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Yahoo
6 days ago
- General
- Yahoo
Opinion - When even remembering is a crime: China's Tiananmen Square massacre, 36 years on
An open hand with a bullet wound in the middle probably lies somewhere in the dark security storage of the Sanhe Public Security Bureau. The hand — a painting, not literal rotting flesh — is the artwork of the Gao Brothers titled, 'Memory 1989' or 'Pierced Memory,' a memorial honoring the victims of the Tiananmen Square Massacre that took place 36 years ago today. Like that piece of art, Gao Zhen, one half of the artist duo, sits locked away in a prison cell in Beijing, awaiting sentencing on charges of 'slandering China's heroes and martyrs.' All for drawing attention through art to what Beijing has been trying to erase from history for nearly four decades — the moment when those who fought for freedom were shot down by state bullets. On June 4, 1989, the Chinese Communist Party answered a generation's call for reform, first with silence, then steel, crushing not just bodies but the very idea of political possibility. What began as a tribute to reformist leader Hu Yaobang's death blossomed into a peaceful student-led movement calling for dialogue: press freedom, transparency, anti-corruption measures, and modest democratic reforms. It became one of the largest acts of civil resistance in modern Chinese history, reverberating across 400 cities. At the heart of it all, more than a million people filled Tiananmen Square, their hunger strikes, banners, and speeches illuminating a fragile hope that the system might bend. Instead, the system broke them. Martial law was declared at midnight. In the immediate aftermath of the massacre, some Chinese leaders feared Tiananmen would leave an indelible blemish on the country's history, a lasting memory of the free world that would exclude China from the global order. The fear of isolation never really materialized. At the time, many Western policymakers believed that market reforms would eventually usher in political liberalization. In the years since, the Chinese Communist Party has been debunking the assumption that capitalism necessarily breeds democracy. It has carved out a space on the global stage to accommodate its 'China model' and infiltrate democratic institutions. Far from being a red line others dare to cross, Tiananmen revealed just how much the world was willing to overlook in exchange for market access and profit. Authoritarian regimes have learned they don't need to come out with tanks and guns blazing to debilitate national movements of resistance. The Chinese Communists do it more 'discreetly' now. Like taking quiet but great measures to suppress creative dissent, a form of speech that is filled with illusion and thus difficult to censor, and powerfully evocative, and thus difficult to sanitize. Sanmu Chan, a performance artist and friend of Gao who has continuously posted on Facebook each day since his friend was detained, has faced massive censorship in Hong Kong. In 2024, he was detained for writing '8964' in the air and miming the act of pouring wine onto the ground to symbolize mourning for those massacred during the Tiananmen Square protests. In Hong Kong, Beijing has deployed legal instruments in place of tanks, replacing open violence with legal warfare. What was once a sanctuary for memory is now a place of fear and enforced silence. The annual June 4 vigil at Victoria Park, once the world's largest public remembrance of Tiananmen, has been outlawed and its organizers imprisoned. From Tehran to Moscow, authoritarian leaders across the globe have increasingly employed vaguely worded laws to erase inconvenient history. In Russia, 'memory laws' ban criticism of the Soviet past. In Bangladesh, the rebranded Digital Security Act continues to jail critics for 'hurting national sentiment.' And in Iran, mourning itself became rebellion: on the anniversary of Mahsa Jina Amini's death, her father was detained to prevent a graveside vigil; families of other slain protesters were arrested under vague charges of 'propaganda against the state.' On the other hand, authoritarian states are keen to dictate what should be remembered. Indonesia's government introduced a proposal to name the country's former dictator, Suharto, a national hero despite his record of anti-communist purges that left more than 500,000 dead. The lesson from Tiananmen hasn't been caution, it's coordination. Mass repression, they've realized, need not isolate a regime; it can consolidate alliances. They saw China suffer no lasting consequences for slaughtering its people and how quickly the world resumed business. Now, they are doubling down: partnering not only in repression, but in its global legitimation, so that the next Tiananmen elicits not outrage but a shrug. From voting down a United Nations debate on the Uyghur genocide to shielding Iran