The Unfolding Saga of Falun Gong: From Qigong Exercise to Global Confrontation

The dawn of April 25, 1999, in Beijing was anything but ordinary for the keen observer. As the city stirred to life, a silent and considerable crowd began to coalesce around Beihai Park in the heart of the metropolis. This was no typical gathering of morning exercisers or casual strollers. There were no banners waving, no slogans shouted through megaphones, nothing to immediately indicate the purpose or intent of this assembly. Yet, the sheer number of people was striking. Soon, the mass began to move westward, crossing the Beihai bridge in a determined flow towards Zhongnanhai – the closely guarded central government complex of the Chinese Communist Party.
By 8 AM, the situation had escalated dramatically. Over 20,000 individuals had congregated on Fuyou Street, directly in front of the General Office of the State Council, forming a series of silent and remarkably orderly lines. The absence of any overt display of protest – no signs, no chanting – only deepened the enigma surrounding this unprecedented event. The unusual scale and the sensitive location of the gathering could no longer be ignored. Luo Gan, the Party Secretary of Legal and Political Affairs, was compelled to inform Jiang Zemin, the General Secretary of the Party and the nation's highest authority.
As Luo Gan described the scene, Jiang Zemin's unease grew steadily. It was undeniable: this was a protest. More significantly, it was a protest unlike any seen before in the history of the People's Republic, daringly unfolding at the very seat of power, Zhongnanhai. The sheer scale of the demonstration also evoked chilling memories of the 1989 crisis, an event that continued to haunt Jiang's leadership. Comprehending the gravity of the situation, Jiang issued a terse order to Luo Gan: "figure it out".
Luo Gan, in turn, enlisted the assistance of Zhu Rongji, China's Premier and the second-highest-ranking official in the country, to resolve this mysterious standoff. However, their initial approach was not one of force or immediate suppression. Instead, they opted for negotiation. Upon meeting with the representatives of the gathered crowd, the purpose of their assembly became clear. They were practitioners of Falun Gong, a form of qigong characterized by slow movement exercises, and their immediate demand was the release of fellow practitioners who had been arrested days earlier during a demonstration in Tianjin, a nearby port city.
Luo Gan and Zhu Rongji confessed their confusion. They were familiar with qigong, generally perceiving it as a gentle form of exercise primarily practiced by the elderly. The notion that qigong practitioners could mobilize such a vast number of people seemingly instantaneously was perplexing. Even more disconcerting was the revelation that the five individuals representing the gathering during the negotiations held significant positions within the regime itself: they were employees of the Army’s Chief of Staff department, Beijing University, and the Ministries of Supervision, Railways, and Public Security – institutions crucial to the Party's control.
Over the course of six hours, Luo Gan and Zhu Rongji engaged in dialogue with the Falun Gong representatives. Ultimately, they defused the immediate crisis by acceding to all of the group's demands. They promised the release of the arrested Tianjin practitioners, affirmed that the government had no issue with qigong groups such as Falun Gong, and assured those present at Zhongnanhai of their safety from prosecution. In that moment, it appeared that Beijing had yielded. The crowd, having achieved their immediate objectives, peacefully dispersed.
However, the promises made by Premier Zhu Rongji, while significant, were still subject to the ultimate approval of Jiang Zemin. And for Jiang, the entire episode was perceived as nothing short of a profound disaster. Later that night, he penned a letter addressed to high-ranking party members, expressing his sharp disapproval of their lack of awareness and demanding answers to fundamental questions: What exactly was this Falun Gong group? How had they managed to mobilize such an immense number of people? And, crucially, who was in charge?.
The period between that unprecedented day and June 7th remains largely shrouded in secrecy, hidden behind the "party curtain". On June 7th, Jiang convened a pivotal meeting of the Politburo standing committee, where he delivered a speech that left no room for misinterpretation. He declared the formation of a "Central Committee Team on Falun Gong" with the immediate mandate to organize resources, thoroughly investigate the Falun Gong organizational structure throughout China, formulate a comprehensive crackdown strategy, and fully mobilize to "break and wipe out Falun Gong". His long-standing philosophy, ingrained since assuming power amidst the turmoil of the 1989 crisis, was unequivocal: "We do not negotiate with protestors".
Around midnight on the morning of July 20th, a mere 88 days after the enigmatic gathering at Zhongnanhai, the government's true response materialized. Security forces across the nation were simultaneously dispatched to arrest key leaders and prominent members of Falun Gong. This action ignited immediate protests in response. Within two days, the government formally announced a nationwide ban on the practice of Falun Gong. The conflict between Falun Gong and the Beijing regime, a struggle that persists to this day, had officially begun.
