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News Analysis
On July 27, Shi Yongxin, the abbot of China’s Shaolin Temple, the fabled birthplace of kung fu and Zen Buddhism, was recently placed under investigation for alleged embezzlement of funds, according to the monastery’s official social media account.
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The 60-year-old monk also faces accusations of breaching the Buddhist precepts by “maintaining improper relationships with multiple women over a long period” and fathering at least one illegitimate child, according to the notice.
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However, according to Chinese dissidents and insiders, Shi’s case is no isolated incident. Rather, they say it reveals a deeper, decades-old policy by the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) to co-opt religious institutions for political control. In this context, Shi is less a rogue monk and more a carefully cultivated agent of the regime.
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‘Monk’ by Assignment, Not Faith
In an interview with The Epoch Times, Chinese dissident and former president of the Overseas Chinese Writers Association Cai Kefeng recounted a little-known episode from the 1970s that he said sheds light on how the CCP systematically placed loyal recruits into China’s religious leadership positions to serve political ends.
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In the fall of 1973, Cai was recovering from illness in Guangzhou, China, when a female Party official unexpectedly visited his home. Her message was that the regime needed educated young people to pose as monks and priests in temples and churches across China, not to pursue spiritual enlightenment but to impress foreign visitors.
“You won’t need to do manual labor,” Cai recounted her words. “[You] just welcome the foreign guests.”
She revealed that the CCP was preparing for an influx of foreign visitors since President Richard Nixon’s visit to China. Therefore, the regime was planning to place “cultured and politically reliable people in religious spaces.”
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Coming just years after Mao’s Red Guards ransacked China’s historic temples and persecuted monks during the brutal Cultural Revolution, the offer was both surreal and revealing.
According to Cai, the offer came with a handsome salary that was significantly higher than what most university graduates earned at the time. However, the nature of the job was jarring. He would have to shave his head, wear monk robes, recite scriptures, and eat vegetarian meals in the temple. During off-hours, he could go home, eat meat, and even get married, so long as he kept it quiet.
Traditionally, Chinese Buddhist monks are celibate and observe a strictly vegetarian diet.
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You will be a “revolutionary monk,” the official insisted at the time. “You’re carrying out a political mission.”
Cai declined.
Despite the promise of money and stability, he and his mother feared being labeled as superstitious or politically unreliable should China’s political winds shift again, as they had during the Cultural Revolution.
He later escaped China through a series of perilous smuggling attempts, eventually settling in New York.
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Dancing Abbots and Political Theater
Cai’s account aligns with what independent Chinese commentator Zhang Xiujie described on July 28. In one example, Zhang recalled an incident in the 1980s when a journalist visited a prominent temple, reportedly more famous than Shaolin itself, to interview the abbot. He was told the abbot was not present. Later, they found him dancing at a city nightclub.
When the journalist confronted the abbot at the club, the man excused himself, removed his wig, donned his monk robes, and gave the interview in full religious regalia.
Zhang concluded, “This is why someone like Shi Yongxin can emerge from a place of supposed spiritual purity. When politics invades every domain, especially religion, what else do you expect?”
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Shi Yongxin: A Carefully Groomed Pawn?
Born in 1965, Shi Yongxin entered the Shaolin Temple at 16 and quickly rose through the ranks. By 22, he was appointed director of the temple’s management committee, and later became the face of Shaolin’s global expansion. He had served multiple terms as a delegate to the National People’s Congress, the CCP’s rubber-stamp parliament, and has cultivated ties with the regime’s political and business elites.
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To critics like Cai, such a rapid rise is no accident. Shi perfectly fits the mold of the “political monk” that the regime began grooming decades ago: young, educated, loyal, and able to bridge religious, political, and commercial interests.
Cai said, “If he became a monk only after striking a deal with the authorities, then it’s clear he was serving the Party’s will.”
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Shi Yongxin (right), the abbot of Shaolin Temple and vice-chairman of the Buddhist Association of China and chairman of Henan Province Buddhists Association, leaves the Great Hall of the People after attending the National People's Congress in Beijing, China, on March 8, 2017. Lintao Zhang/Getty Images
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More Than a Personal Scandal
Cai argues that even the current wave of allegations against Shi, including the reported misuse of temple funds and involvement with multiple women, should not be viewed as purely personal failings.
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Cai explained that in the eyes of the CCP, personal virtue is a trivial matter. The regime only cares about control. Therefore, the real scandal is not that he had affairs but that the system enabled him and protected him for many years, until it no longer served the regime’s interests.
“The [broader] issue is not whether Shi Yongxin deserves to be called a monk but who allowed him to become one in the first place,” Cai said.
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Political Monks, Not Spiritual Guides
Under the communist regime, Buddhist monks, Daoist priests, and Christian clergy in China are all subject to party state approval, training, and surveillance. Persons of faith are forced to go underground to express their beliefs, such as China’s massive underground church movement.
Religious leaders often hold administrative ranks equivalent to government officials and must pass ideological screening. Many are tasked with hosting foreign delegations, promoting Party propaganda, and reporting on local believers.
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“Monks have long become a form of administrative role,” Cai said. “They are not dedicating themselves to spiritual cultivation, but rather clocking in for work and carrying out [the CCP’s] united front tasks. They are monks, yes—but also government officials, business managers, and ultimately tools of the political system.”
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Cai Rong contributed to this report.
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