On February 1, public security officers from Chengdu detained investigative reporter Liu Hu as he was en route to Beijing, and his colleague Wu Yingjiao, who was in Hebei at the time. The two face criminal charges of “illegal business operations” and “false accusations and framing.” A now-censored report from journalism collective Aquarius Era, excerpts of which were previously translated by CDT, tied the detentions to the pair’s recent WeChat article on a construction project in Chengdu, in which local officials had allegedly broken their predecessors’ agreement with investors and taken control of the assets themselves. One of the officials named was a county Party secretary previously accused of involvement in a 2021 forced demolition case over which a university professor had killed himself. After the article was published on WeChat, local disciplinary officials contacted Liu seeking his cooperation; Liu declined, referring them to his source, an investor in the Chengdu construction project named Wang.

Censorship surrounding the case has been intense. CDT added 41 articles to our 404 Deleted Content Archive in the whole month of December; 21 pieces on this single topic were added in the five days after the detentions. In a deleted essay about two separate legal cases in Hunan, He Yongjun mentioned having had three previous posts about Liu’s case deleted. A post by Xiao Xi cicero, which remains online, appeared to escape censorship by offering indirect commentary in the form of effusive praise for American investigative journalist Julie K. Brown and her work on the Jeffrey Epstein case.

Alongside a flood of tributes to Liu, Wu and their work (one of which we previously translated), the eight WeChat posts excerpted below address various aspects of the case against them. These include the official misconduct alleged in Liu and Wu’s article; the decision to detain the the two journalists; the way that was carried out and subsequently handled; and the situation’s broader implications for journalism and public discourse in China. All eight posts have since been deleted. Blogger Unyielding Bamboo commented on the storm of censorship, official opacity, and the possibility that the heavy-handed official response to the case could backfire:

I’ve no idea how many posts about Liu Hu have been deleted since yesterday [February 3]. I wrote one myself; because I was extremely cautious, it’s still online. So far, Chengdu police haven’t issued any information beyond the initial "false accusations" and "illegal business operations" … maybe they’re waiting till the middle of the night?

If so, I think it’s a bad idea. I remember one country where there’s something called a "Fifth Amendment to the Constitution," which protects against self-incrimination. This fascinating clause means that criminal defendants have the right to refuse to give testimony that would be damaging to themselves. Whether the prosecution is questioning the defendant, or the defense is questioning a witness, if the latter feels that answering is not in their favor, or might indirectly incriminate them, they can refuse to do so.

Interestingly, when someone refuses to answer, it’s like a veiled admission. As soon as the jury—generally a group of ordinary people, with ordinary ways of thinking—sees someone invoking their Fifth Amendment rights, they’ll instinctively judge them accordingly.

That’s why I say that releasing official statements in the early hours, though within their rights, is a bad idea: because people will read it as a sign of guilt.

In the last 24 hours, the content I’ve seen on investigative journalist Liu Hu has been too much to follow. Until Chengdu police detained him, I didn’t know much more about him than his name. After today, I feel like I’ve read his whole biography. [Chinese]

Blogger Xu Peng also commented on the risk of a Streisand effect:

I didn’t see Brother Liu’s article before it was deleted. Honestly, I don’t think many people had, and it didn’t have much impact. Now [Liu and Wu] have been detained, though, awareness of the situation has inevitably spread across the country and beyond, with everyone curious: what were these "false accusations" in Liu’s article?

Arresting him like this is simple and efficient, of course, but it draws broader attention not only to him, but to what he wrote. In the end, public opinion could get out of hand, and the whole thing could blow up in your face.

Think twice. [Chinese]

An analysis from Old Xiao’s Random Reflections similarly warned that the official handling of the case could backfire:

I’ve never met Liu Hu. I’m purely looking at things as they stand from the angle of public governance, and giving my impressions on that basis.

The case is currently under investigation, and the truth of the matter is awaiting clarification by the judicial authorities in accordance with the law.

But the significance of this case is destined to go beyond the fate of one individual. It will become an important test case for supervision by public opinion [or “watchdog journalism”] within the rule of law.

Its ultimate outcome is not just about Liu Hu’s individual rights; it will profoundly affect the practical scope of the media’s and the public’s right to criticize, and reshape the basic logic of the public opinion sphere.

Local officials’ abuse of power to suppress critics has led to a series of public incidents in recent years. Most of these cases have ended with the officials involved being held accountable and dismissed. It seems that it’s hard to avoid this political fate.

These episodes reveal a thought-provoking pattern: in the current governance environment, in which rule by law and public opinion form a feedback loop, there will eventually be a price to pay for any behavior that seeks to use power to suppress truth.