To understand how this dramatic confrontation unfolded, it is necessary to delve into the preceding years, a period of significant transformation in China. The death of Mao Zedong, the "father of the revolution," in the 1970s marked a turning point. His successor, Deng Xiaoping, ushered in an era of reform, seeking to move away from Mao's rigid central planning, political repression, and pervasive cult of personality that had resulted in immense suffering. Deng's vision was to open China to the world, foster innovation, and achieve this by loosening the government's tight control over both the economy and society.
This social opening brought about profound changes. Freed from the absolute adherence to Marxist ideology and state-imposed atheism, many Chinese citizens found themselves in a spiritual vacuum. Years of government suppression had eroded traditional beliefs, yet a deep yearning for spiritual fulfillment persisted. This environment fostered the proliferation of new religious movements, each offering a unique blend of modern sensibilities and rediscovered connections to the past. However, none could rival the explosive growth and widespread appeal of qigong.
Qigong, a practice involving slow, deliberate movements, was understood to connect the physical well-being of the body with the health of the spirit. Deng Xiaoping, in a way, viewed qigong as an effort to modernize Chinese spirituality in a distinctly Chinese manner. However, the social changes were not limited to the spiritual realm. Deng's reforms also led to a relaxation of political censorship, allowing for discussions about political matters that would have been unthinkable, and severely punished, just a few years prior. Yet, this loosening of censorship without genuine democratic reforms created a situation where China's youth developed an appetite for greater freedom, while the government remained hesitant to grant substantive political change. This tension culminated in the spring of 1989 with the Tiananmen Square protests, an event that would deeply scar the political landscape and forever influence Jiang Zemin's approach to dissent.
In 1989, tens of thousands of students took to Beijing's Tiananmen Square, a location geographically close to Zhongnanhai, to voice their demands for democracy. For a brief period, some within the top echelons of the Party considered a more conciliatory approach. However, as the movement swelled, exceeding 100,000 participants in the capital's heart, hardliners within the government opted for a brutal crackdown, deploying the army and opening fire on the protestors. The resulting casualties were estimated to be in the thousands. In the aftermath, Deng Xiaoping made a decisive move, replacing his General Secretary, who had shown some sympathy towards the protestors, with Jiang Zemin, a figure whose immediate priority was maintaining absolute control. Jiang's guiding principle, solidified during this period, was an unwavering stance against negotiating with protestors.
By 1993, Jiang Zemin had consolidated his power and reinforced the Party's grip on political activity. However, Jiang was not simply a repressive figure blindly imposing control. He recognized a distinction between what he perceived as dangerous political activity and seemingly harmless social groups. He had no desire to reignite the kind of total societal control that characterized the Maoist era. This distinction was evident in his government's continued support for the flourishing qigong movement. From the government's perspective, qigong appeared to be a beneficial activity, particularly for senior citizens, providing a way to maintain their health and potentially reduce the burden on state-funded medical care.
However, qigong was not solely about physical wellness; it also encompassed spiritual health. Unbeknownst to Jiang, this spiritual dimension placed qigong squarely within a realm that the government still intended to strictly control: religion. The burgeoning of new religious movements, as the saying goes, brought with it both the sincere and the opportunistic. From the Party's viewpoint, followers of groups outside state control were, by definition, not solely following the state.
It was in this environment that Li Hongzhi emerged, a figure who would have an immense and lasting impact on China. According to Li's own later accounts, his early life was filled with extraordinary experiences, including mentorship by spiritual masters and the attainment of abilities such as levitation and invisibility by the age of eight. A more conventional narrative suggests that he was a horn player in a police marching band and later a low-level office worker. Regardless of his early life, in the 1980s, Li Hongzhi joined the widespread qigong movement. It soon became apparent that he possessed a notable aptitude for it.
In 1992, Li Hongzhi held his own qigong workshops, which proved to be remarkably successful. Seeking to legitimize his standing and ensure the continued growth of his practice, Li approached the government-backed Qigong society to register himself as an official "master of qigong" and his organization as an officially recognized practice, which he named "Falun Gong". Crucially, Li's activities were initially sanctioned by the Chinese government. The government appeared to embrace him, allowing him to conduct workshops and give talks at state universities. He even became a symbol of China's opening to the world, lecturing at the Chinese embassy in Paris and touring America, where he received honorary citizenship in Houston, Texas, among other accolades.
