Previously in this series, we’ve delved into Václav Havel's analysis of the hidden dynamics underpinning the post-totalitarian system. In Part One, we explored how this system subtly shaped identity and enforced conformity through ideological indoctrination and everyday rituals, exemplified by the greengrocer’s slogan in his shop window.

In Part Two, we examined Havel’s simple but powerful solution of “living within the truth,” against the backdrop of a web of lies manufactured by the regime, understanding how acts of individual authenticity can spark real resistance.

In this post, we’ll see what the opposition force looks like in a post-totalitarian society. Understanding the complex interplay of social dynamics is also helpful for today’s China watchers, as the general social and political circumstances differ significantly from those in Czechoslovakia in the 1980s.

Communist China essentially represents a state of being, a society trapped in a subject culture, a bureaucratic-centric culture, where the elements of civic culture, such as political participation and civil liberties, are still absent in the popular minds. This phenomenon can be observed in over 2,000 counties in China’s vast hinterlands, primarily in the middle and western provinces, which constitute the power base of the Chinese Communist Party’s rule.

Before we begin, I need to reiterate on the post-totalitarian system. A post-totalitarian society, broadly speaking, can be understood as a society governed by a post-totalitarian system, with a single political party ruling at the top of the power structure.

The reason for the prefix “post” is that some radical elements of the totalitarian system, such as the open and brutal persecutions within the political system and political movements that involve the general public, have been absent for some time in the new political and social circumstances. Yet the nature of the regime remains the same, regardless of how much work the regime has put into packaging itself as a friend to foreign capital and friendly and curious tourists.

Therefore, it’s a misnomer to designate the Communist system in China as authoritarian. An authoritarian system is one in which there are elections and opposition parties, as is the case in Turkey and Singapore.

China’s totalitarian system, which was built with the assistance of the Soviet Union, has become softened to some extent due to the integration with the global economic system. Yet, to what extent the regime has changed since 1949 is a question open to all kinds of interpretations. From the perspective of regime and system analysis, the current China and North Korea belong to the same group.

“Did you finish the pie?”

“We'll finish it up tonight.”

“Pass it on to Volodia when you're done.”

A popular joke in Eastern Europe during the Cold War. Two readers of samizdat literature (forbidden texts among the dissidents) assumed the KGB was listening to their conversation. 

The true power dynamics

In our previous discussions, we have seen that simply relying on political processes and structural shifts within the post-totalitarian system to yield changes is insufficient. As Havel has explained, real political change first occurs in the “pre-political hinterland” — the sphere where non-political and authentic activities happen. These activities do not necessarily have a political purpose, but they are inherently independent initiatives, derived from common sense and human consciousness.

This indicates that meaningful change arises fundamentally from a shift in the existential, moral, and spiritual order. Without these deeper changes, which touch on the meaning of existence, even the most sophisticated political and economic reforms are superficial and ineffective in bringing about transformations in society.

In other words, the crisis at this level is the real crisis, as one is trapped in a state of being paralyzed without seeing the way out. One is no longer whole on the existential level, but is being tightly monitored and controlled by the state.

If official ideology is the underlying force that dictates the average person’s understanding of existence as part of the post-totalitarian system, then the outward power structure and its networks of control are the necessary mechanisms to facilitate the functioning of the bureaucratic machine and the society under its influence.

In other words, individuals no longer have the choice to craft their existence in such a system that manipulates human consciousness and shared understanding of things. And the system is good at coercing individuals to submit to its sphere of influence. There is no harmony between the individual citizens and the government, as the political order, in essence, is very much predatory and dominant.

People familiar with the red tape culture in communist and socialist states can attest to the reality that their actions can only be approved when they are aligned with the directives and ideological inclinations of the state on the higher level, at the same time catering to the parochial and immediate interests (meaning, bribery and currying favor with officials) of functionaries at the lower ranking government bureaus.

The post-totalitarian system, on the other hand, is utterly obsessed with the need to bind everything in a single order: life in such a state is thoroughly permeated by a dense network of regulations, proclamations, directives, norms, orders, and rules…Individuals are reduced to little more than tiny cogs in an enormous mechanism and their significance is limited to their function in this mechanism.1

Naturally, how we respond to an overall social circumstance/general social conditions can shape the trajectories of our life stories, but our choices also reflect the evolving social dynamics. People can respond to the systemic pressure of conformity with some forms of resistance, but may eventually give up fighting in the face of being institutionalized, often due to feelings of demoralization and powerlessness.

What is dangerously devious about this system that reshapes one’s meaning of existence is that, it has the capabilities and examples to persuade one that the only worthy, respectable, and pragmatic solution to survive and live a “good” life in such a social atmosphere is to learn to fit in and become one of them, just as everyone else is doing.

The moment one starts to believe such a prevailing narrative is the moment one stops exploring the possibilities of their unique modes of existence. The question is, is it still possible to define the confrontation between the standing power structure and the person who is still aware of his or her situation?

Opposition in contexts

In democracies, opposition is institutionalized and openly competes for votes and power, contributing directly to political decision-making and mutual coordination of interests. For the average citizen, participating in the election process is about shaping the outlook of the polity, reshuffling how the political game is being played, and, of course, agreeing to share the burden of policy adjustment.

In traditional dictatorships, opposition is usually considered illegal and forcibly suppressed. It takes many forms, such as a revolutionary and clandestine movement with the goal of overthrowing the regime. It can also be the case that a social group, in proposing an alternative political program, openly challenges the ruling regime as a political force.

In the post-totalitarian system, which does not allow the existence of actual opposition political parties, resistance occupies a unique existential and spiritual space, confronting the regime indirectly by refusing to perpetuate its hollow rituals, lies, and manufactured narratives, thus creating parallel spaces for alternative forms of existence. In Havel’s words,

The opposition is every attempt to live within the truth, from the greengrocer’s refusal to put the slogan in his window to a freely written poem; in other words, everything in which the genuine aims of life go beyond the limits placed on them by the aims of the system.2

Understanding opposition in the post-totalitarian system clarifies why traditional political and legal approaches are likely to fail in producing real change. The complexity of the legal and bureaucratic code in a post-totalitarian society acts as both a tool of control and a mask of normalcy.

As mentioned above, the red tape culture, characterized by bureaucratic complexity, traps individuals, forcing them into passive roles within the machinery of control. As a result, outsiders often find it challenging to discern the true nature of this system, as everything seems to operate normally on the surface, despite often being confused by the opaqueness and elusiveness of how the system is being managed. The legal code, therefore, serves as a deceptive framework that communicates legitimacy outwardly, projecting the illusion of a functioning society while effectively suppressing genuine autonomy and freedom.

Traditional political fights within the power structure, proposing a new, alternative political program, a basket of reforms, will not work because the real battle is at the existential level, not just on a political and systemic level.

This is why the policy of imposing a liberal democratic model and market economy, the so-called “dual transition,” may not necessarily work in such a post-totalitarian society. The spiritual make-up of the nation, its social fabric, mode of thinking, and ways of doing things are not ready to correspond to democratic governance. In other words, without a genuine social transformation, the process of democratization is most likely going to fail.

The “second culture” and “parallel polis”

In the case of Czechoslovakia, opposition there developed alternative forms of resistance — what Havel and his contemporaries termed the “second culture.”3

This second culture manifested vividly in the clandestine production of literature, journals, and artistic expressions known as samizdat, circulated secretly yet widely among trusted circles. Beyond mere dissemination of banned and censored content, this underground culture became a nurturing ground for truthful dialogue, independent thought, and authentic community-building.

Parallel to the official society, an alternative, underground society—a “parallel polis”—gradually emerged in cities across Eastern Europe during the Cold War. Unlike traditional opposition movements explicitly aimed at regime change, the parallel polis sought to live truthfully, building genuine human connections and reclaiming moral integrity within small, everyday interactions.

Havel’s political essays, like the one introduced here, are still banned in Communist China today. We may wonder, how come a piece of writing about the post-totalitarian system in Czechoslovakia is still censored in the largest communist state?

On the surface, as president, Havel was critical of the CCP and its track record on human rights violations. More importantly, his political essays reveal the nature of such a post-totalitarian system. As pointed out by Havel, the foundation of this system is not raw political power, but manufactured lies intermixed with ideological propaganda. A tiny bit of truth would be considered a threat to the regime.

Generally speaking, anyone working in the cultural sphere, including entertainment and education, would attest to the fact that getting a green light from the Publicity Department in China is usually a tricky business. Such was the case when the “Top Gun: Maverick,” a Hollywood movie, struggled to break into the Chinese market upon its release. The reason was because of a scene where it displayed the national flag of the Republic of China (Taiwan) on a jacket.

Why would such a scene bring about controversy? Anyone politically minded in China knows that you can actually display a foreign flag in public, such as in schools. But not the flag of the Republic of China. For decades, the school system has been teaching Chinese students that the Republic of China was gone in 1949. Therefore, an American movie that associates the image of that flag can potentially raise some questions about the country’s most recent history.

Coincidentally, there was a domestically produced movie, “The Eight Hundred,” that depicted the Republic’s resistance against Japanese invasion in Shanghai in 1937. The movie is about the famous Sihang Warehouse fight under the circumstances of the Battle of Shanghai. The roughly 400 soldiers of the National Revolutionary Army’s 524th Regiment were just a glimpse of the battle between the Republic and Imperial Japan, as the war took the lives of over 3 million soldiers and high-ranking officers on China’s side.

The relevant publicity bureau stalled the movie because it displayed the Republic’s fight in a positive spirit, with many scenes showing the national flag of the Republic of China. Why is a regime so sensitive and paranoid toward this kind of cultural activity, after all, it has won the civil war and has all the political and military power?

Havel has told us the answer: any tiny bit of independent initiative can threaten the foundation of this post-totalitarian system that is built on lies and propaganda. In China’s case, any historically minded person would know how the Republic fought in times of foreign invasion and national crisis, and what the CCP did throughout the war.

An Orwellian future?

I think the idea of “second culture” is quite helpful for people still living in political repression, on a macro and systemic level, and a micro, daily life level. And the presence of such alternative spheres of life reveals two possible trajectories:

1. An increasingly rigid, surveillance state, enforcing stricter and pervasive control over most aspects of daily life, suppressing even subtle forms of dissent.