from accountability over its crackdown on women protesters from marshalling authoritarian allies to pass Human Rights Council resolutions that shift focus away from civil liberties to advancing the 'non-interference' doctrine, the world's dictatorial regimes are coordinating to resist democratic norms and deflect any scrutiny of their abuses. With Beijing's shift from authoritarian apprentice to global enabler, autocrats are now proactively offering to enforce one another's repressive techniques. However, behind the projection of strength lies a quieter truth: authoritarians govern with deep paranoia. Authoritarianism lacks the feedback loops that allow it to democratically correct itself in open societies. Without the ability to trust its citizens or to distinguish loyalty with silence, it relies on excessive surveillance to preempt any challenges to its rule, and even then, it's failing. The sudden eruption of the White Paper protests during mainland China's zero-COVID era and the unexpected unfurling of pro-democracy banners in Chengdu show that dissent is still possible, even under extreme restrictions. This overreliance on mass surveillance will blind the Chinese Communist Party to genuine social undercurrents that will disrupt its legitimacy as a ruling party. While the regime refines repression, people refine resistance. There is a limit to what software can suppress — and suppression breeds creativity. When authorities silenced slogans, protesters raised blank signs; when images of state violence were scrubbed from the Internet, diaspora artists, technologists, and archivists reassembled them through AI, immersive installations, and blockchain repositories. While the streets of Hong Kong may now fall silent on June 4, Tiananmen's memory has not vanished — it has gone global. From candlelight vigils in Taipei and Vancouver to art installations in Berlin and blockchain memorials hosted on GitHub and IPFS, young members of the diaspora are transforming remembrance into resistance. Even under erasure, memory adapts, resisting disappearance not through defiance alone, but through reinvention. What drove the protesters of 1989 — the demand for dignity, truth, and political voice — now pulses through a generation born after the massacre but unwilling to let it be buried. Attitudes are changing, and the youth are watching. Elisha Maldonado is the director of communications at the Human Rights Foundation. Copyright 2025 Nexstar Media, Inc. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed.
The Hill
6 days ago
- General
- The Hill
When even remembering is a crime: China's Tiananmen Square massacre, 36 years on
An open hand with a bullet wound in the middle probably lies somewhere in the dark security storage of the Sanhe Public Security Bureau. The hand — a painting, not literal rotting flesh — is the artwork of the Gao Brothers titled, 'Memory 1989' or 'Pierced Memory,' a memorial honoring the victims of the Tiananmen Square Massacre that took place 36 years ago today. Like that piece of art, Gao Zhen, one half of the artist duo, sits locked away in a prison cell in Beijing, awaiting sentencing on charges of 'slandering China's heroes and martyrs.' All for drawing attention through art to what Beijing has been trying to erase from history for nearly four decades — the moment when those who fought for freedom were shot down by state bullets. On June 4, 1989, the Chinese Communist Party answered a generation's call for reform, first with silence, then steel, crushing not just bodies but the very idea of political possibility. What began as a tribute to reformist leader Hu Yaobang's death blossomed into a peaceful student-led movement calling for dialogue: press freedom, transparency, anti-corruption measures, and modest democratic reforms. It became one of the largest acts of civil resistance in modern Chinese history, reverberating across 400 cities. At the heart of it all, more than a million people filled Tiananmen Square, their hunger strikes, banners, and speeches illuminating a fragile hope that the system might bend. Instead, the system broke them. Martial law was declared at midnight. In the immediate aftermath of the massacre, some Chinese leaders feared Tiananmen would leave an indelible blemish on the country's history, a lasting memory of the free world that would exclude China from the global order. The fear of isolation never really materialized. At the time, many Western policymakers believed that market reforms would eventually usher in political liberalization. In the years since, the Chinese Communist Party has been debunking the assumption that capitalism necessarily breeds democracy. It has carved out a space on the global stage to accommodate its 'China model' and infiltrate democratic institutions. Far from being a red line others dare to cross, Tiananmen revealed just how much the world was willing to overlook in