Chinese mathematicians Wang Hong and Deng Yu were awarded the Fields Medal, known as the “Nobel Prize of Mathematics,” in July, sparking widespread discussion in China and around the world about the rise of Chinese mathematics in the 20th century. Wang Hong solved the famous three-dimensional Kakeya conjecture, while Deng Yu tackled the sixth of Hilbert’s 23 problems, proposed at the International Congress of Mathematicians in 1900, and achieved significant results.

I studied mathematics at university, as well as the history of mathematical development, and have also worked in mathematics education and training. Naturally, I am pleased to see Chinese mathematicians receiving international recognition. Through this feature, I hope to look back with readers at the arduous path taken by Chinese mathematical research over the past century. I believe this was not a smooth, linear path of upward development, but rather one marked by ruptures, the passing of the baton overseas, and subsequent new beginnings.

Many early mathematicians received their training outside China before returning to China to work hard to establish the foundations of mathematical research, only to suffer devastating setbacks during the Cultural Revolution. We then saw Chinese mathematicians who had settled overseas demonstrate the mathematical talent of the Chinese diaspora and advance mathematical research around the world. In the contemporary era, China has gradually developed a selection culture centred on mathematics competitions, against which a new generation of mathematicians has emerged.

The following section traces this generational journey through several representative figures. I offer this as a tribute to Wang Hong and Deng Yu, and to the Chinese people who have worked hard in mathematical research around the world for more than a century.

I. Pioneering and Interruption: From Xiong Qinglai, Hua Luogeng and Chen Shengshen to Chen Jingrun

The true beginning of modern mathematics in China cannot be separated from a group of early pioneers. They established departments, identified talent, developed academic traditions, and struggled to keep the flame of research alive during difficult times.

Xiong Qinglai (1893–1969) was known as the “Bole of the Chinese mathematical community.” He founded the Department of Mathematics and a research division at Tsinghua University and personally compiled Chinese-language textbooks. More importantly, he had a keen eye for talent. In 1930, after seeing a paper written through self-study by Hua Luogeng in the journal Science, he overcame opposition and brought Hua Luogeng, who had only a junior middle school education, to Tsinghua University as an assistant. This gave him the opportunity to sit in on mathematics classes and develop rapidly. Xiong later recommended him to study at Cambridge. Without this exceptional support, Hua Luogeng’s life trajectory might have been completely different.

Hua Luogeng (1910–1985) embarked on his mathematical career under Xiong Qinglai’s support. Born into a poor family in Jintan, he became a self-taught mathematician. In 1936, on the recommendation of Norbert Wiener during his study visit, Hua Luogeng went to Cambridge to study number theory under the mathematician Hardy, publishing 15 world-class papers within a year. Hua Luogeng later became a professor at the University of Illinois. In 1950, he gave up the favourable conditions he enjoyed in the United States and returned to China, becoming director of the Institute of Mathematics at the Chinese Academy of Sciences. He worked hard to establish China’s own mathematical research capacity and trained young talents, including Chen Jingrun.

During the Cultural Revolution, Hua Luogeng, like many other scientists, came under attack. Afterwards, he shifted significantly towards applied mathematics, actively promoting the “Optimization Method” and “Overall Planning Method.” He led small teams across more than 20 provinces and cities throughout the country, going deep into factories, rural areas and construction sites, applying mathematical methods directly to production practices and serving national economic development. This experience led him from pure theoretical research towards more practical applications and promotion, and became one of the best-known aspects of his later work.

At the same time, Hua Luogeng placed great importance on mathematics competitions from an early stage. After studying the Soviet mathematics Olympiad in the 1950s, he actively advocated for the organisation of mathematics competitions for secondary school students in China. In 1956, pilot competitions began in Beijing, Shanghai and other places. After the end of the Cultural Revolution, in 1978, he personally presided over the national secondary school mathematics competition involving eight provinces and cities, and wrote several popular mathematics booklets for young people. He hoped to stimulate interest and discover talent through competitions. These early efforts planted the seeds for the later Chinese tradition of selecting mathematical talent through competitions, although the highly competitive culture of competitions beginning in primary and secondary schools today only gradually took shape and became extreme after his death.

Chen Shengshen (1911–2004) completed his undergraduate education and early research training entirely in China. He studied at Nankai University (1926–1930) and Tsinghua University, completing his master’s degree at Tsinghua and beginning preliminary research in differential geometry. It was not until 1934 that he went to the University of Hamburg in Germany to pursue his doctorate. It was precisely this foundation established in China that enabled him to quickly emerge on the international stage. After completing his doctorate in Germany, he was invited to the Institute for Advanced Study in Princeton in 1943, where he completed important work. He later taught for many years at the University of Chicago and the University of California, Berkeley, and founded the Mathematical Sciences Research Institute in the United States in 1981. Although he became an American citizen, he remained deeply concerned about mathematics in China. After his first visit to China in 1972, he travelled back and forth frequently. In 1984, he was invited to establish the Institute of Mathematics at Nankai University, helping China reconnect with the international mathematical community. He often said, “Mathematics has no borders, but mathematicians have a motherland.” Chen Shengshen and Hua Luogeng were both leading figures in Chinese mathematics in the 1930s and 1940s. They met at Tsinghua, worked together at Southwest Associated University, and maintained a lifelong friendship.

Chen Jingrun (1933–1996) was a direct continuation of this line of inheritance during difficult times. After being recognised by Hua Luogeng, he was transferred to the Institute of Mathematics of the Chinese Academy of Sciences. Under extremely basic conditions, he made important progress on the Goldbach conjecture and became a symbolic figure of Chinese mathematics during that era.