2. The quiet but steady emergence of a parallel polis as a significant social phenomenon, fundamentally transforming society from within through authentic individual practices.

In the second scenario, the transformative power of modest, piecemeal efforts is still the key. A better life can only be created by the person who is consciously taking life into his or her own hands.

In the first case, for example, in today’s China, the real work probably has to begin with rebuilding basic common sense and shared understandings of the country’s recent history before talking about social and political transformations.

Subscribe now

Share

Leave a comment

Part One recap:

Previously, we’ve examined the hidden dynamics of power and ideology in the post-totalitarian system. In this post, we get to know more about Havel’s solution for taking back control of authentic life and identity through his famous words, “living within the truth.”

Havel’s call is not just a political tactic; fundamentally, it is an existential and spiritual stance. It is a decision not to participate in the lies and political rituals demanded by the system. Instead, it encourages one to reclaim dignity and integrity through even small acts of defiance or simple honesty.

The greengrocer is a pivotal example. What if he decides to stop displaying the meaningless slogan “Workers of the world, unite!” in his window? This is a spiritual revolt that prompts him to unveil the curtain that blocks his view of his actual existence.

This small, quiet defiance thus becomes a powerful and symbolic attack on the façade on which the system stands.

Names, definitions, and frameworks are analytical tools that help us understand the phenomenal world. They either reveal a truthful representation of reality (at best capturing some aspects of it) or present a distorted one.

Yet, they are still necessary pathways through which we understand our relations with the external world and, in particular, get a clear picture of our state of existence.

If the post-totalitarian system, as well as the entire society under its control, as Havel has revealed to us, has been operating based on political lies, manufactured narratives, and supported and justified by ideology, then the system would object to any sign of living truthfully.

The greengrocer’s awakening

When our greengrocer suddenly decides not to display the slogan in his shop window, he breaks the existing social contract that everyone has tacitly agreed to. Something new happens in his life. He becomes aware of his past actions of reticence. He knows that something has broken in his sense of being.

Before long, he would get calls and inquiries from the local police department. The system of control would first punish him if he were to refuse to conform, just as everyone else does.

More commonly, fractures in his social relations begin to emerge. He can feel that he is being silently shunned, despised, and hated by all the people around him. He has put himself and his family in danger of isolation. He is now an enemy of the post-totalitarian order.

His action of removing the slogan and refusing to conform reveals a glitch in the system. Despite not publicizing his actions and thoughts, his silent act alone is being perceived by the system and all the people around him as an open challenge, reminding some of them that they have been living a polished lie all the time.

He will eventually lose business, being excommunicated and chased by the supporters of the system. At this point, he begins to realize that he has touched the nerve of the system simply by reclaiming his own sovereignty over his realm of being.

Yet, in doing so, he has annoyed and antagonized those around him, revealing the unpleasant fact that they may be living in an illusion, trapped by the appearances of reality, and serving the system at the expense of their own individuality and dignity.

This is what happens when we begin to step out of a manufactured reality we’ve been living in and aspire to make breakthroughs in life. The system of conformity and control will reveal its predatory nature when a voice of dissent is raised. But the moment of awakening occurs when we realize that we are willing to face the consequences no matter what.

While not seeking any external attention, the greengrocer’s act basically tells the world that “the king is naked.” Obviously, this act alone is just another way of saying that people have been deceiving themselves into thinking all is well, for the truth, which is too powerful, can be harmful, like receiving a beam of light too strong for someone who has been living in the dark for too long.

Therefore, on the existential level, he has become the opposition, a real threat to the system and those who subscribe to it.

At this point, the greengrocer will come to realize that living within the truth is a process of waking up and coming to terms with reality, which is often unpleasant and ugly. But this is a one-way journey; he cannot close the door that leads toward the truth of life itself.

The urge to grope for light, to live in truth, is unstoppable because it is fundamentally aligned with the force of life.

Charter 77 and cultural defiance

Apart from our greengrocer, Havel also delved into two other important examples: a rock band and the Charter 77 movement.

Charter 77 was a human rights manifesto, initiated in 1977 by a group of Czech intellectuals, including Havel himself, that represented Havel’s principle of authentic being through living in truth.

It was not a political opposition with the aim of overthrowing the government. Instead, it confronted the entire political establishment on existential and moral grounds by demanding adherence to basic human rights, which had already been nominally guaranteed in the state constitution and international treaties.

Together with this intellectual movement, a vibrant underground cultural phenomenon emerged in Czechoslovakia, represented by the rock band “The Plastic People of the Universe.” Their music, lifestyle, and existence posed a deeply subversive challenge to the regime as they refused to conform to the state’s cultural standards.

Havel and other intellectuals had openly supported the band, making it clear that the nature of this confrontation with political authority was essentially spiritual and existential.

The meaning of resistance, thus, was not about fighting a political war as these cultural groups still had no clear and alternative political programs, but lies in asserting authenticity in a gray world dominated by falseness, as this confrontation takes place on the level of human consciousness and conscience, the existential level and “makes its influence felt in the obscure arena of being itself.”1

The “pre-political” sphere: where real change begins

Since the real battle between the system and the opposition occurs at the existential level, any movements or phenomena that eventually assume political significance can arise not from the open political confrontations between different forces, but instead, they are developed from what Havel calls the “pre-political” hinterland, “where living within a lie confronts living within the truth, that is, where the demands of the post-totalitarian system conflict with real aims of life.”2

That is to say, based on the understanding of the existential confrontation, every act of living within the truth, every authentic and free expression, and any cultural phenomenon that does not conform to the state’s directives, is a revolt against the system.

Since the nature of this confrontation is not about struggling for power, traditional political solutions can prove ineffective. If that is the case, how do we know that the existential fight is real and reliable? Would the individuals and social groups be able to find resonance and inspiration from the examples of our greengrocer, the rock band, and Charter 77? What is their source of spiritual strength?

Havel’s explanation illustrates his understanding of the system and how it exercises psychological control on people, as well as his deep compassion for the struggles people (within and outside the political system) face on a daily basis. The real power of the powerless, the average citizen, standing in front of the gigantic and anonymous bureaucratic machine,

… lies spread out in the fifth column of social consciousness, in the hidden aims of life, in human beings repressed longing for dignity and fundamental rights, for the realization of their real social and political interests…this power does not rely on soldiers of its own, but on the soldiers of the enemy at it were — that is to say, on everyone who is living within the lie and who may be struck at any moment (in theory, at least) by the force of truth (or who, out of an instinctive desire to protect their position, may at least adapt to that force). It is bacteriological weapon, so to speak, utilized when conditions are ripe by a single civilian to disarm an entire division.3

From Havel’s perspective, this existential confrontation is more vital than political struggle for power and regime change. While political and power shifts may appear significant, they often remain superficial and do not address the transformation of a society’s or nation’s spirit.

The actual battle, and also the real project of change, as Havel emphasizes, occurs at an existential level. This is the spiritual sphere that genuinely affects and shapes the essence of human existence, the realm of being itself.

Consequently, meaningful social transformation is activated when changes in the existential, spiritual, and moral order start to shift. This is the precondition for fundamental changes before the project of transplanting new political and economic systems into the existing society. And this is partially why political reforms and democratization can fail to take root if they do not heed the fundamentals that have governed society for too long.

But how does such an existential confrontation manifest itself practically? Why does the post-totalitarian regime instinctively suppress even small and insignificant acts of living within the truth, such as our greengrocer’s hypothetical defiance?

As Havel insightfully points out, the regime fears the invisible movements that occur within the hidden sphere of authenticity, precisely because these subtle acts of resistance have the unpredictable potential to evolve into concrete political actions, social movements, or unpredictable and powerful cultural shifts.

The hidden movements it gives rise to there, can issue forth in something visible: a real political act or event, a social movement, a sudden explosion of civil unrest, a sharp conflict inside an apparently monolithic power structure, or simply an irrepressible transformation in the social and intellectual climate. And since all genuine problems and matters of critical importance are hidden beneath a thick crust of lies, it is never quite clear when the proverbial last straw will fall, or what that straw will be. This, too, is why the regime prosecutes, almost as a reflex action preventively, even the most modest attempts to live within the truth.4

In a nutshell, the power of the powerless lies in the moment when a person awakens to the decision to take back control of their way of existence, rather than being dictated by the words of any political or religious authority.

The inner force within will drive that person toward taking independent initiatives. For the mission of crafting and shaping one’s own identity and meaning, in essence, is to build order from the confusion, chaos, and illusions of this phenomenal world.

Now, we know that in such a post-totalitarian system or any system of control, a simple act or voice that embodies living in truth is inevitably perceived by the regime and the larger society under its grip as opposition and treated accordingly.

An important lesson from Havel worth repeating is that, on an existential level, the challenge of the post-totalitarian system is transcendent.

The system of control, which manipulates reality and imposes its version of meaning on life, can manifest in various forms: mass and endless entertainment, the incessant and subtle influence of commercials, and most importantly, delicately manufactured narratives of all sorts.

Thus, understanding the power dynamics and the nature of opposition within the post-totalitarian system becomes crucial—a topic we will explore in greater depth in Part Three.

Share

Leave a comment

Subscribe now

“The Power of the Powerless,” an influential essay by Václav Havel — a playwright, dissident, and later the first president of the Czech Republic — was published in 1978 in the midst of the Cold War.

At this point in history, Eastern Europe was deeply entrenched in a particular shape of political reality: gripped by the “post-totalitarian” order (a key idea in Havel’s essay).

Written as a response to the oppressive political conditions under Communist rule, especially in then-Czechoslovakia, Havel’s essay directly addressed ordinary citizens across Eastern Europe. It revealed the existential struggles faced by people on a daily basis, as well as the pervasive state-imposed ideology, bureaucratic control, and manufactured lies that permeated the entire society. Beyond its immediate historical circumstances, the essay offers timeless insights into issues of meaning, identity, and moral integrity.

In this sense, regardless of our political and social environment, Havel’s exploration prompts profound reflection on our own social conditions and the state of being.

Living in what some now call the “post-truth” era, characterized by disinformation and different versions of demoralization, we see alarming parallels between the consumer-oriented, industrialized society (with a post-totalitarian coat) described by Havel and our modern context.

