Chapter Dive
No Cookie-Cutter #MeToo Approach: An Overview of China’s Me Too Movement (Updated)
There is no China-based, Chinese #metoo movement as there is in the US and other countries.
PREMIUM CONTENT ARTICLE
Ever since the #Metoo movement caught fire on social media with people sharing personal stories of sexual harassment, many journalists, China watchers, and Me Too activists have been closely watching if, and how, the #Metoo movement would surface in China.
More than five months after #Metoo particularly shook entertainment and media circles in the US, it has become evident that the #Metoo movement has not taken off in the PRC as it has in some other countries.
What is noticeable about those ‘Me Too’ stories that did become big in China, is that (1) they mostly relate to sexual harassment in academic circles, that (2) the majority is linked to US-based Chinese and the overseas Chinese community, and that (3) some stories on sexual harassment that went viral in China were only framed as ‘#Metoo’ accounts by English-language media – not by the posters themselves.
Some US news outlets have determined that there is no ‘me too’ movement in China because it has been silenced by the government. Although there has in fact been online censorship regarding this issue, there is no sign of a truly China-based ‘Me Too’ movement in which regular female netizens collectively share their stories of sexual abuse in the way it has unfolded in many Western countries.
At time of writing, neither the #Metoo hashtag nor its Chinese equivalents (#我也是，#Metoo在中国, #米兔) were censored on Chinese social media platform Sina Weibo. In addition, contrary to some reports in English-language media, Chinese mainstream media have reported about the Me Too movement since October 2017, with some state-run media (e.g. CRI) serving as a platform for victims of sexual harassment to make their stories known to the public.
This is an overview of some important moments in mainland China since October regarding the global #Metoo movement.
● 15 October 2017: Me Too
Ten days after the New York Times first published an article detailing sexual harassment complaints against Hollywood mogul Harvey Weinstein, American actress Alyssa Milano posts a tweet that urges victims of sexual abuse to come forward using the words ‘me too’.
The ‘me too’ slogan was first used in 2006 by Tamara Burke to help sexual assault survivors in underprivileged communities.
#Metoo soon becomes a hashtag and movement that particularly rocks the American entertainment industry and focuses on the widespread prevalence of sexual assault and harassment, especially in the workplace.
● 16 October 2017: China Daily Controversy
The state-run newspaper China Daily publishes an opinion column by Canadian-Egyptian author Sava Hassan titled “Weinstein case demonstrates cultural differences,” in which Hassan alleges that sexual harassment is less common in China because “Chinese traditional values and conservative attitudes tend to safeguard women against inappropriate behavior from members of the opposite gender.”
The article is linked to on Twitter by China Daily, writing: “What prevents sexual harassment from being a common phenomenon in China, as it’s in most Western societies?”
Screenshot of the controversial tweet, by SupChina.com.
Over recent years, various surveys have pointed out that sexual harassment is, in fact, a problem in mainland China. A 2016 survey amongst over 2000 working females conducted by the Social Survey Center of China Youth Daily indicated that more than 30% experienced sexual harassment. Another survey by the China Family Planning Association also showed that more than 30% of China’s college students have been sexually assaulted or harassed.
The article and tweet trigger waves of criticism and is temporarily taken offline. At time of writing, the article is available online again at the China Daily website.
● October – November 2017: State Media Reports #Metoo
Various mainstream and state-run Chinese media extensively report about the “Me Too” movement in North America and elsewhere.
Some examples (in Chinese):
*People’s Daily, October 30 2017: “我也是受害者！揭发性骚扰运动走上法国街头” [“I am also a victim! The movement to expose sexual harassment is heading to the streets of France.”] http://world.people.com.cn/n1/2017/1031/c1002-29617842.html
*Xinhua, November 4 2017:”美国揭露性骚扰运动延烧到国会山” [“The US movement against sexual harassment extends to Capitol Hill.”] http://www.xinhuanet.com/2017-11/04/c_1121905779.htm
*Xinhua, November 6 2017: “我也是”运动蔓延 美国会酝酿反性骚扰培训” [“As ‘MeToo’ movement grows, America explores anti-sexual harassment trainings.”] http://www.xinhuanet.com/world/2017-11/06/c_129733177.htm
*Xinhua, November 11 2017: “随笔：“我也是”，你有勇气说出吗?” [“‘Me Too’: Do You Have the Courage to Speak Out?”] http://www.xinhuanet.com/2017-11/16/c_1121965426.htm
*Sina News, December 1 2017: “大声地说出来 羞耻的不是你” [“Speak out loud: you are not the one to be ashamed.”] http://news.sina.com.cn/c/2017-12-01/doc-ifyphtze2990099.shtml
*China Daily, December 6 2017 “《时代》揭晓2017年度人物：性骚扰丑闻“打破沉默者” [“Time announces Person of the Year 2017: those breaking the silence on sexual harassment.”] http://language.chinadaily.com.cn/2017-12/07/content_35249891.htm
● 27 November 2017: Shanghai Harassment goes Viral
The 28-year-old Xu Yalu (nicknamed ‘Brazil Teacher Xu’ 巴西徐老师) posts on WeChat about how she has been harassed multiple times by the same man in Shanghai from 2013 to 2015, and that the police will not do anything to stop the man.
