China’s New Internet ID: Censoring Negativity, Silencing Dissent
Udumbara
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The Cyberspace Administration of China (CAC) in September launched a two-month campaign titled “Clear and Bright, Rectifying Malicious Incitement of Negative Emotions.” The initiative extends censorship beyond political dissent and historical sensitivity to target what authorities call online negativity, pessimism, and nihilistic attitudes.
The CAC said the goal is to “rectify negative emotions” and foster a more “civilized and rational” internet.
The campaign targets content that exaggerates social problems, spreads despair, or encourages self-deprecation or lifestyle trends, such as “lying flat.” Posts promoting “world-weariness” or defeatist narratives such as “studying is useless” and “hard work is useless” are also forbidden.
The move comes as China faces weak consumer confidence, high youth unemployment, and slowing growth in manufacturing and retail sales. Regulators have already penalized major platforms such as Weibo, Kuaishou, and Xiaohongshu for failing to curb “harmful” content, ranging from celebrity gossip to defeatist slogans like “effort is useless.”
State media has praised the campaign as necessary to preserve order and social trust. Individual influencers have also been targeted: popular tutor Zhang Xuefeng had his accounts restricted, while content creator Hu Chenfeng saw his posts erased after making viral remarks about inequality.
While the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) may believe it can control everything in China, it cannot control people’s emotions. Unlike other propaganda campaigns that portray the outside world in a falsely negative light, the current effort aims to convince citizens that the quality of their daily lives is not deteriorating —a hard sell at best. People, particularly the young, are painfully aware of their inability to find a job, buy a house, or get married due to the low wages and poor prospects before them. Beijing’s coercion cannot simply reverse the well-deserved pessimism.
Moreover, young Chinese internet users are resourceful. They have already devised code names and emojis to replace censored terms, allowing them to continue their conversations online without detection.
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Just weeks before the anti-pessimism campaign was launched, the CCP introduced a new internet identification system that poses a serious threat to online anonymity and free expression. Developed by the Ministry of Public Security and the Cyberspace Administration of China, the program requires users to register through a national app using their ID cards and facial recognition.
Each participant receives an “internet code” and an “internet certificate” that grant access to services without the need to enter personal data repeatedly. Instead of submitting information separately on each platform, citizens can now use this centralized virtual ID to sign in across multiple social media apps and websites.
Authorities frame the measure as voluntary and claim it will enhance security, protect personal information, and foster the digital economy. Registration is already being adopted by major platforms such as WeChat and could become unavoidable as more services require it.
However, critics argue that the “voluntary” label is unlikely to last, as many past digital policies in China began as optional before becoming mandatory.
The system centralizes user identities in a government-controlled database, enabling authorities to track individuals’ online behavior more precisely than ever. By linking all online activity to a single ID, the regime could simultaneously silence, erase, or block users across multiple platforms. Experts warn this represents digital totalitarianism, making it easier to suppress dissent while eroding what little online anonymity remains in China.
Rights groups also point to serious cybersecurity risks. A centralized database creates a goldmine of sensitive data that could be exploited by hackers or state security. China has already seen breaches on this scale, including the 2022 leak of a police database containing information on 1 billion citizens. Such a system not only threatens privacy but could also be weaponized by the CCP’s intelligence services against its own population.
Ironically, one of the censored topics in China is censorship itself. In a post on Weibo, Lao Dongyan, a prominent law professor at Tsinghua University, compared the system to “installing a surveillance device on every individual’s online activity.” The post was removed soon after for “violating relevant rules,” and her account was suspended from posting for three months.
Overall, the internet ID is part of Beijing’s long-term strategy to eliminate online anonymity and extend surveillance down to the individual level. The system enables the CCP to more strictly control online discourse and discourage conversations it deems threatening, such as those expressing the disillusionment of China’s “lost generation,” who struggle to find jobs and begin their adult lives.
While some young people are finding ways around censorship, many citizens will inevitably self-censor out of fear of being discovered by the Ministry of State Security and other cybersecurity authorities. Even those who find workarounds are seeing their options diminish as artificial intelligence becomes increasingly powerful at cracking the coded language online users adopt to evade detection.
In the end, this is all part of the CCP’s playbook. Rather than improving life in China, the Party has found a way to prevent people from saying it is worse. It brings to mind an old Soviet-era joke: A foreigner asks, “How are things in the Soviet Union?” The Russian replies, “Can’t complain.”
