Amid the Epidemic, a Quiet Leap Forward for China’s LGBT Community


The days leading up to the Lunar New Year was a tense time for people across China amid the worsening COVID-19 epidemic. But Jiang Junjie had even more reason to feel nervous than most.

The 26-year-old not only planned to visit his parents in the southern city of Chaozhou, 350 kilometers from his home in Shenzhen, in spite of the outbreak; he was also bringing along his boyfriend.

It would be the first meeting between Jiang’s partner and his family, and the young engineer had a lot riding on the outcome. In China, bringing a partner home for the holiday is a big gesture — and often a sign the couple intends to one day tie the knot.

Just months ago, Jiang wouldn’t have considered taking such a step. The previous Lunar New Year, he’d finally come out to his family, and it had gone worse than he’d feared. His father had told him never to come home again. His mother had said nothing at all.

But Jiang had managed to change his parents’ minds with the help of an unexpected ally: the Chinese government.

In late 2019, the country’s top legislative body allowed the public to make suggestions for an updated draft of China’s civil code. It received an avalanche of submissions, with nearly 200,000 people sending feedback in one month. Over 190,000 of them made the same proposal: Legalize same-sex marriage. It was so overwhelming that officials publicly acknowledged legalizing gay marriage was among the most popular suggestions they had received during a Dec. 20 press conference.

“As far as I know, never in the history of Chinese legislation have so many people put forward so many opinions on one law,” says Sun Wenlin, co-founder of iFamily, a nongovernmental organization that promotes same-sex marriage in China.

Jiang messaged his parents with the news, and told them tens of thousands of people like him had campaigned for it. “Two days later, my dad called and asked me to bring my boyfriend home for the Lunar New Year,” he tells Sixth Tone.

Many LGBT people in China have been similarly excited — and more than a little surprised — at the government’s reaction to the civil code consultation. Though few expect China to legalize same-sex marriage any time soon, the authorities’ willingness to recognize the issue is an important step forward — and could encourage more people like Jiang’s father to accept the gay community.

In previous statements, officials had signaled clear opposition to marriage equality. As recently as this past August, Zang Tiewei, a government spokesperson, told reporters that China’s current civil code — which defines marriage as a union between a man and a woman — was “consistent with our country’s national circumstances, history, and culture.”

Sun, of iFamily, says he expected officials to take a similar line again, or ignore the issue completely, after the public consultation. “But they showed neither support nor opposition (for same-sex marriage), which is a lot more positive than last time,” the 29-year-old tells Sixth Tone.

The change in tone has convinced Sun that China may allow same-sex marriage much sooner than he’d previously thought. In 2015, he filed a lawsuit against his local civil affairs bureau in the central Hunan province for the right to marry his partner — China’s first case over same-sex marriage — but the court ruled in favor of the government. After that setback, Sun assumed he’d have to wait 20 years to get married, but now he’s more optimistic.

“Now I don’t think it’ll take that long, after seeing how quickly people’s attitudes toward gay people and same-sex marriage have changed in the past few years,” says Sun.

Though homophobia and discrimination remain all-too-common in China, there are signs that society is becoming more tolerant as the LGBT community gets more vocal and visible.

When Jiang started identifying as gay a decade ago, he says he didn’t feel he could confide in anyone, given the widespread negative attitudes toward LGBT people in society. Now, however, he has come out to his colleagues and family members and feels most people his age accept him for who he is.

The results of a December poll conducted by Chinese news website ifeng.com support his assessment. According to the poll, 6.3 million people — 66% of the respondents — voted in favor of legalizing gay marriage. Chinese Christian groups appeared to be alarmed by the news, with several beginning to organize opposition to a potential legalization on social media.

The Alibaba-owned shopping platform Tmall, meanwhile, caused a stir in January by producing a Lunar New Year TV ad featuring a father and mother warmly welcoming their son’s boyfriend into their home during a family reunion.

“It’s so exciting and encouraging to see a gay couple on a TV commercial in China,” says Jiang. “I feel we’re almost being acknowledged and accepted by society.”

Gao Bo, director of the LGBT group PFLAG in Wuhan, Hubei province, says the Dec. 20 press conference will definitely have an effect on China’s gay community, making more people willing to come out.

“We’ve been walking in the dark: Even if there’s just one star above our heads, we feel very bright and hopeful,” says Gao.