The article, titled “I was harassed three times within two years time by an old pervert” (“上海静安寺，我2年内被一个老色狼猥亵3次”) receives more than 1.19 million views before it is taken down by Chinese censors. Three days later, Xu Yalu republishes her article on Zhihu.com where it is not taken offline.
Photos of the man who allegedly harassed her various times in Shanghai were spread by Xu Yalu.
Although the original article by Xu Yalu does not mention the ‘#metoo’ hashtag once, this story is placed into a larger Chinese ‘#metoo’ context by the New York Times and Reuters.
● November 2017: Sophia Huang Xueqing Steps Forward for Chinese ‘Metoo’
Huang Xueqin (黄雪琴 aka Sophia Huang Xueqing), a female reporter, launches a survey focused on the sexual harassment of Chinese female journalists and emerges as an initiator of a potential Chinese #Metoo movement by launching ATSH, an Anti-sexual harassment platform on WeChat.
Huang speaks to various English-language media about the silence with which the global #metoo movement is met in China. According to HKFP, Huang receives over 200 responses from female journalists, of which only 16% say they have never experienced sexual harassment.
Later, in January, Huang publicly speaks out in a special show titled ‘Hear me Speak’ by the CRI TV programme “China’s Voice” (中国之声) about the ‘Metoo’ movement in China and about her personal experiences being sexually harassed as a journalist.
● 1 January 2018: Wo Ye Shi
With the hashtag ‘Wo Ye Shi’ (#我也是, “#metoo”) a US-based former doctoral student named Luo Xixi (罗茜茜) comes forward on Chinese social media (@cici小居士) with sexual harassment allegations against her previous supervisor Chen Xiaowu (陈小武).
Luo accuses the award-winning professor Chen of sexually harassing her and several other students 12 years ago at Beihang University, also known as Beijing University of Aeronautics and Astronautics (BUAA). On the Chinese Q&A platform Zhihu.com, Luo shares how her supervisor attempted to force himself upon her. She also posts several testimonies online to support claims that Chen also sexually assaulted at least seven other students.
In a blog post on Weibo, Luo writes that she was inspired to come forward with her story when she first heard about the Harvey Weinstein scandal and the launch of the “#metoo” campaign on Twitter and Facebook.
● 4 January 2018: “Social movements play limited role”
State-run newspaper Global Times, commonly regarded a Party mouthpiece, publishes an article in which it addresses claims made by Western media outlets that “sex-related crimes are serious in China,” but that the country “‘rarely’ takes sexual assault allegations seriously.”
Although Global Times acknowledges that sexual violence is a problem in China, as it is in other countries, it also stresses that “social movements can only play a limited role in reducing sexual harassment.”
Instead, it says that the most effective solution is that “more efforts should be put into establishing and perfecting laws and regulations so as to deter potential sexual violence and properly handle it if it happens.”
● 7 January 2018: Fudan Survey
Former Fudan student ‘Taoligeriler’ (@桃莉格日勒在路上), inspired by Luo Xixi’s account, starts a petition asking Fudan University in Shanghai to do more to tackle the problem of sexual harassment on campus.
SCMP reports that the petition collects 300 signatures in a day. On Weibo, Taogeriler writes: “About the petition against sexual harassment, I have asked a lot of people to join, but many people feel it does not have anything to do with them.”
● 11 January 2018: “Say no to sexual harassment!”
After investigating the claims of Luo Qianqian and other former students, Beihang University fires Chen from his position. Three days later, the Education Departments also recalls his scholar title.
Meanwhile, Party newspaper People’s Daily launches an online campaign titled “Being courageous is the best you can be. Turn things around and say no to sexual harassment!”
