Homeland in Your Pocket: The Voices Emerging from the Shadows

This article constitutes a fifth and final entry in the “Homeland in Your Pocket” CHOICE Long Reads series. 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. The series is now available in the form of a book on our website.

In this series, we examined 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 explored 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).

December 3, 2022, Berlin. The first snow of the winter has fallen.

At Alexanderplatz, young Chinese people begin gathering, mostly post-90s generation: students and recent arrivals, people who grew up with the internet and smartphones, and who have never known China without the constant surveillance.

They are there to march to the Chinese Embassy to protest zero-COVID policies. To stand in solidarity with demonstrations sweeping across China after the Urumqi fire killed at least 10 people in an apartment building whose exits were sealed as part of pandemic control measures.

But they are in Europe, not China and have choices unavailable to protesters in Shanghai or Beijing.

Some cover their faces with masks or wear sunglasses to keep their identities hidden. Others choose to show themselves openly – with their names and faces – accepting the consequences.

Both choices require courage and involve calculated risk. Neither of them is a wrong one.

This was the White Paper Movement arriving in Europe – the first mass political mobilization of young Chinese in European cities in a generation – and it revealed everything about how public expression works under transnational surveillance.

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What made Berlin’s protest remarkable was not just that it happened – though that was significant in itself too – but rather how it happened, and what the different approaches revealed about surveillance’s impact on political expression.

The march route was planned – from the Alexanderplatz to the Chinese Embassy along the Spree River. Protesters were holding blank sheets of paper, the same ones present during protest in China – a symbol of silent rebuke to censorship, where even holding nothing could be seen as an act of resistance.

But the Berlin participants made wildly different calculations about personal safety:

Many wore face covers or sunglasses – anything to obscure identification. “It is common for Chinese protesters, especially students, to wear masks and sunglasses to cover their faces,” an activist explains. “And this is, of course, because they are afraid that if they do not do this, they will never be able to get back to China.”

The fear is well-founded. They know the Chinese embassy staff might photograph attendees and the facial recognition technology could identify them. Then this information could flow back to authorities in China and consequences might follow – not just for them, but for their families in China as well.

But other protestors chose visibility. Some had already accepted they could not safely return to China. Others had asylum status or permanent European residence, or felt their moral obligation outweighed any personal risk.

“For us there was nothing to be afraid because we are not going back to China,” an asylum seeker notes, explaining why older generation activists could protest openly. They already paid the price of exile and had nothing left to lose by speaking publicly.

And then there were those who did not come at all. Maybe they wanted to or felt the pull of solidarity, but simply could not accept the risks.

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For those who want to express themselves on sensitive topics but cannot afford complete openness, sophisticated anonymity strategies emerge. These include using separate pseudonyms and social media accounts for writing and activism; using coded language and metaphors, thus pursuing an art of speaking in ways that insiders comprehend but outsiders might miss; and finally maintaining plausible deniability. If challenged, one may claim to have been merely discussing art, analyzing history, or asking theoretical questions – not about China specifically, but simply pondering more general points – which allows for a retreat into ambiguity when necessary.

These strategies enable expression while managing the risk. But they come with costs – limited authenticity, muted voices, and constant awareness of boundaries even in supposedly free European spaces.

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But such resistance is not just individual, and entire communities develop collective protection strategies. The “know your rights” workshops teaching Chinese students and migrants about their legal rights in European countries; sharing knowledge on security culture practices; supporting those already targeted and providing legal resources for those in need; and finally, not pressuring anyone beyond their capacity and willingness. All of it creates solidarity despite different individual choices.

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Because not all forms of resistance require explicit public protest. Works of art may process political experiences through metaphor; bookstores, media outlets, and cultural spaces create realms for uncensored discussions and help build bridges with European societies; the sheer transfer of knowledge and best practices regarding surveillance is also a form of not-so-visible resistance. And finally, the small acts of defiance like refusing to self-censor in private conversations or maintaining connection to banned books or films – because not everything needs to be a grand gesture.