Two weeks after the press conference, Gao’s PFLAG chapter held a group wedding ceremony for same-sex couples in Wuhan. More than 200 people came to watch four couples — including Gao and his partner — symbolically tie the knot, an attendance beyond Gao’s expectations.

“The wedding not only celebrates our love; it also encourages more people to speak up for themselves,” says Gao. He plans to make the group wedding an annual event in Wuhan once the city has recovered from the ongoing COVID-19 outbreak, which was still at a very early stage in early January.

Participants in a group wedding ceremony for same-sex couples stand onstage in Wuhan, Hubei province, Jan. 4, 2020. Courtesy of PFLAG

Participants in a group wedding ceremony for same-sex couples stand onstage in Wuhan, Hubei province, Jan. 4, 2020. Courtesy of PFLAG

The 36-year-old created an online group with more than 100 members during the civil code consultation, to encourage more people to send responses.

“Many of them asked me if China would legalize same-sex marriage this time, and I told them 300% ‘no,’” says Gao. “But the key is that we need to stick together, get ready, and then when the government reveals any positive attitude, we’ll know what to do and how to seize the opportunity.”

Jiang and his partner took full advantage of their invitation to Chaozhou over Lunar New Year. Things started awkwardly, Jiang recalls, but the family gradually loosened up as they took part in a few activities together.

“We watched TV, played video games, wrote couplets in honor of the festival, and livestreamed on social media,” says Jiang. “My boyfriend cooked several different dishes every day, which really pleased my parents.”

Jiang’s parents even asked his boyfriend to join them in burning incense and praying to Buddha — a New Year tradition in parts of southern China. “It was a sign of acceptance, as we don’t typically ask guests to do it with us,” says Jiang.

But not even the success of the civil code campaign was enough to convince Chen Minming, a 35-year-old from the eastern province of Fujian, to bring her girlfriend to the Lunar New Year dinner with her parents over the holiday.

When Chen told her parents she was a lesbian in 2018, her mother was too shocked to speak. “Then, she cried for days,” she recalls.

Chen’s father also strongly disapproved of her sexual orientation. “My girlfriend was nice enough to collect some articles on LGBT issues online and print them out for my dad, but he still disagreed,” says Chen.

Unlike most of the LGBT people who spoke with Sixth Tone, Chen remains pessimistic about the prospects of same-sex marriage in China, pointing out that legalization in other countries came only after decades of campaigning. “I don’t think it’ll happen any faster than that in China,” says Chen.

In November, Chen and her partner held a small wedding ceremony in Thailand to celebrate their love. “I don’t care that it isn’t legal,” she says. “I just believe life should be filled with a sense of ritual.”

Eros Li, a 39-year-old from the southern city of Guangzhou, however, has no intention of holding a wedding, even if China decides to allow same-sex marriage. Li has been with his boyfriend for 17 years, and he says a piece of paper won’t affect the way they feel about each other.

“I think marriage is a tool for the government to promote the stability and unity of the country,” says Li. “And many people don’t get married for love anyway.”

Nevertheless, Li is an enthusiastic campaigner for marriage equality. He participated in the civil code consultation and encouraged his friends to do the same — even those afraid of coming out.

“Whether I want to get married or not is different from whether I should have the right to get married,” says Li.

Li doesn’t think the authorities’ recognition of the support for same-sex marriage means it’s rethinking its policy. “The number of responses on this topic was far higher than any other — they just couldn’t avoid mentioning it,” he says.

But the government’s attitude has no effect on him on a personal level, according to Li. He and his partner have good relationships with both sets of parents, and the couple spent the Lunar New Year with Li’s family in the eastern Jiangxi province.

“I take my partner home based on whether my family accepts him, not based on the civil code,” says Li. “Even if we’re not legally accepted yet, as long as my family embraces us, I’m willing to take him home.”


This article was published on Sixth Tone.

 

Pets, Abandoned and Blamed, Struggle to Survive Virus Outbreak


Du Fan had made plans to travel north and spend the Spring Festival holiday with friends amid wintery scenes of ice and snow.

Instead, during a viral epidemic that began in his hometown Wuhan, Du is roaming a deserted city to break into strangers’ homes and rescue their pets.