● 15-19 January 2018: Manifests and Hashtags
According to the South China Morning Post, students and alumni across China have been inspired by Luo’s account to press their own universities for change. The report does not give out numbers, but estimate that “between 30 and 50 campaigns had emerged on social media over the past week.”
One of them is an anti-sexual harassment manifesto drafted by Xu Kaibin 徐开彬, a journalism professor at Wuhan University. It is signed by approximately 50 instructors from over 30 Chinese colleges.
Although there are not many accounts of women sharing their own stories of sexual assault on Weibo, various hashtags emerge on Chinese social media as variations to #metoo. Besides #woyeshi (#我也是）there is also #MeTooInChina (#MeToo在中国).
From January 17 to February 17, the hashtag #MeTooInChina gets temporarily blocked on Weibo. In response to this, Weibo users launch the alternative hashtag #mitu, written as #米兔, which literally means ‘rice bunny’, but sounds like the English #metoo, and the hashtag #MiTuinChina (#米兔在中国#).
● 31 January 2018: Chinese-American lawyer Hua Qiang’s #Metoo
Chinese state-run news outlet CRI.com publishes a feature article about LA-based Chinese-American lawyer Hua Qiang (华强) who has joined the #metoo campaign by sharing her story of sexual harassment.
Photo of Chinese American lawyer Hua Qiang, via cri.com.
Hua Qiang tells CRI that during a 2008 annual conference for lawyers, an influential lawyer by the name of Malcolm S. McNeil gave her a ride home after her car broke down. On the highway, Hua states, the lawyer suddenly started harassing Hua, grabbing her bosom, while driving. Too afraid to cause an accident on the freeway, Hua was too scared to fight him off. His wide network and strong influence in the area also made Hua too afraid to speak out, until the #metoo movement arrived.
● February 2018: MeToo in South Korea
The spread of the ‘Me Too’ movement in South Korea makes headlines in Chinese (state) media and becomes a topic of discussion on Chinese social media.
● 9 March 2018: Wang Ao Speaks Out
Chinese assistant professor of East Asian Studies Wang Ao (王敖) at Wesleyan University, Connecticut, writes an article on sexual harassment on Chinese social networking site Douban, in which he expresses his admiration of Luo Xixi and her #MeToo story.
In a lengthy post*, Wang details sexual harassment cases he has encountered inside academic circles.
In one example, Wang tells about an acquaintance who planned to study overseas and received an invitation from the professor in charge of admissions. When she arrived at his Beijing residence, the man tried to grab her and she finally manages to escape. Wang also alleges that the same professor has been targeting students for more than 20 years, and even had to change schools because of it. Although Wang does not mention any names in his article, the Douban link is soon removed.
● 10-16 March 2018: The Gary Xu Scandal
Wang Ao publishes another article on March 10, first on Douban and then on Zhihu, in which he provides a name with the professor mentioned in his earlier story. According to Wang, it concerns Xu Gang (徐钢), better known as Gary Xu, a prominent art curator at the Shenzhen Biennale and associate professor of East Asian studies at the University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign (UIUC). UIUC is known for its large numbers of Chinese students.
Wang adds that not only students but also some his own colleagues became a victim of Xu’s improper conduct. A female commenter under the name “Survivor 2018” replies to the thread, telling her own story of alleged abuse by Xu Gang.
Chinese law graduates in North America start asking people to offer relevant information regarding Xu Gang’s misconduct to be able to take legal actions against the professor.
On March 16, Xu Gang posts a lengthy article through WeChat in response to the accusations made against him. Xu states that he supports the #MeToo movement, but that he denies any sexual misconduct allegations and says that Wang just aims to destroy his reputation.
Meanwhile, Chinese media outlet Sixth Tone reports that two women have come forward about sexual misconduct they say they experienced at the hands of Xu.
One woman told Sixth Tone she was forced into unwanted sexual actions with Xu, which she says “ruined her life” at the time. She furthermore claimed that other UIUC students also had sexual relations with Xu. In 2015, an undergraduate student already reported Gary Xu to the school for engaging in sexual misconduct with several female students.
● March 19 2018: Gary Xu Non-Active
According to Sixth Tone, the University of Illinois responded to this case through email, saying that “the University investigates and takes appropriate action whenever conduct is reported that may jeopardize or impact the safety or security of our students or others,” and that they are not allowed to discuss any potential investigations. They added that “Dr. Xu currently is not teaching any courses but will hold his tenured status until Aug. 16, 2018, when he will resign from the university.”