However, precisely because of his excessive devotion to mathematics, he suffered greatly during political movements. During the Cultural Revolution, Chen Jingrun was criticised as a typical example of someone who “took the path of focusing on expertise while neglecting political ideology,” and was subjected to struggle sessions and isolation. He lived in a room of only about six square metres at the Chinese Academy of Sciences. Without a desk, he would lie on the bed and perform calculations. Despite being physically weak and suffering from multiple illnesses, he endured criticism during the day and secretly conducted research at night. On one occasion, he was so absorbed in a mathematical problem that he forgot the time of a meeting, resulting in harsher criticism.

This experience of being persecuted “because of his love of mathematics” was not an isolated case. During multiple political movements after the founding of the People’s Republic of China, many scientists devoted to academic pursuits were regarded as being “specialised but not politically committed.” Their research was forced to stop and their careers were damaged. The obvious decline and rupture in China’s domestic mathematical development during that period were closely connected to this environment.

This pioneering period suffered a devastating setback during the Cultural Revolution. Many mathematicians, including Hua Luogeng and Chen Jingrun, were attacked and persecuted, while normal research and teaching almost came to a halt. The development of mathematics in mainland China experienced a clear rupture during this period. The first stage of pioneering efforts came to an end.

II. Passing the Baton Overseas: Yau Shing-Tung and Terence Tao

When mathematics in China fell into a low period, Chinese mathematicians who had settled overseas became important successors in carrying the baton.

The trajectory of Yau Shing-Tung (1949–) is almost a complete illustration of “reaching the peak overseas while continuing to give back to China.” He grew up in Hong Kong and later went to the United States for further study, where he studied under Chen Shengshen. He taught at Harvard University for many years and achieved great accomplishments in the international mathematical community. But he never limited himself to the American academic community. Since his first visit to China in 1979, he has spent time in China and Hong Kong almost every year for more than four decades, promoting mathematics education and research, participating in the establishment of multiple mathematics centres, setting up awards and competitions, and helping to cultivate young people. In 2022, he retired from Harvard and returned full-time to Tsinghua University, focusing most of his efforts on cultivating mathematical talent in China. His choice symbolised the completion of a cycle for a generation of overseas Chinese mathematicians: “departure—reaching the peak—return.”

Terence Tao (1975–), meanwhile, represents another form of contribution. Born in Australia and with ancestral roots in Guangdong, he demonstrated extraordinary talent from an early age and became well known in the international mathematical community at a very young age. Unlike Yau Shing-Tung, whose focus was on institutional development, Terence Tao has contributed more through writing, lectures, blogs and public activities, promoting mathematical ways of thinking and research culture around the world. He has allowed many ordinary people to experience the appeal of mathematics and has also become an important role model for the younger generation.

Together, the two demonstrate the role of Chinese-diaspora mathematicians in carrying the baton after the Cultural Revolution: one became deeply involved in rebuilding mathematics within China, while the other enhanced the visibility and appeal of mathematics on a global scale.

III. Contemporary Faces Under Competition-Based Selection: Wei Dongyi, Liu Zhiyu, Wang Hong and Deng Yu

Entering the 21st century, China gradually developed a selection culture centred on mathematics competitions. Gold medals at the International Mathematical Olympiad and results in national competitions became important tickets to entering top universities. Wei Dongyi, Liu Zhiyu, Wang Hong and Deng Yu are all representatives who grew up in this environment, yet they have taken completely different paths.

Wei Dongyi (1991–) won full-score gold medals at the IMO twice. After being admitted to Peking University through direct recommendation, he chose to remain in China and is now a teacher at Peking University. Quiet and focused, he devotes almost all his energy to mathematics. Although prestigious overseas universities once extended offers to him, he chose to stay. His path is one of “putting down roots locally,” participating in the internal development of Chinese mathematics through long-term, stable research and teaching.

Liu Zhiyu (1988–) was also an IMO full-score gold medalist. After graduating from Peking University, he could have gone to MIT for further study, but instead chose to become a monk. More than a decade later, he returned to secular life and turned towards psychological counselling and related work. His story reminds us that mathematical talent does not necessarily have to follow the path of “continuing to conduct research.” The high-pressure elite education system and expectations associated with early achievement may lead people to reflect more deeply on the definition of “success.” His choice is not a failure, but another exploration of the meaning of life.

Wang Hong (1991–) and Deng Yu (1989–), meanwhile, represent the most common high-potential pathway today: completing their undergraduate studies in China (both studied at Peking University), then going overseas for further education, and ultimately achieving important accomplishments on the international stage. In 2026, the two were awarded the Fields Medal simultaneously, becoming the first mathematicians holding Chinese citizenship to receive the honour. Their experiences demonstrate that China’s current competition and undergraduate selection systems are capable of identifying world-class potential talent, but the most important breakthroughs often still need to be achieved in more mature research environments overseas.

The different choices made by these four people form a picture of the contemporary era: some choose to stay and deepen their work locally, some step outside the academic path to question the meaning of life, and some go overseas and achieve breakthroughs within global networks. None of these choices is superior to another.

IV. What These People Tell Us About Changes in Chinese Mathematics

Looking back over the past century, we can broadly identify several distinct generations:

The pioneering generation (Xiong Qinglai 1893–1969, Hua Luogeng 1910–1985, Chen Shengshen 1911–2004, Chen Jingrun 1933–1996): They worked to establish the foundations, but suffered severe disruption during the Cultural Revolution. Hua Luogeng turned towards application and promotion in his later years and planted the early seeds for mathematics competitions; Chen Jingrun, meanwhile, suffered severe persecution because of his devotion to mathematics, becoming a microcosm of the circumstances faced by intellectuals during that era.

The overseas baton-passing generation (Yau Shing-Tung 1949–, Terence Tao 1975–): They achieved accomplishments on the international stage while giving back to China in different ways.

