Picture this: A hilarious stand-up comedian from China, now living in the heart of New York, carefully picks her jokes, dodging any direct slams at the U.S. government because, well, she's learned the hard way from her time in Shanghai. This isn't just stage fright—it's a chilling reminder of how politics can silence voices. But here's where it gets controversial: As Donald Trump's second term unfolds, many who've lived in China are spotting eerie parallels to their old home, and it's sparking heated debates about freedom in America.
Meet Vickie Wang, a 39-year-old rising star in comedy, who's mastered the art of self-censorship. After spending nearly a decade in Shanghai, she packed up and moved to the U.S. in 2025, right after Trump's reelection. Back then, she dived headfirst into everything democratic—attending rallies, joining protests, and soaking up knowledge at New York's public libraries in what she calls a 'revenge binge on freedom.' Yet, just one year into Trump's presidency, the vibe has shifted dramatically. 'It's like the ground is moving under my feet,' she explains. In China, the boundaries were crystal clear; here, they're fluid and unpredictable.
Wang's unease mirrors a broader shift in American politics that resonates deeply with Chinese expatriates and observers. Foes get shunned, unwavering devotion to the president is expected, reporters face intense scrutiny—think of the recent targeting of journalists like Mario Guevara amid ICE deportations—and established institutions come under relentless fire. Trump hasn't hidden his respect for Xi Jinping, calling him a 'fantastic leader.' Their recent summit in South Korea, where they brokered a temporary ceasefire in the ongoing trade tensions, showcased a surprising camaraderie between two nations with vastly different systems. For years, Americans hoped that strengthening ties with China might nudge it toward more open reforms. Instead, under Trump's latest stint, it feels like the U.S. is drifting toward China's model, not the reverse.
This brings us to a point most people miss: The comparisons to China's past upheavals. Zhang Qianfan, a constitutional law expert at Peking University, argues that America is in the midst of its own 'cultural revolution.' For beginners, the Cultural Revolution was a turbulent era in China from 1966 to 1976, when Mao Zedong rallied ordinary people to challenge elites, leading to widespread chaos and purges. Zhang sees Trump doing something similar: energizing everyday folks to challenge and marginalize the establishment, much like that historical period. Since Trump launched the Department for Government Efficiency—or 'Doge,' as it's playfully dubbed—early in his term, aimed at streamlining Washington bureaucracy, onlookers in China have drawn parallels to Mao-era tactics. From enlisting young supporters to carry out his agenda to rooting out 'enemies' in institutions, Trump's approach evokes that same disruptive energy, though thankfully without the extreme violence.
But as the initial turmoil of Trump's first months has subsided, a new, steadier political climate has emerged—one that's familiar in different ways to those from China. And this is the part that really divides opinions: The erosion of open dialogue.
Take Deng Haiyan, once a cop in China who became a vocal critic of the Communist Party and fled to the U.S. in 2019 to escape harassment. This year, after conservative figure Charlie Kirk passed away, Deng tweeted his strong disapproval, calling Kirk a 'despicable person.' The backlash was swift and severe: He got doxed, his loved ones targeted, and he was even labeled a Chinese spy trying to sow division. 'I was floored,' Deng recalls. 'This kind of mob attack on dissenters feels like something straight out of an authoritarian playbook—something I'd only expect in China.' Critically, this online storm came from everyday users, not government enforcers, but it echoes China's pervasive social monitoring.
Maria Repnikova, a professor at Georgia State University, points out the similarities: 'We're seeing a rise in vigilante-style policing of speech on touchy topics, where people track and call out those who disagree. It's reminiscent of China's environment, where even students are encouraged to report on teachers for subversive views.' This informal surveillance is cropping up in American schools, raising alarms about chilling effects on education and debate.
Zhang, the Peking University scholar, admits this shift has shattered his view of the U.S. as a global beacon. Chinese intellectuals like him once admired America for its constitutional democracy and safe spaces for political discourse—risky in China. But now, 'America's glow has faded,' he says. 'It's no longer the shining example it was.' In a surprising twist, some Chinese liberals, who privately gripe about their own system's shortcomings, are starting to see the U.S. as the less appealing option. As Zhang puts it, 'It's tough to swallow, but post-pandemic, China's government has made strides in tackling pollution, pushing electric vehicles, and investing in cutting-edge tech, while the West, led by the U.S., seems to be faltering.'
Adding fuel to the fire, Trump's administration is blurring lines between public and private sectors, just like in China. Recently, the U.S. government took equity stakes in a rare-earth processing startup and other key businesses deemed essential for security. Investors are on edge, wondering if this signals a trend of state intervention that could stifle innovation—much like how China's government often intertwines with industry.
Of course, stark differences remain. In October, major outlets like The Guardian balked at a Pentagon rule requiring them to stick to official narratives, and U.S. courts have struck down numerous Trump policies, a scenario unimaginable under China's party-controlled judiciary. Isaac Stone Fish, head of a China advisory firm, Strategy Risks, emphasizes: 'Even if the U.S. hits rock bottom—far worse than now—it'll still be leagues more open and liberal than Xi's China.' Zhang notes the irony: While American universities have bowed to pressures on diversity and campus speech, China's top schools are inherently government-run, with leaders appointed by the party and no room for defiance.
Still, the fear is palpable. One anonymous U.S. professor, once outspoken on U.S.-China relations, turned down an interview, fearing repercussions: 'Truthfully, I'm more terrified of criticizing Trump these days than even blasting Xi.' It's a stark reversal for someone accustomed to American freedoms.
So, what's your take? Are these parallels to China just alarmist hype, or is the U.S. truly veering into unfamiliar authoritarian territory? Does Trump's style signal a shift we should embrace, or resist? Share your opinions in the comments—let's discuss!
Additional research by Lillian Yang
