by Aleksandr Perchatkin

Read the Faculty Introduction.

Throughout my life I have been acting as a camera: when I feel strong emotions, I “snap” a picture and put it in my storage. The storage is full of stories of different kinds, and the most important one is journalism. I care about these journalistic snapshots because the stories are not mine. They belong to someone else, and my job is to transmit them in a fast and efficient way. The snapshots are grouped in envelopes by different categories: date, theme, titles, and stories themselves. Now, I am opening the envelope titled “Vending machines and their future usage worldwide,” where three images are collected.

———

Snapshot No. 1: “Sorry”

9 September 2019

Dasha is sitting on a bench near “Aleksandrovskiy Sad,” a popular garden among tourists, trying to hide from the scorching heat of Moscow September. The garden is always crowded with tourists–it is almost impossible to find solace among the Soviet-style weird flowers and trees that were planted there long before Dasha was born. She cries and is surrounded by unfamiliar faces, who mingle with the natural scenery with their noises of astonishment and complaints. Dasha sits there, crossing her legs and arms like a tired student after classes, but her face is different. It bears an expression of emptiness and transparency. The spot that she is looking at is missing, either obscured by the crowd or the chaotic tourists, making it hard for her to focus on anything other than the touristic nonsense around her.

Notes:

On this day, Dasha and I agreed to do an interview about her experience. We went to the local Starbucks, bought lattes and started talking. The interview itself was too gloomy, much more controversial than I thought. I was not ready to hear all the descriptions of that incident, and she was not ready to tell me about the entire experience. I felt like a teacher examining an unprepared student: the situation was uncomfortable for both of us. Nevertheless, it was the most important meeting of my life—a meeting not with my father, who I have only seen twice since my parents’ divorce, nor with Mr. S, the person from the Moscow government, who I desired to interview since I was eight (I have been into politics since I was eight years old, and I would love to interview my spiderman from Tomsk who transformed Moscow of the 90s into a European city).

This realization was unexpected. I did not know which of my stories would be the most transformative for me. But it was Dasha with her story of domestic abuse, a story that made me think about the course of my career in journalism.

Snapshot No. 2:  “The process of making”

10 September 2019

The room is dark and cavernous, resembling a barn with its closed blinds and complete lack of lighting. It emanates a peculiar odor, reminiscent of a place where something died a week ago. Despite the eerie atmosphere, I remain seated at my table surrounded by a multitude of energy drink cans, which I pretend are meant to be there. This is my room, and it’s 3 am.

My eyes are bloodshot and struggling to function due to their prolonged exposure to the computer screen. My headphones blare at their highest volume, and the computer’s cooling system drones on at its highest power.

Notes:

Typical evenings for me back then involved preparing for college admission exams and working. One of my jobs was producing my own podcast where I would interview teenagers about their struggles and challenges. In this particular scene, I was editing Dasha’s story using a sound editing program. Although the interview was meant to be an episode for the radio, I was hesitant to send the final version to the editor. I doubted the story would be popular; it lacked a catchy element and was not very convincing. Dasha used phrases like “I don’t know”, “I’m not sure” and “I don’t remember” which might have discouraged listeners who prefer more certainty in stories.

Snapshot No. 3: “Turn around”

12 September 2019

I leave the office of the XYZ channel, the media that considers itself to be the only independent one in Russia, where some of the producers invited me after hearing my podcasts about Netflix TV shows. I join the circle of smoking journalists after recording a program regarding Tik-Tok’s place in teenagers’ lives. They talk about how they are interested in major events in Russian social life, but they spend their money and time discussing such abstract popular culture topics on-air. One of the anchors politely says, “Are you okay? We were just talking about how well your podcasts are doing!”