The competition-based selection generation (Liu Zhiyu 1988–, Deng Yu 1989–, Wei Dongyi 1991–, Wang Hong 1991–): They grew up under a selection system centred on mathematics Olympiads. The system has been able to consistently produce young people with high potential, but how to truly transform this potential into original research remains a challenge.

From Xiong Qinglai to Hua Luogeng, then from Hua Luogeng to Chen Jingrun; from Chen Shengshen to Yau Shing-Tung; and then to today’s Wei Dongyi, Wang Hong and Deng Yu, this line of inheritance has experienced ruptures but has never been completely broken.

Today, Chinese mathematics has a huge population base and a rigorous selection system, while an increasing number of young people are choosing to stay or return. However, a research environment that genuinely allows long-term exploration, tolerates failure and does not rush for immediate results is still gradually taking shape.

The Fields Medal is not the end, nor is it a simple scorecard of national strength. What truly matters is whether talented young people can grow in a relatively relaxed and intellectually deep environment, while being allowed to make different choices in life.

From Hua Luogeng to Wang Hong and Deng Yu, this journey has already come a long way. But the road ahead may require even more patience and tolerance than the road already travelled.

Mr. Raymond Chow

On September 15, 2026, a new regulation will come into effect. The provision is not long, containing only 19 articles; but any one of them is enough to make anyone holding a Chinese passport, or anyone who has ever had a connection to Chinese identity, reconsider the weight of the words “returning home.”

When “Going Back for a Meeting” Becomes “Unable to Return”

In March this year, two young Chinese technology entrepreneurs returned from Singapore to Beijing for a meeting at the invitation of China’s National Development and Reform Commission. They were Xiao Hong, co-founder of artificial intelligence company Manus, and its chief scientist, Ji Yichao — a star AI company that had only last year been described by observers as “the second DeepSeek moment.” At the time, Meta was preparing to acquire the company for approximately US$2 billion.

After the meeting ended, the two were told that they could not leave China during the regulatory review. They were free to travel within the country, but they could not leave.

Neither Xiao Hong nor Ji Yichao had committed a crime, nor had they been charged. There had not even been any formal legal proceedings. Yet at that moment, the passports in their hands were effectively useless.

If you think this has nothing to do with you — perhaps it is worth thinking again. Because on July 31, 2026, the State Council of China published the Regulations of the State Council on Exit and Entry Administration (State Council Decree No. 841), which will formally take effect on September 15. One entirely new provision in these regulations could turn experiences like those of Xiao Hong and Ji Yichao from “special cases” into something expressly authorised by law.

Nineteen Articles, One Provision Enough to Change the Rules

The official name of the regulation is the Regulations of the State Council on Exit and Entry Administration. Signed by Premier Li Qiang, it contains 19 articles. The government says its purpose is to “regulate exit and entry administration, safeguard the lawful rights and interests of persons entering and leaving the country,” and “safeguard national sovereignty, security and development interests.”

It sounds highly official, but what is truly worth paying attention to is Article 4. It sets out three circumstances in which Chinese citizens “shall not be permitted to leave the country.” The first two — receiving administrative penalties for fraud involving exit and entry documents, and engaging in criminal activities overseas that endanger national security — are, to some extent, continuations of existing practices. The real new element lies in the third provision:

“Where a person violates regulations on export controls, technology import and export administration, or other relevant provisions, and may endanger national industrial security or technological security, the competent departments of the State Council, such as the commerce authorities, may decide not to permit the person to leave the country.”

At first glance, this sentence may seem unremarkable. But when broken down, there are three points that should concern every overseas Chinese person:

First, there is no time limit. The first two provisions specify “six months to three years,” whereas the third provision makes no mention whatsoever of an expiry period. In theory, a person could be prohibited from leaving the country indefinitely.

Second, the decision is given to commerce authorities without requiring a court. Such a restriction does not result from a judicial process, but from a decision by an administrative authority. There is no trial, no confrontation, and not necessarily any opportunity for a lawyer to intervene.

Third, the words “may endanger” leave the interpretation entirely in the hands of those enforcing the rule. The regulation itself does not provide any specific technology list, nor does it specify which industries or activities constitute a threat to “industrial security.” Today, it may be artificial intelligence and semiconductors; tomorrow, it could be any industry. And the scope can be expanded by administrative authorities at any time — an individual’s freedom to leave the country is not protected by this provision, but instead depends on the authorities’ judgement at the time.

The cases of Xiao Hong and Ji Yichao are effectively a preview of this new provision. At the time, the National Development and Reform Commission’s request for the two to remain in China had not invoked Article 4, because the regulation had not yet taken effect. But the logic was exactly the same: reviewing an acquisition involving the transfer of technology, while restricting the parties involved from leaving the country. After September 15, this approach will have an explicit legal basis. The U.S. House Select Committee on the Strategic Competition between the United States and the Chinese Communist Party described the incident as sending a message: “There is no such thing as a truly ‘private’ technology company in China.”

Three Names, Three Ways of Being Trapped

The legal provisions may sound abstract, but over the past decade, too many real people have demonstrated through their own loss of freedom just how far China’s exit controls can go.

Cheng Lei: “I Haven’t Seen a Tree in Three Years”

Cheng Lei moved from Hunan to Australia with her family when she was ten. She studied commerce at the University of Queensland before returning to China, where she became a financial presenter for the state-run CGTN. On August 13, 2020, she was taken away by national security officers at the headquarters of China Central Television in Beijing. She would not return for three years.

There was no public trial and no formal announcement of the charges. Even her family and friends did not know what she had allegedly done. It was not until she was released and returned to Melbourne in 2023 that China’s Ministry of State Security confirmed for the first time that she had been charged with “illegally providing state secrets to overseas entities” and sentenced to two years and 11 months — a sentence announced only after she had already completed it.