The post-totalitarian system, as dissected by Havel, emerges not merely as a historical phenomenon confined to the circumstances of Eastern Europe but as a compelling metaphor for the subtle, pervasive forms of alienation, conformity, and existential crises still haunting contemporary societies.

To begin with, Havel pierces right into the heart of the issue at hand: the nature of the “post-totalitarian” system. The term “post-totalitarian” refers to the reality that there was a continuity from the same communist totalitarian regime, but it developed new characteristics over time in response to changing social circumstances.

Through his analysis, Havel continually reminds us how the post-totalitarian regime operated in a manner that distinguished itself from our understanding of traditional autocracy. This difference lies at the heart of grasping how power in this new system perpetuates itself while giving rise to an existential crisis at all levels of society.

From guns to a new form of control

In the opening pages, Havel points out a few key differences between a classical dictatorship and the post-totalitarian system.

The first one captures the particular historical circumstances faced by his own country and Eastern Europe. The political system in Czechoslovakia was an extension of the gigantic power bloc of the Soviet Union. In terms of operation, Moscow established a network of control and manipulation that allowed it to penetrate its satellite states. The power and system of control of the superpower center, in most normal conditions, could ensure that no single smaller state could challenge its grip.

In contrast, the traditional notion of dictatorship is that it is usually a temporary phenomenon. A small group can seize power by force and violence, rule with the back of raw power and intimidation, and subjugate an entire society. This temporariness of a classical dictatorship indicates that it can be theoretically and practically overthrown as long as a more powerful and capable group rises to replace it.

The inherently brittle nature of classical dictatorship, stemming from the logic of violence, is closely tied to its lack of historical foundations. In other words, its rise to power can be considered a fortuitous event in a certain historical period, as a result of various social factors in play. Yet, the makeup of the post-totalitarian system was grounded in history, in the proletarian and socialist movements of the 19th century.

This general sense of historicity, which allowed the builders of the system to extract a sort of historical certainty to legitimize their rule, makes the post-totalitarian system different from a traditional autocracy. And more importantly, because of this connection with history, the new system can base itself on a comprehensive ideology to rationalize, justify, and defend its power foundation and ultimately its existence.

Another aspect of the post-totalitarian system lies in its unprecedented capabilities to establish and shape the entire power structure, mechanisms of control, and complex networks for social monitoring.

A defining feature of this system, designed and imposed by the Soviet Union, is the state’s monopoly on the means of production, which enables the system to continuously invest and upgrade its capacity to exert power and surveillance over society.

In a traditional autocracy, the exercise of power necessarily involves some degree of improvisation, as it can be expected that crises or accidents may disrupt the normal functioning of the system, prompting arbitrary and unconstrained political actions from the ruling group.

Consequently, some opposition forces (Havel’s explanation of opposition in the post-totalitarian system is different from that in the classical dictatorship) could seize upon the political opportunity to challenge the existing political establishment. Yet, such a kind of power play as confrontation between the government and the opposition is only possible in an autocratic regime in the traditional sense.

Lastly, Havel points out a crucial point: even in the context of the Cold War, the Soviet bloc remained part of the global order.1 This means that the post-totalitarian societies in Eastern Europe, through the process of coexistence, have absorbed many of the prevailing values and trends in the West.

In essence, on an existential level, the system in Czechoslovakia and other countries within the Soviet bloc is another form of the consumer and industrial society. This point has consequential implications for his analysis in the latter part of the essay, as well as lessons for us living in the modern age.

Ideology as the gloves of power

What is the foundation of this post-totalitarian system, if it differs from traditional autocracy that heavily relies on sheer force?

From Havel’s perspective, this new political system does not necessarily negate the function of violence, but it essentially relies on something more subtle, penetrative, pervasive, and effective. That something is ideology.

Different from a general and superficial understanding of ideology as a way to interpret the world, to rationalize a particular course of action, Havel defines ideology as a surgical tool of the post-totalitarian order.

In this new system, ideology serves as a crucial instrument of communication, a transmission belt, and an invisible bridge between the people and the regime.2 In other words, ideology provides a convenient channel for the people and the regime to communicate with each other.

For the people living in this society, who have lost a sense of meaning and purpose while experiencing an existential crisis, ideology offers a ready answer and a consolation for a wandering soul. All one needs to do is delegate conscience, reason, and responsibility to such a higher authority embodied by the state and the all-powerful political party.

In essence, ideology provides a practical excuse for a person to relate to the outside world while allowing the same person to conceal their actual actions with a legitimate and lofty explanation.

This is fundamentally how this post-totalitarian order differs from traditional autocracy: it absorbs and shapes the hearts and modes of action of ordinary people as a secularized religion. It makes people believe that the aim of the regime is aligned with their lives.

Since the regime employs ideology to construct a theoretical framework for how one should relate to and interact with the world, it inevitably recreates reality in accordance with its interests, agenda, and objectives.

To put it more plainly, when the official ideology primarily serves the ultimate goals of the regime, it invariably runs counter to the genuine interests and aims of the people under its manipulation and control.

To facilitate such a process — making people subject themselves to the world of appearances, hypnotizing them into believing that a pseudo-reality is reality itself — the system must do everything possible to ensure that political lies and hypocrisy appear airtight and truthful. So Havel described,

…government by bureaucracy is called popular government; the working class is enslaved in the name of the working class; the complete degradation of the individual is presented as his ultimate liberation…the lack of free expression becomes the highest form of freedom; farcical elections become the highest form of democracy…Because the regime is captive to its own lies, it must falsify everything. It falsifies the past. It falsifies the present, and it falsifies the future. It falsifies statistics. It pretends not to possess an omnipotent and unprincipled police apparatus. It pretends to respect human rights. It pretends to persecute no one. It pretends to fear nothing. It pretends to pretend nothing.3

The greengrocer’s window slogan

The question is, do people living in this society really believe the substance of the official ideology?

Not necessarily. They don’t need to, but they will have to tolerate its pervasive influence.

On an existential level, they are forced to live with the lie disseminated by ideological propaganda. And for this reason, people unconsciously “confirm the system, fulfill the system, make the system, are the system.”4

Havel used a greengrocer’s example to illustrate how the post-totalitarian system enrolls everyone. The greengrocer places a slogan on his window: “Workers of the world, unite!” Does the greengrocer truly believe this statement? If not, why would he do it?

This is where the genius of the system lies: the greengrocer, as well as everyone else, is both a victim and an instrument of the post-totalitarian control.5 In essence, the individual no longer has the agency and freedom to shape his or her own existence, as the state and its tentacles are everywhere.

It forces everyone to accept the world of appearances, to be part of the ritual performances of the system, to voluntarily submit themselves to the grand narratives manufactured by the state, to contribute to the automatism of the system’s function, and to display loyalty toward the system publicly.

For everyone has something to lose if they break the rules of the game. Whether a factory worker, an office employee, a teacher, a doctor, or a technician, they contribute to the panorama of everyday life in this post-totalitarian society through their own versions of conformity and tacit obedience, being compelled by the system while simultaneously re-creating it.

Here lies the crux of understanding the difference between the post-totalitarian system and the classical dictatorship: the line between the ruled and the ruling class has been blurred. For the two groups have been coerced to forge a symbiotic relationship in the form of both a supporter and a victim of the system of control.

As a result, an existential crisis arises, manifested in alienated humanity, widespread demoralization in society, and a warped conception of identity, as somehow a lasting sting of poison has paralyzed us: we feel powerless and hopeless.

In this sense, Havel’s words become a reminder, “Is not the grayness and the emptiness of life in the post-totalitarian system only an inflated caricature of modern life in general? And do we not in fact stand as a kind of warning to the West, revealing to its own latent tendencies?”6

The greengrocer’s simple act, posting an empty slogan, embodies the paradox of being both a victim and a supporter within the post-totalitarian system. At the same time, it is also exactly the point of breakthrough that challenges the system.

In Part Two, we’ll delve deeper into Havel’s proposed solution: “living in truth.” We will explore why the real confrontation between the post-totalitarian order and the individual takes place on an existential and spiritual level, affecting the deepest aspects of human consciousness and conscience.

Next in this series:

Share

“Potentially, the most dangerous scenario, would be a grand coalition of China, Russia, and perhaps Iran, an ‘anti-hegemonic’ coalition united not by ideology but by complementary grievances. It would be reminiscent in scale and scope of the challenge once posed by the Sino-Soviet bloc, though this time China would likely be the leader and Russia the follower.”

Zbigniew Brzezinski, The Grand Chessboard (New York: Basic Books, 1997), 55.

There is an old saying in traditional China: the people always suffer no matter the political and social circumstances 興百姓苦，亡百姓苦.

That is because the quality of the leadership often shapes the general direction of a dynasty. Ordinary people rarely had any influence on government decisions.

When a dynasty is on the rise, the rulers, for whatever reasons, can mobilize the country for public projects, such as building dams, bridges, and walls, and often drag the country into wars.

When a dynasty is in decline, the fate of the vulnerable and average person is typically miserable. To a large extent, the short span of a person’s life was not really within their control, much like an insignificant pawn on a chessboard played by the rulers and those who pull the strings.

The people as water: political power and its fragility

To a large extent, historical experiences are often built into the shared memories of a nation, exerting their impact with the force of collective unconsciousness. At the same time, for some of the most capable rulers of the ancient dynasties, such as Emperor Taizong 唐太宗 of the Tang Dynasty (618-907 AD), who managed one of the most successful dynasties, they were well aware of the vulnerable foundation of political power.

Emperor Taizong ruled by following the ancient maxim: “water carries a boat, it can also capsize it” 水能載舟，亦能覆舟, while sharing the burden of governing with his most capable ministers. The essential idea is that the people are the water, the foundation of a dynasty, while the emperor or political leaders are represented by the boat. In today’s words, the government should fear the people, not vice versa.

Since the Duke of Zhou 周公, from the Zhou dynasty (1046 -256 BC), dynastic rulers knew that there is no such thing as the so-called Mandate of Heaven exclusively reserved for a political leader and a dynasty1, meaning their rise to power was not divinely promised or preordained. Political leaders must be both morally sound and capable enough to garner support from the people, consistently upholding the rule of virtue.2 In other words, the erosion or loss of virtue would indicate the inevitable fall of the regime.

