Homeland in Your Pocket: The Long Arm of the State and The Information Strategies in the Age of Control

This article constitutes a third entry in our new section, CHOICE Long Reads. The section is dedicated to insights from longer-term research and slow-burning developments that shape Europeans’ lives in ways that are not always immediately visible. These pieces offer a more in-depth reading than our shorter, news-driven analysis. They are narrative-led and written in a storytelling style, with space for nuance and deeper reflection.

In this three-part series, we examine the lived experiences of Chinese diaspora communities in Europe through the lens of digital connectivity and transnational surveillance. Drawing on 19 interviews with Chinese nationals living across Europe, the series explores how digital technology has fundamentally transformed the immigrant experience – collapsing physical distance while simultaneously extending authoritarian control across borders. This work is a part of the Horizon Europe–funded RESONANT project (No. 101132439).

A journalist in the Netherlands received the first call on her Dutch phone number in 2023.

She was careful. She had left China years before and has built a new life in Europe. Yes, she has been working for an independent Chinese-language media, but she has not been doing anything illegal. She was in Europe, had a Dutch residence permit, and thought distance from China provided protection.

The voice on the other end was polite – friendly even – and was just checking in. How is she doing? What is she working on these days? When is she planning to come back for a visit? Just a friendly call from the motherland.

But she knew what it meant.

“Even with my Dutch number, I get messages and calls from Chinese authorities,” she explains. “I am not completely sure about the intentions, but, of course, it injects a degree of fear into our community. The message is: no matter where you are, we are watching and we can get in touch with you.”

Geographical distance therefore means nothing, and European borders do not provide sanctuary. The Chinese state’s reach extends far beyond China’s territory, operating through digital infrastructure, family connections, and a sophisticated system of transnational surveillance that does not make leaving China a guarantee of freedom.

This is the dark side of constant presence. Same platforms that collapse distance and keep people connected to their homeland also extend authoritarian control across continents. The two functions are inseparable.

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The surveillance infrastructure operates on multiple levels simultaneously: from sophisticated technical systems to crude but effective social pressure.

At the technical level, Chinese platforms are designed to monitor. WeChat’s real-name registration requirement means that every account is tied to a Chinese ID card or phone number. Every message, group chat, or payment flows through servers subject to Chinese government access. Content moderation happens in real-time, through keyword filtering algorithms and human reviewers. Sensitive topics trigger automatic censorship – posts disappear, accounts get suspended, sometimes without explanation.

The censorship is not always obvious. Sometimes your post simply does not appear in others’ feeds. Another time it is visible to friends but not searchable. The uncertainty itself is part of the control mechanism – you never know what triggers the deletion or what keywords to avoid.

One interviewee notes: “WeChat is being checked at all times. I read about people chatting about sensitive topics, whose messages were deleted or they got visited by people from the government.”

This is not paranoia, but a documented reality. The Chinese government does not hide that it monitors these platforms. It is an official policy, codified in law, and openly acknowledged. What varies is the enforcement – who gets targeted, when, and how severely.

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The technical surveillance is only the beginning. The real “genius” of transnational authoritarian control lies in leveraging social ties – particularly family connections – to extend its reach beyond what digital monitoring alone can achieve.

A researcher based in Europe describes her strategic thinking: “As a researcher, I try not to use my name in my reports.” Why? Because even though she lives in Europe, her family remains in China. And the Chinese state knows this.

The mechanism is simple and brutally effective: “The police or security agents come to your family and say ‘your child is involved in some illegal or anti-China activity in a third country. Talk to them.’ And the family puts pressure.”

It really is that simple. What parent wants police showing up at their doorstep? What elderly mother or father can withstand pressure from security officials asking questions about their child abroad? The shame of it in the Chinese context, the fear, and the social stigma – it is all overwhelming.

The pressure from the state does not rely on explicit violence. Often, it is much subtler. A concerned inquiry: “Your child posted something worrying online. We are just checking if everything is okay.” A helpful suggestion: “Maybe you should talk to them, make sure they are not getting involved with the wrong people.” A veiled warning: “We would hate for this to affect their ability to return home for visits.”