Xu has since also been fired from his post as the curator of the upcoming 2018 Shenzhen Biennale.
● March 20 2018: Various Hashtags
Many discussions using the ‘metoo’ hashtag on social media now relate to how the #metoo movement is gaining traction in South Korea.
*MeToo: 34.8 millions views, 20.000 comments, 241 fans of this hashtag.
*WoYeShi #我也是: 1.7 million views, 2339 comments, 6 followers of this hashtag.
*MeTooinChina #Metoo在中国#: 7.2 million views, 6941 comments, 134 followers of this hashtag.
*MiTu #米兔: 3.2 million views, 8050 comments, 0 followers.
*MiTuinChina #米兔在中国: 3.5 million views, 4456 comments that include this hashtag, 64 followers of this hashtag.
● UPDATE – April 2018: Gao Yan Case
A two-decade-old sexual abuse case becomes trending on Weibo when Canada-based netizen named Li Youyou (李悠悠), inspired by Luo Xixi and ‘#metoo’, comes forward on social media about a Peking University classmate named Gao Yan (高岩), who committed suicide in 1998.
Twenty years after her death, Li and some of Gao’s other old classmates, link Gao’s suicide to the behavior of Professor Shen Yang (沈阳), who had since moved on to work in the Literature & Language department of Nanjing University. They claim Gao was raped by the professor on multiple occasions over a two-year period, and had been called “mentally ill” by him.
Gao Yan when she was going to university.
The case draws much attention and also leads to the dismissal of Professor Shen. On Chinese social media, rather than a ‘#metoo’ movement, netizens link the story with that of two other university suicides, namely that of male student Yang Baode (杨宝德) and Tao Chongyuan (陶崇园); they address a bigger problem of exploitation of students in Chinese universities. More than sexual abuse, it is also about emotional and verbal abuse, and official misconduct in academic circles – regardless of gender. Also read our article about this here.
By now, there are sporadic discussions of China’s ‘metoo’ movement on Weibo. “I still hope #metoo can influence China,” one netizen (@末未木十) writes.
Another netizen says: “The #metoo movement is meaningful, but it hasn’t really been able to become a reality in China.”
“#MetooinChina has returned,” one other Weibo user says: “But there’s barely discussions about it anymore. Now, the hashtag “International Women’s Day Against Harassment” (#三八反骚扰#) has been deleted. I wonder when that one will come back.”
Perhaps saying that there is no Chinese MeToo movement at all is too crude; after all, there are important stories and initiatives in China that are connected to the global #metoo movement. But unlike in the US and other countries, these events have not led to a wider movement of common netizens widely sharing their own stories of abuse on social media.
Why is this the case? According to the Washington Post, it is because of China’s “patriarchal culture and a male-dominated one-party state that obsessively protects those in power.”
Stephany Zoo at RadiiChina says that ‘metoo’ has not taken off because China’s business landscape is built on guanxi, relationships, and that speaking out would pose too much of a risk to individuals within such a stability-focused culture.
One Chinese blogger claims that China’s metoo movement has been hindered by, amongst others, the decade-old abuse case of Tang Lanlan. This case triggered massive attention earlier this year when Chinese media exposed the identity of the victim, potentially ruining her chances to lead her life out of the public eye.
The Chinese so-called ‘human flesh search engine‘ could cause victims of sexual abuse to become victimized once again by becoming the focus of attention in an online environment that is joined by more than 700 million people; in order to protect oneself, not speaking out in public might be the safer option in the eyes of many people.
But maybe there is also another reason for it, namely that some social movements emerge in a country because it is the right time and the place for it. Just as many Chinese movements have never emerged in the US, many American movements will have no success spouting up in the PRC. #Metoo is not a movement that can have a cookie-cutter approach – even if it does spring up in other countries, it will have different shapes, voices, and outcomes.
“Foreign media can report whatever they want [about China],” one Weibo commenter says: “In the end, it’s up to us to pay attention to [the movements] we find important.”
By Manya Koetse with contribution from Boyu Xiao
Follow @whatsonweibo
* title: 《关于学校里的性侵犯，我看到了什么，想了什么，能做什么》
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Chapter Dive
China’s CITIC Tower Crash: The Story That Never Trended
How information surrounding the CITIC Tower crash was managed, from a five-day media blackout to a sixth-day official narrative.
