Last month, the U.S. government-funded Radio Free Asia announced that it had resumed broadcasts to audiences in China, after cuts under the Trump administration last year largely forced the outlet to halt operation. For many who care about independent journalism and human rights in China, the news brought a brief sigh of relief. However, last year’s dramatic cuts, some of them unlawful, should still be read as a stark warning about the financial vulnerability of the China human rights community.
It has been a year since the Trump administration drastically downsized, and in some cases eliminated, key instruments of American human rights diplomacy. On his first day in office, President Trump imposed a sweeping 90-day pause on nearly all U.S. foreign aid programs. The subsequent review set in motion a series of actions that led to the dismantling of the United States Agency for International Development (USAID), the termination of most programs funded by the State Department’s Bureau of Democracy, Human Rights, and Labor (DRL), and the service disruption of major U.S. government-supported international media outlets.
These actions are having a devastating impact on global human rights work, including efforts focused on China. They have affected overseas organizations as well as networks inside China—Uyghur, Tibetan, and Hong Kong groups; religious, labor, and digital rights organizations; independent Chinese-language media; and human rights lawyers, writers, artists, and activists—what I call the “China human rights community.”
As a result of the defunding, cases of disappearances and harassment of activists, human rights lawyers, and religious leaders have likely gone underreported. Persecuted individuals who have managed to flee to neighboring countries are no longer receiving the assistance they once could. Meanwhile, initiatives aimed at countering Beijing’s global authoritarian expansion have stalled.
The China human rights community now faces a near future in which the scope of our work will be considerably reduced. Yet this grim moment could also serve as a turning point: an opportunity to break free from the limitations of U.S. government support, and to forge a more diverse community of supporters united by a genuine commitment to universal human rights. The transition will not be easy, but in the long run it could strengthen both the integrity and effectiveness of rights work on China.
Drawbacks of Washington’s Support
Underlying much of the U.S. government’s work to promote human rights and democracy globally is a strategic rationale: that promoting these values abroad serves long-term American interests. A stable and predictable global order that aligns with U.S. values, the logic goes, reduces the risk of military conflict, creates favorable conditions for American businesses, and weakens the influence of hostile regimes. The U.S. government has long been the primary funder of China-related human rights work. Over the past two decades, despite year-to-year fluctuations in overall funding levels, it has consistently directed resources toward areas such as support for civil society groups, Uyghur and Tibetan rights, internet freedom, and labor rights.
When politicians speak about human rights in China, they are often simultaneously pursuing other interests. In recent years, as China has risen to become a peer competitor and as Beijing is increasingly perceived as seeking to undermine U.S. national security and global standing, some American politicians and officials have aggressively weaponized China’s human rights record to score domestic political points or stoke nationalist sentiment. Some human rights advocates, whether consciously or unconsciously, have gone along with the “great power competition” or “China threat” narrative, aligning themselves with critics of the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) who disregard the same human rights in domestic or other regional contexts. Such an approach is understandable. Getting things done in the real world requires pragmatism.
But instrumentalizing human rights carries risks. It can undermine the long-term credibility of the work, exposing activists and organizations to accusations of serving foreign agendas, which the CCP is more than happy to exploit to justify repression. Over time, it can also erode trust with the very community human rights work is meant to support. When victims of CCP abuses feel that their suffering is being used as a geopolitical tool, it can deepen their sense of vulnerability and isolation. In private conversations, I’ve often heard words like “exploited,” “paraded,” or “misled” from victims describing how it feels. When the public sees human rights criticisms applied opportunistically, it can foster cynicism and make it harder to mobilize broad-based support for human rights as a matter of principle.
Even if the Trump administration had not pulled back funding for international human rights work so drastically, Washington’s own deteriorating human rights record would make association with the U.S. government a liability for China-focused groups anyway. The U.S. has long faced accusations of double standards—condemning adversaries for rights violations while turning a blind eye to abuses committed by allies. It continues to provide military aid to Egypt despite the government’s mass arrests and torture of journalists and political opponents, and has maintained its alliance with the Saudi government despite acknowledging the regime’s role in the murder of journalist Jamal Khashoggi. Its recent military and financial support for Israel amid mounting international concern over civilian casualties in Gaza has only deepened this credibility gap.
Just as troubling, domestically, America itself is “showing signs of rapid authoritarian shift,” according to CIVICUS, a non-profit that monitors global civic freedoms. In a report published in December, the organization downgraded its assessment of the U.S. to the “obstructed” category, one in which civil society is heavily constrained. From clamping down on independent civil society and prosecuting political opponents to deploying military presence and killing protesters on the street, the Trump administration has displayed open contempt for the very democratic values the U.S. once championed internationally.
“We wouldn’t take the Chinese government’s money; we wouldn’t take the Saudi government’s money. At what point should we also stop taking U.S. government money?” a colleague at an international human rights organization that receives U.S. government funding said to me in a recent conversation. The Trump administration’s human rights violations at home—and lately, in international waters—have prompted many of my colleagues working in the human rights field to question whether the U.S. government can still be considered a “clean” funder.
Winning Private Support
For these reasons, it would be prudent for the China human rights community to reorient to private funding. The shift will require groups to build new fundraising skills: identifying potential foundations and individual donors, cultivating relationships, and framing projects that align with diverse philanthropic priorities.
