Testimony of a Chinese Human Rights Defender: Inside China’s Brutal Prison System
Form: HRIC 12-17- 2024
Original author: Xie Wenfei. ( https://wqw2010.blogspot.com/2024/12/blog-post_64.html)
“Killing someone here is as meaningless as killing a dog. We wouldn’t even need to bury you. We’d just take you straight to the crematorium and burn you. It’s very near here, you know.”
HRIC has translated the harrowing testimony of Xie Wenfei (谢文飞), a Chinese human rights defender whose courage and suffering expose the horrifying depths of the Chinese Communist Party’s (CCP) oppression. His statement was originally published in commemoration of Human Rights Day (10 December 2024). Xie, born in 1977 in Hunan Province, is known for his involvement in the Southern Street Movement, which advocates for democratic reform in China. His commitment to human rights has cost him his freedom, his health, and very nearly his life. In his statement, translated in full below, Xie depicts in graphic detail the brutal consequences faced by human rights defenders, pro-democracy activists, and intellectual dissidents who dare to confront the authority of the CCP.
On 29 April 2020, Xie published an article commemorating Lin Zhao, a dissident executed during the Cultural Revolution for her criticisms of Mao Zedong. By the evening, he had been seized. Xie was detained by the police in Chenzhou, Hunan, on charges of “picking quarrels and provoking trouble,” a deliberately vague and politically motivated accusation which the CCP levies against activists and critics. Thereafter, Xie was plunged into a nightmare of state-sanctioned physical violence, psychological torment, degradation and dehumanization in China’s detention centers and prisons. Xie’s testimony offers a stark reminder of the CCP’s disdain for basic human rights, and the chilling lengths it will go to in silencing political opponents.
Xie’s story demonstrates clearly why international actors—including governments, civil society organizations, and human rights defenders—must not look away. We must continue to hold the CCP accountable for its violations. The prison abuses described by Xie reveal the darker realities of a government which not only tramples on fundamental principles of human dignity but seeks to legitimize its authoritarian model under the guise of global leadership. This is not just China’s problem—it is a global problem. If Beijing is allowed to normalize this system while positioning itself as a global leader, it will embolden other authoritarian regimes and undermine the very foundations of international human rights. We cannot let China rewrite the rules. China’s authoritarian practices must not become further normalized on the world stage.
Xie’s testimony not only chronicles the inhumane treatment he suffered but also serves as a powerful reminder of the price paid by those who resist the CCP. Beijing’s official narrative of ‘progress’ and ‘prosperity’ rings hollow when confronted with testimonies like Xie Wenfei’s, which reveal a system built on brutality, silence, and fear. This is the truth behind the propaganda. His closing reflection, quoting Alexis de Tocqueville, reminds us that the treatment of prisoners reveals the true measure of a society’s civilization. What does this say about China under the CCP? And what does it say about us if we fail to act?
Original： https://wqw2010.blogspot.com/2024/12/blog-post_64.html
On Human Rights Day, I want to share my personal experiences as a human rights defender.
On the morning of 29 April 2020, I published an article titled A Memorial for Lin Zhao. [Editor’s note: Lin Zhao, 1932–1968, was a prominent Chinese dissident who was imprisoned and later executed for her criticism of Mao Zedong’s policies during the Cultural Revolution.] That same evening, two burly men dressed in black (each weighing about 90 kilograms, as I estimated) ambushed me. They were hiding in the dark, waiting. When I tried to avoid them, they seized me, and without saying a word, pinned me to the ground. They held me there for a long time. Once I was taken to the case-handling center, I noticed that their T-shirts bore the words “Branded Ironhead” on the chest.
What human rights can we speak of?
On 28 May 2022, I was transferred from the Zixing Detention Center along with 146 others to Chenzhou Detention Center. In Cell 401, because I refused to squat, one brute took advantage of my unguarded moment and slapped me sharply across the face. I kicked him away without hesitation, but this led immediately to a group of thugs attacking me. I was forced to fight back in self-defense.
Unexpectedly, a person nicknamed “Director Li” entered the room and, again catching me off guard, slapped me hard in the face. (This surprised me because, despite having been detained in several detention centers previously and serving over six years in prison, I had never been struck by a police officer before.) After he left, at least seven or eight thugs, emboldened by his implicit encouragement, swarmed and overwhelmed me. I was beaten until I was dizzy, my head pounding as if it would explode. Multiple lumps formed on my scalp. The whole world seemed to spin, and I could barely stay upright.