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And this matters.

The surveillance has not succeeded in completely silencing the diaspora. It has shaped how its members express themselves, made them more cautious, and created enormous psychological burdens. But it has not succeeded in achieving total control.

European freedoms also matter. The ability to gather, speak out, and organize. These freedoms enable resistance that are impossible in China.

And this resistance serves crucial functions. Diaspora activists are the voice of those silenced in China, they can document what the Chinese authorities would otherwise hide, they can provide hope and test boundaries of what is permittable – a never-ending tightrope walk.

And they continue walking. Carefully, courageously, and knowing the dangers – yet refusing to be completely controlled.

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But this is all within the Chinese diaspora. What about their integration into European societies?

What does this integration even mean for people living under transnational digital authoritarianism? How do you “integrate” yourself into a European society when the Chinese state extends its reach into your European life? What does belonging look like when you are constantly navigating between worlds, when surveillance follows you across borders, when connection to origin is both sustenance and vulnerability?

The old integration models – assimilation or separation, becoming European or staying Chinese – do not quite capture the complexity, and a new model is emerging.

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The word “integration” itself is a contested terrain and may have various definitions. 

Traditional assimilation model says: you first learn the language, then adopt local customs, and then eventually become indistinguishable from native population. 

Multiculturalist model says: you maintain heritage while participating in the new society. It paves the way for the “hyphenated identities,” like “Chinese-European.” 

Then there is the perception of integration as practical participation: your cultural identity is secondary, what matters is whether you work, pay taxes, follow laws, and engage with civic institutions – in other words, whether you properly function economically and socially.

And finally, the perception of integration as emotional belonging: do you feel welcomed, at home, and as part of the community? Do institutions and fellow residents treat you as “theirs?”

Many Chinese people in Europe experience radical lack of connection between these definitions. They might score high on practical participation – are employed, pay taxes, abide the law – while feeling zero emotional belonging due to the persistent “othering.”

“I think that essentially my migration to the UK has nothing to do with my need to be British. I probably needed a more efficient travel document more, but I do not really identify with Britishness. I do not really care about that,” one interviewee admits.

It is a case of instrumental integration: acquiring documents for mobility rather than seeking identity transformation or emotional connection.

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Many interviewees describe how European systems themselves create integration barriers. These systems demand cultural integration while creating bureaucratic nightmares. “The whole immigration policy emphasizes that you have to learn the local language, and that is a barrier to immigrants integrating here… Because sometimes immigrants do not come here for cultural attraction, it may be more that they feel that the country can offer something that they want.”

The critique is that European countries are not traditional immigration nations like the US, Canada, or Australia. They demand cultural assimilation, language learning, and adoption of certain values, while providing limited practical pathways to achieving a stable status.

“For a modern immigrant, this definition itself is old-fashioned and outdated,” one interviewee notes. Modern migrants often move for opportunity, safety, career advancement, and not because they specifically yearn for German, French, or British identity.

But European systems judge integration by cultural markers rather than practical contributions.

They also present bureaucratic burdens: visa complications, residence permit renewals, and employment restrictions, which create constant precarity preventing genuine integration regardless of cultural adaptation.

“When I came back from Perugia last week, I did not have any stickers in my passport because the UK uses e-visa now. I had to wait for twenty minutes to get a boarding pass. At this point, I was a Chinese for sure,” one interviewee describes bureaucratic “othering” that persists despite years in Europe.

Another issue is language barriers: government information, support services, and legal resources are often available only in local languages. While language learning is important, the lack of linguistic accessibility during the learning period creates integration barriers.

There is also the feeling of invisibility in policy discussions: “I think what is specific to the Chinese community is that they need to realize we exist,” one interviewee says about the European policy discourse. “People’s impression of us might be that we work hard, and then we just naturally integrate, so no help is needed.”

It is a model minority stereotype: Chinese migrants are self-sufficient, naturally integrate, and need no assistance, which makes their actual needs invisible to policy makers.