While in prison, Cheng Lei wrote a letter to the Australian people: “I was allowed only ten hours outdoors a year,” and “I haven’t seen a tree in three years.” In her book, she recalled quietly reciting the names of places she had visited or driven past in Australia while in prison — reminding herself that she was still a living person.

Cheng Lei’s story reminds us of one thing: having once been a public figure in China’s state media, having once been trusted and employed by the Chinese government, does not mean you are immune. Identity has never been a one-way protective shield.

Gui Minhai: A Nationality That Was “Restored”

Gui Minhai, a shareholder of Hong Kong’s Causeway Bay Books, became a naturalised Swedish citizen in 1996. In 2015, he suddenly “disappeared” while travelling in Thailand, before later “reappearing” at an unknown location in mainland China. In 2018, he was taken away for a second time while travelling by train to Beijing, accompanied by Swedish diplomatic personnel.

In 2020, the Ningbo Intermediate People’s Court sentenced him to ten years in prison for “illegally providing intelligence to overseas entities.” The court’s announcement stated that Gui Minhai had “lawfully restored Chinese nationality upon his own application” in 2018.

The Swedish government’s response was clear: under Swedish law, renouncing or restoring nationality must be formally approved by the Swedish Migration Agency. Gui Minhai had never gone through such a procedure. Under Swedish law, he had never ceased to be a Swedish citizen. In other words, China unilaterally declaring that he had “become Chinese again” served a very clear purpose — once his Chinese nationality was “restored,” in the eyes of Chinese law, he was simply a Chinese citizen residing in China, leaving foreign consular authorities with no basis to intervene.

This is not an isolated practice. Just days after the new regulations were announced, a Chinese businessman who had lived in Japan was reportedly detained after returning to China to visit family. It was reported that his Chinese nationality had similarly been “restored,” and that he was restricted from leaving the country for as long as ten years. Because the incident was submitted anonymously and was based on a single account, it has not been possible to fully verify the claim. But commentators have pointed to a more important fact: even if the specific account is questionable, the mechanism and precedent of “forced restoration of nationality” do genuinely exist — the Gui Minhai case in 2018 had already established a precedent. China’s Nationality Law stipulates that restoration of nationality is approved by the Ministry of Public Security. Who has their nationality “restored,” and when, is entirely subject to the interpretation of the public security authorities. Those affected may only learn about it afterwards, or may not know at all.

The purpose of this practice is straightforward: once someone has had their Chinese nationality “restored,” in the eyes of Chinese law, they are simply a Chinese citizen residing in China, meaning foreign governments’ consular protection naturally does not apply. More than ten years have now passed since the Gui Minhai incident. On the tenth anniversary of his abduction in October 2025, Sweden’s Foreign Minister still had to personally raise the matter with Chinese Foreign Minister Wang Yi and demand his release. Ten years later, there has still been no progress, and it remains unclear where he is actually being held.

For Hong Kong-born people living in Australia, this precedent is particularly concerning: even if they have held Australian citizenship for many years, if Chinese authorities unilaterally declare that their Chinese nationality has been “restored,” they could potentially lose the protection of Australian consular assistance in an instant. From the perspective of international law, such a unilateral determination may itself constitute a violation of the Vienna Convention on Consular Relations. In practice, however, those affected often have limited effective avenues of appeal.

Richard O’Halloran: A Man Who Was Never Involved in the Dispute

This case may not be widely known, but it best demonstrates how fragile “innocence” can be in the face of an exit ban.

Irish businessman Richard O’Halloran had only joined the company shortly before a commercial dispute completely unrelated to him broke out. Yet when the company became involved in civil litigation, he was prohibited from leaving China — trapped for three years, from 2019 to 2022. The international protection organisation Safeguard Defenders has pointed out that such cases are not uncommon. Dozens of foreigners have reportedly been prevented from leaving China because of civil or commercial disputes involving their companies, many of whom had no direct connection to the disputes themselves.

Another widely reported case involved a Singaporean executive at the U.S. due diligence firm Mintz Group, who was similarly restricted from leaving China in connection with the company’s business investigations. Analysts have said bluntly that exit bans completely tilt the balance of power in commercial disputes — once one side holds the card of “not allowing the other party to leave,” the bargaining power becomes fundamentally unequal.

For a Chinese person doing business in Australia and maintaining commercial ties with China, this case is particularly relevant — you do not have to commit a crime, or even personally participate in a dispute. Simply because your company, business partner, or even former employer becomes involved in civil litigation in China, you could potentially become trapped there without knowing when you will be able to return home.

It is worth noting that such exit bans are, under Chinese law, mostly not part of criminal proceedings, but an administrative measure attached to civil litigation. According to statistics from the international research organisation Safeguard Defenders, at least 14 laws and dozens of regulations, judicial interpretations and policy documents in mainland China involve this type of border control. In the absence of transparency, the impression is that various government departments, and even local neighbourhood committees, can request that law enforcement authorities place someone under border control. Even more troubling is this: putting someone on a border-control list can be extremely easy, while removing them can be exceptionally difficult. There have been analyses of individual businessmen becoming trapped under indefinite border controls simply because the task force originally established to investigate them had disbanded before the restrictions were lifted — effectively leaving no one with the authority, or even the memory, to sign off on their release.

These Are Not Isolated Incidents, But the Same Logic

Cheng Lei, Gui Minhai, O’Halloran, Xiao Hong and Ji Yichao — five cases that appear completely different in nature (espionage charges against a journalist, “treason” charges against a publisher, a commercial dispute, and a technology export review) — actually share the same underlying logic: administrative authorities can determine whether a person is allowed to leave China without a public trial, without a clear time limit, and without transparent avenues for redress.