Notes:

I once saw these journalists as role models, but I noticed a significant ethical difference between me and XYZ’s approach that day: I had one important story on my metaphorical  camera, while their journalistic polaroids were wasted on naïve teenagers’ opinions. However, I did not make Dasha’s picture known because it was not “catchy” enough. This meeting at XYZ made me realize that I had turned from being a young journalist, who is still finding his way in this profession, to a vending machine that tempts people “to buy” stories that look fancy at first glance, keeping important ones in the last rows.

Snapshot No. 4: “Mr. S”

1 December 2019

The streets of Moscow are filled with two distinct smells: car fuel and the aroma of fresh baked goods. This contrast is a constant in Moscow, which contains both a bustling metropolis, with its abundance of cars and factories, as well as a quaint European-style city. As I walk the famous Tverskaya street, Russia’s own living Mount Rushmore comes into view. Although not as imposing as his US counterpart, he is alive with color and stands proudly at the entrance of his office, waving to a group of politicians from Armenia. His face is the same color as the stone bricks surrounding him, giving him a robotic appearance and masking any emotions he may be feeling. As he turns and enters his office, I feel hesitant and do nothing, even though only weeks before I would have eagerly sought out Mr. S for an interview.

Notes:

I did not see the point in trying to talk to Mr. S that day. All of the questions that I wanted to ask him had already been answered. This spiderman was still a hero to me, but his polaroid was not as important as Dasha’s. Her story could be far more useful than an interview with a Russian politician.

———

I am sealing this envelope full of snapshots and thinking about its title. In some years, vending machines will capture the labor market worldwide — their cool-headed working style attracts many investors. They do not cause any problems with people, they are repetitive, they have the same “beeeeeep” after every order. But do they recognize people’s voices, do they hear the fear, happiness, apathy, or excitement? One may say that for ordering pizza and sushi, there is no such need as recognizing emotions, and that may be true. But what about talking, not just supplyingfood? I have noticed that some people may rather talk to Siri than to a human being, and I am absolutely sure that is not the way things are supposed to work. Machines cannot solve people’s problems.As a journalist, I had once tried to be like a vending machine  with a programmed evaluation regarding a  story’s importance, but I learned that it simply was not who I am. I knew that the interview with Mr. S. would have received many views but releasing Dasha’s episode felt more right. I have more than a set number of buttons on a panel – I have a strong understanding of what is right, more important words to say than a simple  “thank you for your patience, we appreciate it”. I am a journalist who wants to tell the stories that matter, that change people’s lives. Stories like Dasha’s are important to tell because they can create a strong sense of community amongst ourselves because this story feels more real and more personal than a politician’s story or a fluff piece on the news ever could.

—Decoding the Pervasive Stigmatization of Feminism on Weibo since the 2010s

by Wu Shuli

Read the Faculty Introduction.

Ever since the nascence of modern Chinese feminism at the turn of the twentieth century (He-Yin 7), feminists in China have undergone incessant contestation from the public masses. Such a phenomenon seems to have been aggravated along with the advent of the internet in China. As Angela Xiao Wu and Yige Dong discern in their research article “What Is Made-in-China Feminism(s)? Gender Discontent and Class Friction in Post-Socialist China,” phrases like “feminist cancer” (nüquan ai) portraying feminists as pathologically “callous, selfish and money-hungry women” dominate online discussions of feminism (Wu and Dong 472). This pervasive social phenomenon ultimately culminated in the China Communist Youth League’s (CCYL) recent post referring to feminists as “a malignant tumor on the internet” on Sina Weibo (Yan), which gathered over 6 million likes by April 26, 2022. On the surface, this influential party organ’s public stigmatization of Chinese feminists seems to echo Western media’s common discourse: the regime’s prohibition of free speech constructs the dilemma of Chinese feminists (“China Says it Defends Women’s Rights”). Indeed, the state exerts irrefutable power in shaping public opinion on the internet by means of censorship (Roberts 1-17). However, this oversimplistic explanation fails to grasp the foundation upon which the state builds its anti-feminist discourse. In other words, if we merely emphasize the state’s role in the stigmatization of feminism, the online community’s escalating antagonism against Chinese feminism long before the CCYL’s post might elude us. This article thus investigates the underexplored mechanism behind the stigmatization of Chinese feminism in society. Considering the particular severity and pervasiveness of such a phenomenon on the internet (Hong et al. 200-201), I restrict the scope of analysis to social media platforms. An in-depth analysis of existing academic articles and social media posts unveils that the escalating stigmatization of feminism on the internet stems from two aspects: the general public’s failure to grasp the evolving political agenda of Chinese feminism; the underlying tension between Chinese feminists’ appeal and the entrenched social ideology based on class struggle and Confucianism. To fully grasp the mechanism behind the stigmatization of Chinese feminists, we first need to be equipped with an overview of Chinese feminism.