As the city — the capital of central China’s Hubei province and the epicenter of an outbreak that has killed over 700 people and infected more than 34,000 as of Feb. 8 — closed itself off from the outside world on Jan. 23 to halt the spreading virus, millions of Wuhan residents were out of town with no way home.

Across China, measures enacted to stop the spread of 2019-nCoV, as the coronavirus is known, have affected businesses, people — and animals. Pets have been blamed for spreading the virus, willingly abandoned amid the crisis, or unintentionally left to fend for themselves.

Three days after the lockdown that put Wuhan’s roads, railways, and airport out of service, Du issued a notice on social media saying his nongovernmental organization Wuhan Small Animal Protection Association would help stranded pets for free. So far, the association has received more than 2,000 requests, mostly from people who expected to only be away for a few days and are now afraid their pets are running out of food and water.

Du’s team of 28 volunteers are in a race against time, maneuvering through a city of 14 million without the use of cars or public transportation. They have so far managed to save more than 400 pets, mostly cats. Still, they’re receiving more new requests than they can handle. “We will keep doing this until the city is unlocked,” Du tells Sixth Tone.

Left: A locksmith opens the door of an absent pet owner’s apartment; Right: A volunteer feeds pets left alone as a result of the lockdown in Wuhan, Hubei province, 2020. Courtesy of Du Fan

Left: A locksmith opens the door of an absent pet owner’s apartment; Right: A volunteer feeds pets left alone as a result of the lockdown in Wuhan, Hubei province, 2020. Courtesy of Du Fan

 

Before entering a house, Du will ask its stranded owners to record a video holding their ID card and stating that they allow the volunteers to get in. After entering with the help of a locksmith or a hidden key, they are greeted by hungry but elated animals. In one video Du posted on social media, a pig locked in a closed balcony hadn’t eaten for a week. “The balcony is a mess, and he has even chewed on the water basin,” Du said.

In another video, a cat was giving birth when Du arrived. Two of the kittens died, but the volunteers cleaned up and left enough food and water to last a fortnight, preventing a worse situation. “In the face of disaster, helping small animals is also what we humans should do,” Du says.

Elsewhere in China, animals and their caretakers have also been put in a bind by the outbreak and the measures enacted to stop it. In cities throughout the country, businesses have been advised to stay shut following the weeklong Lunar New Year break, which would have ended on Jan. 30 but has been extended to Feb. 9 in many places.

Chen Junren owns a pet store in downtown Shanghai, and this week opened up anyway. With a decade of experience, he knows it should be a busy time of year. “Usually around this time, the store should be filled with owners taking their dogs over to buy food and give them baths, but now it’s so empty,” Chen tells Sixth Tone. He has turned to selling online, but is quickly running out of goods, especially imported brands. Chen thinks China’s pet market, which has rapidly grown and last year exceeded 200 billion yuan ($28.8 billion) for over 100 million cats and dogs, will be affected for at least a year.

Chen is also facing a staffing shortage. “None of my employees have returned yet,” he says. Some of them celebrated Lunar New Year with their families in Hubei and cannot leave the province until the lockdown lifts. In any case, it might be a while before Chen gets help. Anyone arriving in Shanghai from elsewhere in China is asked to go into two weeks of self-quarantine.

But Chen is not alone. A 7-month-old shiba inu was sent to stay in his store by its owner, who is stuck in Wuhan. “I will take care of the puppy for him no matter what,” Chen says. “Pets are more important now than ever because, without their company, life would be so much harder at this moment.”

Vet clinics have also largely been ordered to stay closed. Zhang Fan, a veterinarian in Wuhan, thinks such measures might be counterproductive and harmful to public health. “Some pet owners may take their pets to other cities for medical treatment, which will increase the possibility of unnecessary population flow,” he says.

Many clinics have launched online consultations, though there are limits to what doctors can do from a distance. “But we will do our best to alleviate the difficulties and save the lives of as many pets as possible,” says Qin Kong, co-founder of Shanghai-based pet services company Petform. “Every life deserves respect.” They launched their online consultations on Jan. 30 and have already helped hundreds of customers.

For most pet owners, the biggest worry is whether they should still take their animals outside. Li Lanjuan, an epidemiologist and member of the prestigious Chinese Academy of Engineering, said in an interview with state broadcaster China Central Television last month that people should “more strictly control their pets,” and that “if your pet runs around outside and comes in contact with an infected person, it will need to be monitored. This virus is transmitted between mammals, so we should take precautions for mammals.”