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The story that never went trending was undoubtedly the biggest story of the week. On June 26, an incident at the Beijing landmark CITIC Tower (aka China Zun 中国尊) in the Chaoyang central business district sparked disbelief online. At 5:55 pm local time, a small plane, a Sunward SA60L Aurora, crashed into the tower, after which wreckage from the small aircraft fell to the street below (video).
For those who immediately responded to the incident on social media, it seemed unimaginable that this had happened in the capital. Beijing is one of the most heavily defended airspace zones in China. Since May of this year, recreational drones are also banned in Beijing, with outdoor flights requiring prior approval from authorities.
“A small plane hit CITIC Tower??? How could something like this happen? What happened to the air defense capabilities in our core restricted zone???“ one Weibo commenter wrote on Friday night.
After videos and images of the incident spread, online discussions were swiftly and thoroughly censored. That same day, while media outlets around the world began reporting on the crash, it did not appear among the top 50 trending topics on Chinese platforms—in fact, it wasn’t reported anywhere at all. As related keywords and hashtags were taken offline, it quickly became clear that this was the “6.26 Incident That Shall Not Be Mentioned.”
Even the next day, when Chaoyang authorities issued a brief official notice, republished by state media, the name of the tower was never mentioned, just that “a single-engine, two-seat light sport aircraft collided with a high-rise building during flight,” and that an investigation was underway. The one person on board, the pilot, died in the crash. Thirteen others were injured.
Later, flight tracking data revealed that the aircraft had taken off from Shifosi Airport, northeast of Beijing, and had come close to a Hainan Airlines passenger jet, forcing at least two commercial flights to abort their landings.
For the five days following the incident, little to no official information was available on the highly unusual incident. Meanwhile, Chinese authorities reportedly ordered a nationwide suspension of most general aviation activities, including recreational flying.
Why the CITIC Tower Incident Triggered an Information Blackout
But why has the censorship surrounding this incident been so intense, leading online censors to scrub all footage and discussion of it from the internet?
This has to do with the nature of the incident.
It is not uncommon for major incidents to be heavily censored, especially when the details surrounding them are still unfolding. But this kind of information “blackout” generally occurs only when incidents are considered particularly sensitive, and the regular toolkits used to manage and control information are no longer deemed sufficient.
Some examples include:
▪️The 2011 Wenzhou Train Crash, which happened at a time when the prestige and reliability of China’s high-speed rail system was celebrated as a flagship national project.
▪️The 2013 Tiananmen SUV ‘Suicide Attack’, which happened in a tightly guarded, already politically sensitive public space and the symbolic heart of the state.
▪️The 2022 Anti-Party Protest Banner at Sitong Bridge, which happened just before the opening of the 20th Party Congress that confirmed Xi Jinping’s unprecedented third term.
▪️The 2024 Beishan Park Stabbings of American Tourists, which happened just as China’s inbound tourism was beginning to recover in the post-COVID era and “China is safe” narratives were playing an increasingly important role in official messaging.
All of these incidents are different in nature, but what they have in common is not just that they are examples of bad news being suppressed, but that they reflect a specific pattern in which news that is bad for the Party-state is suppressed. In their own ways, these incidents—and the discussions and speculation surrounding them—challenge one or more foundational narratives about the competence of China’s leadership, its modernization, its security, its stability, and its capacity to maintain social order.
📌 The 6.26 CITIC Tower incident is particularly sensitive because it touches on several of these core narratives. It immediately opened the door to a flood of politically sensitive questions: How could this happen in the capital? Were the authorities really in control? Were the security systems adequate? Was it a deliberate attack? This all directly contradicts the logic of “Safe China” (平安中国), a grand strategy for governance in the Xi era that seeks to project an image of a closely monitored society in which risks are anticipated and prevented through the integration of efficient public security, surveillance, and Party leadership (see Trevaskes & Lin 2024)1. A small aircraft striking Beijing’s tallest building—located in one of the country’s most tightly controlled airspaces—challenges precisely this claimed capacity to maintain order, guarantee security, and keep China safe.
📌 Another reason why incidents like the 6.26 one are censored so heavily is that they have the potential to snowball or even trigger copycat behavior. What begins as an isolated accident can quickly evolve into broader discussions about political dissatisfaction, which might spiral into social unrest – and protecting domestic stability is central to the Party-state’s legitimacy and maintenance of power.
📌 A third factor is the symbolic significance of the location. Unlike an ordinary office building, the CITIC Tower is a symbol of Beijing’s cosmopolitan skyline and of China’s economic rise and state-led modernization. Situated in the heart of the capital’s central business district, next to CCTV headquarters and visible across much of the city, it is one of Beijing’s most recognizable landmarks. An incident involving such a building inevitably carries far greater symbolic weight than one occurring in a less prominent location.