Overview of Chinese Feminism

Chinese feminism has undergone several waves of development and transformation ever since its formation (He-Yin 179-184; Hershatter 219-259; Karl 1-21). At the turn of the twentieth century, the emergence of feminist social reformers and activists such as Qiu Jin, He-Yin Zhen, and Tang Qunying marked the birth of modern Chinese feminism (Hershatter 74-92; Wu and Dong 474; Karl 244). Despite huge internal variances, they successfully integrated their advocacy of addressing issues unique to China (i.e., foot-binding, lack of equal education, and Confucian marriage) into Western liberal feminism’s call for civil rights.¹ However, at that time, feminist thoughts only reached a small portion of women in the elite milieu (Hershatter 77). Socialist feminism gradually claimed dominance among feminists during the socialist construction period after the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) acceded to power (Hershatter 219-251; Wu and Dong 474). Co-opted and controlled by the ruling party, Chinese feminism served as a tool to mobilize women in accordance with state policies. Though some scholars argue that women’s active participation in socialist construction helped elevate their socioeconomic and even political status (Hershatter 219-250), explicit feminist movements in China ground to a halt. Almost thirty years after the Mao era, thanks to the increasing international interaction and burgeoning economic development after the reform and opening up policy, the twenty-first century witnessed the unprecedented expansion of feminism’s scale in China (Wu and Dong 474). As women’s participation in feminism increased², Chinese feminism ultimately evolved into the two distinct strands of contemporary feminism that Angela Xiao Wu and Yige Dong term “entrepreneurial” feminism and “non-cooperative” feminism (479-483), whose context and content will be introduced in the following paragraphs. It is worth noting that various scholars have developed different typologies of feminism in China (e.g., the division between nvxingzhuyi and nvquan zhiyi termed by Marchetti et al.). Here, I adopt Wu and Dong’s because of its strong relevance to the topic of interest, that is, the stigmatization of feminism in China.

“Entrepreneurial” feminism and “non-cooperative” feminism emerged against the unique political climate in China, namely, the intensive control of civil political activities. At the beginning of the 1990s, diverse feminist NGOs and movements flourished under the aegis of the All-China Women’s Federation (ACWF), a government-led organization dedicated to the improvement of women’s economic and legal rights (Howell 192; Mao 247; Wu and Dong 473). Following this halcyon was the sudden shift in the political climate at the end of the 1990s when ACWF faced increasing constraints and the state inflicted draconian legal regulations on NGOs (Mao 247; Yuen 53-56). Similar to its infiltrating control of civil organizations, the Chinese government placed heavy legal constraints on offline demonstrations. Specifically, the Law of the People’s Republic of China on Assemblies, Processions and Demonstrations authorizes local police to crack down on any demonstration that fails to procure formal registration and official consent from the police station. As an illustration, in 2015, five feminists were detained for organizing a demonstration against sexual harassment on public transport (Zeng). In such a political climate, in the past 10 years, Chinese feminism has gradually transformed from an “organization-based” mode of action into a “network-based” one (Mao 247). In other words, nowadays, without a formal mobilization from civil or official organizations, grassroots feminists spontaneously gather together to contest the structural and ideological sexism prevalent in China (Mao 246; Wu and Dong 473). Their main arena of activities also concomitantly shifted to social media platforms, as opposed to the limited offline spaces in China (Mao 248-249). Hence, the political control in China induces current feminists’ grassroots advocacy and reliance on the online sphere.