Despite statements from both the World Health Organization and an expert at China’s National Health Commission refuting Li’s claim, suspicion toward pets has spread. In Weifang, eastern China’s Shandong province, and Taiyuan, a city in northern Shanxi province, districts have banned public dog-walking. In Wuxi, Jiangsu province, a neighborhood committee staff allegedly buried a cat alive after its owner was infected with the coronavirus, out of fear the feline could spread the disease.

Fang Ling, the founder of a pet hotel in the mountains outside of southwestern Sichuan’s provincial capital Chengdu, tells Sixth Tone that Li’s comments created a wave of panic. “Every day, officials come to supervise and check whether we wear face masks, and how many times we disinfect and clean the place,” she says, adding she’s afraid she’ll be ordered to close any day. She’s taking care of some 35 dogs and has received new orders from people who’ve found it too difficult to keep walking their dogs in the city.

While most Chinese have stayed inside the past few weeks to limit the spread of the virus, Wang Yingchao, founder of WoWoDogWalk, a Shanghai-based dog-walking service, takes over 15,000 steps daily. “Staying indoors for a long time is painful for us, let alone some dog breeds who need more exercise,” says Wang.

With her team, she walks dozens of dogs every day, fewer than usual. But there’s also a silver lining. “It’s actually less hassle to walk the dogs now, as you can hardly see people on the street,” says Wang.

Editor: Kevin Schoenmakers.


This article was published on Sixth Tone.

 

Lacking Support, China’s Autistic Adults Search for Love


GUANGDONG, South China — Zhuojun first became curious about sex at age 21. Her school — an institution for young people with special needs in the southern city of Guangzhou — had arranged a sex education class for the students, and the lesson left her with all kinds of questions.

Soon after, she saw two classmates kissing in the stairwell. She asked her teacher what they were doing. The teacher said they were “falling in love.” Zhuojun wanted to know whether there was a designated age for that, and the teacher replied, “20.”

“Ever since, she’s been telling people that she’s ready to fall in love,” says Zhuojun’s mother, Guo Fengmei, who requested her daughter’s full name not be used for privacy reasons.

Zhuojun is one of many young Chinese with autism spectrum disorder trying to navigate the world of romance — a challenge made all the more daunting by the lack of support services available for autistic adults in China.

There are more than 10 million people living with autism in China, with 200,000 new diagnoses every year, according to a 2017 report. Around 8 million of them are adolescents and adults.

Though adults with autism often have difficulties communicating with others, the majority share the same desire to socialize and form intimate relationships as neurotypical peers. Many, however, struggle to find long-term companionship. International studies suggest over 85% of adults with autism are single.

In China, life for people with autism can be even more complicated, due to the nation’s comparatively smaller social safety net. While multiple programs exist to support children with autism — especially in areas such as inclusive education — services for adults are often lacking, experts tell Sixth Tone.

“The services (for autistic people) in adolescence, adulthood, and retirement age are far from enough in China,” says Chen Jingjie, a director at Inclusion China Parents Network, a Beijing-based nongovernmental organization that works for people with intellectual and developmental disorders.

Families are largely left to care for adults with autism by themselves, and they are often reluctant to support their autistic relatives’ love lives — fearing the extra burden of care a romantic relationship might bring.

Lu Ying, vice president of Yang Ai, a Guangzhou-based nonprofit for families of special needs children, estimates that more than 80% of the organization’s 2,000 registered parents wouldn’t even consider allowing their children to get married. In the rare cases when people with autism do tie the knot in China, the match tends to be arranged by a wealthy family — and almost always pairs the autistic adult with a neurotypical person, she adds.

“Most of these parents are rich,” says Lu. “They think their children feel lonely, or they’ve shown a strong sexual desire and really need a partner.”

Yet young people with autism studying together at institutions such as the Guangzhou Children’s Palace — a popular hub for extracurricular activities — are often attracted to one another. When this happens, most parents’ instinct is to discourage a relationship, according to Lu.

“When they spend so much time together, they’ll develop feelings for each other,” says Lu. “But then parents force them to separate or only let them play together for a few hours during the daytime. Marriage is absolutely out of the question.”