⮕ Taken together, these factors make the 6.26 incident unusually sensitive in political, social, and symbolic terms. It is not just a random aviation accident; it touches upon national security, state competence, political control, social stability, and the protection of one of the country’s most symbolic urban spaces. Rather than threatening a single Party narrative, as some of the other aforementioned incidents did, it threatens several at once. This helps explain why it was treated not as an ordinary censored event, but as one requiring an almost complete information blackout.
A Familiar Censorship Playbook
Although these top-censored news incidents are all unique, they follow a similar whack-a-mole-style playbook in suppressing discussion of these events, even though they had only just happened.2
The main playbook is always more or less the same: Sensitive incident occurs → News disappears from front pages and trending search lists → Popular videos and images are taken offline → Incident-specific keywords and hashtags are scrubbed → Censorship expands to generic category-level terms (such as “Beijing,” “Chaoyang District,” or “small plane”) that could lead users back to the incident) → State media remain silent while shifting attention to other news.
(This week, the distraction might have been an otherwise arguably uninteresting controversy involving Chinese singer Han Hong.)3
Offline, the same pattern often plays out through physical scene control: bystanders are asked to delete their footage, journalists are kept away from the scene, or even entire street signs are removed (as happened after the protests on Wulumiqi Road and following the Sitong Bridge protest).
Meanwhile, selected commentary from permitted voices is sometimes allowed to appear online—for example, from former Global Times editor Hu Xijin—although even those posts are not immune from later deletion, as happened following the Beishan Park stabbings. This is often the first step in shaping the official narrative.
A brief authoritative news report may then be released, often ending with a statement that “the incident is under investigation,” which also buys time. Sometimes, however, no meaningful official explanation ever follows. After the 2022 China Eastern MU5735 crash, for example, authorities never released a full public investigation report, even though reports emerging in 2026 claimed the crash, which killed all 132 people on board, was deliberate.
Nevertheless, an official narrative and investigation outcome do usually follow. The 2013 Tiananmen attack, for example, was officially labeled a premeditated terrorist attack orchestrated by the East Turkestan Islamic Movement (ETIM), with Chinese authorities presenting it as evidence that Xinjiang-linked militancy had become part of a broader international terrorist threat. In doing so, the incident was reframed from a local security failure into part of a global fight against terrorism.
Finally, arrests often follow, and people are held accountable. At the same time, those accused of “spreading rumors” online may also face consequences, while foreign media are often criticized for biased reporting or double standards. These counterattacks further reinforce the official narrative while simultaneously shifting attention away from the original incident.
How AI Chatbots Are Part of the Censorship Ecosystem
For the 6.26 incident, the main narrative for the first five days after it happened was that nothing really happened. Even Hu Xijin posted nothing about the incident.
On Weibo, the hashtag “The Story Behind the CITIC Tower Crash Incident” (#中信集团大厦被撞事件始末#) was taken offline, along with many others.
Five days after the crash, Weibo’s Qwen-3 chatbot (powered by Alibaba) claimed it knew nothing about any incident involving CITIC Tower.
The Weibo chatbot responds to a question about the CITIC Tower incident, saying it knows nothing (July 1st).
Six days after the incident, on July 2nd, DeepSeek’s chatbot went a step further. Rather than simply claiming no information was available, it described reports about the crash as fake news, stating that there were no official records or media coverage and that such rumors originated on “overseas social media platforms.” Kimi refused to answer questions about the incident altogether, while Baidu’s ERNIE Bot said it had no information about the incident and warned users not to believe or spread unverified rumors.
The 6.26 CITIC Tower incident illustrates a broader development in China’s online information ecosystem. A great deal has changed since the 2011 Wenzhou train crash. Social media control has become far more sophisticated—not only through better automated filtering, but also through platform regulation, agenda-setting, distraction strategies, and increasingly coordinated narrative management.
Now, AI chatbots have become part of that ecosystem.
Integrated AI assistants (LLM-powered chatbots embedded in platforms such as Weibo, Douyin, and other Chinese apps since 2025) are not merely additional tools subject to censorship. They have become an integral part of the online information environment and increasingly play a role in the handling of sensitive incidents.