Despite the identical political condition they confront, two strands of feminism in China diverge in variegated aspects. Though not explicitly mentioned by Wu and Dong, they first differ in their time of emergence. The entrepreneurial strand emerged and reached its peak of popularity at the beginning of the 2010s whereas the non-cooperative strand did not gather its sway until the second half of the 2010s. Nowadays, along with the shift of social trends after the emergence of non-cooperative feminism, the entrepreneurial strand has gradually faded into oblivion while the non-cooperative strand has claimed a dominant position in the Chinese feminist community (Wu and Dong 479-483; Xiao). Behind this difference on the surface, their fundamental divergence lies in their completely opposite advocacy. According to Wu and Dong, the “entrepreneurial” strand of feminism advocates traditional feminine standards (e.g., humility, gentleness, and gracefulness) on the internet and persuades women to profit from romantic relationships with rich men by instrumentally manipulating their sexuality (479). Simultaneously, they urge women to “abandon traditional wifely duties” and put themselves above their husbands (479). This paradox suggests that they seem to conform wholeheartedly to the patriarchal norms, yet, in essence, they exploit the existing social system to serve their own interest by faking their allegiance to it (Wu and Dong 485). However, this so-called defiance fails to substantially elevate women’s social status as autonomous individuals and might even enhance the stereotypes against women in society. Emerging as a counterforce on social media platforms, the “non-cooperative” strand of feminism supports a discourse entirely antithetical to the “entrepreneurial” strand. Notably, they resist the traditional marriage system by advocating women’s economic independence and sexual autonomy (Wu and Dong 481). According to Wu and Dong, noncooperative feminism thus empowers women to navigate a world filled with patriarchal bias, confront the traditional marital system, and concentrate on individual development (481).

Decoding the Stigmatization of Feminists in China

Contrary to Chinese feminists’ well-intended political agenda to elevate women’s social status, the general public seems to view them with a negative disposition (Hong et al. 200-203). To investigate the stigmatization of Chinese feminism on the internet, we need to dissect the meaning of stigmatizing phrases per se. “Chinese country feminism” (zhonghua tianyuan nüquan zhuyi) stands out as the most common-used phrase to impugn feminists on the internet. In China, people generally use the term “Chinese country” (zhonghua tianyuan) to differentiate “local mongrel dogs” from Western “purebred” (Hong et al 201; Wu and Dong 472). Based on this original meaning, we can infer that those using this phrase dismiss feminism in China as a counterfeit that fails to grasp the essence of “true” Western feminism. This term frequently appears when anti-feminists allege that Chinese feminism demands privileges for women and disrupts social harmony by fomenting opposition between genders, as opposed to American feminism which fights for equal rights and responsibility (Wu and Dong 472; Mao 254). Another term “women’s punch” (nüquan) is also frequently adopted by them. “Women’s punch” and “women’s rights” are homophones in Mandarin Chinese. This phrase serves as a caricature of Chinese feminists by depicting them as aggressive psychopaths indiscriminately attacking every man on the internet. Hence, the undertone of these stigmatizing words seems to imply that Chinese feminists’ so-called “demand for privileges” and “aggressiveness” provoke the large-scale stigmatization. They may even convey the implicit message that the attack will gradually subside if Chinese feminists put forward the “orthodox” Western feminism which asks for both equal rights and responsibilities. Yet, a closer analysis of the stigmatization of Chinese feminists unveils the pivotal role of deeper social contentions in this phenomenon which may not automatically disappear if Chinese feminists alter their appeal.