Chen — a financial manager from Guangzhou whose 22-year-old son, Xianzai, has a moderate form of autism — tells Sixth Tone she is completely opposed to her son dating another person with autism.

“It’s already so tiring taking care of one autistic child — how am I supposed to take care of a couple?” says Chen, who has no relation to Chen Jingjie and declined to give both her and her son’s full names for privacy reasons.

Xianzai has shown an interest in marriage and childbirth since he attended an etiquette class at Guangzhou Children’s Palace when he was 17. His mother, however, worries about him possibly passing on his autism to future children. There is no conclusive proof that autism has a genetic cause, but researchers have found patterns toward the disorder in certain families.

“If getting married would cause more trouble, why do it?” says Chen.

Guo, the mother of Zhuojun, is one of the minority of parents who wants her child to start a family. She hopes Zhuojun can have a child to take care of her after the 59-year-old is gone, though she worries a partner might abuse or take advantage of her daughter.

“I asked her if she wanted to give birth abroad via artificial insemination, but she refused right away,” says Guo. “So, I stopped asking and will try again later, otherwise she’ll be mad.”

When asked whether she wants to get married and have children, Zhuojun — who is now 26 — says “no” without hesitation. She has, however, become infatuated with one of the teachers at Guangzhou Children’s Palace, where she has attended special education classes since 2014.

“She fell in love with Mr. Cui, the painting teacher, at first sight,” says Guo. “She didn’t even know what painting was, but she insisted that she sign up because she thought Mr. Cui was so handsome.”

Every Tuesday and Friday afternoon, Zhuojun immerses herself in the painting classes. When she’s home, she spends most of her time painting dogs — her favorite animal. She will often paint until her parents order her to go to bed. “She wants to get better to impress Mr. Cui,” says Guo.

Mr. Cui often makes time for Zhuojun outside of class. He takes her shopping and to the mall — accompanied by Guo and his girlfriend.

“We tell her that Mr. Cui has a girlfriend, and that’s why she can’t have him,” says Guo. “She can see him as her brother and best friend, but she can’t be his girlfriend.”

Zhuojun, however, struggles to understand the situation, and she often tells others that she’s Mr. Cui’s “first girlfriend.” When she has dinner with Mr. Cui and his partner, she deliberately sits in between the couple.

Several parents of adult children with autism tell Sixth Tone they feel uncertain how to handle their offspring’s romantic lives. Zhuojun has learned to turn down the advances of men she doesn’t find attractive, says Guo. But when she likes someone, she often throws herself at them, hugging them and asking to connect on messaging app WeChat.

“I stop her when I see it and constantly remind her that it’s dangerous, and she must tell me or her dad who she’s met,” says Guo.

A 2015 study conducted in the United States found that the most common concerns among adults with autism were courtship difficulties and sensory dysregulation during sex. But research on the sexual experiences of those with autism is scarce, even more so in China.

A few parents at Yang Ai have organized a program to help their children learn about dating by practicing with volunteers. The pairs go out for dinner and to the movies together. Guo, however, is against the initiative.

“The volunteers know it’s fake, but the autistic children think it’s real,” says Guo. “Once they really fall for it, it’s hard to get them out, and it’s devastating for them. There’s a boy in our circle who’s now always saying he had a girlfriend but she dumped him.”

Since graduating from vocational school three years ago, Xianzai has been working at a coffee chain outlet in Guangzhou, cleaning tables and mopping the floor. He is often attracted to female customers and colleagues. When he sees someone he likes, he will look straight at them, touch their hair or shoulders, or try to kiss them, according to Chen.

His mother has received complaints about her son’s inappropriate behavior on several occasions — especially during Xianzai’s first few weeks at the café — and she worries about the consequences if he continues such actions.

“Although his mind is like a child, he’s big and tall and doesn’t look like he’s autistic sometimes,” says Chen.

To solve the problem, Chen turned to a local sex education nonprofit named the Nurturing Relationship Education Support Center for advice. She was inspired to ask Xianzai’s manager to write up three fake official warning letters.

“He cares about this job a lot and is afraid of being fired, so he calmed down after that,” says Chen. She keeps in close contact with staff at the café to check on her son’s behavior.

Xianzai has asked out almost all his female co-workers, but Chen doesn’t think he is capable of maintaining a long-term relationship. She also believes he doesn’t really want to get married.