Labor rights organizations, for instance, can situate their work in China within the global struggle for workers’ dignity and freedom by partnering with international labor research and advocacy groups, and seek funding from foundations dedicated to advancing labor rights worldwide. They can also make the case that combatting forced labor in China helps stabilize supply chains, protect fair competition, and shield businesses from reputational and legal risks. China is no longer merely a country where Western companies relocate factories to exploit low labor standards. Increasingly, Chinese companies are outcompeting Western firms in global markets by benefiting from China’s weak human rights protections. Fast-fashion giant Shein, for instance, has been able to offer extraordinarily low prices worldwide in part by reportedly relying on government-led, large-scale forced labor programs. As a result, the Chinese government’s human rights abuses are no longer a distant moral cause, they are increasingly harming Western businesses and undermining the global economy in which private funders themselves are a part of.
A long-standing, though rarely publicly acknowledged, reason for many private donors’ reluctance to fund China-related human rights work is the fear that doing so could jeopardize their businesses or other interests in the world’s second-largest economy. The CCP has mastered the use of access as leverage to enforce silence. Even companies that have merely voiced concern about China’s human rights record—or inadvertently crossed a political red line—have found themselves shut out of the Chinese market or subjected to sweeping consumer boycotts. Directly funding human rights initiatives could be viewed as an equally—if not greater—affront to CCP authority, carrying commercial risks that many private actors are unwilling to bear. Human rights advocates must confront these concerns head-on, finding creative ways to mitigate risks for cautious funders while making the case that despite short-term risks, the long-term benefits of helping build a culture and system of human rights far outweigh the costs.
Another deterrent, as I have learned from interacting with donors over the years, is the perception that the China human rights issue is too vast and impenetrable to solve. Persuading donors that their contributions can make a difference is essential. Take, for example, support for high-quality independent Chinese-language media outlets that are blocked in China. Despite the risks, many people within the country access such sites through circumvention tools, making them vital sources of fact-based information. Moreover, sustaining independent journalism now preserves the professional capacity needed for the future, when political change inevitably comes. The current one-man dictatorship is unsustainable, and when China eventually opens up, those who invested in keeping truthful reporting alive will have helped lay the groundwork for that transformation. Investing in this “inevitable but unpredictable” future is not naïve—it is strategic.
Beyond articulating persuasive reasons why private funders should invest in China-related human rights work, successful fundraising requires sustained, hands-on effort. It involves researching potential funding sources, building relationships, and gaining access to decision-makers. Fundraising is as much an intellectual endeavor—one that demands strategic thinking and narrative framing—as it is a relational one, dependent on trust and interpersonal skills.
Developing a working understanding of the private philanthropy landscape is therefore essential: how foundations set priorities, how individual donors make decisions, and how funding cycles, risk tolerance, and accountability differ outside of the realm of government grantmaking. For much of the China human rights community, however, this terrain remains largely uncharted. Navigating it will require time, learning, and experimentation, but doing so is now critical to sustaining the work in a changing funding environment.
Mobilizing the Diaspora
Another promising path forward lies in mobilizing the Chinese diaspora. Tens of millions of people of Chinese descent live outside of China, many of whom were born and grew up in China, still have familial and other ties to China, and care deeply about the country’s future. In recent years, a growing number of overseas Chinese have become disillusioned with President Xi Jinping’s tightening grip on power. The disastrous zero-COVID policy, which impacted the travel of many in the diaspora, awakened even those who once saw themselves as beneficiaries of the CCP to a hard truth: Despite the prosperity economic growth has created, people in China have no say in how they are governed. At the same time, the pandemic, which exposed the Chinese diaspora community to a sharp rise in racism and discrimination, galvanized new levels of civic awareness and engagement in the countries they live.
The convergence of these dynamics presents a unique opportunity to foster greater involvement of Chinese diaspora communities in human rights efforts—both in addressing injustices where they live and in standing up for the rights of those still living under authoritarian rule in China.
Fundraising within the Chinese diaspora will require human rights practitioners to tune into the perspectives and needs of the communities they serve—often their own—rather than those of officials in the State Department or members of Congress. For example, I can imagine a grassroots-funded human rights organization focusing on the mainland Chinese population to be more service-oriented than reporting-heavy, as community-driven initiatives tend to be. It may also reflect stronger ideological leanings (either left or right) as political polarization increasingly affects Chinese diaspora communities, just as it has many others around the world.
The most powerful aspect of grassroots fundraising is that it doubles as grassroots mobilization. Instead of writing grant proposals and evaluation reports for distant bureaucracies, human rights practitioners engage directly with the communities they serve, explaining their work, advocating for their causes, and reporting outcomes to those who have a personal stake in the mission.
Diaspora fundraising is challenging for any community. It is especially difficult for the Chinese, Uyghur, Tibetan, and Hong Kong diasporas, who live under the shadow of the CCP’s expanding campaign of transnational repression. Beijing’s efforts to silence, intimidate, and punish critics beyond its borders have created an atmosphere of fear that discourages open activism and support. At the same time, the atmosphere of suspicion the CCP has fostered by placing informants within diaspora communities has eroded trust from within. As a result, community members may view even genuine expression of generosity towards human rights causes with caution, fearing they could be attempts by CCP agents to identify activists or map grassroots networks.
These challenges notwithstanding, building a more grassroots-oriented movement offers a path toward greater independence, sustainability, and authenticity—one rooted not in the shifting agendas of foreign governments or wealthy patrons, but in the lived experiences of the communities themselves.
The U.S. government’s pullback in funding for human rights work is likely to endure, but even if much of its funding is restored, the underlying problems will likely persist. Yet this shift presents an opportunity for renewal. Human rights work has never been only about the measurable gains a project can deliver within a set timeframe. It is equally, if not more, about the inspiration that persistent, principled work can spark. Enduring and reinventing in one of the darkest moments for China and the world can itself be an act of leadership—one that reminds others why this work matters and encourages more people to join.