In the past, this logic was scattered across different laws and departmental powers. Enforcement standards were unclear, and outsiders could only piece together the bigger picture through individual cases. Now, Article 4, Clause 3 of the Regulations of the State Council on Exit and Entry Administration formally turns this logic into an administrative provision with legal authority, explicitly granting the power to commerce authorities — a body that has previously had less direct involvement in exit controls.

The historical context of this change is not difficult to understand. As technological competition between China and the United States intensifies, rare earths, batteries, artificial intelligence, semiconductors and advanced materials have become key battlegrounds for export controls. Preventing the outflow of critical technologies and talent is a clear policy priority for the Chinese government. The Manus incident shook the industry precisely because it demonstrated that even if a company’s headquarters have moved to Singapore and its founders have relocated there, simply returning to China for a meeting, while its technology is still considered to have originated in China, could result in them suddenly becoming trapped. As one commentator put it vividly: “Human capital is no longer mobile; it is geofenced.”

This national-security-first approach will not necessarily stop at artificial intelligence and semiconductors. The regulation does not list any specific industries. The interpretation of the words “may endanger” lies entirely with the enforcing authorities, and the scope can be expanded at any time. A provision that appears unrelated to you today could suddenly apply to you tomorrow because of the industry you work in or a transaction you participate in.

Three Thousand Years of the Middle Kingdom, and After the Roman Empire: A Collision of Two Concepts of Borders

To understand why Gui Minhai could have his nationality “restored,” or why Xiao Hong and Ji Yichao could still be restricted from leaving China after relocating to Singapore, perhaps we need to look at the deeper historical context. This may not be the only explanation, but it is certainly a framework often used by scholars of China as a reference point.

Traditional Chinese conceptions of Tianxia were not based on the modern international-law concept of “sovereign states, each possessing fixed borders.” Within the imperial system, China viewed itself as the centre of civilisation, while surrounding peoples existed within relationships of tribute or assimilation. The distinction between identities was not based on a clearly defined legal border, but on the distinction between “Chinese civilisation and the barbarians” — whether one identified with or was attached to this civilisational centre.

This way of thinking continued into the modern era. Overseas Chinese were traditionally referred to as “Huaqiao” — Chinese people residing overseas, rather than immigrants who had completely severed their connection. Under this underlying cultural logic, “once Chinese, always Chinese” is not merely a slogan, but a deeply rooted worldview: bloodline and cultural origins are regarded as the true basis of identity. A foreign passport has never been regarded within this framework as an absolute point of separation.

By contrast, the Western modern concept of the sovereign state gradually developed through centuries of fragmentation and restructuring following the collapse of the Roman Empire. After Rome fell, Europe entered a long period of feudal division, with blurred borders and overlapping loyalties. The logic that “each state possesses a fixed territory, equal sovereignty and non-interference in internal affairs” only began to take shape with the 1648 Peace of Westphalia. After several centuries of development in international law, it evolved into today’s modern logic that nationality is a clear legal boundary: once a person changes nationality, their former country no longer has the right to claim them as its citizen. Giving up one nationality and acquiring another is a legal fact mutually recognised by both sides, and cannot be unilaterally overturned because of bloodline or place of birth.

This comparison helps us understand an apparent contradiction: China, as a member state of the United Nations, formally accepts the modern system of sovereign states and, in order to maintain the clear legal boundary of “not recognising dual nationality,” is meticulous in its legal texts. Yet in the Gui Minhai case, the Chinese government simply stated that he had “restored Chinese nationality upon his own application,” thereby unilaterally redefining a person who had never lost his Swedish nationality under Swedish law as Chinese.

This approach uses the language of modern nationality law on the surface, but at its core is closer to a pre-modern concept of civilisational identity in which “if you are ethnically Chinese, you can never truly leave.” For Chinese Australians accustomed to the Western understanding that nationality is a clear legal boundary, this is particularly important to recognise.

Your Background Determines Your Risk

The impact of these regulations on the Chinese community in Australia is not uniform. Because of differences in birthplace, passport history and identity recognition, people from different backgrounds face significantly different levels of actual risk.

People born in Hong Kong face relatively high risks. China considers Hong Kong part of its territory and does not recognise British colonial rule as having legally severed Chinese identity. Even if they hold a foreign passport and have become Australian citizens, they may still have a significant chance of being regarded as people with “connections to Chinese identity” when entering mainland China, and therefore be subject to the exit restrictions. Those who hold a Home Return Permit, or who can otherwise demonstrate connections to Hong Kong or mainland China, should exercise particular caution — the Gui Minhai-style “restoration of nationality” already has a precedent.

Chinese people who migrated to Australia from Southeast Asia — Malaysia, Indonesia, Vietnam, Singapore and others — generally face lower risks, but that does not mean zero risk. Most ethnic Chinese in these regions have been settled there for multiple generations and hold passports of those countries, which China recognises as independent sovereign states. Generally speaking, those who have never held a People’s Republic of China passport or household registration are less likely to be directly subject to provisions concerning Chinese citizens being prohibited from leaving the country. However, China may still traditionally regard people of Chinese heritage as “overseas Chinese,” and in extreme circumstances — particularly where sensitive industries are involved — they may still attract additional attention.

People who migrated to Australia from Taiwan face a particularly sensitive and unique risk. China claims sovereignty over Taiwan and does not recognise Taiwan as an independent country. People holding Taiwanese passports or identity documents are often placed under a special administrative framework when entering mainland China, rather than simply being treated as “foreigners.” If they are involved in technology exchanges or commercial activities, or are deemed to “potentially endanger national security or industrial security,” the potential risk of being restricted from leaving China cannot be ignored.

