Confessions, Chinese-Style

On July 31, 2016, my role model, Chinese human rights attorney Wang Yu (王宇), “confessed” to her crimes shortly before she was about to stand trial. It was disheartening to see Wang, the conscience of the Chinese bar admired by many Chinese feminists, turn against her life’s work of defending human rights in China.

I cannot help but struggle with the question: why would Wang confess? The confession appears scripted and coerced; Wang had been in detention for over a year already; and she is probably all too aware that her confession is a major setback to Chinese human rights advocacy, to which she has dedicated her career.

Most Chinese Internet users live inside of the Great Firewall and lack free information access, they probably take Chinese-style confessions at face value. (Since most Chinese millennials are depoliticized, they are apathetic towards dissent and activism anyway.) Because few English- or Chinese-language media outlets are interested in exploring recent Chinese confessions in depth, I want to document some of the back stories of the individuals who have confessed. By trying to make sense of why (even the bravest brave) people confess, I’ve come to realize: “confession” has become a necessary act of self-preservation in China today.

Wang Yu was disappeared on July 9, 2015, and she had been been detained for over a year before she confessed. She was charged with “subversion of state power” in early 2016. (Isn’t it incredible that in the eyes of the Chinese government, a civil rights attorney can potentially subvert an entire country?) Wang’s arrest last July was the start of the “709 Incidence,” the mass-scale crackdown on over 100 Chinese civil rights attorneys, also known as “cause lawyers” or “rights defenders” (weiquan lawyers, 维权律师).

In her confession, Wang praised the “humane care of the Chinese legal system,” turned against her former colleague Zhou Shifeng (周世峰), expressed regrets for her past “overreactions” and “behaviors,” and rejecting her service as a rights attorney. She also stated that she would refuse any awards from foreign organizations. (Wang was awarded the in inaugural American Bar Association International Human Rights Award in absentia a few days ago; she also was given the Ludovic Trarieux Human Rights Prize in June.) After her confession, Wang was allegedly released on bail; no one has seen her yet in public.

Wang’s “confession” was hard to watch. After all, the former-commercial-lawyer-turned-rights-activist has the kind of career you’ve always wanted for yourself. Ever since she herself was wrongfully imprisoned for over 2 years, Wang has defended the bravest, the most rebellious, as well as the most vulnerable members of the Chinese society in the face of state violence:

Wang has advocated for religious freedom and the freedom of assembly. She has represented members of the Chinese “Feminist Five,” who were arrested in March 2015 for planning a public campaign against sexual harassment. She has fought on behalf of elementary school girls who were sexually assaulted by school and government officials. (The outrageous assault and Wang’s backstory are covered in the heartbreaking documentary “Hooligan Sparrow.”) Wang was also the attorney of late activist Cao Shunli (曹顺利), who died in detention after being denied treatment by Chines authorities.

Many seem to believe that Wang’s confession was coerced and scripted. But no one seems particularly surprised – after all, recorded and televised confessions seem to be a key trend in recent Chinese state media. Back in 2014, journalist Gao Yu (高瑜) confessed to “leaking state secrets” on the national broadcaster, Chinese Central Television (CCTV). Earlier in January 2016, Swedish human rights activist Peter Dahlin apologized on CCTV for his violation of the Chinese law and “hurting the feelings of the Chinese people.” In February, five booksellers based at Causeway Bay Books (铜锣湾书店) in Hong Kong, who disappeared mysteriously in 2015, suddenly appeared on CCTV and confessed to illegal book sales. Wang Yu is by no means the first one to confess; nor will she be the last.

While the public may see the confessions videos, the likely torture, intimidation, threats and violence behind the confessions are invisible.

In July, Peter Dahlin revealed details of his 23-day detention. Dahlin attributes the good treatment he received to his identity as a Swede, and recalls that his Chinese national girlfriend was denied food and sleep for three days. He confirms that his confession was indeed scripted. According to Dahlin, “Had I been Chinese, I would not have been so brave, I think.”

One of the Hong Kong booksellers, Lin Rongji (林荣基), decided to escape from the Chinese police while on parole. Lin has recently detailed his detention from October 2015 to June 2016. Apparently, the Chinese government was paranoid that people were buying books on Chinese politics and political leaders. Lin was temporarily released on parole so that he could return to Hong Kong and retrieve a full list of his bookstore’s patrons for the Chinese government. The lack of subtlety in the threats against Lin would be comical, were the state violence behind these threats non-credible: “We can use authoritarianism on you until you die, and no one in Hong Kong would ever know. We will  crush you like a bug,”said one of Lin’s interrogators. In the aftermath of his escape from parole, Lin also said that he would never commit suicide. However, Lin knows that he could likely be “disappeared” or rendered dead by the Chinese government, who’d then frame his death as “suicide.” Lin is currently in a safe house in Hong Kong.

Activists and fighters like Wang, Dahlin and Lin are well aware of the negative consequences of their confessions in fueling the state propaganda machine. Confessions on state media serve multiple functions nowadays: first, to intimidate other rights activists inside China not to disobey the state; second, to fabricate a state-sanctioned version of “reality” and “justice” so as to maintain the legitimacy of the ruling Chinese Communist Party; third, to demonize “foreign (hostile) forces” as the imagined enemy to Chinese people.

Then, why do rights attorneys, human rights defenders, or proponents of free information confess?

Here, in the Chinese context (as well as in many others, sadly), “confession” equals “survival,” when one is at the hand of a violent state. While a forced confession necessarily distorts reality, it is imperative that we, as bystanders free from state violence, resist the urge to criticize or judge those who confess.

While I do take issue with Wang Yu’s decision to incriminate her colleague, I know the reality must be far more complex than I can comprehend. (This is probably also true of young paralegal Zhao Wei ( 赵威) as well, who recently confessed and turned against her own attorney Ren Quanniu (任全牛), who’s now detained.) Wang’s husband was also detained, and her 16-year-old son was barred from international travels and has been under house arrest. Harming or threatening the loved ones of activists is a despicable move, but what can we expect of an insecure, authoritarian regime? The irony must be harsh when rights activists face rights violation, torture and threats themselves.

I cannot even begin to imagine the torment that Wang must have undergone to decide to confess. I’ve realized that activists need to first survive state violence to later account for it. They’ve already made sacrifices that we the spectators cannot imagine. We need to prioritize their safety and survival, because we are in the fight for justice for the long haul.

I can only hope that, some day in the future, the Chinese people can look back at the 2016 confessions of activists and understand them as a temporary frustration, not a permanent defeat. Or as we say in Chinese, “As long as green hills are there, never fear a shortage of firewood”(留得青山在,不怕没柴烧).