Issue:
June 2025
Journalism in China is not disappearing; it is reinventing itself under pressure
The common perception outside China is that the media there is more or less fully under the thumb of state censors, 12 years into Xi Jinping’s tenure. The latest (2025) rankings by Reporters Without Borders (RSF) put China 178th out of 180 countries. “In the eyes of the regime, the media’s function is to be the party’s mouthpiece and to impart state propaganda”, says the watchdog. Journalists who step out of line “are often placed under surveillance, harassed, detained, and, in some cases, tortured. To receive and renew their press cards, journalists must download the Study Xi, Strengthen the Country propaganda application that can collect their personal data.”
A particular feature of the Xi era has been the strengthening of the role of CCP media (official propaganda) and the weakening of the commercial media. For example, the vaguely worded 2020 National Security Law has effectively neutered much of the critical media in Hong Kong, leaving many journalists unsure how to report. Xinhua News Agency, China Central Television (CCTV), China National Radio (CNR), China Daily, People’s Daily and the Global Times, are all state-owned. The CCP Propaganda Department sends a detailed notice to commercial media every day that includes editorial guidelines and censored topics.
The latest issue of the open-source Made in China Journal, however, argues that this picture is incomplete. The journal’s founder and editor, Ivan Franceschini, says that while the state still had a full toolbox of repressive measures to crush those who step out of line, journalists continue to work creatively, often outside mainstream institutions and have adapted by shifting away into NGOs, academia, or social media – “or by using coded storytelling and transnational collaborations to keep critical inquiry alive”.
Franceschini recently spoke to the Number 1 Shimbun.
Your latest issue says there are signs of life in the Chinese media. Why?
Despite the increasingly repressive media environment under Xi Jinping, we argue that journalism in China is not dead – it has transformed. While traditional spaces have narrowed drastically, many journalists continue to work creatively, often outside mainstream institutions. They’ve adapted by shifting into adjacent fields – such as NGOs, academia, or social media – or by using coded storytelling and transnational collaborations to keep critical inquiry alive. What we’re seeing is not the disappearance of journalism, but its reinvention under pressure.
You say “Chinese journalism has not disappeared – it has adapted.” How could it adapt further?
Adaptation will likely continue in hybrid and transmedia forms. Journalists are increasingly becoming content creators, researchers, and educators - operating in spaces where journalistic values still matter, even if they’re no longer publishing in newspapers. We may also see more cross-border projects, newsletters, or podcasting ventures that allow for greater editorial freedom. In short, the profession may be dissolving, but the practice of journalism - fact-finding, accountability, storytelling - persists in new guises.
In his article in the current issue, Kecheng Fang cites the so-called cooking-oil scandal of 2024, when the Beijing News reported that cooking oil was being transported in tankers previously used for industrial coal oil. Can you explain why this was important?
Rather than being especially important in itself, the cooking-oil scandal illustrates the kind of story that can still surface in today’s constrained media environment – what Fang calls a form of “contained” investigative journalism. The reporting by The Beijing News targeted corporate malpractice and avoided direct political critique, which likely made it permissible. Public reaction, while significant, was far more muted compared to past scandals like the Sanlu milk case. Fang uses this example to show that some watchdog functions persist, but only within tightly monitored and politically safe boundaries—and usually around issues that are serious enough to provoke concern, but not so explosive as to challenge state authority.
One of the headaches for state censors (as in North Korea) is the spread of new technology, which allows journalists, especially citizen journalists or so-called “self-media” firms (without state-sanctioned media credentials) to use social media platforms such as WeChat to publish their work. How significant is this as a journalistic force?
Self-media has played an important role in expanding the range of voices in China’s media landscape, particularly in offering commentary and documenting personal experiences in real time. But its capacity for sustained investigative journalism is often limited—not just by censorship, but by lack of resources and institutional support. This became especially clear during the early phase of the Covid-19 pandemic, when courageous citizen journalists offered valuable on-the-ground testimony, but were unable to investigate government action in depth. By contrast, institutional outlets like Caixin, which maintained a reporting presence in Wuhan backed by editorial infrastructure in Beijing, were able to produce more comprehensive investigations. This underscores that while self-media can be an important journalistic force, institutional media remains irreplaceable for certain kinds of in-depth reporting.
Fang also cites the example of Xiang Dongliang, a former journalist with state-run media who uses social media to challenge the official narrative of last year’s knife attack on a school bus carrying Japanese students in Suzhou as an “isolated incident”. Instead, he attributes it to rising xenophobia. Presumably, one reason for this growing xenophobia is the use of state media to bang the drum against Japan and “foreign enemies”?