With his official credentials and seemingly positive relationship with the government, Li Hongzhi and Falun Gong experienced a surge in popularity. Between 1992 and 1994, he conducted 56 workshops, attracting at least 60,000 attendees in total. At its peak, Falun Gong boasted at least three million practitioners in China, though Li himself would later claim significantly higher numbers. Around the end of 1994, Li published a comprehensive guide to his teachings, which increasingly resembled a religious text, albeit one with unusual elements. Blending aspects of Buddhism, Taoism, and traditional qigong, Li introduced his own distinct and often bizarre theological concepts, promising followers extraordinary abilities such as eternal youth, flight, invisibility, and mind control. These powers, however, came with specific stipulations, including prohibitions against homosexuality and interracial marriage, based on the belief that heaven was racially segregated and interracial children were susceptible to alien influence.
Initially, the government largely overlooked these eccentric pronouncements. However, some within the regime began to take notice. Li's claims, particularly those related to health and medicine, were seen as potentially dangerous. More concerning was the growing perception that Falun Gong was becoming an all-encompassing obsession for its practitioners, posing a potential challenge to the Party's authority and social control.
By 1996, local state-run news organizations across China began to pick up on these concerns, publishing articles and broadcasting television segments critical of Falun Gong. In response, Falun Gong practitioners initiated a campaign of sending letters to these media outlets, demanding retractions. This letter-writing campaign was not initially orchestrated by Li Hongzhi but rather arose spontaneously from his followers. However, Li recognized the potential of this collective action and incorporated it into Falun Gong's evolving theology. Responding to criticism from the government, from this point forward, became a necessary component of achieving spiritual perfection within Falun Gong.
Despite losing its official affiliation with the Qigong society and facing increasing scrutiny from government-controlled media, Falun Gong continued to operate in a legal grey area. There was no clear, coordinated opposition from the central government, and the group, while theoretically exposed, remained seemingly untargeted. However, this precarious equilibrium could not last indefinitely. Despite Li Hongzhi's public assertions of being apolitical, the underlying tenets of his theology – which implicitly critiqued the government's Marxist ideology and expressed skepticism towards modern science – were increasingly seen as incompatible with the Party's overarching control.
The tenuous standoff finally fractured in April 1999 when He Zuoxiu, a Chinese physicist, published a scathing critique of qigong practices. In response, a large number of Falun Gong practitioners descended on Tianjin University, where He Zuoxiu worked, to stage a massive protest. The local police reacted harshly, attacking the protestors and arresting 45 of them. For the devoted followers of Falun Gong, this was a critical juncture. A small, localized protest was deemed insufficient to secure the release of their fellow practitioners or to correct what they perceived as a misrepresentation of qigong. They believed a more significant action was necessary, and their focus shifted to Beijing. Thus, on April 25, 1999, the considerable crowd that began gathering around Beihai Park before dawn embarked on their silent march towards Zhongnanhai.
The question of how Li Hongzhi, a figure with a seemingly unremarkable background, managed to convince the Chinese Communist Party that he and his organization posed a threat comparable to the Tiananmen Square protests is a complex one. However, perhaps the more pertinent question is how the Party's own actions and inherent paranoia contributed to this confrontation. The Party's history of suppressing independent thought and its relentless pursuit of absolute control over society created an environment where alternative belief systems, even those initially focused on health and spirituality, could be perceived as threats. Falun Gong's theology, while containing unconventional elements from its inception, developed into a more assertive force, demanding extraordinary loyalty and devotion from its members, partly as a response to perceived and actual political repression. In essence, it was the Party's own deep-seated fear of any organization operating outside its direct control that brought approximately 20,000 Falun Gong practitioners to Zhongnanhai, transforming a slow movement exercise group into what the Party perceived as a formidable enemy. This was an enemy that would not be easily subdued.
The protest at Zhongnanhai was far from the end of Falun Gong's engagement with the Chinese government. On January 23, 2001, at 9 AM in Beijing, seven individuals from Kaifeng, visiting for the New Year holiday, departed a friend's apartment. Each carried a bottle of Sprite. Within the hour, they arrived at their destination: Tiananmen Square. This massive plaza in the city center, once the site of significant pro-democracy demonstrations, had in more recent times also become a focal point for protests by religious groups alleging persecution. Despite being closed for an unspecified event, the group decided to remain in the vicinity, agreeing to meet again later.