On the surface, the pervasive stigma attached to feminism in China stems from the general public’s failure to grasp the evolving political agenda of Chinese feminism. Since the “non-cooperative” strand has gradually taken over from the “entrepreneurial” strand in the Chinese feminist community, Chinese feminists’ political agenda has evolved from strategic reliance on men to self-empowerment and dismantlement of patriarchy through socio-economic independence. Yet, the majority of the public masses still view the current non-cooperative strand of Chinese feminism based on their previous impression of entrepreneurial feminists. This misinterpretation induces the prevailing perception that Chinese feminists only demand women’s rights and refuse to shoulder social responsibility, thus triggering large-scale backlashes and stigmatization. We can refer back to the stigmatizing phrases used against feminists to corroborate this causal correlation. When using terms such as “Chinese country feminism,” people imply that Chinese feminism’s demands for rights and rejection of social responsibility deviate from “true” feminism which fights for equal rights and responsibility (Wu and Dong 472). Here, “demands for equal rights” can refer to both “entrepreneurial” and  “non-cooperative” feminists who strive for the elevation of women’s status. However, the term “rejection of social responsibility” fails to match “non-cooperative” feminists’ consistent exhortation that housewives should elevate their social status by joining the workforce and generating income for their families. As we shift our focus, we can discover that “rejection of responsibility” alludes to “entrepreneurial” feminists who encourage women to profit from marriage without making material or other forms of contribution to the family (Wu and Dong 472). Hence, we can interpret the present large-scale stigmatization of current feminists in China as the general public’s lagged response to the previously dominant strand of feminism.

Behind the masses’ misinterpretation of feminists’ evolving political agenda lies the fundamental tension between the feminist appeal and the ingrained class ideology. Fifty years after the Mao era, despite the incessant socioeconomic transformation China has undergone, the ideology of class struggle still lingers in Chinese society. In particular, as Hershatter pinpoints in her investigation of feminists’ status in post-1970s China, the Maoist legacy that class conflicts outweigh all other social inequality has hitherto retained its sway in the general public’s mindset (Hershatter 274). Accordingly, the masses tend to disparagingly trivialize gender inequality as a secondary issue to be automatically absolved along with the elimination of hierarchical class structure (Hershatter 274). Against such a cultural context, Chinese feminists significantly deviate from the dominant social value by primarily focusing on gender inequality in China (Marchetti et al 77). On the micro (individual) level, entrepreneurial feminists elevate their social status by marrying affluent men while noncooperative feminists exhort women to independently “earn spots in the class hierarchy” (Wu and Dong 483). Their individualistic aspiration to climb up the social ladder is labeled by the general public as an alliance with the bourgeois and belief in classism. On a macro (social) level, Chinese feminists continuously criticize the government’s nonchalance toward prevailing structural and ideological sexism existing in society (Yan). Those with strong class ideology thus cast Chinese feminists as ignorant and short-sighted women who fail to grasp the “essence” of social conflicts. Feminists’ public denouncement of the state further incurs widespread suspicion that they attempt to divert class antagonism for their self-interest. Such a perception intensifies the general public’s hostility to Chinese feminists. Hence, the common view which portrays feminists in China as shallow-minded people antagonizing national values underlies the stigmatization of feminism.

The conflict between feminist ideology and the Confucian patriarchal social structure embedded in society also exacerbate the large-scale stigmatization of feminists on the internet. The relic of Confucian ideology that “the harmony of the family ensures the harmony of the country” permeates the social fabric in China (Hershatter 267). As proposed by Hershatter, “marriage and childbearing were portrayed as essential components of the harmonious society” (267). The general public considers wives’ submissiveness and unpaid labor indispensable to the stability of family units. Particularly, traditional social norms propel women in traditional marriages to unconditionally sacrifice their careers to rear the children, do chores for free, and prepare meals for husbands without complaint. Non-cooperative feminists vehemently antagonize such ideology along with the traditional marital system by exhorting other women to steer clear of exploitative marriages. This advocacy undermines the traditional normative image of servile Chinese women who would sacrifice their interests and devote themselves to the family. Under these circumstances, the general public tends to view feminists’ voices as detrimental to the social order, especially in Xi’s era when Confucianism restores its prevalence in society (“China Says it Defends Women’s Rights”). Particularly, economically less well-off men on the lowest ends of the marriage market display overwhelming animosity against feminists. Their resentment emanates from their perceptions that feminists’ call for equal education for women thwarts their marriage plan. Those who mistake non-cooperative feminists for entrepreneurial feminists even assert that feminists cajole women into ingratiating themselves with wealthy men while despising less affluent men (Wu and Dong 484). Such a perception prompts their use of words like feminist whore (nüquan biao) as a way of slut-shaming. Hence, the general public considers Chinese feminists’ appeal inimical to the family and social structure, which moreover enhances the practice of stigmatization.