exchange for market access and profit. Authoritarian regimes have learned they don't need to come out with tanks and guns blazing to debilitate national movements of resistance. The Chinese Communists do it more 'discreetly' now. Like taking quiet but great measures to suppress creative dissent, a form of speech that is filled with illusion and thus difficult to censor, and powerfully evocative, and thus difficult to sanitize. Sanmu Chan, a performance artist and friend of Gao who has continuously posted on Facebook each day since his friend was detained, has faced massive censorship in Hong Kong. In 2024, he was detained for writing '8964' in the air and miming the act of pouring wine onto the ground to symbolize mourning for those massacred during the Tiananmen Square protests. In Hong Kong, Beijing has deployed legal instruments in place of tanks, replacing open violence with legal warfare. What was once a sanctuary for memory is now a place of fear and enforced silence. The annual June 4 vigil at Victoria Park, once the world's largest public remembrance of Tiananmen, has been outlawed and its organizers imprisoned. From Tehran to Moscow, authoritarian leaders across the globe have increasingly employed vaguely worded laws to erase inconvenient history. In Russia, 'memory laws' ban criticism of the Soviet past. In Bangladesh, the rebranded Digital Security Act continues to jail critics for 'hurting national sentiment.' And in Iran, mourning itself became rebellion: on the anniversary of Mahsa Jina Amini's death, her father was detained to prevent a graveside vigil; families of other slain protesters were arrested under vague charges of 'propaganda against the state.' On the other hand, authoritarian states are keen to dictate what should be remembered. Indonesia's government introduced a proposal to name the country's former dictator, Suharto, a national hero despite his record of anti-communist purges that left more than 500,000 dead. The lesson from Tiananmen hasn't been caution, it's coordination. Mass repression, they've realized, need not isolate a regime; it can consolidate alliances. They saw China suffer no lasting consequences for slaughtering its people and how quickly the world resumed business. Now, they are doubling down: partnering not only in repression, but in its global legitimation, so that the next Tiananmen elicits not outrage but a shrug. From voting down a United Nations debate on the Uyghur genocide to shielding Iran from accountability over its crackdown on women protesters from marshalling authoritarian allies to pass Human Rights Council resolutions that shift focus away from civil liberties to advancing the 'non-interference' doctrine, the world's dictatorial regimes are coordinating to resist democratic norms and deflect any scrutiny of their abuses. With Beijing's shift from authoritarian apprentice to global enabler, autocrats are now proactively offering to enforce one another's repressive techniques. However, behind the projection of strength lies a quieter truth: authoritarians govern with deep paranoia. Authoritarianism lacks the feedback loops that allow it to democratically correct itself in open societies. Without the ability to trust its citizens or to distinguish loyalty with silence, it relies on excessive surveillance to preempt any challenges to its rule, and even then, it's failing. The sudden eruption of the White Paper protests during mainland China's zero-COVID era and the unexpected unfurling of pro-democracy banners in Chengdu show that dissent is still possible, even under extreme restrictions. This overreliance on mass surveillance will blind the Chinese Communist Party to genuine social undercurrents that will disrupt its legitimacy as a ruling party. While the regime refines repression, people refine resistance. There is a limit to what software can suppress — and suppression breeds creativity. When authorities silenced slogans, protesters raised blank signs; when images of state violence were scrubbed from the Internet, diaspora artists, technologists, and archivists reassembled them through AI, immersive installations, and blockchain repositories. While the streets of Hong Kong may now fall silent on June 4, Tiananmen's memory has not vanished — it has gone global. From candlelight vigils in Taipei and Vancouver to art installations in Berlin and blockchain memorials hosted on GitHub and IPFS, young members of the diaspora are transforming remembrance into resistance. Even under erasure, memory adapts, resisting disappearance not through defiance alone, but through reinvention. What drove the protesters of 1989 — the demand for dignity, truth, and political voice — now pulses through a generation born after the massacre but unwilling to let it be buried. Attitudes are changing, and the youth are watching. Elisha Maldonado is the director of communications at the Human Rights Foundation.