Deputy Director Li later took me to the interview room. When I requested medical treatment for my injuries, he coldly refused. He then ordered me back to Cell 401. I replied bitterly that they might as well beat me to death. His reply? “Killing someone here is as meaningless as killing a dog. We wouldn’t even need to bury you. We’d just take you straight to the crematorium and burn you. It’s very near here, you know.” (This was the first time I learned just how close the crematorium was.) My head throbbed so severely it felt as though it was about to burst, like the torment Sun Wukong, the Monkey King, endured when the monk Tang Seng chanted the tightening spell in Journey to the West. Writhing on the floor in pain, I succumbed to a combination of rage and despair and collapsed.
Li ordered that I be dragged into solitary confinement in Cell 6011. When I woke up, I found myself lying on a concrete floor with a puddle of water beside me. My head was near the toilet. My socks were worn through, and the only “bed” in the room was a single wooden plank cemented to the wall.
For several days, my head continued to ache intensely, and the lumps on my scalp showed no signs of subsiding. I pressed the alarm button repeatedly for four days, requesting medical attention, but I was ignored. A three-day hunger strike didn’t bring any results either. No one admitted I had been beaten.
What human rights can we speak of?
On 30 May 2023, I was transferred from the Zixing Detention Center to Chenzhou Prison. Upon our arrival, they forced the 14 of us from Zixing to strip naked and perform squatting frog jumps in unison. I refused. Within an hour of arriving, I was confined to a 0.18-square-meter iron cage on the second floor of the reception center. The indoor temperature that day was 30°C, and for over eight hours, I was given only a small spoonful of water, no food, and my clothes were drenched with sweat.
That evening, I was transferred to a “high-security” area on the fifth floor, where, for two weeks, I was confined to a 0.7-square-meter iron cage for over 15 hours a day. For six consecutive days, I was not allowed to bathe, and for several days, I was denied both water and access to the toilet. I started a hunger strike. This changed nothing.
In front of over a dozen people (eight in iron cages and several wearing green vests), Warden Liang declared: “This person (referring to me) should be locked up tightly. Don’t give him water. Don’t let him use the toilet. Just make sure he doesn’t die here.”
Outraged, I requested to be put on a tiger bench—a notorious torture device—as both an act of defiance and a way to expose the system’s cruelty. Within two hours, my “wish” was granted. After less than ten minutes on the tiger bench, my hands swelled up, sweat poured from my head, forming a stream, and my clothes were drenched. The bench, designed for someone 10 centimeters taller than me, required them to forcibly stretch me forward to cuff my hands, which was extremely painful and exhausting. Onlookers could see that my condition was dire.
Several hours after being released from the tiger bench, my right thumb was numb, and I couldn’t move it properly for five days. Even two months later, it still felt as though connected to a low-voltage electric current.
What human rights can we possibly speak of?!
On 8 June 2023, in a document required by the prison, I wrote: “Since my arrival at Chenzhou Prison on 30 May, I have not been treated as a human being. Regardless of whether I am an ordinary person, a detained prisoner, a political prisoner, or even someone convicted of the gravest crimes, I am a human, and therefore I am entitled to the most basic human rights. Individual human dignity is an integral part of humanity’s collective dignity, and the latter is composed of the former. Even if a prison aims to ‘reform’ individuals, it cannot do so at the cost of trampling on and sacrificing human dignity.”
On 25 June 2023, I was transferred to Changsha Prison in Hunan province. My two boxes of books were not allowed inside, and even my attempt to bring in a single copy of 300 Tang Poems and Collected Annotations of the Four Books was rejected under the guise of a “zero possessions” policy. This was a supervisory measure personally introduced by Prison Director Lei Jianhua, designed to showcase his ultimate authority.
In early July, a fellow prisoner, aged 42, from Liuzhou, Guangxi, who arrived at the detention center on the same day as me, died. No one was held accountable; nothing happened. For nearly two months in the detention center, we were forbidden to read or write. I requested three times to borrow Records of the Grand Historian from the bookshelf but was denied each time.