But sometimes, it is more direct. One activist, whose case cannot be detailed without risking identification, described family members in China being questioned, threatened, and facing consequences at work – all because of social media posts made from Europe.

The psychological impact of living under this kind of surveillance cannot be overstated.

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The surveillance creates a pervasive culture of self-censorship that extends far beyond those who are directly targeted.

It also creates an internal conflict – between wanting to speak freely and needing to protect family, or between claiming your voice and avoiding consequences. The psychological tension is omnipresent: every post, every comment, and every share is calculated, weighed, and becomes a risk assessment exercise.

The self-censorship becomes habitual, automatic, and internalized. You stop considering particular topics. You automatically avoid certain phrases. And you develop an internal filter that screens everything before it is expressed.

This is the “brilliance” of the system: it does not need to actively monitor everyone at all times. Instead, the sheer awareness of the fact that monitoring is possible, that consequences are real, that family members are vulnerable, is enough to make most people self-monitor.

The chilling effects of this kind of surveillance extend beyond individual and create profound distrust within diaspora communities. When anyone could potentially report back to authorities and genuine community members might face pressure to provide information – trust becomes nearly impossible.

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The journalist in the Netherlands who received that first call on her Dutch number knows all this. She knows the mechanisms and risks. She continues with her work anyway, but not without cost.

“I think that may be one of the impacts,” she reflects, and continues by explaining how difficult it is to voice her own opinions, and feel that she is in the minority, without knowing all of it for sure. “There might be more people who think like us. It is just that we cannot find each other.”

The surveillance succeeds when it isolates. When people who might support one another do not know about each other’s existence. When dissent appears rare because dissidents stay hidden and when fear spreads faster than solidarity.

But the surveillance does not always succeed in silencing. Later on, we will explore how people resist and develop sophisticated strategies for navigating these pressures, and how communities form despite the obstacles.

For now, however, we must sit with the darkness of it. The Chinese state has succeeded in extending authoritarian control far beyond its borders. This is the reality Chinese people in Europe must navigate: homeland is constantly present, and so is its control.

Welcome to transnational digital authoritarianism and welcome to the age of surveillance without borders.

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You might wonder: how do people actually live like this?

They develop strategies. Sophisticated, nuanced, constantly evolving strategies for navigating between worlds, managing risk, and carving out spaces of relative freedom within systems of control.

These are not just coping mechanisms, but forms of resistance, acts of agency, and creative adaptations to impossible circumstances. Exploration of these strategies does not reveal passive victims but active navigators – people making difficult choices fully aware of the trade-offs.

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The first and most fundamental choice is which platforms to use – and how.

This is not a simple decision, but a complex calculation involving family connections, practical needs, security concerns, cultural preferences, and integration goals. Different people resolve this dilemma in different ways, creating distinct patterns of platform usage that reflect their individual circumstances, risk tolerance, and priorities.

The Disconnected

Some people make the cleanest break possible and cut ties with Chinese platforms all together.

The logic here is simple: if a platform operates under Chinese jurisdiction, it is compromised. Better to use platforms beyond Chinese government reach – YouTube for videos, Signal or Telegram for messaging, Twitter for social media, Western news sites for information.

For some, this choice comes from direct experience of harassment and threats. For others, it is a precautionary measure: cutting off vulnerability before it can be exploited. And for a few, it is more philosophical and symbolizes a rejection of participation in systems designed to control.

But this strategy comes with real costs.

First, family communication problem. If your family only uses WeChat, going off the grid means cutting yourself off from them. Or forcing elderly family members to learn new technologies, which may be difficult or impossible.

Second, the practical information gap. As discussed in the previous entry, Chinese platforms carry essential information about living in Europe. Disconnecting means losing access to this practical support network. You have to rely on European-language sources even for information about Chinese communities, which is often not available or harder to find.

Third, the cultural isolation. Chinese cultural content, discussions, intellectual communities – much of this happens on Chinese platforms. Cutting yourself off means losing connection to contemporary Chinese culture, missing conversations about books, films and ideas, and being unable to participate in the cultural life you grew up with.