Since 2020, the amplification of nationalism in China has further stoked the stigmatization of feminism on the internet to a whole new level. In his research article “Contested Disaster Nationalism in the Digital Age: Emotional Registers and Geopolitical Imaginaries in COVID-19 Narratives on Chinese Social Media,” Chenchen Zhang demonstrates that “in their report of the West on various social media platforms, state-owned news agencies combine the negative impression of Western culture as external threats with the Western world’s failure to contain the COVID-19 infection rate at the beginning of the outbreak” (237). This discourse successfully kindles Chinese people’s discontent with Western liberal ideology and political system (Zhang 237). Typically considered by the general public as part of Western ideology, feminism in China has undergone rounds of intensified attacks during the pandemic and post-pandemic periods (Jayawardena 2). Some even suspect that Chinese feminists are paid by the U.S. government to wreak havoc in society and topple the Chinese government. For example, shangdizhiying_5zn, the account of an opinion leader with more than two million followers on Weibo, has long accused Chinese feminists of conspiring with Western countries. His allegation has won him a plethora of support from social media users. Hence, Chinese social media users’ escalating hostility against Western liberal ideology, coupled with the dominant misunderstanding that feminism merely belongs to the West, explains why the stigmatization will not automatically disappear if Chinse feminism follows the “orthodox” Western feminism.

In The Scarlett Letter: A Romance, the Puritan society forces Hester Prynne to wear a scarlet letter “A” as a lifelong public humiliation for her violation of social norms. Similarly, nowadays, the online community in China seems to have inflicted an invisible “scarlet letter” on feminists for their confrontation with the deep-rooted gender disparity in society. While many Western media outlets identify the authoritarian state as the main culprit of the current pervasive stigmatization of feminism, a systematic investigation of the phenomenon suggests the pivotal role of tensions between feminism and the mainstream ideology in China. Identification of such issues enhances our understanding of the specific ideological barriers and the sociocultural environment inimical to the development of feminism in China. Does this mean feminism is intrinsically incompatible with Chinese society? Is feminism doomed to fail in China? Instead of a fixed quality innate to society, culture dynamically reflects the multifarious changes occurring in society. Recent years delineate a bleak picture for Chinese feminists where they are almost relegated as the pariah of the online community. Yet, the temporary predicament does not necessarily seal the fate of Chinese feminism. With the resilience it carries on throughout history, feminism would make sure to stay as a defiant, or even subversive, strand of force nettling the dominant patriarch from now and then.

1. Contrary to other feminists, He-Yin Zhen argues for more radical change in gender structure with her anarchist appeal (179-184). ↩︎
2. Indeed, not only women can be feminists. However, at the current stage, the vast majority of feminists in China are women. ↩︎

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Works Cited

“China Says It Defends Women’s Rights. So Why Attack Feminists?” The Economist, 28 October 2021. The Economist, https://www.economist.com/leaders/2021/10/28/china-says-it-defends-womens-rights-so-why-attack-feminists.

Hershatter, Gail. Women and China’s Revolutions. Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, 2018. ProQuest Ebook Central, http://ebookcentral.proquest.com/lib/nyulibrary-ebooks/detail.action?docID=5492087.