Therefore, one recurring scene in traditional China was dynastic breakdowns and the rise of new dynasties in a constant cycle. Like the natural cycles of seasonal changes, no dynasty can rule permanently.

Yet, even with all the alternations between social chaos and the restoration of order, there was a crucial common knowledge that has been distilled as part of intellectual and popular culture: that the realm is not the private property of the emperor or the royal family.

All under Heaven is not one man's domain. All under Heaven means just that, all under Heaven. 天下者，非一人之天下，乃天下之天下也。


Ralph D. Sawyer and Mei-Chun Sawyer, trans. and comm., The Seven Military Classics of Ancient China (Boulder: Westview Press, 1993), 41.

For instance, the Donglin Faction 東林黨人, a group of scholar-officials and teachers at the Donglin Academy in Wuxi, Jiangsu, during the late Ming dynasty (1604-1644), inherited this cultural tradition through public lectures, rigorous criticism of government corruption, and political battles with the influential interest group led by the eunuch Wei Zhongxian.

This spirit, traditional yet resonating with the civic activism of the modern age, can be summarized as follows: when the country rises or falls, it is every person’s responsibility to act.

But, with the encroachment of collectivistic thinking and totalitarian domination, this part of cultural tradition has been very much tamed by political power, forgotten by most people in communist China.

Every time I see the phrase “no limits”partnership touted by Russian and Chinese media, cited by everybody else, I feel a weird sense of shiver running down my spine, as if history itself smirks at me, silent and sly.

It makes sense from Russia’s perspective. Due to Western sanctions, the Kremlin had no one to blame but its own aggression and barbaric wars on Ukraine. That is to say, it should swallow the fact of being isolated. Given this circumstance, the formation of a “no limits” relationship with Beijing brings both practical and symbolic benefits.

From Beijing’s perspective, due to the historical link between the Communist Party of China and Russia, and a somewhat shared motivation against the US hegemony, it’s a policy necessity, even if it’s a gamble.

Nevertheless, from China’s standpoint, the act of teaming up with Russia is fundamentally to bargain with a tiger for its skin.

Shadows of the past: China’s uneasy history with Russia

Historically, China and Russia were not friends. As a neighbor in the north, the Czarist Russia was the most formidable threat to the late Qing dynasty (1644-1911).

In 1858, the Czarist Russia and the Qing government signed the Treaty of Aigun, through which China lost over one million square kilometers of land.

History proved that Russia’s thirst for others’ territories is nothing new. With the collapse of the Czarist Russian Empire, the Soviet Union kept the DNA of invasion alive.

In 1929, in the Chinese Eastern Railway dispute, the Soviet Red Army invaded Manchuria to seize control of the railway, killing a few thousand Chinese soldiers.

Throughout the 1920s and the 1930s, in the midst of the Sino-Japanese war, the Communist International  consistently funded the Communist Party of China (a local branch of the Comintern) to spread communist influence in the country.3 Following the Soviet order and support, it founded the so-called Chinese Soviet Republic within the territory of the Republic of China (the official name of today’s Taiwan). Stalin only changed his policy of dividing China when the Japanese invasion compelled him to reassess his strategic calculations.

Approaching the very end of the Second World War, the Soviet Union declared war on Japan and occupied the Japanese-held Manchuria. This policy contributed to two consequences:

1. It helped the CCP and its Red Army take over Manchuria and the Northeastern part of China, which proved essential to their ultimate victory in the following civil war with the National Government from 1945 to 1949.

2. The Soviet occupation of North Korea laid the groundwork, indeed, planted the seeds of danger, for the subsequent invasion of South Korea by the concerted efforts of North Korea, Communist China, and the Soviet Union.

Either through covert and subversive operations or supporting rebellious groups as proxies, Moscow’s mission was to spread communist revolution while consolidating its own position as the center of the global communist revolution. In its eyes, either Communist China or the satellite states in Eastern Europe, which it managed to control during the Cold War, were the necessary paths leading toward Russia’s security and glory.

Fortunately, in the end, much of the world has been spared such a totalitarian nightmare.

Therefore, it’s not hard to find this thread from Russia’s relations with China over the past one and a half centuries: Moscow’s adaptability to switch its identities, from the czarist invader to “comrade,” and then strategic partner.

Today, when we talk about the two sides as strategic allies or partners, we may encounter a simple fact-check that hurts.

Yet still, it does not necessarily mean that Beijing and Moscow will stop working together. But what exactly are they working toward?

Some may interpret this semi-alliance as fueled by one common goal: to weaken the US and the liberal global order. Some others may argue that both sides want to craft a new regional order based on their shared vision and interests.

However, the trends of global politics and alliance-making are fundamentally shifting. Who can guarantee that Western sanctions imposed on Russia right now will not be lifted in the near future? After all, Europe still relies on Russia for natural resources, energy, and gas. How strong and determined is the human heart in the face of alluring benefits and tangible rewards?

In essence, Russia may be a friend to the Chinese Communist Party, but it is not a friend to China.

Behind the ‘No limits’ rhetoric

In the Chinese mind, in a traditional sense, instead of being contaminated by the dialectic logic of Marxism and Leninism, good and evil, like black and white, are complementary forces in constant fluctuations. How one approaches things reflects the essence of one’s spiritual make-up.

In this sense, designing and implementing policies based on the relative opposites is akin to clinging to one side of the Yin and Yang, without considering the possibility that things can transition, reverse, and adjust.

Yet, propaganda, in a way, like all successful campaigns of conversion, thrives on the premise that there is some amount of rigidity, mental laziness, and historical amnesia residing in a single person or society at large, and the project of social engineering and programming can be effective. It achieves its greatest effects once people have delegated their spiritual autonomy and thinking capabilities to an entity that makes decisions and judgments on their behalf, that listens to the regrets of their conscience.

Therefore, it’s not difficult to find resonance between some media voices that hail Russia and China as “friends forever,” while considering the West as a kind of perpetual foe. Such is the kind of rigid thinking that fails to recognize the gray zone. For it betrays a black-and-white, easy act of categorizing, that only ends up serving the propagandistic theater instead of giving real strategic insights.

It would be simply naive and incorrigibly wrong for ordinary Chinese even to perceive Russia as a “good brother” and the US as “evil imperialist” and other friendly countries as foreigners with bad intentions. Such a way of thinking not only reveals ignorance of recent history but also indicates a complete misunderstanding of the dynamic equilibrium that underlies all things.

In geopolitics, friend and foe are mere poles of the same circuit—an endless balance of interests. To laud one as a faithful partner and dismiss the rest as a hostile bloc betrays a less sophisticated grasp of shifting alliances.

Nevertheless, the real players of great-power realpolitik are definitely not those who should be easily mocked and dismissed. Beijing and Moscow are well aware of their political levers, and they are likely to use them effectively.

Russia’s energy resources are the burning sources that fuel the CCP’s geopolitical ambitions, while China’s status as a market and economic powerhouse provides lifeblood to Russia. This relationship, whether we refer to it as an alliance or a strategic partnership, is still shaped by mutual interests and pragmatic goals for now.

Yet, we can never be certain, from a long-term and historical point of view, to say that the China-Russia alliance is here to stay. In traditional Chinese diplomatic statecraft, there is this concept called “forming alliances with distant countries while being vigilant against nearby ones, 遠交近攻.”4

It precisely captures China’s geopolitical circumstances as encircled by both friendly and malevolent neighbors. The crux of applying it, tricky in practical situations, is to differentiate between the friendly neighbor and the hostile one, which requires political wisdom and sophisticated diplomatic skills, and above all, whether or not a country’s policy pursuits truly reflect the spirit of the nation, its development in the long run, and its positioning in changing circumstances.

In contrast, Russia’s policy is driven by a centuries-old sense of vulnerability, rooted in its history. As George Kennan put it,

“At bottom of Kremlin's neurotic view of world affairs is traditional and instinctive Russian sense of insecurity… for Russian rulers have invariably sensed that their rule was relatively archaic in form fragile and artificial in its psychological foundation, unable to stand comparison or contact with political systems of Western countries.”5

Political decisions based on this mentality and historic habit would give rise to the search for some kind of buffer zones and raw military strength as perhaps the only assurance against any perceived external threats.

In the grand theater of geopolitics, the Russians toast with vodka, the Chinese raise cups of tea, yet neither sips from sincerity, only from strategic performance, carefully calculated. How long will this show endure? History reminds us that partnerships built solely on shared grievances, strategic convenience, and historical amnesia can turn out to be deadly fragile.

Share

Leave a comment

I am always amazed by the pull of the collective force on the individual. In fact, I wonder if it is ever possible, in today’s mass media age, to think and act independently. For independent action demands critical and clear thinking, which is essentially difficult to cultivate in a suffocating cultural context.

The trade war episode has certainly caused a social whirlwind in China. In the midst of ongoing competition for geopolitical influence and technological decoupling, the US tariff policy has naturally fueled this rivalry.

From official rhetoric to social media, from netizens’ online reactions to the average business owner’s show of “patriotic” acts, it’s not hard to get a sense of nationalistic, anti-American sentiment prevailing right now.

The spin of public opinion

The Chinese government’s handling of the situation was a bit different from the rest of the world. While most countries affected by the US tariff sought channels to negotiate with the White House, Beijing started retaliation immediately.

With state media condemning US tariffs as an act of bullying, it seems, on the surface, that Beijing’s strategy was to portray itself as an innocent victim of this protectionist move from a trade partner with which it has been running the largest trade surplus for years.

This is not even mentioning the fact that, for better or worse, China’s integration into the global trading system via joining the WTO in 2001, was very much facilitated by US support.

Yet, the reality is that most of us are hardly historically minded, or choose not to be bothered by historical burdens. This is particularly the case in a situation when practical interests are involved, or when public opinion and popular sentiment demand conformity and a sort of collective action.

Public opinion thrives, most often, on the premise that there is some measure of rhetorical spin and that few ever state exactly what they feel and think. Perhaps the truth is the reverse? Could it be that people choose to voice their anger, dismay, and complaints through public platforms while remaining silent in everyday, concrete life?

At least for now, social drama is still going on and on. The emergence of memes is adding satire and humor to this show.

