By Maciej Gaca

(Expert, Centre For Intl Relations, Poland)

Relations between Beijing and Tokyo continue to be in a phase of acute diplomatic conflict.It all started last year with remarks by Japanese Prime Minister Sanae Takaichi—suggesting a potential Chinese attack on Taiwan could be treated as a “situation threatening Japan’s survival,” thereby paving the way for military action.

Then then the state media, and military and Party social media accounts in China, reacted immediately: graphics depicting Takaichi as embodiment of a threat appeared, public television ramped up the rhetoric, and hashtags sanctioned by censors—calling for Japan to be “held accountable” and to “pay the price”—began circulating on Weibo. Concurrently, Beijing implemented retaliatory measures: travel warnings, flight restrictions, and trade curbs. All the familiar political tools were deployed.

Yet one tool, previously a standard one, was left unused: there was no “street” response. No demonstrations outside Japanese diplomatic missions, no officially “spontaneous” marches, and none of the scenes the world remembers from 2012. In a country that has repeatedly demonstrated its ability to mobilize thousands of people outside a foreign embassy within an hour, such an absence constitutes a political message. It’s not “nothing”; it’s absence of movement where movement can be summoned at will and we must analyse it.

It is precisely this gap—the fact that the anger did not spill onto the streets—that the South China Morning Post sought to address. The article in question was titled: “Why do Chinese consumers feel Japanese products are no longer worth boycotting?”  This is not merely a market commentary, but an attempt to impose a specific interpretation on Western audiences: the absence of protests implies a shift in societal attitudes.

The SCMP explains Chinese people have grown “weary of boycotts” and have “greater confidence in domestic brands,” seeing little point in symbolic gestures given the world’s increased complexity and deepening of economic ties. It cites the views of consumers, marketing experts, and market analysts—all reflecting a tone of moderation, reasonableness, and an ostensibly apolitical perspective on the “maturation” of China’s middle class.

The problem lies in the fact that the very structure of this narrative is flawed—and at times, downright dishonest. The SCMP is executing a classic maneuver known in Chinese media studies as “selective depoliticisation” (‘xuanzexingquzhengzhihua’—literally “selectively stripping politics from the message”), wherein a deeply political phenomenon is reframed in market terms. An interstate conflict involving national security is transformed into a story about consumer tastes, “shifting preferences,” and “boycott fatigue.”

The state, as an active agent, vanishes from the narrative. In its place appears the consumer—ostensibly free to react as they please, yet who, by some strange coincidence, never takes to the streets against the wishes of the authorities. The essence of the SCMP’s manipulation lies in its choice of an analytical level that can be framed as a “natural social evolution.” The article makes no mention of the fact that the massive anti-Japanese protests in China in 2012 spanned over a hundred cities, were highly orchestrated, and appeared and vanished exactly when the authorities deemed it convenient.

There is no discussion of how street-level nationalism served for years as a controlled safety valve. Nor is there any mention that the absence of protests might stem from a decision made not by the “consumer,” but by the Party apparatus—an apparatus that, following the “White Paper” protests of 2022, now fears any gathering of a crowd.

Instead, the SCMP employs a tactic known in Chinese propaganda theory as ‘yinxingyúlùnyÐndÎo’ (literally “covert guidance of public opinion”)—a narrative style that appears not to be propaganda but, in practice, steers the audience’s interpretation by shifting the focus to obscure the situation’s most political elements. The reader is offered a convenient explanation: there are no protests because Chinese people have calculated that boycotts are ineffective, because the world has grown more complex, and because prominence of Japanese brands has declined. They are not asked: who decides whether a protest can take place at all? Under what conditions? Why did people take to the streets in 2012, yet fail to do so in 2025?

Yet the answer lies precisely in the realm SCMP consciously avoids. The authorities in Beijing operate according to a logic of maintaining stability. In this model, protests are treated as high-risk mass incidents (‘quntÐxìngshìjiàn’—literally “collective incidents”). Following the events of 2019, Hong Kong, and the “White Paper” protests, the authorities are aware that a crowd, once inflamed, will not necessarily stop at an external enemy. It may redirect its anger toward domestic issues: the cost of living, inequality, and a lack of prospects.

That is why the absence of protests is a deliberate choice. In a state capable of mobilizing five thousand people outside the Japanese embassy within an hour, lack of such a gathering is not the natural state of affairs. It’s a political decision—one driven by the fear that anger could spiral out of control and spill over into areas the authorities wish to keep closed: housing prices, unemployment, stagnation, and a pervasive sense of being overwhelmed. This is neither “boycott fatigue” nor “consumer maturity.” It is a risk calculation.

The SCMP will not write about this. Instead, it opts for a market-oriented, “depoliticising” narrative designed to reassure Western readers. This is precisely what constitutes the “official narrative in soft packaging”: it is elegant, reasonable, and seemingly objective. It relies on expert quotes, market references, and sometimes general data. Yet, when weighed against the reality on the ground, it amounts to just one thing: an attempt to make sense of a situation created not by spontaneous social change, but by the authorities’ fear of their own society.

This becomes particularly clear when one recalls what those “spontaneous” protests looked like back when they were being orchestrated. In 2012, I was working as a diplomat at the Polish Embassy on Ritan Lu, directly opposite the Japanese Embassy (now headquarters of SCO). I saw firsthand what a “spontaneous” protest looks like, Chinese-style: buses lined up at six am, the distribution of meals and banners, instructions given to demonstrators, and positioning of crowds to ensure perfect shot for CCTV cameras.

There were shouts, fluttering slogans, and a burst of excitement—all lasting exactly as long as the broadcast itself. Then, the crowd would vanish just as suddenly as it had appeared. There was no improvisation, no grassroots energy. There was only a script and performers.

That is precisely why the current absence of protests stands out so starkly. It is not a social shift; it is a political one. The state has not allowed anger to spill onto the streets because, today, anger poses a threat rather than serving as a tool. The SCMP acts as an intermediary: a translator between Western public opinion and a narrative that can no longer be overtly propagandistic yet must remain loyal to the boundaries set by Beijing.

Why there are no protests is a question about authorities’ fear. A leadership that spent years wielding nationalism as a tool of pressure now increasingly understands that mass emotions cannot be “metered out” without risk. Hence the apparent contradiction between heated rhetoric and cool mood on the streets. The state has allowed anger to circulate within the tightly controlled channels of social media—spaces where algorithms and censors can quickly snuff out excessive sparks.

When weighed against facts, it looks less like an analysis and more like pre-emptive commentary—a proposed interpretation intended to fill an awkward gap. That gap is the question: why didn’t the Chinese take to the streets when Japan had just signalled its readiness for war? The most likely answer is simple. Today, the authorities fear the crowd more than at any time in the last. — INFA