He-Yin, Zhen. “The Feminist Manifesto”. Translated by Fan, Meng and Cynthia M. Roe, The Birth of Chinese Feminism: Essential Texts in Transnational Theory, New York: Columbia University Press, 2013, pp. 179–184.

Hong, Chengxiaoyan, et al. “The Issue that Feminism is Stigmatized on the Internet in China and Some Possible Solutions.” Advances in Social Science, Education and Humanities Research, vol. 637, 2021, pp. 200-203.

Howell, Jude. “Women’s Organizations and Civil Society in China Making a Difference.” International Feminist Journal of Politics, vol. 5, no. 2, Jan. 2003, pp. 191–215. Taylor and Francis+NEJM, doi: 10.1080/1461674032000080567.

Karl, Rebecca. “Feminism in Modern China.” Journal of Modern Chinese History, vol. 6, no. 2, Dec. 2012, pp. 235–55. Taylor and Francis+NEJM, doi: 10.1080/17535654.2012.738873.

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Jayawardena, Kumari. Introduction. Feminism and Nationalism in the Third World. Zed Books, 1994. bobcat.library.nyu.edu, http://proxy.library.nyu.edu/login?url=https://hdl.handle.net/2027/heb.02511.0001.001.

Mao, Chengting. “Feminist Activism via Social Media in China.” Asian Journal of Women’s Studies, vol. 26, no. 2, June 2020, pp. 245–58. EBSCOhost, doi: 10.1080/12259276.2020.1767844.

Marchetti, Gina, et al. Feminisms with Chinese Characteristics. Syracuse University Press, 2021. Project MUSE, https://muse.jhu.edu/pub/204/edited_volume/book/94300.

Roberts, Margaret E.. Censored: Distraction and Diversion Inside China’s Great Firewall, Princeton University Press, 2018. ProQuest Ebook Central, https://ebookcentral.proquest.com/lib/nyulibrary-ebooks/detail.action?docID=5313398.

Shangdizhiying_5zn (上帝之鹰_5zn). Post. Weibo, 21 April 2021, https://weibo.com/1647486362/4628372845495641.

Wu, Angela Xiao, and Yige Dong. “What Is Made-in-China Feminism(s)? Gender Discontent and Class Friction in Post-Socialist China.” Critical Asian Studies, vol. 51, no. 4, Dec. 2019, pp. 471–92. EBSCOhost, doi: 10.1080/14672715.2019.1656538.

Xiao, Bang. “‘Marriage Donkeys’, Trolls and Feminist Fists: Inside the Chinese Feminist Culture That’s Splitting the Internet.” ABC News, 28 Sept. 2021. www.abc.net.au, https://www.abc.net.au/news/2021-09-29/china-rise-and-fall-of-feminazi-feminist-and-metoo-movement/100488632.

Yan, Alice. “China Communist Youth League Lashes out at ‘Extreme Feminists’ after Being Criticised for Lack of Representation.” South China Morning Post, 15 Apr. 2022, https://www.scmp.com/news/people-culture/gender-diversity/article/3174419/china-communist-youth-league-lashes-out.

Yuen, S. “Friend or foe? The diminishing space of China’s civil society.” China Perspectives, 3, 2015, pp. 51–56.

Zeng, Jinyan. “China’s Feminist Five: ‘This Is the Worst Crackdown on Lawyers, Activists, and Scholars in Decades.’” The Guardian, 17 Apr. 2015, https://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2015/apr/17/chinas-feminist-five-this-is-the-worst-crackdown-on-lawyers-activists-and-scholars-in-decades.

Zhang, Chenchen. “Contested Disaster Nationalism in the Digital Age: Emotional Registers and Geopolitical Imaginaries in COVID-19 Narratives on Chinese Social Media.” Review of International Studies, vol. 48, no. 2, Apr. 2022, pp. 219–42. doi: 10.1017/S0260210522000018.