In the figurine of Trump in a traditional costume, he is wearing a hat with the character chuan 川 on it. The characters on the folding fan read as ta ren xiao wo (tai feng dian) 他人笑我太瘋癲, which means “many people laugh at me for being crazy”, and the characters on the base are: wo xiao ta ren kan bu chuan 我笑他人看不川 (穿), saying “I just laugh at them for not understanding the situation.” The Chinese character “chuan 穿”, pronounced the same as “川”, refers to Trump.

I wonder, underlying these sarcastic and humorous jabs, how many of us would care to take the effort to understand the consequences of blindly cheering in support of government policies. After all, managing to make ends meet and one’s family live well, in the current circumstances of trade uncertainty and economic fluctuations, is already a significant challenge for most people.

Still, I’ll have to acknowledge that all forms of staged boycotts are a hassle and that the surge of patriotic posturing is an even greater hassle in the eyes of people with a basic common sense.

If I were an official working in the communist government, I would probably keep one eye open on the unfolding of things, but most likely, there’s no need to do anything.

Let them storm and rally who want to storm and rally. But this does not mean exactly the same thing as freedom of speech. For only when the people’s laughter, anger, and scorn do not hurt that they have that freedom. When they hurt, the “good comrade” may invite them for a cup of tea.

I believe, somewhere remote from this scene of fervor, there still lie pragmatic and prudent minds, but they choose to be silent. It’s not the real resistance, but, given the restrictive social and political circumstances, choosing not to submit to the forces of conformity is already a tacit dissidence.

Politics of language and fury

This outrageous posturing of boycott declarations and antagonism is not really a novel spectacle, for there has been such mass performances before, either targeting the US or its allies.

To some extent, it’s not a stretch to say that such popular drama could happen in any place, any politicized social context.

If we survey the online mania, we can find a spectrum of digital traits. On the one hand, we can list heated denunciations, vows to boycott, price-hike declarations, and manufactured outrage. And on the other hand, we must list unity-praising editorials, curated patriotic playlists and videos, official condemnations, and calls for measured dialogue.

Among neutral qualities, I must mention cautious commentary, pragmatic analysis, reflective dissent, and data-driven appeals. These last may all be discreet stances, but caution can slip into paralysis, pragmatism may mask self-interest, and data demands may drown out moral urgency. It will be seen that all these voices, fervent, restrained, and balanced, compose a public mood that yearns for both passion and prudence. I should summarize this collective ethos as “heated realism.”

Yet, the reality may still be gloomier than what we tend to assume. Just by observing the rise and fall of online fervor, I see that something has been lost among netizens. It dawns upon me that we are all properly herded.

I keep wondering (am I too skeptical?) that the urge of every commenter to speak their minds has been muzzled and muted. Everyone has been trained, to some extent, by algorithms. What about the inner critic, what about one’s courage and intuition for honest discourse and exploration of inconvenient and unpleasant facts?

From my perspective, I would love to see contrarian views and opinions based on common sense, as a counterpoint to the war of words and online fury. Perhaps an ordinary vlogger posting their raw takes and thoughts on the trade war, maybe just showcasing an unfiltered stance on the state of things, or unboxing foreign goods in defiance, will suffice. To me, this is a digital symbol of one who refuses to echo the external and irrational demands of national sentiment.

I would consider this voice as one that does not yield to hype. In the end, it stands closer to the reality we all share, and less like the staged patriotism fed to us. That spirit of resistance against a manufactured and homogenous voice is perhaps the last best hope for reason and the bulwark of measured discourse in this social media maelstrom.

But, at the same time, I wish the sane but fewer voices do not become discouraged by the state of things. For hard and raw power is not necessarily true strength, and the resilient strength from within can last because it does not break.

Let Lao Tzu’s words become a source of consolation and inspiration when things get tough.

There is nothing weaker than water

But none is superior to it in overcoming the hard,

For which there is no substitute. (Tao Te Ching, Chapter 78, Lin Yutang's version)

And, for some of these passionate netizens, I think perhaps the primary freedom they need right now is freedom from spectacle and blind nationalism.

Leave a comment

Share

Arms are the instruments of evil. 

夫兵者，不祥之器也。

Tao Te Ching, Chapter 31

The specter of war is haunting the world today. After three years of the Russia-Ukraine war, Europe has awakened from the dream of peace and stability. Even after the war closes in the foreseeable future, the political landscape in Europe and the Eurasian landmass is set to change.

The same can be said of the general attitude of the Europeans toward Russia. Will they trust their neighbor? Is it possible to trade with and do business with the country?

It all comes down to the question: Can we go back to the way things were? Specifically, is it politically feasible to imagine a stable, predictable, and progressive Russia peacefully living with its neighbors, just as it was in the old days of globalization?

To some extent, Russia’s integration into the global capitalist order after the end of the Cold War was an act of conforming to practical necessity — to make friends with the West and therefore usher in economic reform and political liberalization (perestroika and glasnost).

On the other hand, Russia’s transition from a communist state to a cooperative player in the international system can also work as a successful case for the practitioners of modernization theory.

Right after the breakdown of the Berlin Wall, the ideal of liberal democracy was running supreme. It was hailed as the winning model for governance in a modern state. Throughout the 1990s, the promotion of democracy on a global level was a signature policy of the Clinton administration.

Therefore, everything seemed to work on the surface. Russia was playing by the rules of the game, becoming a member of the Group of Eight (G8) until 2014. So, everyone thought the democratic transition had consolidated in the country. Peace and stability prevailed. How good it is for the liberal international order!

In the Far East, the People’s Republic of China (PRC) was also gradually catching up with the currents of globalization. The Communist regime in Beijing, after the Tiananmen Massacre in 1989 and the embargo from the US-led West, was quickly adapting to manage domestic and external challenges better. Regime survival and resilience were all that mattered to the Leninist party, and it played the game with patience and pragmatism.

As the playbook of modernization theory prescribes, if Communist China could follow the path of economic development and integration into the global system, eventually leading to political liberalization, a new political, economic, and social ecosystem would arise in East Asia. And that’s good news for the region and the US-led international order.

All will be good if the trends were to follow along with policy design (or, to some extent, wishful thinking?).

Social and political circumstances on a global scale are always changing. This means that some elements of political strategies and policy plans are destined to fail, as new conditions always demand proper and innovative solutions.

Therefore, today, we are seeing the recurring airstrikes, bombing, and killing in the Middle East, North Korea taking no breaks in testing its missiles and playing fire with its nuclear program, while joining Russia’s war in exchange for critical technology transfers (will they get it from the Kremlin?), a prolonged territorial disputes among China, Japan, the Philippines in the South China Sea, and the ever-more intense tension in the Taiwan Strait.

It’s challenging to predict how geopolitical tensions in various regions, economic decoupling between the US and China, and technological disruptions will affect the normal pace of life. But something darker is encroaching. There is no place for safety and security.

Of course, these observations are based on what has already happened. Whether sanity, common sense, and reason will prevail to stop the madness of destruction, unnecessary killing, and wars is still up in the air.

Despite the emergence of various crises, outcries over economic recession, and unpredictable black swan incidents that shape the course of global politics and businesses, something remains unchanged: the inherent patterns of human actions.

In this sense, war and conflict are embedded in the social fabric of our collective human civilization. The DNA components of aggression, animal passions, and desires can only be tamed and channeled by structures, codes of conduct, norms, etiquette, and systemic control instead of being completely eliminated.

Realizing this fact, I think the following conversation between a recluse and a ruler, recorded in the book of Chuang Tzu, is still penetrating and sharp in understanding political decisions.

Good intentions

A recluse named Xu Wugui was visiting the state of Wei, and got to meet Marquis Wu.1

Intrigued by the purpose of this uninvited visit, Marquis Wu said, “I have been hoping to see you for a long time, sir. I would like to cherish my people, practice righteousness, and lay down the weapons of war, how would that do?”

Xu Wugui said, “As the sole ruler of this land of ten thousand chariots, you can tax the resources of the entire populace of your realm to satisfy your appetite. The spirit loves harmony and hates licentiousness. Licentiousness is a kind of sickness, and that is why I have come to offer my advice. I just wonder, my lord, how aware you are of your own sickness.

Your intention, to cherish the people is to open the way to harming them! To practice righteousness and lay down your weapons is to sow the seeds for more weapon-wielding!

You may think you are practicing benevolence and righteousness, but in effect you will be creating a kind of artificiality…. If you kill the officials and people of another ruler and annex his lands, using them to nourish your personal desires and your spirit, then I cannot say which contender is the better fighter and to which the real victory belongs!

The system of control vs. the fate of the individual

It’s no surprise that successful leaders of all ages understand the secret of influence—winning the hearts and minds of their supporters by giving them something to believe in.

People need a symbol, a cause, a meaning, or a sense of belonging to feel understood. Hence, they feel safe and assured while going about their lives. Even though this is just a tiny part of their everyday life, having a spiritual anchor gives people a touch with earth-bound reality and somewhere to retreat when the reality becomes too harsh.

All effective collective actions are essentially based on and empowered by the unity of spirit and conviction in a particular cause, especially when the cost of action is easily perceived to be much lower than apathy and inaction. It’s never about being right or wrong, and fundamentally, it’s about whether or not the masses decide to buy the sense of meaning being presented to them.

In this sense, Marquis Wu’s motivation is clear — he is very aware of the fact that he is in charge of the system of control while also being careful of the consequences of his impulsive actions. “Cherish my people, practice righteousness, and lay down the weapons of war.” How noble and beautiful are these words!

Aren’t the authoritarian and megalomaniac leaders of our time, the Stalins, Hitlers, and Maos of the 20th century, the likes of which have followed similar scripts for political engineering?

What is in common about their political formula is that they offer people ideologies (beliefs and meanings) while intimidating (executed with subtlety) them with sheer force and violence (making sure that they know their inferior position).

As a result, the smart, obedient, and sophisticated people would certainly conform (accept being co-opted) to pressures from the political establishment. Isn’t it obvious that the so-called public sentiment and emotions are simply manufactured, to some extent, like an artificial dam through which the floods can be switched on and off with the most experienced operator (the mastermind behind political propaganda)?

It all comes down to this inevitable confrontation: the formidable system of control and the vulnerable individual.