Yes, but the picture is more complex than a simple opposition between state media and independent voices. Xiang’s intervention challenges both the official narrative and the broader societal discourse surrounding the incident. While nationalist messaging in state-linked outlets – especially commercially-oriented ones like Global Times – can inflame public sentiment, the most extreme xenophobic voices often come from individual self-media accounts that capitalise on rising nationalism for clicks and profit. In contrast, central state outlets like CCTV or Xinhua may at times adopt a more restrained tone to avoid stoking unrest. Xiang’s framing of the attack as part of a broader trend of xenophobia was significant precisely because it pushed back against both state downplaying and popular jingoism – demonstrating how journalists outside official institutions can still act as critical voices from the margins.
A recurring topic at the FCCJ and other press clubs is the banishment of Western journalists from China, the closure of foreign bureaus and the censorship of European and American staples such as the New York Times and the Economist, which has been strongly anti-Xi. Are we seeing a return to the bad old days before Deng? Or are there signs that the CCP is relaxing its grip on foreign media?
Unfortunately, we are seeing a return to a far more restrictive environment. The space for foreign media has shrunk dramatically – journalists have been expelled, local staff pressured, and access to information increasingly controlled. The CCP shows little sign of relaxing its grip. What’s different from the pre-Deng era is the global digital environment: while China is trying to wall itself off, information still circulates in creative ways. But the direction of travel is clearly toward tighter control, not openness.
Fang notes: “Investigations that focus on local issues or corporate malpractice, rather than directly challenging the central government, appear to be tolerated to a certain extent. This suggests that the space for critical reporting by state-owned institutional media, while narrowed, has not been eliminated.” What this suggests, though, is that once a media outlet steps over the line by, for example, covering a story implicating the CCP or government officials in wrongdoing, the state has all the tools it needs to crush it, right?
Yes – but with important nuances. The space that remains for investigative reporting is highly conditional and instrumental. While stories exposing wrongdoing by low- or mid-level officials or corporate actors are sometimes tolerated – and even encouraged – they often align with broader state objectives, such as anti-corruption campaigns. In this sense, journalism can be coopted to serve political ends. But when reporting drifts into systemic critique, challenges central leadership narratives, or questions ideological foundations, it becomes far riskier. The state has a full toolbox of repression – licensing, legal sanctions, financial pressure, censorship – to shut things down. So while the tools for crushing dissent are always at hand, how and when they are used reflects the shifting boundaries of what the state deems politically useful or threatening.
Can you name some of the “new modes of journalistic practice” that are emerging; groups and/or individuals we should be keeping an eye on?
We’re seeing journalism take on diverse and often hybrid forms. Some former newsroom professionals are now working in NGO advocacy, documentary filmmaking, or academia – fields where they continue to apply journalistic methods. At the same time, grassroots collectives and independent creators are using social media to cover underreported issues such as public health, education, and legal reform. Notably, some journalism school students are producing impressive work in fact-checking and data journalism. For instance, 核真录 (njufactcheck), a WeChat account run by students at Nanjing University, uses its fact-checking remit to navigate regulatory constraints while maintaining a high standard of reporting. Whether through individual initiatives or institutional affiliations, these actors are sustaining journalistic functions under challenging conditions – even if they no longer fit traditional definitions of the profession.
Finally, your issue notes a concerning trend toward a bifurcated public sphere, in which a relatively well-to-do segment of the population actively seeks out quality information, using VPNs and other tools to access independent sources, while the majority remains passively reliant on platform-curated content, subject to algorithmic filtering and censorship. How concerning is that?
It’s a major concern. What we’re witnessing is the erosion of a shared informational baseline. A segment of the population – diverse in background but united by a determination to seek alternative perspectives – uses VPNs and other tools to access global media. Meanwhile, the majority remains reliant on content curated by platforms within the GFW, shaped by commercial algorithms and political control. This bifurcation fragments the public sphere and undermines meaningful public discourse – whether in authoritarian or democratic contexts. Compounding the issue, even those who access information beyond the firewall are not immune to misinformation, and there’s a dangerous tendency to assume that what is censored must be more truthful. Over time, these dynamics foster confusion, cynicism, and political disengagement.
Ivan Franceschini is a lecturer in Chinese Studies and deputy director at the Centre for Contemporary Chinese Studies, Asia Institute, University of Melbourne. He is a founder and co-editor of the Made in China Journal, The People’s Map of Global China, and Global China Pulse. His latest book is Scam: Inside Southeast Asia's Cybercrime Compounds (Verso, 2025).
David McNeill is professor of communications and English at University of the Sacred Heart, Tokyo, and co-chair of the FCCJ’s Professional Activities Committee. He was previously a correspondent for the Independent, the Economist and the Chronicle of Higher Education.
