Patriotic Hostage

Beneath the Dome of Silence

Under the soaring dome of the Shanghai Oriental Sports Center, a sea of pink lightsticks was supposed to bloom tomorrow for Ayumi Hamasaki.

Her team had long arrived; sound equipment had completed its silent final checks. Outside the venue, young people who had rushed from all corners of the country were still clutching tickets sold out months ago, dragging luggage to non-refundable hotels, immersed in the dream of finally seeing their idol. They had no idea that their dream would be shattered by morning.

A single, sterile phrase, “due to force majeure (不可抗力)”, left them shivering in the early winter cold.

It felt almost like a carefully designed, cruel game. The authorities brought down the iron curtain on the eve of the concert in the most inconceivable, heartbreaking way. On today’s afternoon, a directive was issued: all Japan-related performances scheduled for the next two days were to be halted immediately.

In the aftermath of the cancellation, a heartbreaking scene unfolded: Ayumi Hamasaki stood in the deserted, silent venue, performing for no one but the empty seats. On Instagram, Ayumi posted a heartbreaking letter. She didn’t get angry. She just spoke like a human being watching something beautiful get crushed.

“Key staff members were hastily gathered in the morning, and we received a request to call off the performance. I just deeply feel sorry… to all the staff, dancers, and fans who came from across China, Japan, and other countries.

I still cannot believe that this stage must now be dismantled without even having the opportunity to apologize in person to the 14,000 TAs who gathered.

I am so sorry.”

Meanwhile, on the very same day, the absurdity escalated into violence elsewhere in Shanghai. At the BN Music Carnival, Japanese singer Maki Otsuki, famous for One Piece’s original ending theme “Memories”, was midway through performing that very song, the melody reaching its emotional peak. All of a sudden, the stage’s power was cut off by the main switch without warning. Black-clad security walked onstage and escorted her away like a threat. The crowd froze. No announcement. No goodbye. No closure. Just darkness.

In just one short week, China canceled over 20 performances by Japanese artists. “Why are we the ones paying the bill?” someone cried online, only to invite the sneers of “patriotic youth”: “What’s a little money? For the sake of the chaotic national situation, what’s wrong with sacrificing a concert? The vast land of China has plenty of culture; why must you lick the boots of the Japanese?”

And then came the sea. On November 18, the cruise ship “Adora Mediterranea” departed Xiamen with about 1,500 passengers, headed for Miyakojima Island, Okinawa. When the Japanese shore came into view, all disembarkation was abruptly canceled. The ship turned around, leaving passengers adrift for days. Their itineraries slashed, shopping plans ruined, their exchanged yen turned into waste paper. “Since when did patriotism become our prison?”, sobbed someone on the deck. The Chinese Communist Party-affiliated newspaper Global Times reported that the ship’s operator said in a statement: “We always prioritize the safety of passengers and crew. We are closely monitoring the relevant situation and will strictly adhere to the relevant policies of the government authorities.”

Watching those trembling in the cold. Watching the stranded on the sea. Only one phrase echoed in my mind: they are Patriotic Hostages.

The Lie of Quiet Lives

People often advise me:

“In China, not many people really care about politics. As long as you don’t touch the red lines, focus on your research, and live your life, you can actually live quite comfortably.”

Every time I hear that, I can only smile bitterly. What a naive hallucination.

You think if you ignore politics, politics will ignore you?

In that system, your lifestyle is your political stance.

Your preferences are ideology.

Your entertainment is the battlefield.

You want to quietly watch the NBA?

• Sorry—Houston Rockets GM Daryl Morey tweets about Hong Kong in 2019, and broadcasts vanish for three years.

You want to enjoy a virtual streamer to escape real life?

• Too bad. Even 2D avatars get “patriotic audits.” A misstep, and they’re shadow-banned, canceled, or digitally exiled.

You want to enjoy an egg fried rice?

• Better check the calendar. On October 25, honoring Mao Anying’s death, even a food photo can get you accused of “insulting martyrs.” In 2023, celebrity chef Wang Gang posted a fried rice tutorial, and he was immediately doxxed and forced to apologize under mass attack.

You want to use ChatGPT, access Google Cloud, work globally?

• Local police in China are finning people for using VPNs. A programmer in Hebei Province was fined ¥1,050,000 CNY for taking freelance work on GitHub.

You want to keep a private diary in the cloud?

• Those words you think belong only to you can be censored by algorithms or deleted by the system at any moment. During the pandemic and the lockdown, I used Evernote to record my mood, only to find even private notes were automatically locked and deleted. Your “private space” is merely a hunting ground for big data surveillance.

You want to take a photo?

• Huawei can automatically censor and delete content you consider “sensitive.” In 2023, a netizen in Beijing used a Huawei Honor to photograph the “Bridge Watchers” (guards on bridges to prevent protests); within 8 seconds, the phone forcibly shut down, and upon restarting, the photos had vanished, and the battery level strangely showed zero. When filming protests against the Zero-COVID policy, domestic phones simply wiped the memory clean.

You want to celebrate a birthday or just watch a fun video?

• Please check the calendar first—July 7th, September 18th, December 13th. Any entertainment on these days is “harboring ulterior motives”; even celebrating your birthday could become evidence of a crime.

You want to make a website to showcase your work?

• Without an ICP license, the court can directly convict you.

You want to buy a Japanese car? You want to use a Japanese phone?

• Be careful not to get smashed or robbed, becoming a sacrifice for “patriotism.”

And if something you deeply love is destroyed, like that concert canceled at the last minute, and you dare to complain?

No one will comfort you. They’ll just look down and say:

“It’s nothing compared to the needs of the nation. Why do you worship the Japanese anyway?”

At that moment, you are not an individual with an independent personality; you are fuel for the “patriotic” machine. Your pain is devalued; your passion is stigmatized. You are kidnapped onto the chariot of nationalism, forced to hand over your happiness as ransom.

I saw it clearly long ago.

In this enormous structure of power, every person is a hostage on standby.

• When the state needs to display strength, you are the purchasing power to be sacrificed;
• When the state needs to maintain stability, you are the statistic sealed inside a building;
• When the state needs to shift blame, you are the cannon fodder pushed to the front line.

The Happiness of a “Second-Class Citizen”

When I moved to Tokyo, my family often muttered sourly:

“You think it’s better out there? You will always be a second-class citizen in Japan.”

And every time they say that, I smile.

They don’t know that, for someone who has just been liberated from the status of a “hostage,” this is actually a compliment.

In China, who are the so-called “first-class citizens”?

• Is it the “people” who can be sealed in buildings to starve or burn to death at any time?
• Is it the parents whose children are used as “soft ribs” (软肋, weaknesses) to threaten them?
• Is it the fan who buys a ticket and arrives at the venue only to be driven away by “force majeure”?
• Is it the walking dead who see the suffering of others but can only echo hymns of praise?

And now, here in Tokyo:

• I can buy a concert ticket with peace of mind, without worrying about last-minute cancellations;
• I can choose the clothes I like without being reported for having “ulterior motives”;
• I can do my own thing and say what I like on any given day, without needing to repost “positive energy” or be silenced and grounded;
• I can publish this article without worrying about the police knocking on my door in the middle of the night;
• I can walk freely on the street without being sealed in my home by “Big Whites,” where even breathing becomes a crime;
• I can express my condolences for the victims of the Urumqi fire without being treated as a machine of stability maintenance.

I am no longer a token in some grand national narrative.

I have no “soft spots” for others to exploit.

I am simply myself.

This is what it means to be a normal human being.

This is what a normal country feels like.

This is the life I’ve waited for.