Even if a few officials pull through unscathed or manage a subsequent recovery, there’s a permanent cost in terms of political capital, and the suppression of speech seriously damages their reputations. Even if they escape investigation, institutional trust and opportunities will prove to be elusive.

[…] In the internet age, citizens are increasingly willing to express their demands online, and increasingly insistent on legitimacy, norms, and transparency in the exercise of public power. Any brazen suppression of free speech is very likely to attract widespread attention and intensify demands for public supervision.

In such cases, local officials at higher levels may not be directly involved, but are closely associated with the suspect and the deeper causes. When such an incident arises, it is often a direct product of their tight grip on local politics and a governance style that provokes public backlash.

Once an incident ignites public opinion, it can trigger political risk management by officials further up the ladder. To safeguard their own legal and political authority and the legitimacy of their own positions, and to quell the crisis of public trust, higher-ups must quickly distance themselves from the officials involved, and hold them accountable.

Short-term suppression might keep things at bay for a while, but you can’t avoid the gaze of history or the touring inspectors forever. There’ll be a correction eventually. [Chinese]

There can be a long wait, however. Legal blogger Li Yuchen contrasted Chengdu authorities’ sluggishness in addressing the years-old forced demolition case referred to in Liu Hu’s article with their extreme speed in detaining him for writing it:

On January 18, 2021, a 49-year-old professor jumped from the 10th floor of the Tin Ka Ping building at Sichuan Normal University.

On February 1, 2026, a 51-year-old former investigative journalist was detained by Chengdu police in an inter-province raid.

These two stories are separated by a full five years, but linked by one man: Pu Fayou, who is now Party Secretary for Sichuan’s Pujiang County.

Five years ago, he was District Mayor and Deputy Party Secretary for Chengdu’s Chenghua District.

According to New Weekly’s reporting, it was during his term that Professor Tuo’s house was targeted for "simulated relocation," driving its owner to suicide as a last-ditch means of resistance.

Five years on, investigative journalist Liu Hu writes an article titled "Is The Sichuan County Party Secretary Who Once Hounded A Professor To His Death Now Driving Investors To Bankruptcy?"

Aquarius Era reported that the article was published on January 29, and Liu was arrested on February 1.

Three days.

Chengdu’s efficiency is quite something. Crossing provincial lines to pursue and arrest a former investigative journalist over an article is no sooner said than done, like a flash of lightning.

But five years on from Tuo Jiguang’s suicide, has anyone investigated it, or asked questions, or offered any explanations?

Three days is enough to arrest a writer, but five years isn’t enough to investigate a death.

[…] Are there really problems involving Pu Fayou? Was Tuo Jiguang’s house really forcibly demolished? Were project investors really cheated? Were chat logs of a Public Security Bureau political commissar soliciting bribes real, or fake?

Chengdu hasn’t investigated these questions in five years.

They got to Liu Hu in three days.

Lift the lid, and they’ll investigate you. They don’t care what’s under it. [Chinese]

Investigative journalism in China has been under enormous and mounting pressure from this and other angles. At Made In China Journal last year, Fang Kecheng argued that it was “not dead; it’s just more dispersed than ever.” For some like I Am Yu Feng, though, the prospect that even a reporter as tenacious as Liu Hu might finally have been neutralized felt like a death knell:

Chengdu can’t have been unaware of Liu Hu’s status in media circles. Proactively releasing this statement is a signal to the whole news world and society in general: this kind of investigative journalist is no longer allowed to exist.

This is how Chengdu, known for its openness, tolerance, and cultural prosperity, drives the final nail into journalism’s coffin.

I had an argument with someone who said there were no investigative journalists or real news left in China. What about Brother Liu, Liu Hu, I said. There was nothing he could say to that. But if Brother Liu’s banner has fallen, maybe journalism really is dead. [Chinese]

A post on the WeChat account “Mu Bai’s writing is mediocre” lamented that investigative journalists and rights defense lawyers are so often denounced and dismissed as troublemakers. The author compares them with Lao A, an influencer prominent in the recent “kill line” discourse on Chinese social media about inequality and injustice in the United States. Links have been added for context.

First, I don’t dispute that society needs journalists who tell upbeat stories. The issue is that we owe even greater respect to journalists who expose the truth, because they provide a greater public service, at greater personal risk. Gutter oil, Sanlu milk, food oil in fuel oil trucks, this current story about mental hospitals locking people up unnecessarily to fleece them … if not for journalists reporting on these dark corners, how many more ordinary people would have been harmed?

Secondly, what’s really tragic is that if you look online these days, it’s Lao A, who spends all day making mountains out of foreign molehills and slagging off Chinese students overseas, who’s held up as a shining model for the ages who’ll lead us into a new era. But all that awaits journalists and lawyers who speak uncomfortable truths is denunciation as "public intellectuals" or "running dogs." And the ones denouncing them most fiercely are the very ones who most need their help!