“He can read, but it’s difficult for him to read between the lines,” says Chen. “And he doesn’t know how to say beautiful words to make girls happy.”

Guo is still undecided about whether to seek a match for Zhuojun. Several people have made inquiries. In December, a relative wanted to set up Zhuojun with a 23-year-old autistic man who lives in Hong Kong, but she declined.

“His family owns a big business, but I can’t take the risk of Zhuojun having an autistic child,” says Guo.

According to Guo, one of her friends recently secured a neurotypical wife for her 30-year-old autistic son after agreeing to pay the young woman 10,000 yuan ($1,450) per month and buy the couple a large house.

“She does housework and listens to him,” says Guo. “He doesn’t know how to have sex, so his father is teaching him how to do it, hoping they’ll have a healthy grandchild soon.”

Chen, for her part, simply hopes that Xianzai can do well at work and live a happy life. She worries about what might happen if her son endures a breakup, which she believes might cause him anxiety, depression, and other emotional disorders.

“If he’s lucky enough to find a ‘normal’ girl who can accept him, I’ll do my best to help them spiritually and financially,” says Chen. “But as long as he has something he enjoys doing and I have enough money to support him, I don’t think being single is a bad thing.”


This article was published on Sixth Tone.

Silent No More: How China’s Domestic Abuse Victims Spoke Out


SHANGHAI — The video appeared on Chinese social media platform Weibo Nov. 25 — the International Day for the Elimination of Violence Against Women.

Posted by He Yuhong, the popular beauty influencer known as Yuyamika to her over 1 million followers, the 12-minute piece included shocking surveillance footage showing a topless man dragging He through the doors of an elevator as she struggled to free herself.

Accompanying the video, the star wrote a short message: “I’m a victim of domestic violence. I seemed to be living in a nightmare the past six months. I need to speak up about domestic violence!”

Yuyamika’s post generated an enormous response. On Weibo, a related hashtag received over 2 billion views within 24 hours of the video going live. It also sparked an intense debate over China’s continued failure to crack down on domestic violence, which affects nearly 1 in 3 married women in the country.

Three years ago, China implemented its first anti-domestic violence law, which covers physical and psychological abuse toward spouses, children, and the elderly. It also grants courts the power to issue personal safety protection orders, banning abusers from contacting victims.

Yet the reforms have had limited impact in practice. Low public awareness, lenient punishments, and failures in the justice system have undermined the law’s effectiveness and discouraged victims from reporting abuse to the police.

Supreme People’s Court data suggests that in the vast majority of cases, victims of domestic violence are not attempting to obtain personal safety protection orders. Chinese courts granted a total of 3,718 such protection orders between March 2016 and December 2018.

Experts say the low number of protection orders reflects a failure to publicize the rules, and that the penalties for breaking a protection order are inadequate. Violations typically result in a fine of up to 1,000 yuan ($145) and a 15-day detention. As a result, many victims doubt whether a protection order would successfully deter abusers.

When victims do come forward, meanwhile, they often struggle to obtain a protection order. In 2019, Weiping, a Beijing-based nonprofit that focuses on women’s rights issues, analyzed Shanghai’s handling of personal safety protection order applications between March 2016 and September 2019. The study found that Shanghai courts accepted just over half the applications, with 34% rejected and 12% withdrawn.

Insufficient supporting evidence was the most common reason cited for an application’s rejection, but Weiping also found multiple examples of judges refusing to grant protection orders based on personal value judgements with no legal validity. Cited grounds for rejection included the applicant and the respondent not living together, the low frequency of the violence, and the abuser’s active admission of wrongdoing.

Lin Shuang, a researcher who worked on the Weiping report, tells Sixth Tone the deficiencies of China’s legal system are driving women to social media to speak out about their abuse.

“A lot of times you go to the police and you can’t even get a receipt (confirming the victim has reported a crime),” says Lin. Failing to obtain a police receipt makes it difficult for victims to apply for a protection order or a divorce, she adds. “It lets the perpetrator know it’s useless for you to go to the police.”

In the days following Yuyamika’s expose on Weibo, other women spoke up online about their experiences of abuse. On Nov. 26, Julieta Benavid accused Chinese actor Jiang Jinfu of assaulting her — a charge the star denied. In 2018, Jiang was detained in Japan after admitting to abusing his then-girlfriend Haruka Nakaura.