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And then there is the surveillance dimension discussed previously. 

It creates integration complications European policy rarely acknowledges. For example, the previously discussed safety concerns, which limit possibility of participation; or vulnerability of your family in China, which prevents you from expressing yourself.

Integration that requires silence is not a genuine integration. So, how do you engage authentically when you are always being monitored or monitoring yourself?

European integration models do not account for the impact of transnational authoritarianism. They assume immigrants face typical adaptation challenges – language, culture, and bureaucracy – not state surveillance following them across borders.

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Even the second generation of Chinese immigrants – those born in Europe or arriving here as young children – face complications.

They grow up speaking European languages natively, navigate local institutions with ease, and often have little direct connection to China beyond family stories and occasional visits. Yet they are often still seen as predominantly Chinese. This racial/ethnic label persists regardless of cultural integration.

What is more, even with their minimal connections to China, they can still face surveillance if they engage with politically sensitive topics, participate in Chinese diaspora organizing, or maintain visible Chinese cultural identity.

The Chinese state views ethnicity as basis for claiming people – regardless of actual citizenship or cultural identity.

The second generation’s experiences suggest that integration is not a linear progression toward assimilation. It is a creation of new forms of belonging, transnational identities, and diaspora consciousness that European integration frameworks do not anticipate.

Their feeling of being connected to multiple places simultaneously – not choosing between China and Europe but maintaining meaningful ties to both while creating third space identities – is not a failure to integrate, but a new form of belonging suited to the era of globalization. Their ability to assess China and Europe critically is an asset, not a problem.

They bridge different worlds by navigating multiple contexts, speaking multiple languages, and understanding separate cultural frames. And when tensions rise, misunderstandings proliferate, and simplified narratives dominate, people with such nuanced understanding matter.

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Integration for Chinese people in Europe is therefore not a reached destination, but an ongoing process of negotiations.

The surveillance will not disappear. The Chinese state will continue reaching across borders, families at home will remain vulnerable, and the European systems will continue the “othering.” These challenges will persist.

But so will the resistance, community building, and strategic navigation. So will the courage to speak despite the risks and the determination to forge meaningful lives despite impossible circumstances.

The future Chinese communities in Europe are creating is not assimilation into Europe or preservation of China frozen in time. It is transnational, hybrid, and uniquely theirs.

And from these ongoing negotiations, new possibilities emerge – for the diaspora, for China, for Europe, and for understanding what human belonging means in an age where distance has collapsed but freedom remains unevenly distributed.

The journey continues.

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Conclusion: The Voices Emerging from the Shadows

Return for a moment to that 2022 December afternoon in Berlin. Snow is falling on the Alexanderplatz and young Chinese people are gathering to march to the embassy, carrying blank white papers, the same symbol protesters in Shanghai and Beijing held up against zero-COVID policies, censorship, and three years of suffocating control.

Some wore masks to hide their faces, while others showed themselves openly. Both groups took real risks, made difficult calculations, and acted with courage.

But what made this moment historically significant was not just the political expression, though it mattered as well. It was what the protest revealed about how far things had shifted.

Just a decade earlier, such a demonstration would have been nearly unthinkable. Chinese students and recent migrants in Europe largely avoided political visibility – preferred to focus on their studies and careers – and maintained careful distance from anything that might draw attention or consequences. The few political exiles who had fled after Tiananmen remained isolated and their activism was disconnected from newer arrivals.

But 2022 White Paper protests showed a new generation willing to claim their voice in European spaces – to exercise their democratic rights despite surveillance and build community despite Chinese state efforts to fragment it.

This transformation – from silence to selective but determined expression – threads through every chapter of this book.

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Throughout these chapters, we have also seen how people refuse simplistic categorizations.

Not pro-Beijing or anti-Beijing, but having a complex relationship with the Chinese state that varies by context and topic.

Not disconnected from China or controlled by China, but navigating connections while managing vulnerabilities they create.

Not assimilating into Europe or preserving Chinese culture frozen in time, but creating hybrid identities drawing from both.