Unlike Grok on X, these AI assistants are deeply integrated into the user experience and actively encourage people to ask questions, search for information, and receive summaries of ongoing events and controversies. What makes them particularly powerful from the perspective of propaganda and information control is that they can centralize official narratives at the platform level. Previously, that role was distributed across state media, government accounts, and other official actors.
Because these chatbots do not present themselves as state media or government authorities, they can appear more neutral and objective. Users may perceive them simply as AI-generated summaries with less media bias and greater factual accuracy.4 In the case of the 6.26 incident, they effectively conveyed a state-ordered message to social media users: that really, nothing happened, and that if something happened, it must be fake news.
“A Public Security Incident Caused by Personal Factors”
On July 2nd, Beijing Chaoyang’s verified official account issued a second short statement via its WeChat channel. This time, providing more details about what had happened on June 26.
According to the statement, the pilot was 66-year-old Mr. Liu (刘), a Beijing resident who was self-employed and lived alone. He obtained a sport pilot license in 2021 and a private pilot license in 2024.
Authorities said Liu deliberately deviated from his flight route, subsequently lost contact with the airport, and then intentionally crashed into the building, killing himself. They added that he had suffered from depression in recent years and that his diary contained multiple references to wanting to “end his life.” The incident was officially described as “a public security incident caused by personal factors” (个人原因造成的危害公共安全案件).
It is noteworthy that such a short statement includes details about the pilot’s age, marital status, pilot licenses, mental health, and even diary entries, yet provides virtually no information about the building itself, the security response, or the broader circumstances of the incident. The statement never mentions the CITIC Tower by name, referring only to “a high-rise building near the East Third Ring Road.” It likewise omits any mention of the aircraft entering restricted airspace, the reported disruption to commercial air traffic, or the obvious questions the incident raises about security failures.
On Weibo, the statement was widely shared, but comment sections beneath those posts remained either hidden or only contained a selection of replies.
And so, six days after the incident, there is a slight opening in the media blackout—just enough to establish the official narrative. This framing reduces a wide range of sensitive questions to the story of one troubled individual. It is not about broader questions of public safety or governance, but about a lonely man’s suicide; it is not about the Party-state, but about personal circumstances; it minimizes a news event that received maximum attention and turns a possible mass attack into an isolated incident. And so the message subtly shifts from “nothing happened” to “it’s time to move on.” The playbook is complete. It’s almost as if nothing really happened.
By Manya Koetse
With contributions by Miranda Barnes
- See: Susan Trevaskes and Delia Lin, “Integrating Stability Maintenance into Comprehensive Governance: The Burgeoning ‘Safe China’ Behemoth,” Modern China 50, no. 6 (2024): 671–701. https://doi.org/10.1177/00977004241254709.
- Some might say the 2015 Tianjin explosions also belong here, but that disaster was so large and witnessed by so many people that, while the official narrative was tightly controlled, it did not receive the same near-total information blackout.
- This controversy involved Han Hong (韩红), a popular Chinese singer and philanthropist, who recently urged Beijing audiences in the local dialect to show up at the box office for the underperforming latest Feng Xiaogang film Catch the Spy (《抓特务》), for which she is the music producer. She used the colloquial expression zǒu ge miànr (走个面儿, roughly “show your face”), and was accused of inappropriately putting moral pressure on people to buy tickets, which also led to criticism of her charity work. She made the remarks at a June 17 premiere, and it didn’t become a dominant story until eleven days later.
- See also: Yan Li, “The Impact of Automated Journalism on Media Bias, Accuracy, and Public Trust: Evidence from Young Chinese News Consumers,” Humanities and Social Sciences Communications 13 (2026): 688. https://doi.org/10.1057/s41599-026-06612-6.
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China Brands, Marketing & Consumers
Quack Like a Goose: Why Beijing Street Vendor “Auntie Goose Legs” Sparked a Nationwide Debate
After the first complaints surfaced, Auntie Goose Legs admitted the truth about her business: she ha been selling duck legs all along.
My premium newsletter covering the stories, memes, debates, and viral moments shaping online conversations in China. Subscribe here to receive future editions.
If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it might still be a goose – or the other way around. That, at least, is the takeaway from two stories that recently went viral on Chinese social media.
The woman at the center of it all is Beijing street-food vendor Chen Xiufeng (陈秀凤), better known as “Auntie Goose Legs” (鹅腿阿姨). Over the years, she became something of a local celebrity in Beijing’s university district. Originally from Jiangsu, the migrant vendor had been selling her famous roasted goose legs to students since 2011.