Four and a half hours later, one member of the group, Wang Jindong, returned to the square and walked towards the People's Heroes Monument. He then stopped, sat down, and poured the Sprite over himself. The fumes of gasoline filled the air before he ignited himself. Nearby police swiftly intervened, extinguishing the flames and shielding him from public view. He survived. Distracted by Wang's self-immolation, the police were initially slower to react when four more individuals within the square also set themselves on fire – Wang's companions. Before the authorities could reach them, one perished, while the others stood up, stumbling and waving their arms in agony.
These individuals had come to Tiananmen Square to protest on behalf of Falun Gong, the religious movement banned in China since 1999. They reportedly believed that their unwavering faith in Li Hongzhi's teachings would render them immune to the excruciating pain of the flames. They were tragically mistaken. While self-immolation has served as a catalyst for political change in other contexts, in a nation with China's officially atheistic stance, such acts of self-destructive behavior were less likely to garner public sympathy. The government swiftly capitalized on the incident, widely disseminating graphic media of the event across the country alongside articles condemning Falun Gong as an "illegal cult" responsible for these "mass-suicide demonstrations".
Meanwhile, Li Hongzhi, from his exile, disavowed the self-immolators. He stated that he was against suicide, implying that these individuals must have been either very poor followers or that the entire event was orchestrated by the government. By so openly abandoning these individuals who had seemingly acted out of devotion to his teachings, Li Hongzhi exposed himself to criticism as being both untruthful and callous. Public opinion, which had initially been somewhat critical of the government's harsh crackdown, began to shift, with many now viewing the government's campaign against Falun Gong more favorably. This shift in public sentiment emboldened officials, who in turn intensified their efforts to suppress Falun Gong.
Nationwide school programs were implemented, demanding that children declare their allegiance to science. Companies, both Chinese and foreign-owned, were compelled to identify any Falun Gong practitioners within their workforce. Those identified were sent to "re-education" facilities or, if deemed resistant to ideological conversion, were transferred to labor camps where they faced physical and psychological abuse aimed at breaking their will. Reliable estimates place the number of deaths resulting from this campaign at over 3,000.
In the years following the crackdown, Li Hongzhi, having left China prior to the formal ban, eventually settled in New York. However, he was far from conceding defeat. In his perspective, to effectively counter the persecution in China, Falun Gong needed to expand its influence globally. Starting in 1999, the year the CCP's crackdown intensified, Falun Gong's activities outside of China saw a dramatic increase as the organization sought to share its narrative of repression with the international community.
This global outreach extended beyond holding events and demonstrations. In 2000, some of Li Hongzhi's key associates founded the Epoch Times, a newspaper with the stated aim of exposing the alleged wrongdoings of the Chinese Communist Party. A few years later, Li Hongzhi established Shen Yun, a ballet performance group whose productions often depict the CCP's destruction of traditional Chinese culture and, prominently, the persecution of Falun Gong.
While these initiatives might appear to some as positive expressions of cultural output and freedom of the press, there are complexities to consider. The Epoch Times has evolved into a significant voice within far-right and conspiracy-oriented media in the United States. Additionally, Shen Yun productions have explicitly promoted beliefs that contradict mainstream scientific understanding, such as labeling the theory of evolution as a "deadly idea".
Crucially, Li Hongzhi himself was not directly managing these global operations. Instead, he focused on further developing Falun Gong's theology in a way that would motivate his followers to undertake these efforts on his behalf. A central tenet of Falun Gong belief became that the conflict between them and the CCP was merely one aspect of a larger, multidimensional battle between good and evil. Practitioners were taught that failing to actively participate in this struggle meant aligning themselves with the forces of evil. Given the significant resources and time required to operate a global newspaper and a touring ballet company, loyal Falun Gong practitioners were effectively encouraged to volunteer extensively. Many individuals working as "journalists" for the Epoch Times do so without pay, producing content that has often been criticized for its factual inaccuracies and sensationalism. Similarly, while the professional dancers in Shen Yun receive compensation, the numerous practitioners who contribute to the show's logistics and support often do so on a voluntary basis.
