss. From such feedback, I recognized that there were already some very passionate young feminists in China who were eager to take action. The alliance between Feminist Voices and these young people contributed to opening up an era of greater popularization and politicization of the feminist movement in China. The main point of recalling this history may be to highlight the great potential that media and communication may contribute to social change. 

Feminist Voices was banned long ago but today numerous other feminist alternative media outlets are currently active in China. Many of them lack a large following and are highly vulnerable to suspension due to exhaustion and censorship, but they collectively form a vast network of feminist communication that tenaciously remains the community base of feminism. There may be only a few at the vanguard of a movement, but the resilience of the movement is something that countless people unite to hold onto.

DP:  In 2018, while you were living in America, the #MeToo movement surged in China. How did you see the movement?

LP: The rise and growth of the #MeToo movement demonstrates the adaptive resilience of the feminist movement. The “Feminist Five” case, in which five feminists were arrested and detained for organizing an anti-sexual harassment action, occurred in March-April 2015. It underscored the government’s deterrence against the organizing of high-profile women’s rights advocacy. However, despite the shrinking and going semi-underground nature of core feminist activist groups, the reach of the feminist movement expanded dramatically through the internet, fostering active public debate on various topics. The #MeToo movement represented another phase in the feminist movement’s evolution, led by a generation of young feminists who centered their activism around issues rooted in their own gendered experiences, and a more spontaneous and decentralized approach to mobilization.

#MeToo highlights the remarkable courage and vitality that feminism can ignite, evident in its ability to break through censorship, shaking up society and amplifying women’s voices countless times for the last six years. But #MeToo could not halt the deteriorating political climate in China, resulting in waves of violence against its participants, including activists and survivors who came forward.

As collective action has become almost impossible, and as legal and institutional changes appear increasingly unlikely, the #MeToo movement, and indeed the feminist movement as a whole, increasingly shifts towards engaging in discursive debates surrounding culture, relationships, behavioral norms, and lifestyles as a means of adaptation. Certainly, discursive debates are crucial for effecting far-reaching social change, and the expansive feminist community fostered by the #MeToo movement in China stands as a significant bastion of resistance within the current Chinese landscape.

DP: What strategies do you think the feminist movement in China will employ to maintain its momentum and adapt to the evolving political climate, given the challenges it faces in terms of censorship?

LP: We know that censorship does not block all dissemination of information, but merely draws boundaries or raises the threshold for it. As a result, cases that achieve great emotional or moral mobilization can still be widely disseminated and evoke strong anger, while messages that do not directly resort to resistance may also still circulate. Of course, things have become so unpredictable and unstable that no one can confirm what would survive censorship. I mean, with regard to women’s rights, there’s still space for discussion within the Great Firewall (GWF) at the moment, but when it comes to building momentum for the movement, that’s really impossible to plan and anticipate.

Further, we have been witnessing a strategy become more prominent — namely, information backwash, which is spreading information into GFW from sites outside GFW. Yet there are no examples of the feminist movement being able to forge mobilization in this way, and this strategy is being risked by transnational repression. My own current interest is in the creation of insightful critical and activism-oriented knowledge that aims at the empowerment of the community. Keeping our members from being ignorant is essential to maintaining our movement in the long term and at the forefront.

DP: Finally, I’d like to ask about a term that has garnered significant attention in Western discussions of Chinese feminism — the concept of “leftover women” (剩女). This term, which refers to unmarried women over a certain age, has been widely discussed in Western media. Does it still significantly influence how women are portrayed in China? If so, how does it impact the broader discourse on women’s roles and expectations in Chinese society?

LP: A fundamental aspect of the severe patriarchal constraints faced by Chinese women is the demand for them to conform to gender-specific norms and fulfill gender-specific obligations, such as marrying and bearing children by a certain age. 

I think one of the most prominent conflicts in China is that women have progressed but the state and society have not.

The term “leftover woman” functions as a stigmatizing label, symbolizing society’s denial of the dignity of women who deviate from expected gender behaviors and serving as a cautionary message to other women. On the other hand, the term has emerged precisely because more and more women are postponing marriage or even declaring that they will not marry. This phenomenon is a manifestation of women’s increased level of education and independence of livelihood, and also their increased awareness of women’s autonomy. In fact, I think one of the most prominent conflicts in China is that women have progressed but the state and society have not.

Today, if I am asked whether the term “leftover woman” still wields significant power to harm women demanding lifestyle freedom, my answer is not as much as it did 10 or 15 years ago. This is because more women today are resisting the imposition of patriarchal norms on them.

Indeed, one of the most prominent initiatives remaining in the current feminist movement is “no marriage and no childbearing to protect ourselves.” This radical attitude represents the cutting edge of the feminist debate on lifestyles.