The strategy of disconnecting therefore works best for people who already have a secure European status, have already built strong local networks, and can speak European languages. For others, the costs are simply too high. The cure – total disconnection – feels worse than the disease.

The Careful

Most people cannot or will not completely disconnect. Instead, they develop what might be called “careful usage” strategies – maintaining presence on Chinese platforms but with extreme caution and meticulous self-censorship.

“I am politically cautious,” one interviewee explains. “My parents are very traditional communist members, and the information they receive is all through domestic channels. Sometimes I would want to disagree with that, especially because my mom likes to read the Reference News, but I will not.”

The Careful maintain WeChat accounts, participate in family group chats, follow Chinese news, engage with Chinese cultural content – but they are constantly aware of surveillance and adjust their behavior accordingly.

They never discuss politics. They stick to safe topics, like weather. They use multiple account and pseudonyms, and compartmentalize the use of social platforms. They frequently self-censor and avoid sensitive topics like Xinjiang, Tibet, or Taiwan.

The Careful strategy allows people to maintain important connections while managing risk. They can talk to family, access practical information, participate in cultural spaces – just within carefully managed boundaries.

The Hybrid

Many people develop more sophisticated approaches, using different platforms for fundamentally different purposes and maintaining separate digital lives across different ecosystems.

The core principle: compartmentalization. Chinese platforms for family, culture, and local practical information. European/international platforms for politics, sensitive topics, and intellectual engagement outside Chinese state control.

The hybrid approach recognizes that different platforms serve different functions, and that complete disconnection is not necessary or desirable. You can maintain valuable aspects of Chinese platform usage while creating separate spaces for content that would be risky to engage with on monitored platforms.

But it requires constant management. Remembering which topics can be discussed where, making sure you are logged into the right account before posting, maintaining mental separation between your different digital selves. Such compartmentalization can feel exhausting.

The Defiant

And then there are those who refuse to be silenced, who continue speaking out despite knowing the risks, and who have made peace with consequences.

“I asked myself, what was I afraid of?” one media professional reflects after turning down a job due to surveillance concerns. “Yes, I know I am afraid of the future. But what kind of future? I moved out from China more than 15 years at that time. And I work in media. Where did this fear come from? If next time this kind of opportunity comes, maybe I will just do what I want to do. I should throw this kind of fear away.”

The Defiant have accepted that speaking out means accepting consequences. They know that their families might face pressure, that they might not be able to return to China safely, and that Chinese authorities monitor their activities. But they proceed anyway.

Their strategies often include being fully aware of the risk and building lives that do not depend on China access, as well as undertaking various protective measures (VPNs, encrypted messaging), and accepting that family relations will be strained while continuing to produce content for audiences in China.

This path requires having a secure status in Europe, a career or financial situation that does not depend on China, emotional resilience to handle the pressure, and finally a sense of moral purpose strong enough to justify the costs.

Not many people can or will choose this road. But those who do play a crucial role – they represent voices that would otherwise be silenced, create content that audiences in China desperately need, and demonstrate that not everyone submits to surveillance and control.

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Underlying all these strategies is the previously discussed dilemma: the same platforms that help you integrate into European life also expose you to Chinese state surveillance.

For the Disconnected, this means navigating European bureaucracy without the peer support network that Chinese platforms provide.

For the Careful and Hybrid, it means accepting a permanent state of partial surveillance in exchange for practical benefits.

The Defiant often sacrifice these integration benefits entirely, choosing principle over convenience, and safety over support.

There is no good solution. This is simply the reality of transnational digital authoritarianism.

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Yet despite all the surveillance, self-censorship, and exhaustion – people persist. They find ways to stay informed, build communities, maintain connections, express themselves within constraints, and resist in whatever ways they can.

The Chinese state has extended its reach and control within Europe. But it has not succeeded in completely silencing, controlling, and breaking connections between Chinese people abroad and their cultural and family roots.

The navigation continues and strategies evolve. People learn from each other, share information (albeit carefully), and develop sophisticated approaches. The cat-and-mouse game between control and resistance continues.

And from these individual navigation strategies, something larger emerges: communities, culture, resistance. Despite everything that has been designed to prevent it.