For a few rare weeks, thousands of ethnic Chinese from mainland China, Hong Kong, Taiwan, and around the world spoke to each other about some of the most sensitive topics of the day: Uighur concentration camps in Xinjiang, gender equality in Chinese tech firms, loved ones lost from the deadly coronavirus in Wuhan, and Taiwanese fears of an invasion by the People’s Liberation Army. They were talking directly, hearing voices, gauging emotions, through Clubhouse, an invitation-only social media app.

Those weeks of real-time conversations revealed a rebel truth to a regime that has used increasingly sophisticated censorship and propaganda to promote a broad narrative of China triumphalism. As more voices joined in the free-wheeling platform — and I was among those who listened and even spoke a few times — their exchanges signaled that the regime did not represent, or even understand, the psyche of many people in China or its diaspora. 

Some participants tried to defend the regime or to distract the conversation, but many more responded with sorrow, fear, sarcasm and even robust criticism of China’s development. Unable to control the conversations, the regime blocked access to Clubhouse this week. Only mainlanders with VPNs are likely to find a way back to the app that is estimated to have attracted hundreds of thousands of users. 

People found an unprecedented opportunity to cross borders and discuss issues previously forbidden by Beijing or impossible to share with Chinese elsewhere. Their exchanges were gripping and surprising, civil and sad. 

Clubhouse, based in Silicon Valley, began to invite a small number of users in mid-2020 who in turn could invite a small number of their friends to join. Users who want to discuss a particular topic only need to label a “room” with a topic and open it for participation by everyone who has downloaded Clubhouse. For most people outside China, other apps already allow users with similar interests to converse through text or by voice or video. But China’s ban of most foreign social media apps on the mainland has led to the relatively independent growth of two internet ecosystems, one based there and the other in the rest of the world. 

This has led, for more than a decade, to a mutual isolation online between Chinese living in mainland China and those outside. Toward the end of 2020, an increasing number of mainland users discovered that they could join Clubhouse and converse with the Chinese diaspora around the world. People found an unprecedented opportunity to cross borders and discuss issues previously forbidden by Beijing or impossible to share with Chinese elsewhere. Their exchanges were gripping and surprising, civil and sad. 

Uighurs shared their stories of pain and fear with their Han compatriots. Han Chinese shared stories of their mental distress and sense of injustice from suddenly losing touch with Uighur friends and neighbors. Ethnic Mongols explained how they could not study their own language. Women spoke of being discriminated in work places, especially in China’s fledging tech industry — and some shared how they had circumvented such discrimination, often at great costs. Young Chinese voiced their annoyance, even anger with the extensive censorship and intimidation they face online and offline. Injustices that the government has tried to silence with censorship were dissected and explained to some listeners who had little grasp of the realities or restrictions inside China.

Although only a sliver of Internet users in mainland China joined the Clubhouse conversations, even these mainly elite and transnational users discussed issues considered taboo or irrelevant by the government. The short-lived success of Clubhouse speaks volumes about the inadequacies of existing Chinese platforms such as Weibo and Wechat as venues for sharing real problems or stubborn grievances.

And let’s consider whose voices were heard in the last few weeks. The official narratives of “positive energy” trumpeted in most mainland platforms reflect the experiences of Han, male, primarily urban, well-to-do, and educated Chinese. Most Chinese are not in that group. 

Women and male ethnic minorities together make up more than 50 percent of China’s population. Add in migrant workers, who face systemic discrimination, and perhaps even Han males with unorthodox political or social views or who are sensitive or sympathetic to minority views. Their voices are almost never heard in the official media. Clubhouse gave them a way to engage, and importantly, to have unfettered discussion among all sorts of people.

In the better-run chat rooms, moderators allowed pro-government speakers equal time. Noticeably, when given equal voice, those who disagreed with government claims soon presented logical or empirical flaws and exploded pro-government arguments. Thousands of people directly heard their remarks. That is not what typically transpires in any large WeChat group, where actual censorship or self-censorship soon turns any conversation on controversial topics toward a pro-government stance. 

No one is sure how or why Clubhouse was allowed to grow. Perhaps the government reckoned that the conversations would soon divert to more innocuous obsessions such as movie stars, fashion, jobs, and real estate. Yet, on Feb. 8, 5,000 users, the maximum allowed in the app, crowded into a room to remember the Tiananmen Square protests of 1989. There was another Chinese language room open — ripe with the sounds of love making. It attracted 1,000 users. That day, the desire for historical truth outdid some heavy breathing. The 5,000 or more people discussing Tiananmen did not want or respond to base distractions — and that was the last day that mainland users could download Clubhouse as the government blocked the app. 

But it will be hard to close down the memory of Clubhouse or douse the energy behind those who wanted more. The conversations were stirring and perhaps more thoughtful than anyone could have imagined. What was said there is being repeated in untold numbers of WeChat groups. And to be sure, the younger generation in China will reach out to friends overseas to find ways around the firewall, or they will download and use the app as soon as they have an opportunity to travel overseas. 

Chinese leaders, members of the most elite of clubs, should have seen Clubhouse for what it was. An opening. A way for people to share grievances. A way for a nation to listen, reflect and even change.

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