When journalists become informants, information becomes control. This is not a speculative assertion but an empirical reality in contemporary China, where the Communist Party of China has methodically dismantled the very architecture of independent journalism and replaced it with a sophisticated apparatus of surveillance, censorship, and narrative engineering. Under Xi Jinping’s consolidation of power since 2012, what remains of China’s media landscape bears no resemblance to journalism as traditionally understood; instead, it functions as an extension of state surveillance infrastructure designed to engineer consent rather than report truth.
The mechanics of CPC control over Chinese media work through interlocking systems of institutional penetration and ideological enforcement. Each newsroom in China is compelled to maintain a Communist Party cell, a requirement imposed by the Party Constitution when three or more CPC members are present. These cells form nodes of surveillance, where members are tasked with monitoring colleagues, reporting “illegal activities”, and working to ensure ideological adherence to the Central Committee. The primary function is not journalistic-it is disciplinary. Operating under constant observation by their peers turns newsrooms into panopticons for journalists, where self-censorship becomes the paramount editorial principle and informally sanctioned surveillance proves more effective than formal censorship.
This extends to rigorous mechanisms of story approval. The Central Propaganda Department, which shifted in 2014 to be within the CPC’s administrative apparatus, issues “daily directives” on which stories merit coverage, which need to be suppressed, and how specific narratives must be framed. Editors-in-chief of big outlets are compelled to attend weekly briefings at propaganda headquarters to get instructions that specify topics for emphasis or omission. These are communicated through formal orders and deliberately vague guidance in order to enforce self-censorship. Journalists intuitively know which stories attract administrative retribution, and it is this internalised discipline that proves more effective than overt censorship. It works through what scholars term “deliberately fuzzy” boundaries to ensure news workers self-censor to critical degrees without explicit orders being issued.
Integration with social-credit systems is the new frontier of the infrastructures of media control. China’s social-credit apparatus, though often mischaracterised in international discourse, does target journalists among other professions. Those who refuse to follow propaganda instructions are blacklisted through credit-scoring mechanisms that limit access to financial services, mobility, and professional prospects. This integration transforms individual journalistic choices into matters of state security and personal economic survival, amplifying compliance through mechanisms that extend far beyond workplace discipline.
The connection of local media with police apparatus for “stability maintenance” further illustrates how journalism has been weaponised into a surveillance mechanism. Local governments systematically recruit informants intending to suppress dissent and monitor potential “unrest”. Police stations have quota systems that require the recruitment of multiple informants every year; compensation will depend on the quality of the information provided. Journalists, with their placement in the information flows of society and relations with a variety of sources, become quite valuable as informants. The boundary between journalism and police work collapses entirely when survival requires dual allegiance to both the Party and the state security apparatus.
The trajectory becomes visible through examining flagship outlets. China Daily, formally managed by the State Council Information Office (absorbed into the Central Propaganda Department), exemplifies this model perfectly. The publication functions almost like a public relations firm rather than a news organisation. Most of the foreign staff’s role is to tweak propaganda enough that it reads as English, without inadvertently triggering war. The editorial board operates under explicit instruction that the outlet is one of our most important tools in carrying out external propaganda. The Global Times, despite occasional displays of editorial ambition, similarly operates under Central Propaganda Department guidance. Shanghai Daily’s content likewise reflects mandated propaganda priorities rather than editorial judgment.
This transformation accelerated dramatically upon Xi Jinping’s assumption of authority. During his 2016 visit to Xinhua, People’s Daily, and CCTV, the latter displayed a banner that stated “CCTV’s surname is ‘The Party’“. Xi then elaborated explicitly that “All news media run by the Party must work to speak for the Party’s will and its propositions and protect the Party’s authority and unity”. This did not constitute a policy innovation so much as an explication of reality. Under Xi, propaganda has proliferated and homogeneity in newspapers has increased from around 6.11 per cent in 2012–2013 to approximately 7.82 per cent by 2021–2022, spiking with especial intensity around politically sensitive periods. It is now common for government-authored propaganda to dominate front pages.
This is in contrast with the Indian constitutional framework, which categorically provides protection to press freedom through Article 19(1)(a) of the Constitution. Indian journalism, notwithstanding challenging trends such as ownership concentration and political pressure, functions within a system that guarantees pluralism and accountability. The Indian courts have construed Article 19 to incorporate freedom of circulation, freedom to criticise government policy, and freedom to access information. Press regulation in India still remains subject to oversight by the judiciary, while the Press Council of India and the News Broadcasting Standards Authority are two self-regulatory bodies that work without executive interference. Editorial diversity remains constitutionally protected; many different outlets with often competing narratives exist, and investigative journalism contesting governmental authority continues, but with increasing pressure.
The contrast between these models illuminates China’s trajectory starkly. Chinese journalism has not just become propaganda; it has become surveillance infrastructure itself. When journalists become informants and information becomes a tool for control rather than enlightenment, the very concept of journalism dissolves into the machinery of authoritarianism. Information no longer flows to citizens for democratic deliberation; it flows upward to the party-state apparatus for surveillance and control. The CPC has not corrupted journalism; it has replaced it with something far more sinister: systematic, technologically augmented, ideologically disciplined information control masquerading as news.