Without a doubt, the system has the power. It designs and implements the rules of the game, while the awards and punishment mechanisms ensure the voices of dissonance are filtered and eliminated.

Given these circumstances, what is the reasonable and pragmatic choice for the individual? Is it possible to have a grasp of the circumstances while not necessarily bending one’s will to its fluctuations?

This indicates seizing one’s own fate with intelligence, not mindless exertion, not wishful thinking, not depending on fixed judgment and emotional attachments.

The strategic aspect of Taoism talks about taking life into one’s own hands regardless of circumstances. It involves avoiding personal danger, navigating complex and precarious situations, and finding an environment for self-preservation and self-transformation. All this means having a sober understanding of one’s own individual sovereignty and responsibilities.

What we can learn from Lao Tzu

A political order should serve the people, not the other way around. Isn’t this the political ideal imagined by liberal democracies — that power is constrained, leaders are accountable, and individuals are protected?

It’s not hard to find that, even in these systems, those who possess the use of force may not always practice discretion. Power attracts the arrogant, the short-sighted, and the impulsive.

All this means that we should not entertain the thought that protection and safety will always be there. Instead, we should be prepared, no matter what kind of social and political circumstances we are positioned in, for a crisis does not come to us suddenly.

1) Dealing with the sense of powerlessness

Quite often, we feel overwhelmed by fear and anxiety such that we become confused about what to do and what not to do in the face of imminent danger and threat. Yet, Lao Tzu teaches us that even the weakest, the most powerless, has a source of inner strength — compassion.

I have three treasures

Which I hold and cherish.

The first is known as compassion…

Being compassionate one could afford to be courageous,

Through compassion, one will triumph in attack and be impregnable in defense.

What heaven succours it protects with the gift of compassion.2

Compassion is not softness. It inspires clarity of heart in desperate moments and becomes the fuel of lasting courage.

You will find that, without exertion, strength will come to you from within. There’s no need to match the enemy in brutality. And you can remain unyielding in the face of distortion.

2) You are the sole protector of your own sovereignty

Fundamentally, you are the guardian of your spiritual realm. The depth and capabilities of this spiritual order sustain and empower your actions in the phenomenal world.

If Lao Tzu were to advise you, particularly under menacing circumstances, his counsel would not be naive pacifism or doing nothing. Instead, he would advise:

...sharp weapons of the state should be left where none can see them.

Tao Te Ching, Chapter 36.

Whether it’s an actual battlefield, negotiation table, one-on-one fight, or the invisible psychological war, it’s essential to get prepared and armed, but never provoke.

Premature negotiations or wishful thinking for a peace settlement are simply gambling with your fate, letting others dictate your life. Instead, it is necessary to wait, observe, and act when the time is right.

Strategic restraint is not weakness. It is survival through compliance and resilience.

When one is in a lowly or disadvantaged position, it is pointless to contend with or, even worse, blame the unfairness of fate or the rules of the social game. How long does it take for us to realize that we are not the rule-makers of a digital game? No matter how difficult the game is, aren’t we still obsessed with trying every possible means to crack the code of it?

That’s the essence of following along with the natural course of things.

Therefore, weakness is not to be despised, and it is to be leveraged. To be weak but fluid, like water, is to practice the art of yielding without breaking.

There is nothing weaker than water

But none is superior to it in overcoming the hard.3

You are more capable, creative, and resilient than you think. Keeping low allows you to observe the ebbs and flows of social dynamics, the true and various images of human nature, and, more importantly, the real depth of your own soul, compassionate, understanding, and willing to see, listen, and help.

3) Cultivate stillness

Everything is in a constant flux. The world is volatile. Political trends, ideological battles, and media outrage all spin like recurring whirlwinds.

But, have you ever reflected on this: It’s not the world that is moving, it’s always your heart and mind. And whether the external circumstances change or not, you are always longing, contending, hesitating, wondering, grudging, and chasing.

Thus, Lao Tzu and the ancient sages all talk about the importance of stillness or quietude as part of spiritual practice. For it is the key to roaming with the currents of society without losing one’s center.

The Huang-Lao School of Taoism 黃老道家 developed this insight further, aligning the ordering of the body 治身 and ordering of the state 治國.

In other words, self-cultivation (self-control and improvement) and governing a state are two sides of the same coin. Stillness is the key to mastering the art of the mind.

“Do not be the first to make a move.” Those who are agitated cannot be stable, and those who are hasty are not quiescent. This means that if you are engaged in activity, you cannot be observant…The ruler of men stands in the Yin 陰. The Yin is quiescent. Therefore the statement says: “If you move, you will lose your position.” By occupying the Yin, one is able to control the Yang 陽. By being quiescent, one is able to control activity. Therefore the statement says: If you remain quiet, you will naturally retain it.”4

Stillness is not passive inaction. It is the necessary step that leads toward calm and clarity. It is the ability to observe emotional storms come and go, to understand the natural patterns of things, and to preserve vital energy for precise and timely actions.

Nevertheless, it is a crude reality that the political games in modern society, not necessarily different from ancient times, are always played by rulers and elite interest groups. In this sense, the individual has no choice but to learn how to stand apart, not in emotional rebellion, but in lucidity.

To live well by taking life into one’s own hands means, on an existential level, one needs to disengage from the intoxicated nature of ideological fervor and collective irrationality. In times of war, propaganda, and nationalistic mobilization, this clarity to see things through is not just strategic, it is moral.

We may still not be able to change the tide of things on a significant social level. Yet, we can still do whatever we can to make the people we care about feel safe.

Finding the inner compass to guide yourself through times of confusion is to build the foundations of your spiritual order. It is the essential alignment with your inborn nature, with your inner self, and with the subtle wisdom of timing.

Sometimes, survival is resistance.

Sometimes, calmness is power.

Sometimes, presenting the truth is not enough, and non-contending can become the highest form of strength.

The idea of awakening the inner strength of compassion, assuming responsibility for individual sovereignty, and dissolving things in stillness may sound abstract and impractical. But it shows us how to seize the lifeline of ultimate spiritual freedom.

Share

Leave a comment

I came across an interesting article this week — “The price of progress: China’s Gen X and the burden of consumerism,” about the good and bad elements of consumerism, government policy and its impact on over-consumption, and the necessity of improving social welfare.

The author of that article recognizes the essential benefits of consumerism, such as driving technological innovation and increasing overall productivity for an economy. However, the author also makes the point that it is excessive consumption that is concerning.

In particular, government policies are contributing to the trend of over-consumption. This makes sense. Many governments worldwide have been preoccupied with the economic logic of boosting consumption to stimulate growth whenever there is an economic recession or similar problems.

As a result, we have many cases of rising public debt and misallocation of resources into unproductive activities. Consequently, as the temporary effect of stimulus diminishes, governments can create even more incentives to pump the economy. More capital injection, more spending, as if the bureaucratic monster has been constantly drugged with monetary dopamine, and the cycle repeats.

When the general economic environment is vibrant and filled with exuberance and optimism, people are willing to spend more because they are confident about the overall economic prospect and their expanding bank accounts. In addition, to keep the consumption momentum going, it requires better social infrastructure, such as a functional social welfare system, to make some less well-to-do people feel that they have something as a last resort to hold onto in times of emergency.

Economic hardship is usually felt the most by those vulnerable individuals and families. Taxation, inflation, and the depreciation of the fiat currency can gradually eat up their hard-earned savings, further eroding their financial base. In contrast, people with affluent backgrounds or earning high salaries can always find creative ways to navigate these seemingly unavoidable barriers.

This is precisely the situation in China. I agree with the author’s view that social welfare in the country has become a tool to “maintain the privileges of certain groups.” This is not a secret. In general, people working in the public sector can expect to receive quality healthcare at a low cost. And if you work in the government, the type of medical treatment you can get corresponds to your ranking in the bureaucratic system.

Moreover, the design of the household registration system entrenches a systemic disparity in terms of access to educational, medical, healthcare, and other public resources and benefits. This means that if you want to get your kid enrolled in a relatively good high school in a particular city, which could give them a leg up in the college entrance examination, you would have to find a way to register your household in that city. Some people have done this in the past through investing in an apartment or marriage. The general rule of thumb is this: no household registration and no access to the public resources offered in the target city.

Disillusionment and running away

Nevertheless, what I think is really worrying for the country right now is something else. First, unemployment for young college graduates. The vast majority of these young people have gone through the COVID-19 pandemic period. After this horrible experience, these graduates soon realized that the macroeconomic situation may not be on its way to recovery anytime soon. With the increasing number of foreign companies leaving the country or closing part of their operations and many domestic companies shutting down, finding a job is getting harder for most graduates these days.

At the same time, many professionals in their 30s and even 40s are also disturbed by the reality of losing their jobs, salary cuts, and finding it has become more challenging to be hired beyond 35. Most people in this group already have families, so they probably have to pay monthly mortgages.

As a result, for these two groups, the real issue is not about over-consumption at all. It’s cutting their expenses due to a very pessimistic outlook on the economy and their future.

Amidst such gloomy economic circumstances, Beijing is still offering generous foreign aid packages to some African countries. I wonder what kind of attitude a family from the country’s western region, with fewer household savings and earning power than a family in Shanghai or Beijing, would have in response to this.

Or, what would they say about Beijing’s military ambitions with regard to invading Taiwan? Are they aware that the government could have allocated some military and defense spending to healthcare and education instead of building more aircraft carriers and missiles targeting Taiwan?

Another issue, equally important, is the ongoing phenomenon of people fleeing the country, or “runology.”

To run, essentially, means the flight of the person and their possessions. Individuals who have decided to leave have realized that they cannot make it in this land. So, some of the best and the brightest minds will find their destinations somewhere else, somewhere safe. For these people, the irony is that many of them would have stayed to build their lives while contributing to the country’s progress, yet the homeland can no longer be that shelter for the heart. This unsettling experience will continue to trouble their souls thereafter.

Exit for the affluent means transferring their capital and assets out of the country. The gradual and persistent widening gap between China’s political climate and ways of doing things with democracies and advanced economies has only exacerbated the rising business and political risks. That means geopolitical confrontations will continue to dominate the Asia-Pacific region and global politics in the next 5 to 10 years or even longer.

