On Halloween in 2022, outside a gathering that the police had just dispersed in Beijing’s warehouse district, I witnessed a young woman in her twenties clad in a shimmering spandex outfit and bunny ears dash into the street. Her fervent cry of “Freedom, not testing!” echoed through the air, followed by declarations of “Reform, not revolution! Votes, not dictators! Citizens, not slaves!”
These phrases bore a striking resemblance to the sentiments expressed at Tsinghua University, where I was pursuing a master’s degree. Near the campus, a banner adorned with similar slogans had been hung, attributed to the elusive figure known as “Bridgeman,” who had vanished shortly before Halloween. The scene unfolded as the woman in the spandex attire grappled with her boyfriend, attempting to muffle her words, while other young attendees from the party dispersed quietly. Yet, amidst the silence, murmurs of solidarity emerged from the crowd: “I agree,” “I support you,” and even daring remarks like, “Xi Jinping has a small penis!”
Subsequently, a police officer began recording the unfolding events on his phone, prompting everyone to scatter.
In the ensuing month, China witnessed its most significant street demonstrations since 1989. At Tsinghua University, a relatively restrained protest took place, characterized by students singing the Chinese national anthem and the socialist anthem “The Internationale” outside the main canteen. Their chants advocating for “Democracy and rule of law! Freedom of expression!” were accompanied by displays of symbols such as the s (representing a “free man” and an open universe), rainbow flags symbolizing LGBTQ rights, and blank sheets of paper symbolizing the White Paper Protests.
While these protests were seemingly triggered by the country’s [ppp1], my interactions with young individuals in China indicated that their disillusionment had persisted beyond the pandemic. Among my Chinese peers, a prevalent theme emerged: a focus on personal challenges intertwined with a sense of apathy towards political transformation. The initial fervor sparked by the zero-COVID policy had now evolved into a pervasive sense of discontented resignation.
In early December 2022, shortly after the protests, I found myself sharing a meal with Lihua in an empty university classroom, illuminated by flickering fluorescent lights. (To safeguard the individuals mentioned in this account, pseudonyms or anonymity have been granted.) Our acquaintance, forged in a foreign-policy class, had been hindered by recurrent dormitory quarantines. Against the backdrop of China’s abandonment of its zero-COVID strategy, closure of testing facilities, and the subsequent viral spread, Lihua casually inquired, “Did you witness the protests?”
Her question caught me off guard, considering our limited acquaintance and the sensitive nature of the topic, particularly in conversations with foreigners. With caution, I confirmed that I had observed the events from a distance.
Lihua proceeded to recount how her WeChat feed had transitioned from being inundated with discussions on “freedom,” “democracy,” and government critique to a mundane display of colorful desserts, friend’s selfies, and travel videos. She attributed this shift not only to enhanced censorship but also to individuals’ adeptness at evading content removal. It seemed as though, overnight, the fervor had dissipated.
The Chinese authorities swiftly quelled the protests through authoritarian tactics, especially within educational institutions. At Tsinghua, the transition to online classes and the provision of complimentary transportation for students returning home were among the measures implemented. In Beijing, the police embarked on a relentless pursuit of protesters, scrutinizing the geolocation data of subway passengers and interrogating individuals on the streets. Officers even visited the residences of individuals whose phones placed them in proximity to protest sites.
Despite the crackdown, the protests’ demise was not solely attributed to repression. The relaxation of testing protocols and quarantine mandates significantly dampened the enthusiasm among my peers. A town-hall meeting convened by Tsinghua University to address queries regarding the institution’s COVID policies saw a tepid response, with only a fraction of the expected attendees present, underscoring the waning zeal among students even before the policy alterations were enacted.
The transient surge of activism in the autumn of 2022 stemmed from broader societal discontent beyond mere opposition to the zero-COVID strategy. However, as the stringent policies loosened, a reluctance, if not reluctance, to sustain the momentum pervaded the Chinese youth I encountered. Many seemed resigned to their restricted autonomy, predetermined trajectories, and limited prospects. A prevailing sense of detachment and cynicism had supplanted their aspirations for change, giving way to a subdued yet prevailing weariness.
On January 1, 2023, barely a month after the conclusion of zero COVID, I engaged in a dialogue with two young women in the lobby of a hostel in Xishuangbanna, an autonomous prefecture in Yunnan province. For the first time since 2020, they, along with numerous Millennials and Gen Zers, had embarked on a recreational sojourn to the southwestern city. The locale bore semblances to a fusion of Las Vegas, Hong Kong, Thailand, and Disneyland, infused with distinct Chinese characteristics. Amidst the vibrant cityscape, characterized by towering structures adorned with castle-like embellishments and kaleidoscopic lights, the women reflected on the enduring repercussions of the prolonged lockdown.