While the reliance on volunteers is not unique to Falun Gong, the extent of the demands placed on its followers surpasses that of many established religions. The core of Falun Gong's teachings revolves around the belief that Li Hongzhi is a uniquely gifted spiritual teacher whose purpose is to guide his followers towards moral, spiritual, and physical perfection through the practice of Falun Gong exercises. However, simply performing the qigong movements is not sufficient. Followers believe that Li Hongzhi must implant a "spinning wheel" within their bodies, enabling them to absorb good energy from the universe through qigong and adherence to the three core moral principles: compassion, forbearance, and truthfulness. This "implantation" is believed to be achievable by Li's mental powers from anywhere in the world.
Despite the emphasis on "truthfulness," Li Hongzhi reportedly instructs his followers to lie to outsiders about certain aspects of Falun Gong. Furthermore, the teachings maintain that homosexuality and interracial marriage are inherently evil. These are said to corrupt the soul and create an opening for alien entities to possess human bodies, which Li Hongzhi describes as the "most perfect form" coveted by these extraterrestrial beings. He discourages any contemplation of the aliens' appearance.
Adding to these unconventional beliefs is Falun Gong's strong rejection of modern science, particularly the theory of evolution. It is taught that these scientific advancements, along with technology, are inventions of the sinister aliens seeking to corrupt humanity. These alien influences supposedly lead people away from qigong and spiritual perfection by convincing them that modern medicine can heal them, thus weakening their bodies and souls. The narrative also includes claims that aliens are using modern science to clone humans for the purpose of possessing their "soulless" bodies.
The consequences of these beliefs can be deeply troubling. The Beijing government cited an estimate of 1,400 preventable deaths and suicides allegedly caused by Falun Gong by 1999, though verifiable figures are difficult to obtain due to the group's secrecy and the ongoing information war with Beijing. The case of Colleen May, an Australian woman, illustrates the potential dangers. After becoming involved with Falun Gong, she ceased taking medication for her high blood pressure, believing that reliance on medicine indicated a lack of faith in Li Hongzhi's healing powers. Despite being hospitalized, she refused medical treatment, ultimately dying at the age of 75 from an entirely preventable illness. Jonathan Lee, a Falun Gong spokesperson, while claiming that practitioners are not prevented from seeking medical care, simultaneously suggested that through Falun Gong practice, the need for such care diminishes. This implies that individuals who fall ill have perhaps not practiced diligently enough.
The exploitation of Falun Gong practitioners extends beyond health beliefs. Janin Liu, like many others involved with Shen Yun and the Epoch Times, volunteered his time to work on the construction of Dragon Springs, Li Hongzhi's secretive and expansive estate in upstate New York. In 2008, Liu died after falling from a structure while working on the site. Due to his status as a volunteer and Falun Gong beliefs regarding autopsies, no thorough investigation into the circumstances of his death was conducted. This incident highlights a lack of accountability for the organization and raises questions about the welfare of its devoted followers who contribute their labor without compensation to build and maintain Li Hongzhi's extensive compound.
At the core of Falun Gong's doctrine is the exceptionalism of Li Hongzhi, his perceived superiority to all others, both within and outside the practice. His own words, such as "You can think of me as a human being," carry a condescending undertone. His reaction to the self-immolation incident in Tiananmen Square further underscores this. While his followers engaged in an extreme act of devotion, Li remained safely abroad and responded by disowning them, failing to acknowledge their suffering and instead focusing on the negative repercussions for his movement. Their sacrifice ultimately intensified the crackdown and exposed what some perceived as their leader's indifference.
It is crucial to acknowledge that the information presented here is not intended to excuse the human rights abuses and atrocities that the Chinese Communist Party continues to perpetrate against religious minorities, including Falun Gong practitioners. However, it is also important to recognize the complexities within the Falun Gong movement itself. There are parallels between the CCP's demand for absolute devotion to its ideology and social conformity, and Li Hongzhi's similar demands for unwavering allegiance from his followers. Both exhibit a totalizing approach, insisting that only their respective doctrines – be it Marxism or the teachings of Li Hongzhi – hold true authority, potentially eclipsing the validity of modern science, democratic governance, and fundamental human equality. It is this insistence on absolute authority that leads individuals to dedicate their lives and labor to these causes, sometimes with tragic consequences, as seen in the Tiananmen Square self-immolations and the death of Janin Liu.
The story of Falun Gong is far from over. Recent developments, though outside the scope of this source material, indicate ongoing controversies and scrutiny surrounding Li Hongzhi and his organization. The journey of Falun Gong, from a popular qigong exercise to a globally recognized and often controversial movement locked in a protracted struggle with the Chinese government, serves as a complex and cautionary tale of belief, power, and the enduring tension between the individual and the state.