In this sense, this group is not alone in their flight, as businesspeople from Hong Kong, Taiwan, Wall Street, and other places have been doing the same in recent years. It should be noted that the reason that Communist China could catch up economically is because of the initial foreign direct investment from Taiwanese and Hong Kong businesses in the 1980s, which were then followed by Americans, Japanese, and others. But it seems that now is the time for departure.

So, what will the landscape look like at some time when the music stops? A brain drain? A capital shortage or a bleak economic and social outlook? I do not know, and I can only imagine.

After all, the course of a country’s development is generally determined by the direction of its policies, as well as the temperament and traits of the people. Just now, it seems that China has reentered that watershed moment in 1949, with the fate of the nation up in the air.

Share

Leave a comment

On the last day of 2024, I rewatched the 1995 movie, “Love Letter,” a Japanese classic. It tells a touching story with a mixed theme of love, life and death, acceptance, and forgiveness (spoiler alert: there are story details in this piece. I recommend watching it before reading this post).

The story is primarily based in Otaru, a city in Hokkaido, Japan. It starts with the funeral of the male protagonist, Itsuki Fujii, who only appears in the story when he is still in high school.

His fiancee, Hiroko Watanabe, played by Miho Nakayama, could not move on from Itsuki’s untimely death in an accident from mountain hiking.

While at the place of Itsuki’s parents, she finds the address of Itsuki’s family at Otaru in a photo book but is told by her mother-in-law that their old place is probably not there anymore. Yet, Hiroko Watanabe notices a different address with the same name as Itsuki Fujii.

Out of a whim or simply not wanting to let go of her love, she sends a letter to that address, thinking that this is a letter to her fiance, who is now in heaven.

To her surprise, she receives a letter in a few days, with a signature of Itsuki Fujii. How can this be possible? Is it a joke or a prank by someone?

After a few exchanges of letters, she discovers a girl with the same name as her fiance does exist. With the suggestion of a friend, Hiroko Watanabe decides to visit the girl named Itsuki.

Finding that Itsuki is not home, she leaves a letter explaining that her late fiance is also called Itsuki. But her biggest discovery of the trip is that the girl Itsuki looks similar to her in appearance.

As she gets more letters from Itsuki, Hiroko now knows that her fiance was in the same class with the girl Itsuki in high school. With more knowledge of his high school life, she starts questioning the foundation of their love.

Approaching the end of the movie, Hiroko returns all the letters and says that all they are memories belonging to Itsuki.

It is at this moment that Hiroko has finally accepted the truth of her fiance’s death. Her love for him still exists, yet she knows she must let him go.

At the same time, Itsuki finally discovers a portrait of her young self on the back of a library card, which was sketched by the boy Itsuki. This occurs to her when she finds out about his death a few days ago.

Love, memory, and forgetting

When we are occupied with the fast pace of everyday life, we do not have the time to reflect on the past. As we go about the world, some elements of the past are automatically deleted, yet some parts get buried in the corner of the heart.

Our neglect of some critical episodes in the past is often due to our unwillingness to confront deep-seated pains. Since it brings forth unpleasant memories and emotional scars, we choose not to talk about it as if it were a dream.

In the movie, the girl, Itsuki, lost her father in high school. Along with her sadness, she was disturbed by the fact that classmates at school kept making fun of her for having the same name as another Itsuki. Therefore, deep in her heart, she refused to accept the reality of her father’s death, and she was also blind to her own nascent feelings toward Itsuki, despite that they had many days of working together at the school library.

It’s a pity for Itsuki because love was pure and simple in their time of innocence. Yet, her father’s death, the boy Itsuki’s roundabout way of expressing his feelings, and his eventual transferring to another school, with some mysterious effect, have made her forget all about this experience. Many years later, writing and exchanging letters with Hiroko helped her reveal the secret of her high school life.

The portrait drawn by the boy Itsuki, discovered years later, becomes a symbol of connection. It connects two souls who have met but lost each other in their beautiful adolescence. And it has awakened a buried affection inside the girl Itsuki’s heart.

Yet, death has made this love stay in the past, in the now-awakened memory. But this love has never been dead. Even though the boy, Itsuki, has gone to another world, a part of him, a young version of him, still lives on as a reactivated memory to the girl, Itsuki. In this sense, the boy Itsuki’s expression of love is delivered despite being late after so many years.

For Hiroko, love means something different. It is about a shared memory, which does not have to be forgotten but to be preserved and cherished. She may have realized that part of her fiance’s love toward her may involve some attachment to his childhood love, yet it still does not negate the love between them as two grown-up individuals.

Nevertheless, she has to recover from her mourning for him. She has to move on in life; otherwise, she will be consumed by such persistent and heavy longing and attachment.

When fishes crowd together on the dry land, they try to moisten one another and keep each other wet with their slime. It is better for them to forget each other in rivers.1

The people in our lives will leave eventually, leaving us traveling in this one life alone. But, we’ve got the cherished memories. So, we’ll be just fine.

Life, death, and acceptance

“Love Letter” is also about how we approach death. For Hiroko, is she living in regret that she was not there in the last minutes of her fiance? After all, it takes time to recover from the shock that someone close to us has left the world.

For three years, she cannot move on. She’s trapped in a prison. Yet, no one can get her out. Only she can decide to walk out of that prison.

For Itsuki’s grandfather, he could not get over the death of his son. For years, the number 38 has been a thorn for him. That’s the time it took him to carry his son from home to the hospital during that windy and snowy night. But it was still too late to save him.

For Itsuki, she could not face the reality of her father’s death. So, she’s been refusing to go to the hospital for years. And she chooses to shut the door that leads to that precious piece of memory. And with this act, she’s forgotten about the happy moments of her high school.

Death is something we simply cannot reject. It is part of living. And it reminds us of the beauty of lost and past memories.

We cannot let go because our pains are shackled in a specific moment in the past. We cannot forget because we cling to the memories of tears and laughter. And we do not forgive ourselves because we refuse to accept the cruelty of facts.

In the end, Hiroko has learned to accept the fact that her fiance has gone. And for Itsuki, she’ll have to make peace with the reality that she’s just found out about her childhood love, yet it is immediately lost.

Like Hiroko and Itsuki, there are so many things you want to share, discuss, or be together in a moment of silence with that person who is important to you. But, you know it has become impossible to happen.

To understand what you can do nothing about and to accept it as fate 知其不可奈何而安之若命, this is the perfection of virtue (following the natural course).2

With the passage of time, we may or may not learn to let our fixations and attachments diminish. The bondage of memories, sadness, and grief will occasionally revisit us. But we will not be paralyzed by them as they come and go.

Following the natural course of life, it becomes possible not to be affected by happiness and sorrow. There are no unrealistic dreams and expectations anymore. There’s only a lucid touch with reality, willingly embracing solitude in the remaining journey of this life. For life is just a temporary stay, and weariness has its time.

So, we accept what’s happened with understanding, acceptance, and forgiveness. And we learn to be at ease with resigning to the forces of change.

Share

Leave a comment

After two years since its beginning, the spirit of the White Paper movement still lives on among many of China’s young people.

In late November 2022, tens of thousands of college students and local citizens across China started a silent social movement, symbolizing a collective awakening and resistance against the country’s “Zero-Covid” policy.

The signature move of this movement is manifested by holding a white paper or A4 blanket paper in front of a university building or on the street. It signifies a silent protest. It conveys the message that people have become speechless about the handling of the pandemic by the government. There’s no more room for concessions and negotiation.

In a political sense, this is unusual and remarkable, as it marks the ending of an era of silent obedience and ushers in a new form of civil disobedience the country has not seen in decades.

A new beginning

The whole thing was triggered by a fire in a residential building in Urumqi, Xinjiang Province, on November 24, 2022. Due to the lockdown rules that restricted the movement of residents and rescuers, it was reported that 10 people were killed in that fire.

After the incident, college students started holding white papers to commemorate the tragedy because criticizing government policies online is still strictly censored and monitored. Gradually, people across the country formed a decentralized movement with shared aims, including mourning the Urumqi victims, ending the lockdown policies, and lifting political controls.

The movement achieved a significant success. In the face of social discontent, the National Health Commission officially ended the zero COVID policy one week after the protest movement reached its climax.

It has been recorded that at least 72 protests were held across 17 provinces and regions during the last week of November 2022 alone. And 41 of these demonstrations were initiated by students. Such a significant social movement is actually a result of successive smaller and dispersed protests months in the making. Before the rise of nationwide protests in late November, about 253 anti-lockdown events were recorded from October 1 to December 5, 2022.

Contentious politics on a global scale

What’s also new about this movement is its synchronicity with overseas Chinese diasporas. This is the first time since the 1989 Tiananmen Square event that a domestic social movement has forged a true alliance with external forces with overlapping aims. In this sense, a new generation of social solidarity movements has arisen in China.

When Xi Jinping changed the constitution in 2018, a move that allowed him to continue the third term and possibly stay in power even longer, some Chinese overseas students started protesting. We see “Not my president” posters across campuses in some places around the world. In contrast, there wasn’t much public discontent in China, at least on the surface. The general social sentiment back then was still positive as people were still optimistic about the economic prospect of the country and their own lives.

Yet, by the time approaching the winter of 2022, the overall social circumstances have changed. A general atmosphere of unease, uncertainty, and pessimism over the country’s future and individual’s own livelihood was fermenting.

On October 13, 2022, days before the 20th Party Congress, Peng Lifa started a one-person protest on the Sitong Bridge in Beijing, China’s capital city. People in China and the world saw his slogan of resistance, “We want food, not COVID testing; We want reform, not the Cultural Revolution; We want freedom, not lockdowns; We want to vote, not a leader; We want dignity not lies; we are citizens not slaves.”

This is the horn of fighting back. This is the last outcry of civil disobedience. This is the fire that is destined to ignite the burning desire for resistance and hope. This is historical.

Like a lightning flash, protests and demonstrations swept across China and many parts of the world. This changed everything about social movements in China.

Fundamentally revolutionary

If the White Paper Movement is primarily about ending the Zero-Covid policy or easing political controls, then its political significance and historical function would be vastly diminished. It would even pale in comparison to their predecessors, the Tiananmen Generation, during the late 1980s.