Australian permanent residents or citizens who currently hold or have previously held Chinese passports or household registration face the highest risk. Regardless of their original place of birth, these individuals are the most likely to be regarded as Chinese citizens and therefore face the greatest risk of being directly subject to Article 4.

For ordinary people who are simply visiting family, travelling, and have no connection whatsoever to technology or export controls, the risk is relatively low. Those who genuinely need to be more alert are people with technology backgrounds, cross-border business dealings, or those who frequently travel using Chinese-related identities.

Conclusion: This Is About More Than One Journey

The emergence of the Regulations of the State Council on Exit and Entry Administration is a product of technological competition between China and the United States and a national-security-first mindset. But it also continues a deeper tradition — throughout Chinese history, China has never truly been a country of completely “free movement.” From the maritime bans of the Ming dynasty to today’s entry and exit administration, control over the movement of people has never truly disappeared.

For every Chinese person living in Australia, these regulations serve as a reminder of one thing: cross-border identity has never been a one-way choice. Your birthplace, your passport history and your current nationality can all affect how the other side defines who you are — and that power of definition may not be in your hands.

Cheng Lei was once a public figure in Chinese state media. Gui Minhai once believed Swedish nationality was a protective shield. Xiao Hong and Ji Yichao once believed that moving their company to Singapore meant they had completed their “decoupling.” Before the incidents happened, each of them probably never imagined that they would become the next case.

September 15 is approaching. Understanding the contents, remaining compliant and carefully assessing the risks are the most practical approaches for now — replacing simple anxiety or disregard with calmness and preparation.

It is important to emphasise that the purpose of this article is neither to create panic nor to urge everyone to sever their ties with China from now on. The everyday family visits and travel of the vast majority of ordinary people are not expected to be directly affected. What truly needs attention is where the boundaries of the rules lie, how transparent their enforcement is, and whether your own background and activities could potentially fall into the category of “sensitive” one day. Understanding the risks does not mean giving up family ties or one’s roots. On the contrary, it is hoped that every reader can make their own choices with a clear understanding of the situation.

Because for every overseas Chinese person who once believed they had “already left,” what is at stake has never been merely one journey. It is about how securely we can establish our lives and livelihoods between different systems and frameworks of identity. This is a question worth every reader and every family seriously considering before September 15.

On 11 August 2026, Australia once again conducted its national Census. Millions of households across the country were required to complete the questionnaire, answering questions about their age, employment, language, religion, education level, family composition, housing situation and other matters.

It is not only Australia’s largest official data collection exercise, but also an important basis for the government’s planning for the future. So, it is answering a bigger question: what kind of country is Australia, and what kind of country is it becoming?

Who Belongs to Australia?

Today, the Australian Bureau of Statistics (ABS) conducts a Census every five years, and it has become a routine exercise. But in fact, Australia’s history of population statistics is older than the Australian Federation itself.

Not long after British colonists arrived in Sydney Cove in 1788, the colonial government began recording population numbers. During the nineteenth century, individual colonies conducted their own population counts; in 1881, the Australian colonies conducted a census simultaneously for the first time. After the Australian Federation was established in 1901, the first national Census was held in 1911, conducted by the newly established federal statistical agency. At the time, census officers travelled through remote areas on horseback, by horse-drawn carriage and even on foot to collect data, with all the information processed by hand.

However, early censuses were not simply statistical exercises, but also part of the colonial government’s tools of governance. Who was included in the statistics and who was excluded was itself a political choice. The most obvious example was Indigenous Australians.

When the Federation was established, Section 127 of the Australian Constitution stipulated that, when calculating Australia’s population, “aboriginal natives shall not be counted” in the total population. Although some Indigenous Australians were recorded in various censuses, they were not officially included in federal population statistics, while the Indigenous populations of many remote areas were simply estimated by state government departments. In other words, for more than half a century after Federation, the official population figures of Australia did not actually portray the full Australian society.

The 1967 referendum became an important turning point. More than 90 per cent of voters supported amending the Constitution and removing the relevant provision. The 1971 Census then became the first Census to fully include Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples in the official population statistics. This was not merely a symbolic change. It also enabled the federal government, for the first time, to gain a more systematic understanding of the size of the Indigenous population, their residential distribution, education and health conditions, providing a foundation for later Indigenous policies, healthcare resources and financial allocation.

This shows that the Census does not merely reflect changes in national identity; it also reflects how the government understands “who belongs to Australia.”

Immigration in the History of the Census

If we compare the results of the 1986 Census with those of the 2021 Census, Australia’s population was around 16 million in 1986; by the 2021 Census, it had exceeded 25 million. The change was not simply an increase in population numbers, but that the sources behind population growth had become completely different.

Data on Australia’s population in the nineteenth century shows that growth came largely from immigration. Whether settlers from Britain and Ireland, or immigrants from China, Germany and other parts of Europe during the gold rush, most residents had originally been born overseas. This shows that Australian society was itself a migrant society in its early days. But as immigrants gradually settled, had children and raised families, the proportion of Australian-born people began to increase. After the White Australia policy was established in the early twentieth century, immigration sources remained predominantly British and European for a long period. After the war, Australia faced another problem: insufficient population.

At the end of the Second World War, Australia’s population was less than eight million. The government was concerned about labour shortages and inadequate defence capabilities, and therefore introduced the famous “Populate or Perish” policy, bringing in large numbers of new immigrants from across Europe. These immigrants and their descendants became an important force behind Australia’s post-war economic development.

After the 1970s, as the White Australia policy was gradually dismantled, Australia’s immigration policy changed again. Refugee resettlement programs following the Vietnam War, the establishment of the skilled migration system, and the movement of international students and skilled workers during the era of globalisation led to an increase in Asian immigration, gradually changing Australia’s population profile.