Not silent victims or fearless activists, but strategic actors making careful calculations about when to speak, when to stay quiet, and how to resist while protecting themselves and others.

The binary thinking of “you are either with us or against us,” – either Chinese or European, either integrating or isolating – fails to capture this lived reality.

What Robert E. Park predicted in 1922 – that distance would inevitably weaken homeland ties, and immigrant communities would naturally assimilate – has been completely overturned by the digital age. Distance collapsed instead of growing and homeland connection intensified rather than faded.

But Park could not have anticipated that the collapsed distance would come with the surveillance attached. He could not have foreseen that every tool enabling connection would simultaneously enable control and that the Chinese state would extend authoritarian reach across borders, targeting diaspora populations thousands miles from Beijing.

This is genuinely a new situation. It is not just about migration in digital age, but also about migration under transnational digital authoritarianism.

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What European Societies Must Understand

Taking all this into account, there are several points that demand attention from Europe’s policy makers, civil society organizations, media, employers, and broader societies.

The Chinese state surveillance and intimidation of diaspora populations in Europe is a documented reality affecting thousands of people. This is not a domestic China issue, but a European security and human rights concern.

The assumption that Chinese migrants “naturally integrate” themselves without any assistance, makes them feel invisible and creates real harm. They face specific challenges: language barriers during transition, immigration policy obstacles, transnational surveillance pressures, and cultural space scarcity. These needs remain largely unaddressed because communities appear successful by conventional metrics while struggling in ways policymaking rarely recognizes.

There is no monolithic Chinese community. Restaurant owners from Fujian differ from tech workers, who differ from students, who differ from political asylum seekers – and the list goes on. They have different needs, integration patterns, and relationships to both China and Europe.

Expecting migrants to simply adopt European culture while providing limited practical pathways to achieving a stable status, creating bureaucratic obstacles, and treating them as perpetually foreign regardless of years spent in country – all this does not support a genuine integration. Recognizing that someone can live productively in European society while maintaining transnational connections needs to inform policymaking.

Independent bookstores, film festivals, community centers, and media outlets – these are not nice-to-have amenities, but instances of crucial infrastructure enabling healthy community formation, intellectual freedom, and cultural bridge-building.

And finally, many Chinese residents self-censor themselves because they fear political activism might jeopardize their immigration status. Clear messaging that political criticism of foreign governments, participation in protests, and engagement with sensitive topics are protected expressions that will not harm their European status is much needed and matters.

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So, given all these challenges discussed previously – what does hope look like?

It does not rely on naive optimism that everything will resolve neatly. Neither on pretending that surveillance and pressure will disappear, nor on expecting that European societies would suddenly understand the complex diaspora realities without continued effort.

Instead, it makes itself visible through sustained resistance; the determination to maintain voice and community despite obstacles; growing awareness of European institutions, media, and public; generational changes; the arrival of alternative integration models; and finally, individual acts of courage – just as the ones seen during the White Paper protest in Berlin.

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This book documents a moment in an ongoing story. Not its conclusion, but a chapter in its continuing evolution.

“I identify as an earthling. I want to be able to go wherever I want.”

This simple statement carries profound implications: a rejection of nation-state as the sole basis for identity, an aspiration for freedom of movement and belonging, and a refusal to be confined by the authoritarian control or nation-based categories.

Voices as this one are emerging from the shadows – claiming spaces between worlds, refusing silence despite surveillance, and building community despite fragmentation. These voices matter.

They matter for diaspora communities themselves, creating spaces to exist authentically; for European societies learning to understand the complexities within their own borders; for people in China seeing alternatives to state narratives and knowing the resistance continues; and for the global conversation about how human belonging might work in an increasingly interconnected world where people move across borders, maintain ties across distances, and navigate multiple contexts simultaneously.

The story continues. The navigation continues. The resistance continues.

And from these ongoing processes, new possibilities continue emerging – for diaspora, for democracy, and for human belonging in transnational age.