What’s really incredible about this movement is its political nature. Students and other participants fought back against the lockdown policies and demanded political reforms for freedom of the press and speech; they publicly stated that Xi should step down and the ruling of the Communist Party of China (CCP) should be ended.

This kind of political resistance is unprecedented in the history of the People’s Republic of China (PRC) since its founding in 1949. In the past several decades, Beijing has sold Chinese people a promise (also a concession from the people) that the country’s economic future is bright, which means that people can always expect to strive toward a better life as long as they give consent to CCP’s political rule.

Yet, in recent years, as middle-class families and college graduates have gradually lowered their expectations of social mobility and wealth creation and protection, as migrant workers have increasingly found it more difficult to find work in cities to support their families, as ordinary people have awakened to realize the disparity of access to economic opportunities, educational and medical resources, a growing sense of powerlessness and disillusionment with the government and the system become unavoidable.

What’s also remarkable about this interactive social movement is the expansion of policy concerns among domestic Chinese and overseas diaspora communities. This change reflects the forward-thinking of their political agenda: not just a pro-democracy movement but also a shared struggle for freedom and human rights of marginalized groups and ethnic minorities, such as Uyghurs and Tibetans.

This is truly revolutionary, as a free and open China in the future cannot just care about the rights and freedom of the Han people (the ethnic majority). And the young protesters have realized that they must take a step further than the Tiananmen Generation. Political freedom and self-determination, the future of the country, and their place in that new world can only be fought and won, not achieved by having negotiations with the regime in Beijing.

Gazing at the future

The movement also ended with the local governments’ tracking down and detainment of the participants. Nevertheless, the lessons are too important to overlook during this collective awakening process.

The young students will most likely live in a sustained period of trepidation and pressure from the state-sponsored harassment and crackdown aimed at social stability. But, they will eventually discover that Beijing is actually fearful of them.

In November 2024, thousands of college students participated in a trend of night-time bike rides in Henan province. The initial reason is to ride from Zhengzhou to Kaifeng to eat soup dumplings. A few days later, the local government responded with orders of restriction. They shut down bike lanes and imposed curfews. A few universities also implemented lockdown measures, stopping students from leaving campus.

Under such circumstances, to carry on the spirit of the White Paper Movement will be extremely difficult. To live in truth, instead of being dictated and controlled by the government, will come with a high price, but it will encourage the young people to search and redefine their meaning of existence. And the road ahead will be full of uncertainty.

They are not alone. They have not abandoned hope. They have gained valuable experience from the movement. Yet, a social movement does not necessarily lead to successful democratic change. There will be much to learn in the process of democratic transformation if the social conditions and fortune can favor this land.

During the dark days of the Communist rule in former Czechoslovakia, Vaclav Havel suggested and practiced the pursuit of living in truth, which he saw as a small yet powerful move toward concrete change because truth is a

“bacteriological weapon, so to speak, utilized when conditions are ripe by a single civilian to disarm an entire division. This power does not participate in any direct struggle for power; rather, it makes its influence felt in the obscure arena of being itself. The hidden movements it gives rise to there, however, can issue forth (when, where, under what circumstances, and to what extent are difficult to predict) in something visible: a real political act or event, a social movement, a sudden explosion of civil unrest, a sharp conflict inside an apparently monolithic power structure, or simply an irrepressible transformation in the social and intellectual climate. And since all genuine problems and matters of critical importance are hidden beneath a thick crust of lies, it is never quite clear when the proverbial last straw will fall, or what that straw will be.”1

Before that rare political opportunity for change arrives, patience, self-care, and improvement are perhaps the best moves China’s young people can make during such eventful times.

Share

Leave a comment

A new generation of China’s young people is leading a quiet yet powerful social movement. This movement started with a spiritual awakening, a rebellion against conventional wisdom, and a search for life’s meaning that is destined to change the cultural and social landscape of China’s future.

It began in early 2021, with the “lying flat” phenomenon when young Chinese in their 20s-30s started rejecting social and family pressures and expectations to achieve professional success and climb the social ladder. This is unusual in a cultural context that has been undergoing rapid changes over the past few decades.

The general euphoria of economic growth, especially since 2001, when China joined the WTO and could access the global markets, until roughly about 2021, was accompanied by a growing sense of optimism, enthusiasm, and aspirations of the younger generations.

So, it’s worth investigating the causes and explanations for such a turn. This is a significant movement as the youth population, generally referred to as being born in the 1990s and after 2000, including people from the middle class, constitute the growth engine of China’s economy.

Successive hits

One obvious contributing factor is the Covid-19 pandemic. China’s draconian “Zero-Covid” lockdown policy nationwide, without exaggeration, has largely ended an era. Before the pandemic, for most young people, life was filled with opportunities, hopes, plans, and a burning heart to make some noise in this world. Yet, the imposition of the lockdown policy brought tremendous harm to the country’s economy, causing livelihood problems for many families.

Still, more importantly, the initiation and abuse of that policy caused irreversible damage to the not-so-strong social capital in the society, particularly when it comes to interpersonal trust and a sense of belonging. When the community workers, in possession of a tiny bit of power in hand, in the name of carrying out orders for public health security, trespass into people’s homes, their basic human decency goes down with them. They did not realize they, too, in an unconscious manner, become accomplices of the bureaucratic machine imposing that kind of inhuman and poorly-designed policy response.

That’s a moment of awakening and disillusionment. Many young people have never experienced the tragic past of the Cultural Revolution; some may not even be familiar with the horrors associated with it and a series of political movements since the founding of the People’s Republic of China (PRC) in 1949.

Therefore, the experiences of going through the difficulty of landing a job, being fired due to company bankruptcy, factory shutdowns, salary cuts, and being dragged in a bus to a suburban area for quarantine became an unwanted dose to help them touch reality. The whole pandemic episode broke many young people’s dreams. Nevertheless, for the first time, it became a turning point in their lives to truly think about how they could manage their lives, not just fulfill their parents’ expectations, join the rat race to make a living or give in to social pressures.

Along with the Covid pandemic is the worsening economic relations between China and the U.S. To be more precise, the bilateral ties between Washington and Beijing started deteriorating when the trade war happened around 2018. Partially driven by economic nationalism on both sides, trade disputes have since expanded into other spheres, including the ongoing process of decoupling in technology, finance, scientific and academic exchanges.

One noticeable consequence of such a shift is the attitude of doing business in China for many American companies. It has been reported that over two-thirds of the 306 member companies affiliated with AmCham Shanghai have been following a de-risking strategy, which indicates weighing the cost and benefit of taking risks in a highly volatile and unpredictable political climate. Similarly, over half of the 1,760 Japanese firms in China have also been reported to reconsider investment in the country.

On the surface, a foreign company’s exit does not produce much repercussion to the local labor market. It’s the secondary policy effect that matters. The decision to pull out from a market directly translates into a shortage of orders for the local suppliers. These small and medium-sized suppliers hire the most workers and professionals, which constitute the lifeblood of a business ecosystem.

Without a surprise, in 2024, China’s youth unemployment rate has risen to 20.4%. And with more graduates entering the job market, the competition can only become more fierce. For instance, the class of 2023 has nearly 11.6 million students, and the number rose a bit to 11.8 million in 2024.

So, with a macroeconomic environment still recovering from the pandemic fallout and without other positive indicators of growth and increasingly unfavorable economic relations with other important economic partners, China’s younger generations face an existential threat to their financial prospects and outlook on life in general.

Compared to their parents’ generation and people born after 1980, they do not have that many opportunities to create wealth. During the early years of the reform and opening up from the late 1970s to 1990s, the market would offer generous rewards to adventurers willing to take risks. This is the economic advantage of the early starters. After years of development, some have established and secured their positions in the business world.

However, what’s making things difficult for the younger generations is the invisible yet real circumstance that creates a barrier to their social mobility. For one thing, the most lucrative industries and jobs have been monopolized by the party-state and its people, including the so-called princelings and their relatives and associates. So, we have the numerous state companies in actual control of the various critical aspects of the economy.

Of course, there are successful entrepreneurs who started from scratch without many political connections and support in the beginning, such as Jack Ma and his Alibaba empire. The question is, in a socialist state where private enterprises are at odds with the official ideology, how long a private business can have control of its fate is very much uncertain. What this means is that the vast majority of young people can only place their bets on these private companies amidst the larger environment that is beyond their control.

Some other young people can access decent and stable jobs in state companies or public agencies as long as they have power connections. Social connections (關係, pronounced guanxi) play an essential role in the current Chinese society. This is particularly the case in the country’s over 2,800 counties, most second-tier cities, and capital cities in the middle and western provinces of the country. For instance, if two candidates were to compete for a government position, one graduate would have the right qualifications, and the other would have more important social networks. It would usually be the case that the position would be reserved for the latter. This is the way things are.

Therefore, it’s not hard to imagine that a deep sense of powerlessness and hopelessness can penetrate the younger generations. For many, having the right educational qualifications and working extremely hard will not work. Contact with the current social realities has made them realize this point. As much as they can fight their way out of the rat race, social stratification is already a fact.

Naturally, the “lying flat” movement has transformed into a state of “letting it rot.” From just doing a little bit to get by in life to not even caring to participate and accept whatever comes their way, the younger generations have started a spiritual movement of detachment and reevaluation of everything.

It’s easy to interpret this as a form of a pessimistic outlook on life. I disagree with this perspective because it assumes, from taking a high moral ground, that young people should follow the previous generations’ footprints, work hard, make their parents proud, and climb the social ladder or even become successful in life.

The real question is, who gets to define success, and who can really evaluate one individual’s meaning in life? People easily lose themselves in identifying with conventional standards, labels, fame, wealth, someone else’s scripts, government plans, etc. They are driven by desires and aspirations projected to them by society. Why become one of them to be asleep? Why follow a programmed and conditioned way of life?

I believe some individuals from the younger generations would eventually have the clarity and courage to say to whoever is telling them that Chinese society has always been like this, “That’s your society. I’m not part of it.”

I know some would wake up to reconnect deeply with the country’s cultural tradition (Taoism and Chan Buddhism, for instance), which has long been forgotten. In that spiritual change, I see a real positive and transcendent outlook on life because they decide not to be sleepwalkers like so many have done. And when that moment comes, I’d be joyful to see them take control of their lives and craft their own life’s meaning.

Share

Leave a comment