Reuters
6 days ago
- Business
- Reuters
China's Tiananmen Square demonstrations and crackdown
BEIJING, June 4 (Reuters) - Wednesday marks the 36th anniversary of China's bloody crackdown on pro-democracy demonstrations in and around central Beijing's Tiananmen Square, when Chinese troops opened fire on their own people. The event remains a taboo topic of discussion in mainland China and will not be officially commemorated by the ruling Communist Party or government. China has never provided a full death toll, but rights groups and witnesses say the figure could run into the thousands. Here are some landmark dates leading up to the demonstrations and the crackdown that followed: 1988: China slides into economic chaos with panic buying triggered by rising inflation that neared 30%. April 15, 1989: A leading reformer and former Communist Party chief Hu Yaobang, dies. His death acts as a catalyst for unhappiness over the slow pace of reform, corruption and income inequality. April 17: Protests begin at Tiananmen Square, with students calling for democracy and reform. Crowds of up to 100,000 gather, despite official warnings. April 22: Some 50,000 students gather outside the Great Hall of the People as Hu's memorial service is held. Three students attempt to deliver a petition to the government, outlining their demands, but are ignored. Rioting and looting take place in Xian and Changsha. April 24: Beijing students begin classroom strike. April 27: About 50,000 students defy authorities and march to Tiananmen. Supporting crowds number up to one million. May 2: In Shanghai, 10,000 protesters march on city government headquarters. May 4: More protests coincide with the anniversary of the May 4 Movement of 1919, which was another student and intellectual-led movement for reform. Protests also coincide with a meeting of the Asian Development Bank in the Great Hall of the People. Students march in Shanghai and nine other cities. May 13: Hundreds of students begin a hunger strike on Tiananmen Square. May 15-18: To China's embarrassment, protests prevent the traditional welcome ceremony outside the Great Hall of the People for the state visit of reformist Soviet leader Mikhail Gorbachev. Students welcome Gorbachev as "The Ambassador of Democracy". May 19: Party chief Zhao Ziyang visits students on Tiananmen Square, accompanied by the hardline then-premier Li Peng and future premier Wen Jiabao. Zhao pleads with the student protesters to leave but is ignored. It is the last time Zhao is seen in public. He is later purged. May 20: Li declares martial law in parts of Beijing. Li is reviled by many to this day as the "Butcher of Beijing". May 23: Some 100,000 people march in Beijing demanding Li's removal. Li remained premier until 1998. May 30: Students unveil a 10-metre (33 ft) high "Goddess of Democracy", modelled on the Statue of Liberty, in Tiananmen Square. May 31: Government-sponsored counter-demonstration calls students "traitorous bandits". June 3: Citizens repel a charge towards Tiananmen by thousands of soldiers. Tear gas and bullets are used in running clashes a few hundred metres from the square. Authorities warn protesters that troops and police have the "right to use all methods". June 4: In the early hours of the morning tanks and armoured personnel carriers begin their attack on the square itself, clearing it by dawn. About four hours later, troops fire on unarmed civilians regrouping at the edge of the square. June 5: An unidentified Chinese man stands in front of a tank convoy leaving Tiananmen Square. The image spreads around the world as a symbol of defiance. June 6: State Council spokesman Yuan Mu says on television that the known death toll was about 300, most of them soldiers, with only 23 students confirmed killed. June 9: Paramount leader Deng Xiaoping praises military officers and blames the protests on counter-revolutionaries seeking to overthrow the party. Sources: Reuters, Chinese state media.