On 21 August 2023, after being assigned to the Fourth Division, I was subjected to the punishment of being pinned to the corridor floor for five days in a row – all because I had refused the arbitrary command to squat. This punishment was carried out as a display to “make an example” of me and my disobedience. On 27 August 2023, I was beaten by both prisoners and officers for refusing to sing “red songs” as ordered. [Editor’s note: These are revolutionary propaganda songs glorifying the Chinese Communist Party and its leaders, often used as a tool of political indoctrination.] Officer Xie, the tallest officer in the division, kicked me violently, and told me: “Because this is a political matter, I can hit you, and I won’t face any consequences. Go ahead and complain to the Commission for Discipline Inspection; complain to the procuratorate, or even the prison director—I don’t give a shit.”
What human rights can we speak of?
On 29 August 2023, I was denied access to the toilet for so long that when I was finally permitted during a group break, it took me 20 minutes to urinate in broken intervals. I was verbally punished by an officer that same day.
Then, every morning and afternoon when water was distributed, I was only allowed one-third to half the usual amount. I was permitted to use the toilet only once each morning and afternoon. Fortunately, a slightly kind-hearted “Aunt Wu” ensured the punishment was not strictly enforced. A week later, I was returned to “normal” access, but the rule of only being allowed to fetch water twice a day remained in effect until my release on 29 October 2024. Every morning and afternoon, I endured thirst for two to three hours before I could drink hot water. My severe prostatitis went untreated. From 21 August to 30 December 2023, I and others filed requests to use the toilet a total of eight times, five of which were outright denied.
What human rights can we possibly speak of? This was worse than being an animal.
In the 16 months I served at Changsha Prison, I read only five books—less than what I read in one month at Heyuan Prison. Either I was prohibited from reading or I had no time or energy to do so. My six-year practice of calligraphy was forcibly ended—I was never even allowed to touch a writing brush.
As I wrote in a letter to Director Lei, which will never receive a reply: from the moment my two boxes of books were left outside Changsha Prison’s gate, my prison life became a nightmare. For someone like me, who has read for over a decade, having books to read makes even hell bearable. Conversely, being deprived of books makes even heaven feel like hell. My thanks to the prison education office for providing me with Francis Fukuyama’s Political Order and Political Decay on 8 March 2024, after I was beaten on 3 March and left with no avenue for complaint. It slowly brought me back to life.
Before the strict implementation of the “9511” system in August 2024, we worked over 60 hours per week for 13 months. [Editor’s note: “9511” refers to a prison management system in which prisoners are required to work 9 hours per day for 5 days a week, devote 1 day to study or “re-education,” and are permitted 1 day of rest.]
After moving to the new Changsha Prison site on 23 March 2024, we were forced to work extra night shifts for over a month. Personally, I was fortunate to endure only one such shift; however, among the 170+ other prisoners in my group, dozens were forced to work night shifts daily. Those who failed to complete required tasks faced a range of different punishments.
At the new site, in pursuit of so-called “dining order,” our meals—served in stainless steel trays—were placed on stainless steel tables before our shifts ended. By the time we ate, the food was stone cold, even in March, when many prisoners still wore winter clothes due to poor health. My complaints yielded no improvement. I remembered how, over a decade ago, the pigs we raised at home had their swill warmed for them— they never ate cold.
As a human rights defender, I was reduced to a state worse than that of pigs.
What human rights can we speak of?
Many may cite Article 7 of the People’s Republic of China’s Prison Law, which ostensibly guarantees prisoners’ rights and dignity. But any clear-headed person knows how far we are from achieving a rule-of-law society—if anything, we are moving further away from it.
Furthermore, Director Lei openly stated at an assembly that our identity “is that of criminals, what people normally refer to as ‘bad people’ (I strongly protest this statement and will demand a public apology from Director Lei when the time is right). We are here ‘to be punished.” He even boasted that Changsha Prison was already the best in China, the number one in Hunan. If it were any better, Dickens-inspired citizens dissatisfied with everyday life would flock here.
Under Director Lei’s “enlightened leadership,” marked by his tyrannical authority, few dared to file complaints. Even if they did, as in my case—when I was beaten, I wrote to the procurator stationed at the prison, and requested to meet my lawyer Zhang Lei—the complaint was torn up before my eyes.
“In Chinese prisons, especially in Changsha Prison, do not speak to me of human rights!”
This is Changsha Prison’s resounding declaration!
French thinker Alexis de Tocqueville once said:
“The degree of civilization in a society can be judged by examining its prison system.”
Oh, how these words ring true.
— Human Rights Defender Xie Wenfei, Written at Great Personal Risk on Human Rights Day, 10 December 2024