China is once again at the center of international attention, but this time the headlines are not just about economic growth or technological prowess. In a stunning turn of events, the Chinese government has launched a sweeping purge of its military leadership, while prominent dissident voices like Ai Weiwei are raising the alarm about the shrinking space for free expression—both within China and abroad.
On January 24, 2026, Beijing announced the investigation of Zhang Youxia, China’s highest-ranking general and a member of the powerful Politburo, for “suspected serious violations of discipline and law”—the familiar euphemism for corruption, according to The Indian Express. Zhang, at 75, was no ordinary official: he was a close ally of President Xi Jinping, both men being so-called “princelings” whose fathers helped build the Chinese Communist Party. Their relationship stretched back to childhood, making Zhang’s sudden fall all the more shocking.
But Zhang was not the only casualty. Another top general, Liu Zhenli, is also under investigation, and both are set to be removed from the Central Military Commission (CMC), the body that commands China’s two-million-strong People’s Liberation Army (PLA). With three other members already expelled, this could leave only Xi Jinping himself and his anti-corruption chief on the CMC—a dramatic centralization of military power not seen since the days of Mao Zedong.
Why such drastic measures? As reported by Nikkei Asia, the answer seems to lie in the “scandalous defects” uncovered in the PLA. Despite Xi’s massive investments aimed at creating a world-class military—one capable of “fighting and winning wars,” particularly with an eye toward Taiwan—the army has been plagued by corruption and technical failures. The Wall Street Journal described incidents where missile tanks were found filled with water instead of fuel, and silo lids failed to open, raising doubts about the reliability of China’s much-touted Rocket Force. Xi’s fear, as some analysts put it, is that his arsenal could prove to be “nothing more than expensive fireworks.”
This anti-corruption campaign is hardly new. Since 2012, Xi has overseen investigations into millions of officials, but the current purge is unprecedented in scale and rank. According to The Taipei Times, at least 50 senior officials in the military and defense industry have come under scrutiny since mid-2023. Even more striking, one-fifth of all senior generals promoted by Xi himself have now been fired or accused of wrongdoing. The message is clear: no one, not even a princeling or Politburo member, is safe.
The consequences for China’s military readiness are profound. The removal of combat-experienced generals like Zhang—who fought in the 1979 Sino-Vietnamese War—has left the PLA’s upper ranks short of real battlefield experience. This, some analysts argue, could weaken China’s ability to launch military aggression against Taiwan in the near term. However, as Bloomberg notes, Xi is likely to fill the vacuum with loyalists who are less inclined to question his authority and more willing to report only what he wants to hear. “These arrests are political, first and foremost,” Deng Yuwen told Foreign Policy. “Anti-corruption is just a cloak in which the politics are wrapped,” as Xi consolidates even more power at the top.
The chilling effect of this campaign is palpable. Bureaucrats, once confident in their positions, now find themselves “frozen with fear,” reluctant to approve decisions or propose reforms. The system, as some observers put it, is “eating itself”—a machine so consumed by its own purges that it risks grinding to a halt.
Against this backdrop of internal upheaval, the question of free expression in China—and beyond—has never felt more urgent. Ai Weiwei, the renowned 68-year-old dissident artist, has spent a lifetime confronting censorship. His works, often critical of Beijing’s human rights record, have been banned, his exhibitions canceled, and his very name erased from Chinese digital spaces. Yet, as Ai told Reuters in London on January 29, 2026, the problem is no longer uniquely Chinese.
“In China, censorship relates to red lines. You cannot cross some red lines. It’s about state policy and discussions about state power,” Ai explained, describing how topics like minority or religious issues are strictly off-limits. The consequences for crossing these lines can be severe. But in the West, Ai now sees a different but equally worrying trend: censorship imposed not just by governments, but by companies, schools, and cultural institutions. “You also see censorship everywhere—not necessarily just from the state but from companies, from institutions, from schools or museums.”
Ai’s new book, “On Censorship,” delves into these global challenges, especially the role of technology and artificial intelligence in eroding privacy. “The right not to be watched no longer exists,” he warned, likening modern surveillance to a game of poker where “the other side knows what you are hiding in your hands, so how can you play the game?” The loss of privacy, he argues, is a loss of humanity: “We are just numbers.”
Recent diplomatic engagements underscore China’s growing influence. British Prime Minister Keir Starmer visited Beijing on January 29, seeking to reset relations amid ongoing tensions over Hong Kong, espionage, and cyberattacks. Ai Weiwei viewed the visit as pragmatic and rational, reflecting Europe’s recognition of China’s rising power. “It’s not just about business interests; it’s very rational and practical to see China as a state of its potential,” he commented. Surprisingly, Ai no longer expects Western leaders to publicly denounce China’s human rights record. “Today I changed my mind completely. I will say the West is not even in the position to accuse China. They must check on their record, what they did on international human rights, freedom of speech.”
Ai’s recent return to China—the first in a decade—was tinged with mixed emotions. “It’s a very strange feeling because you’re going back somewhere you’re so familiar with, but at the same time it’s so different now because China has become a very powerful state in the international setting,” he reflected. Despite being questioned at length at Beijing airport, his stay was largely trouble-free. He attributes the authorities’ courteous treatment not to newfound acceptance of his work, but to familiarity: “I just have ideological differences, and I argue about social justice, human rights, freedom of speech, so somehow they understand me. That’s what I hope.”
Despite the risks, Ai remains steadfast in his commitment to challenging authority. “It’s obviously getting harder if you want to touch on those so-called sensitive issues, and it’s a test and a challenge to your integrity,” he acknowledged. He offers no easy encouragement to younger artists, warning that the cost of speaking out can be high. “If I fight so relentlessly, the only hope is that the next generation does not have to do the same things I do.” Yet, he still sees hope: “If people act to protect their own consciousness and to protect very essential rights, I think that is the only possibility for us to remain as individuals that can be associated with humanity.”
As China’s leadership tightens its grip and the global conversation on censorship intensifies, the stakes for freedom—of expression, of thought, and of action—have rarely been higher. The world is watching, but as Ai Weiwei suggests, the real challenge is to act before we all become just numbers.