Campaigners hope the enormous public attention generated by the Yuyamika case will prompt authorities to fast-track reforms making it easier for victims of domestic violence to obtain justice. There is a precedent for this. In 2011, Kim Lee, the then-wife of celebrity English teacher Li Yang, accused the Crazy English inventor of beating her and filed for divorce, sparking public outrage against Li.

“Li Yang’s domestic violence, which was widely discussed by the public, directly contributed to the formal implementation of the anti-domestic violence law in 2016,” says Fang Gang, founder of White Ribbon, a Beijing-based advocacy organization campaigning to end violence against women. “Anti-domestic violence campaigners had been arguing for this legislation for years before that, but little progress had been made. If it wasn’t for Kim’s act, the legal process might have been delayed for several years.”

Lee, however, was heavily criticized for her response to the Yuyamika video. On Nov. 28, the U.S. national wrote on Weibo: “I will always love my husband. Domestic violence is wrong and intolerable. These two facts exist at the same time, although they seem to contradict each other. Why? Because of forgiveness.”

The post received more than 18,000 comments, most expressing disappointment and anger toward Lee. “Your self-righteous reasons and love will mislead many people who are hesitant to get out of marriages full of violence,” wrote one Weibo user. “There are so many difficulties in enforcing the law … You saying, ‘we are family’ will just cause the precious little progress made to reverse itself,” commented another.

Yet progress appeared at the local level in 2019, as several Chinese provinces adopted new policies designed to fix problems with the existing anti-domestic violence law.

In March, the central Hunan province introduced a reform enabling the provincial branch of the All-China Women’s Federation — a quasi-official women’s rights group — to help both male and female victims of domestic violence secure personal protection orders.

Then, Guangdong province drafted a new domestic violence regulation in December expanding the scope of abuse and adding measures to protect minors from such acts. The draft rule has defined humiliation, slander, privacy violations, threats, stalking, and harassment as non-physical forms of domestic violence. It has also classified minors who witness domestic violence as victims of such acts.

In interviews with local media, Guangdong officials made clear they considered domestic violence a priority issue. Xu Guang, chairman of the Social Construction Committee of the Guangdong Provincial People’s Congress, told reporters there was “an urgent need to solve the outstanding problems in Guangdong’s anti-domestic violence work” — characterizing the problems as “large in number, wide in range, and various in form.”

Guangdong’s proposed regulation also attempts to prevent situations in which victims have no way to report abuse. The rules would introduce a “first responsibility system” that would effectively prevent public institutions from handing off cases to another department.

Authorities were, at least, quick to respond to Yuyamika’s case. Three days after she published the video, local public security officials stated the blogger had been granted a personal safety protection order and her attacker had been put under administrative detention for 20 days.

For anti-domestic violence campaigners, the goal is to ensure every victim receives similarly swift support. The 2016 law was a first step toward that, but there is a long way to go. “At least you can tell the police there is a legal basis (for action) now,” says Lin. “You have some room to argue with them.”


This article was published on Sixth Tone.

Dogs’ Lives: Rescuing China’s Growing Pack of Strays


SHANGHAI — The dogs running around Qin Kong’s downtown office couldn’t appear more at home. Clean, curious, and obedient, the two pooches behave as if they’ve lived with the 33-year-old for years. Yet just three weeks ago, the animals were in a rescue center.

“They were trembling on the way here,” says Qin. “When we were holding them, they wet themselves in fear.”

Qin and his friend, Zhao Baiyang, picked up the dogs from a shelter in southern Fengxian District on Nov. 19, and since then they’ve spent hours each day training them. But Qin and Zhao don’t plan to keep the former strays; they’re simply preparing the animals to start new lives as family pets.

“Many adopters, especially first-time dog owners, end up returning the animal to the rescue center after the dog attacks someone or damages their home,” says Qin. “What we need to do is to make the dogs behave better so that people find it easier to be pet owners.”

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A Petform dog trainer plays with two pooches in Shanghai, Dec. 11, 2019. Fan Yiying

The two dogs are the first pupils of a program Qin and Zhao’s pet services company, Petform, set up in July to train and rehome abandoned animals. It’s a solution to a rising problem in China: Millions of newly middle-class city-dwellers are becoming pet owners for the first time, but they’re often completely unprepared for the challenges of caring for domestic animals.