[…] Ultimately, what I want to say is this: the lives of ordinary people in a society that holds Lao A up as a hero would be very different to ones in a society that celebrates journalists. [Chinese]

In a separate post from the one excerpted above, Li Yuchen wrote:

The professor jumped from a building; the journalist was arrested.

The county Party secretary is still in his position.

So, who’s afraid of Liu Hu?

Not just Pu Fayou.

Also those who protected him, those who took part in the forced demolition, and the whole chain of “seeking investment/breaching contracts/cover-ups.”

Essentially, it’s not Liu Hu they’re afraid of.

It’s the fact that there’s anyone who still dares to speak up. [Chinese]

Prolific commentator Xiang Dongliang, who has previously discussed his lingering anxiety about censorship and possible detention since the zero-COVID era, explained why he felt compelled to be one of those “who still dares to speak up”:

There’s a very strange thing called "moral duty":

Someone’s in trouble. You’ve never met them, don’t have any connection with them. Anyone who reaches out to help may also be in danger; those who speak up for them also implicate themselves; and their family hasn’t asked you to help. Should you still get involved?

The smartest move would be to look the other way, or simply change the subject, and go on living a nice quiet life.

And I’ve got to support my family, so I can’t risk having my account banned, much less losing my own freedom. If I steer clear of the fray, I won’t be in any danger. Besides, I’m just a lone scholar up against the public security apparatus of a provincial capital. What can I hope to change with a few sentences? Best to keep quiet.

I want to, but I can’t. It’s too painful.

That’s the thing about moral duty: it comes from your own heart, not from any outside pressure. Shirking that moral duty is as agonizing and impossible as carving out a piece of your own heart.

So I must say something about the inter-provincial detention of former investigative journalist Liu Hu by Chengdu Public Security.

First: Liu Hu only self-published an article online; he wasn’t filing formal complaints or lawsuits. How is this "making false accusations and framing" someone?

That’s one of the charges on which Liu Hu was detained across provincial lines. We don’t have any inside information on the case, but the publicly available facts are clear:

Liu Hu self-published an article that raised questions about a dispute in Pujiang county between the local government and a private investor. He did not submit a report to the disciplinary inspection authorities or public security organs.

If the information contained in Hu’s article is accurate, then this is a case of citizens exercising supervision by public opinion, as is their right. If the article is inaccurate, that might constitute a civil violation, rumormongering, or defamation.

Either way, it’s hard to understand how Liu Hu could have committed the criminal offense of “false accusations and framing” simply by publishing an article on social media.

Secondly, investigation into the claims made by the private investor regarding Pujiang county’s Party secretary has not yet concluded. Why detain a self-published author before that happens?

We can see from information that’s been published online that after Liu Hu’s article raised questions about official interference in private business, demanding bribes and so on, Chengdu’s Municipal Commission for Disciplinary Inspection made contact to ask Liu to cooperate with the investigation. The department deserves praise for its proactive response.

But with their investigation not yet even fully underway, let alone finished, the city’s Public Security Bureau races to detain Liu Hu for false accusations and framing.

"Framing" presupposes that the content is inaccurate. The higher-level disciplinary inspection authorities still haven’t finished investigating, so how can it be determined whether the account in Liu Hu’s self-published article is true or false?

Thirdly, Liu Hu is a resident of Chongqing, and that’s where his self-published media business is based. If there’s real suspicion that he has engaged in illegal business operations, that should be for Chongqing Public Security to handle. Why did Chengdu need to swoop in?

In China’s Criminal Law, the charge of conducting illegal business operations has a strictly and clearly defined scope. Normal self-published media operations don’t require permits and don’t infringe on a state monopoly. It’s bizarre to accuse a scholar like Liu Hu of illegal business operations just for writing.

If Liu Hu really is suspected of illegal business operations for some reason we don’t know about, I’m sure Chongqing Public Security has enough manpower and expertise to deal with it. I can’t think why they’d need help from Chengdu.

All of this boils down to one question:

Why did Chengdu Public Security detain Liu Hu?

I don’t think I’m the only one wondering about this. I look forward to Chengdu enlightening us and clearing it all up.

I’m aware, of course, that I might be putting myself at risk by asking these questions, but what else can I do? Writing this is the only way to salve my conscience. It’s my moral duty.

Everyone says Liu’s generation of investigative journalists are our society’s last voices of conscience. Now they’ve faded away, but some shred of conscience remains.

If I lose my freedom for posting this, I trust there will be strangers conscientious enough to speak up for me.

Right? [Chinese]