For much of the twentieth century, Australia’s population growth was driven mainly by European immigrants and their descendants, with the United Kingdom consistently being the largest source of overseas-born residents. However, by 2021, India had become one of Australia’s largest overseas-born groups, with a population of more than 910,000; the China-born population was close to 790,000; and communities from Asian countries such as the Philippines, Nepal and Vietnam also continued to grow rapidly. This means that Australia’s multiculturalism is no longer simply diversity among European cultures, but is gradually becoming a truly global cultural composition.

The 2021 Census showed that 27.6 per cent of residents were born overseas, close to three in ten people; if the country of birth of parents is taken into account, more than half of Australians have at least one parent born overseas.

From this perspective, every Census does more than record population change. It records how Australia has gradually transformed from a migrant country dominated by British culture into one of the most multicultural countries in the world today.

What Kind of Country Has Australia Become Over Forty Years?

According to the 2021 Census results, besides English, the most commonly spoken languages at home in Australia include Mandarin, Arabic, Vietnamese, Cantonese and Punjabi. These figures help explain why Australian hospitals, government departments and community service organisations today commonly provide multilingual translation services.

Another major change has come from religion. In 1986, Australia was still clearly a predominantly Christian society. By 2021, however, “no religion” became the largest single response in the Census for the first time, at 38.9 per cent. At the same time, the overall proportion of Christians continued to decline. This does not mean that religion has disappeared, but reflects that Australian society is becoming more secular, while increasing immigration has also brought more people from different religious backgrounds, including Muslim, Hindu and Sikh communities.

Family structures have also undergone significant changes. Australians are marrying later, fertility rates have continued to decline, single-person households have increased, and average household sizes have become smaller. These changes may appear to be private choices, but in reality they have a major impact on housing demand. As more people choose to live alone, even if the population grows at the same rate, more housing units are needed. At the same time, the population is becoming increasingly concentrated in a small number of major cities. Melbourne, Sydney and southeast Queensland continue to attract large numbers of people, driving employment and economic development while also increasing pressure on housing, transport and public services. The infrastructure challenges Australia faces today are, to some extent, the result of population concentration over the past several decades.

If Australia in 1986 was a relatively young country, predominantly made up of people of European migrant descent and with a stronger religious character, then Australia in 2021 was a society with a higher degree of ageing, greater cultural diversity, more diverse religious identities and more varied family structures.

Population Changes, Parliamentary Seats Change

The most direct political impact of the Census is democratic representation. Each electorate in Australia’s federal House of Representatives must maintain a relatively similar population size to ensure that every voter has broadly equal representation. As populations move between different states and cities, the Australian Electoral Commission (AEC) needs to regularly redraw electoral boundaries and even adjust the number of House of Representatives seats allocated to each state.

For example, over the past several decades, population growth has continued towards Queensland, Western Australia and the outer suburbs of Melbourne, while population growth in some remote areas and South Australia has been relatively slow. As a result, some states have gained seats while others have lost seats. Every redistribution of electoral boundaries can change the composition of voters, which in turn can affect election strategies, competition between political parties and even the formation of government.

In other words, a Census can ultimately influence who has the opportunity to govern.

Multicultural Policies Are Also Built on the Census

For Australia’s Chinese community, the most direct impact of the Census may come from multicultural policies.

Every Census collects data on country of birth, ancestry, languages spoken at home, English proficiency and religion. These figures allow the government to understand which areas need more translation and interpreting services (TIS National), which communities need Adult Migrant English Program (AMEP) courses, and which areas are suitable for increased community language education and multicultural funding. The ABS also states that the Census helps governments and community organisations plan local services and support different population groups.

For rapidly growing communities such as Chinese, Indian and Vietnamese communities, the Census does more than reflect population growth; it also means whether the government has sufficient evidence to allocate the corresponding resources. However, the Census itself does not make policy recommendations. It simply records what is happening in Australia.

Yet when we look back at data from the past forty years, we can see that many of the issues considered crises today had already left clear signs in the Census.

First Warning Sign: Housing Needs Have Already Changed

When discussing the housing crisis today, people often focus on increasing immigration, insufficient construction or changes in interest rates. But the Census reveals a deeper structural factor: household sizes have continued to shrink. In 1986, an average household had around three people; by 2021, that figure had fallen to around 2.5. The increase in single people, later marriage, non-marriage and population ageing have all meant that more people need to live independently. This means that even if population growth does not change, Australia still needs more housing to accommodate the same number of people.

In other words, increasing housing demand is not only due to population growth, but also changes in lifestyles. The Census had already revealed this trend, but housing supply, planning systems and infrastructure development failed to adjust in tandem over the long term, eventually allowing housing problems to accumulate.

After the pandemic, Australia experienced its fastest population growth in recent years while also facing a nationwide shortage of housing supply. The government introduced policies such as the National Housing Accord and the Housing Australia Future Fund in an attempt to increase housing supply, but their effectiveness remains to be seen. The 2026 Census will provide the first comprehensive picture of the changes after the pandemic, allowing the government to reassess whether housing demand has undergone new changes.

Second Warning Sign: Population Ageing Did Not Appear Suddenly

Australia’s ageing population is often described as a challenge that is “about to arrive”, but Census results show that it has been continuing for decades.

Since the 1980s, the Census has consistently shown a steady increase in the proportion of older people, while the median age has continued to rise. The government therefore established My Aged Care, expanded home care and reformed the retirement system, with the overall direction broadly correct. However, the 2021 Royal Commission into Aged Care Quality and Safety found that the system had long suffered from staff shortages, inadequate services and inconsistent quality.