One of the women recounted the stark contrast between the past turmoil, marked by individuals resorting to drastic measures like suicide, and the present, where some semblance of normalcy had been restored. However, a prevailing sense of discontent lingered among many. The other woman drew parallels between life in China and the idealized existence abroad, emphasizing the dichotomy between mere existence (huozhe[‘living’]) and a truly fulfilling life (shenghuo[‘life’]). She lamented the prevalent monotony among Chinese youth, consumed by the relentless pursuit of material possessions like cars and houses, perpetually ensnared in a cycle of work without respite. Their ignorance of alternative lifestyles bred a pervasive sense of despondency.
These sentiments echoed across numerous conversations with my Chinese peers, underscoring a prevailing theme of stagnation and resignation, a profound awareness of the constraints circumscribing their aspirations.
Several months later, in May, I departed Tsinghua for a stint at a hotel in Zhaoxing, a Dong-minority village in Guizhou’s Liping County. During a leisurely hike with my co-worker, Pengxi, a former robotics engineer and UK alumnus, I probed his career aspirations. His despondent response underscored a prevailing sentiment among his generation—an acceptance of limited prospects and a resigned acquiescence to the status quo. The generational shift, according to Pengxi, had eradicated the tangible progress witnessed by his predecessors, leaving the current cohort stranded in a state of stasis, yearning for elusive advancement.
For some, this impasse translated into a form of passive resistance or “lying flat,” a concept emblematic of disengagement from the relentless pursuit of success. Others, like Pengxi, straddled the line between embracing this ethos and reconciling with societal expectations. Our stint as yi-gong (“volunteers”), exchanging labor for accommodation in a novel locale, offered a temporary reprieve from the monotony of everyday life, a delicate balance between disengagement and pragmatic acceptance of societal norms.
Subsequently, during a gathering with fellow yi-gong workers at a café owned by Pengxi’s acquaintance, deliberations ensued regarding his scholarship offer for postgraduate research in London. The discourse oscillated between the allure of stability in China and the prospects of academic pursuit abroad. Ultimately, the consensus veered towards the former, prioritizing comfort and predictability over the allure of uncharted territories.
In a subsequent encounter, I accompanied a group of Chinese tourists on a guided excursion through Inner Mongolia. Amidst a meal at a Russian-themed eatery, discussions inadvertently veered towards the former Chinese leader Jiang Zemin, eliciting discomfort among certain individuals in the group. A palpable unease permeated the atmosphere, with a prevailing sentiment of reluctance to delve into contentious subjects deemed beyond their purview.
Throughout my sojourn in China, diverse perspectives on the Communist Party of China (CCP) emerged. Encounters ranged from fervent proponents who revered the party as akin to a religion to dissenters who harbored aspirations of relocation to more liberal climes like Berlin. Academic studies presented a conflicting narrative, portraying Chinese youth as either staunchly nationalistic and optimistic or more critical of the government compared to preceding generations.
The prevailing sentiment among today’s Chinese youth diverged from the “Age of Ambition” delineated by New Yorker correspondent Evan Osnos in the early 2000s—a period characterized by fervent innovation and transformative endeavors. Instead, a pervasive sense of resignation, epitomized by the concept of “lying flat” or semi-detachment, pervaded the ethos under Xi Jinping’s leadership. Conversations with my peers revealed a prevailing sense of nihilism towards the government, encapsulated by the term xuwuzhuyi.
This prevailing trend mirrored deep-seated material anxieties, underscored by escalating youth unemployment, GDP disparities, and a prevailing sense of disillusionment. The economic landscape, fraught with challenges, underscored the intricate interplay between nationalistic fervor and pragmatic career choices among Chinese youth.
On the day of Xi’s third-term announcement on October 22, 2022, a stroll through Beijing with a Chinese companion revealed a city steeped in tranquility beneath the azure “20th Party Congress” sky—a stark contrast to its bustling demeanor. Reflecting on the subdued ambiance, my companion lamented the generational shift, marked by a dearth of the fervor witnessed during the 1989 protests. As we traversed Beijing’s ancient hutong s, now transformed into trendy establishments, he bemoaned the prevalent culture of complaint without action, emblematic of his generation’s prevailing ethos.