Ali Ikhwan
In the mid-2010s, China experienced a profound cultural shift. The state, moving between periods of fang (loosening) and shou (tightening), allowed science fiction to migrate from the fringes of literary curiosity into the center of the mainstream. According to journalist Yi-Ling Liu’s compelling new book, The Wall Dancers: Searching for Connection in the Age of the Internet, this was no accident. The Chinese government, recognizing the genre’s capacity for grand-scale world-building, sought to leverage science fiction to project a specific vision of "the Chinese imagination, Chinese style, and Chinese spirit."
Yet, as Liu expertly documents, the reality of the Chinese internet is far more complex than state-sanctioned narratives. The Wall Dancers is an ambitious attempt to decode the Chinese experience—both online and offline—by profiling those who navigate the treacherous, shifting landscape of the Great Firewall. By weaving together the lives of activists, artists, and writers, Liu challenges Western audiences to move beyond binary, security-obsessed caricatures and engage with the nuance of a nation "dancing in shackles."
The Chronology of a Digital Divide
To understand the current state of the Chinese internet, one must look back at its rapid, state-directed evolution. The trajectory from the early, optimistic days of the Chinese web to the current, heavily monitored digital ecosystem is marked by a series of strategic legislative and technological interventions.
- The Early 2000s: The internet arrived in China as a tool for economic modernization. During this period, the web was relatively porous, allowing for a burgeoning of forums, blogs, and the first waves of digital subcultures.
- Mid-2010s (The Fang Period): This era saw the rise of speculative fiction as a national export. Authors like Chen Qiufan (Stanley Chan) and Liu Cixin gained global prominence. For writers like Chen, science fiction provided a "safe" space to critique societal ills—such as extreme technological exploitation and environmental decay—without directly confronting the Party, effectively using the genre to "criticize society without being tied to any side of history."
- The Age of the Great Firewall: As the Party solidified its control, the digital space became increasingly restricted. The banning of Western platforms like WhatsApp, Twitter, and Facebook led to the creation of domestic "super-apps" like WeChat and Weibo. These platforms, while technologically sophisticated, operate under a constant threat of censorship, where a single forbidden keyword or disruptive image can result in deleted accounts, financial penalties, or state-sanctioned arrest.
Supporting Data: Life Under the "Speech Tax"
Liu’s research is anchored by the personal stories of her subjects—individuals she refers to as "wall dancers." These are people who occupy the ambivalent space between compliance and subversion. Their lives offer a window into the "speech tax" that defines modern Chinese discourse: the necessity of speaking contrary to one’s own heart to ensure survival.
Profiles in Resistance and Adaptation
- Ma Baoli: A former police officer who founded Blued, once the world’s largest gay dating app. His journey from the police academy to entrepreneurship illustrates the precariousness of the LGBTQ+ community in China, which has moved through cycles of state tolerance and targeted suppression.
- Lü Pin: Founder of the digital magazine Feminist Voices. Her story highlights the extreme caution required for activism, where the mere act of organizing an in-person meeting poses a significant risk to one’s freedom.
- Eric Liu: A former Weibo censor whose inclusion provides an "insider" view of the machinery of state control, revealing how the rules are kept purposefully vague to encourage self-censorship among the citizenry.
These accounts are supported by Liu’s analysis of Chen Qiufan’s fiction. Works like The Waste Tide—which depicts a dystopian "Silicon Isle" plagued by electronic waste—and "The Fish of Lijiang" serve as allegories for the exhaustion of the Chinese workforce and the artificiality of a society engineered for constant, relentless growth.
Official Responses and the State Agenda
The Chinese government’s relationship with the digital realm is characterized by "performative patriotism" and the systematic filtering of dissent. The Party views the internet not as a public square, but as an extension of national security. When government officials promote science fiction, they are not merely encouraging literature; they are curating a specific brand of technological optimism designed to validate the state’s path to becoming a global superpower.
Liu notes that information is disseminated with surgical precision to support the Party’s agenda. While the government occasionally allows for "indignant pride"—such as the public sentiment that surged during the early stages of the Covid-19 pandemic, when domestic stability was contrasted against perceived Western dysfunction—it is always at the cost of the "subversive ideas" that the Great Firewall is designed to eradicate.
Implications: The Limits of the "Western Lens"
A critical aspect of The Wall Dancers is its challenge to the Western reader. Liu argues that our perception of China is frequently "filtered through the lens of US national security interests." She asserts that "reading the Chinese internet requires rigor and nuance, empathy and skepticism."
However, the book also highlights a potential blind spot: the author’s own binary framework. While Liu is a master of explaining the nuances of Chinese political reforms, her analysis often leans on the assumption that Western—specifically American—politics are a known constant. The book assumes a level of familiarity with "Trumpism" and Western political vices that may not hold up to the same rigorous, skeptical examination she demands of her readers regarding China.
Furthermore, the "wall dancers" profiled are, by definition, members of a cosmopolitan, often tech-literate elite. They are individuals who have found ways to look beyond the Firewall. The book leaves open the question of the "average" Chinese citizen—the factory worker, the rural farmer, or the overworked office employee who may not have the luxury of contemplating the existential questions posed by science fiction. Are they simply too exhausted to "dance," or is their experience of the state fundamentally different from the activists and intellectuals on whom the book focuses?
Conclusion: Toward a More Complex Understanding
The Wall Dancers is a vital, albeit challenging, contribution to our understanding of China’s digital landscape. It successfully moves the conversation away from the simplistic "freedom vs. tyranny" dichotomy, replacing it with the more accurate, if haunting, image of a "dance in shackles."
The book forces us to confront the reality that for millions of people, identity is not a static state, but a constant negotiation. Whether one is an activist fighting for human rights, an artist trying to maintain creative integrity, or an ordinary citizen trying to survive the economic pressures of a high-tech society, the digital experience in China is one of persistent, high-stakes navigation.
While the book leaves many questions unanswered—particularly regarding the perspectives of the working class and the possibility of a non-Western-centric, authentic Chinese patriotism—it serves as a powerful call to action. We need better readers, better observers, and more empathetic interlocutors. As the world continues to hurtle toward a future defined by technological growth and digital surveillance, the stories of those dancing in the shadows of the Great Firewall remain some of the most important narratives of our time. By engaging with these stories, we do not just learn about China; we learn about the consequences of our own relentless drive toward a connected, yet increasingly divided, future.
Dwi Wanna
Siti Muinah