At the same time, Australia is ageing rapidly. In 1986, Australia was still a relatively young country, with most of the post-war baby boom generation still of working age. Forty years later, this generation has gradually entered retirement. The 2021 Census showed that people aged 65 and over accounted for nearly one-sixth of the total population, while the average age has continued to rise. Population ageing is no longer simply a future challenge, but a reality that is already happening.

According to the Australian Government’s Intergenerational Report, over the next forty years, the proportion of people aged 65 and over will continue to increase, while those aged 85 and over will become one of the fastest-growing age groups. The 2026 Census will provide the latest post-pandemic picture of Australia’s age structure and will also help the government assess whether further adjustments are needed to aged care, healthcare and retirement systems.

Third Warning Sign: Multicultural Policies Are Still Catching Up with Population Changes

Forty years ago, Australia was still largely made up of immigrants of European backgrounds; today, Asia has become an important source of new immigrants. The government has indeed gradually expanded translation services, multicultural broadcasting and settlement policies for new migrants based on Census results. At the same time, however, the structure of new immigration has also changed.

Over the past two decades, Australia has seen a large increase in international students, skilled migrants and temporary visa holders. They tend to be younger, more concentrated in major cities, more likely to rent, and more dependent on public transport and the employment market.

These populations differ from the post-war model, which was mainly based on family migration, and their needs in housing, mental health, employment support and community integration have also changed. The Census can show these changes, but whether public policy can adjust in time remains an issue worth continuing to observe.

After the pandemic, Australia once again significantly increased permanent and temporary migration, while international students also returned rapidly. The 2026 Census will show which cities and communities this round of population growth is concentrated in, and whether there have been new changes among people from different linguistic, religious and cultural backgrounds.

The People and Things the Data Cannot See

The Census itself will not directly build hospitals, increase schools or determine migration quotas. However, it provides the government with the most comprehensive foundational data for understanding Australian society. After the Census is completed, the ABS combines it with administrative data such as births, deaths and migration to update Australia’s official Estimated Resident Population (ERP). This population estimate subsequently becomes an important basis for policy-making by federal, state and local governments.

However, even the most comprehensive statistical system cannot fully present the whole picture of a society.

The greatest strength of the Census is that it can answer “how many people there are”, “where they live” and “who they are”; but it cannot answer another more important question — why.

For example, the Census can tell us that Australia’s birth rate continues to decline, but it cannot explain why young people choose to delay marriage or having children; it can show that more people are renting, but it cannot reflect whether they are being forced to move because rents are too high; it can record whether a person is unemployed, but it cannot show the impact of unemployment on their family, mental health or quality of life.

Therefore, the Census is an extremely detailed map, but it is not an instruction manual.

At the same time, the Census remains a “self-reported” statistical exercise. Although the Australian Bureau of Statistics improves response rates through extensive publicity, community partnerships and follow-up efforts, some populations remain more difficult to record completely. For example, people experiencing homelessness, people living in remote areas, some highly mobile residents, and people with limited language skills or a lack of trust in government may find it more difficult to fully participate in the Census.

In recent years, Australia has also seen an increasing number of short-term residents, including international students, working holiday makers and temporary skilled visa holders. Although they live in Australia and create actual demand for housing, employment markets, transport and public services, the Census has specific statistical definitions and the concept of a “usual resident”. Different population groups may therefore be treated differently across different statistics. When reading Census data, it is therefore necessary to understand its statistical scope rather than simply treating everyone in Australia as the same population group.

More importantly, the Census can only provide “evidence”; it cannot replace “value judgements”. Therefore, the Census is not a policy manual telling the government “what it should do”, but a mirror. Its role is to reflect reality; how to respond to that reality remains part of democratic political debate.

New Questions, a New Australia, New Challenges

In August 2026, Australia will once again conduct its national Census. In addition to core questions on age, education, employment, family, housing, language and religion, one of the biggest changes in this Census is that, after years of social discussion, statistical questions on sexual orientation and gender will formally be included for the first time, including sexual orientation, gender identity and sex recorded at birth, in order to more comprehensively reflect the diversity of Australia’s population. The Australian Bureau of Statistics stated that these new questions will help governments and communities better understand the size and service needs of different groups.

At the same time, the 2026 Census has also expanded the collection of ancestry data, allowing respondents to report up to four ancestries instead of two as in the past. This change may appear minor, but it reflects the increasingly diverse backgrounds of Australian families. With the increase in intercultural marriages, many Australians now have multiple cultural backgrounds, and traditional single-ethnicity classifications are no longer sufficient to reflect reality.

These changes are not simply about adding more statistical questions, but reflect the Australian government’s desire to use Census results to more accurately understand an increasingly complex society.

What Really Matters Is Not Just Population, But the Future

A Census held once every five years may appear to be nothing more than a routine exercise. One questionnaire, dozens of questions, completed in one evening, followed by waiting for the next Census to arrive.

But when we look back at more than a century of Australian history, we find that every Census has recorded how this country has gradually changed itself. It recorded the population structure during the era of the White Australia policy, witnessed how large-scale post-war immigration reshaped Australia, and reflected how Australia gradually became one of the most multicultural countries in the world. But the true importance of the Census is not only that it tells us what Australia looks like today, but that it reminds us what kind of country Australia is becoming.

Therefore, the question that truly deserves to be asked is whether the government is genuinely willing to make changes based on the reality reflected by the Census. A good Census can help the government better understand its people, but more importantly, a good government should know how to respond to its people.

The 2026 Census will soon be completed. The real test will not end on the day the questionnaire is filled out. It will come over the next few years, as the data is gradually released, when Australia must decide how to face a society that is becoming older, more diverse, more urbanised, and also increasingly challenging.