She skyrocketed to national fame in 2023 , but became the target of widespread criticism last week after it was revealed that her celebrated goose legs – sold for 16 yuan ($2.20) per piece – were actually duck meat all along.
The controversy came up after the vendor ventured beyond the university area into Beijing’s business district. At the universities, she enjoyed a loyal customer base and dedicated WeChat groups. In her new market, however, customers proved more skeptical. Some noticed that the meat looked suspiciously duck-like; others complained that the color seemed off.
In the university district, Auntie Goose Legs she enjoyed a loyal customer base and dedicated WeChat groups.
After the first complaints surfaced, Auntie Goose Legs admitted the truth on WeChat on June 9.
“The ingredients I originally used were goose legs,” she wrote, “but they have been out of stock for more than fifteen years. The current ingredient is duck legs.”
It turned out that she had only sold goose legs, the product that made her famous, for two months back in 2011 before switching to the much cheaper duck. “Did geese become extinct without us knowing?” some netizens joked.
The revelation quickly exploded online. The hashtag “What Auntie Goose Legs is Selling Turns Out to be Duck Legs” (#鹅腿阿姨卖的是鸭腿#) became the top trending on Weibo for an entire day, with millions of people discussing the topic.
Why did millions of people become so outraged over a single Beijing street vendor selling duck instead of goose?
Piggybacking on the debate, Anhui-based commentators pointed out that a beloved regional specialty has the exact opposite ‘problem.’ Wuwei smoked duck (无为板鸭) is branded as duck, but is usually goose. According to local standards, however, goose products may be sold under this name, prompting discussions about “hanging up a goat’s head, while selling dog meat“ (挂羊头卖狗肉): advertising one thing while selling another.
Because geese are more expensive than ducks in China, and generally considered tastier, the Anhui duck-is-goose story, unlike the Auntie Goose Legs controversy, did not provoke online anger. Instead, many people saw it as an example of sellers prioritizing flavor over cost. Auntie Goose Legs is seen as doing the exact opposite.
But why did millions of people actually become so outraged over a single Beijing street vendor selling duck instead of goose, especially when there were no indications that anyone became ill? The answer has little to do with poultry and everything to do with trust.
Auntie Goose Legs during the prime time in Beijing’s University District in late 2023 (image via Lianhe Zaobao 联合早报).
Food fraud and mislabeling have been longstanding concerns in China. Earlier surveys found that food safety worries even outweighed concerns about public security and environmental issues, and while China’s food safety record has improved in recent years, public trust remains fragile.
Part of these concerns are immediate and practical. Major scandals in the past involving melamine-tainted infant formula or recycled “gutter oil” have posed serious risks to public health. But the issue goes beyond health risks alone.
If a goose can be a duck, then what exactly is the duck?
Whereas food safety concerns in many Western countries often focus on contamination, Chinese consumers are frequently just as concerned with economic deception. It is unfair to pay for a more expensive goose and receive a duck. Even if no one gets sick, Chinese consumer law still treats it as fraud.
More important, however, is what such deception does to confidence in the broader food system. If a goose can be a duck, then what exactly is the duck?
As a major 2023 college canteen scandal demonstrated, the build-up of deceit can reach a breaking point among the public. During that somewhat Kafkaesque “rat head or duck neck” (鼠头or鸭脖”事件) controversy, officials insisted a rat head found in a student’s rice was merely a “duck neck,” even though everyone could clearly see the snout and teeth of a rodent.
This kind of gaslighting shatters social trust and reinforces a generalized sense that, as a consumer, you are entirely on your own. When regulators fail to step in honestly, even a seemingly isolated incident comes to symbolize more dangerous forms of systemic food fraud.
And this is where the Auntie Goose Legs story stings the most.
People did not come to her simply because her food was good. Over the years, she had become part of local student life, and she felt safe and authentic. Her pink scooter helmet, which she continued to wear while working, became an iconic symbol of her no-nonsense and humble image. Her success was built on word of mouth and, above all, on the trust her customers placed in her.
That this particular “auntie” deceived her customers by selling a different product than the one she advertised is no longer really about her. If duck is goose, goose is duck, and your local auntie has deceived you for years, then who can you trust anymore?
- Read more about how Auntie Goose Legs rose to fame in 2023 here.
By Manya Koetse
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kaka
April 7, 2018 at 6:26 pm
Please add the latest news about Professor Shen Yang into this article. Looking forward to that.
admin
April 8, 2018 at 1:41 am
Thanks for letting us know, we’ll try to update asap.