The result has been a huge rise in the number of abandoned pets roaming the streets of China’s cities. The country now has nearly 100 million pet dogs and cats, up 8.4% compared with 2018, according to an industry report published in August. But it also has 40 million stray dogs — around one-fifth of the world’s total.

The spike in abandonments not only causes untold suffering for the animals, it’s also fueling public health concerns. Each year, Chinese doctors administer 60 million to 80 million doses of rabies vaccines, mainly to treat dog-bite victims.

There have been signs in 2019, however, that public awareness of the problem is rising, as a growing number of social organizations, companies, and government-led projects have emerged to promote adoption and provide support for first-time pet owners.

For Petform’s co-founders, education is the key to reducing the number of abandoned pets. The firm can only train up a couple dogs per month, Zhao says, but he believes they can make a greater impact by changing the owners’ mindsets. Zhao continually tries to teach people that getting a dog — like getting married — is not simply a matter of money and impulse.

“It’s like sex and marriage,” says Zhao. “Sex can happen quickly, but marriage can’t. There’s a series of follow-up issues that need to be solved.”

Another challenge is convincing more people to adopt an animal, rather than buy directly from a pet store. Only 11.8% of China’s pet dogs and 19.9% of the country’s pet cats were adopted, according to a 2018 report — far below the average adoption rates in developed countries. But here, too, campaigners are starting to make progress.

“The adoption rate is increasing year by year, especially for cats,” says Yang Yang, founder of Beijing Pet Adoption Day, a group that has helped nearly 10,000 rescued dogs and cats find new homes in 24 Chinese cities over the past eight years. “It’s very gratifying.”

In October, the animal welfare movement received a boost with the opening of the Animal Welfare Training and Education Center — an enormous new complex built on a former air base 30 kilometers northeast of central Beijing.

Founded by the nongovernmental Capital Animal Welfare Association, the center can house up to 130 strays and will also serve as a platform for promoting adoption, providing medical treatment for strays, and educating the public on animal welfare issues. It has already rehomed more than 60 animals, received around 1,000 visitors, and partnered with dozens of livestreamers to encourage young people to take part in adoption events.

“Before, Chinese people thought that they had to buy a pet to own one,” says Yang, of Beijing Pet Adoption Day. “We now tell young people that adoption is an attitude in life. When they choose to adopt a stray, they not only get companionship and fun, but they also demonstrate their personal values at the same time.”

Until recently, animal welfare groups received little support in their attempts to find new homes for stray animals. Now, however, local governments across China are setting up animal shelters and organizing adoption events.

In August, Shanghai’s public security bureau partnered with French pet food company Royal Canin to capture street cats and dogs, provide them with shelter and vaccinations, and then rehome them through local adoption organizations. Importantly, the program will also ensure the strays are neutered, preventing the animals from multiplying to the point that local security officials are forced to cull them — a common issue in Chinese cities.

China’s central government, meanwhile, gave the clearest indication in years that it is moving forward with plans to pass a national law to protect all animals from abuse. A draft version of an animal protection law was first submitted for public comment in 2010, but was never implemented. In September, however, the Ministry of Agriculture and Rural Affairs announced it would work with the National Forestry and Grassland Administration on new legislation, which it called “difficult and long-term work.”

More than 100 countries have a comprehensive animal protection law, according to Yang, and the introduction of such legislation could be a game-changer for China’s animal welfare campaigners.

“(At the moment,) activists can only use other laws and regulations, such as food safety and illegal transportation rules, to rescue animals, which puts us in an awkward situation,” says Yang.

“We hope that through our efforts we can achieve an 80% adoption rate in China in 80 or 100 years,” says Yang. “It’s not impossible; it’s just a matter of time, because we’re dealing with the natural laws of human development.”

Back in Shanghai, Qin and Zhao hope it won’t take so long to find homes for their two rescues. They have decided to call the dogs Melon Seed and Peanut, after popular Chinese Lunar New Year snacks. The names express their hope that the dogs can be adopted before the festival in late January and also that they can become an integral part of their new family.

“I’m not worried about whether they’ll find a new home,” says Qin. “We’ve already had so many people asking about adoption after seeing how well-behaved they are on social media.”


This article was published on Sixth Tone.