Rejecting resistance: Everyday resistance and harmony in Chinese hip-hop

Abstract

In power systems where opportunities for overt expression are limited, the requirements for recognition and intentionality behind acts of resistance risk overlooking the struggles of individuals who must find unpatterned and creative ways to express desires and discontent. Based on 42 interviews with Chinese hip-hop fans and artists and drawing on Scott’s and De Certeau’s theories of everyday resistance, this article shows that resistant acts in China can take transient, unintentional, seemingly apolitical forms disguised by a superficial rejection of resistance. This strategy protects resisters from potential consequences of openly challenging power, enabling the quiet expression of individual visions and dissatisfaction with power and contemporary society through hip-hop. Moving beyond dichotomous conceptions of power and resistance, this article advocates for de-emphasising the requirement of expressed, or expressible, intentionality behind acts of resistance and recognises the significance of ordinary actions of everyday resistance in their potential to catalyse change, shape social spaces and transform cultural patterns.

Introduction

In sociology, resistance has been broadly observed across various settings, spanning from individual to collective actions in politics, entertainment, literature and the workplace (Hollander & Einwohner, 2004). While many conceptualisations of resistance emphasise the need for challenges to power structures, norms or ideologies to be visible, intentional and recognised, it is equally important to acknowledge that expressions of resistance may be constrained for individuals who lack resources or opportunities in restrictive social, cultural and political contexts. Drawing on Scott’s (1985) and De Certeau’s (1984) theories of everyday resistance, as well as literature on Chinese contentious politics and popular culture (De Kloet, 2010; O’Brien & Li, 2006), this article advocates for a reduced emphasis on the intentionality behind acts of resistance and their overt recognition. Placing excessive importance on explicit (political) motivation and intention risks overlooking the challenges faced by individuals who are unable or unwilling to openly acknowledge their motives.

This article takes Chinese hip-hop as an exemplary case study combining an archetypical resistant cultural form with ongoing efforts from authorities to control the cultural landscape. In fact, the Chinese State has long been invested in regulating the spread of cultural products that are deemed to challenge dominant ideology, promote resistance and spread moral degradation (Han, 2018). Hip-hop, as a genre, has traditionally served as a means for oppressed groups to resist systemic injustice, express individuality and voice political concerns (Martinez, 1997). Due to its rebellious and often controversial nature, hip-hop has had to fight an uphill battle for any Chinese platform to seriously embrace it. In 2017, the reality TV show The Rap of China (Zhongguo you xiha, 中国有嘻哈) became a sensation and brought Chinese hip-hop (xiha, 嘻哈) to the forefront of popular culture almost overnight by gathering 100 million views within four hours of airing (Wang, 2022). Hip-hop has since rapidly gained momentum in China, with music shows attracting billions of viewers and generating enormous revenue. This sudden spread began testing ‘the limits of what is admissible within what remains a tightly governed Chinese broadcast media framework’ (Flew et al., 2019, p. 95). Indeed, the proliferation of an often-politicised genre characterised by resistance, dissent and violence conflicts with the State’s efforts to suppress such expressions. Despite the societal reach and significance of this phenomenon, limited empirical research has examined the perspectives of hip-hop followers in navigating this tension and understanding resistance through hip-hop. It is important to explore such understandings and practices as they can shed light on the relationship between individuals and imposed official discourses and show how individuals negotiate their positionalities at the boundary between State-sponsored values and personal interests, needs and creativity.

This study seeks to fill this gap by conducting semi-structured interviews with 42 Chinese hip-hop followers and artists. The aims are to explore whether participants think that Chinese hip-hop expresses resistance and to examine in what forms hip-hop resistance may be practised in the face of the Chinese power system. Contrary to conventional associations of hip-hop with ideas of open resistance, this article shows that Chinese hip-hop participants reject being associated with ideas of resistance, defiance and rebelliousness. Despite this denial, subtle instances of resistance are identified in the interviewees’ perspectives and their musical creations, even if not consciously or openly intended and articulated. These declinations are framed as a product of strongly ideological systems, where the control of the cultural sphere enacted by the power system entangles with individual interests and creative expressions of dissatisfaction.

The birth of hip-hop and its adoption in China

Hip-hop began by drawing themes, messages and emotional power from the oppression that African American communities endured in the USA in the 1970s and 1980s. As a result of very conservative and overtly racist government policies, entire communities fell below the poverty line and unemployment increased (Rose, 1994). In response to such systemic injustices, oppressed groups develop strategies of cultural resistance embodied as a ‘coherent set of values, beliefs, and practices which mitigates the effects of oppression’ (Martinez, 1997, p. 268). These practices include artistic expression and musical production that act as ‘prophets of rage’ that ‘destabilise’ (Rose, 1994, p. 101) dominant hegemonic discourses. In this respect, rap music has been acknowledged as a powerful oppositional culture that acts as a bridge between popular culture and social criticism. Although primarily focused on Western contexts, most contemporary discourse on hip-hop consistently maintains a connection between the genre and a culture of resistance, opposition and political activism which aims to give voices to oppressed and marginalised groups in society. For instance, Fatsis (2019) illuminates how UK drill and grime hip-hop exposes the effects of marginalisation and criminalisation experienced by deprived Black communities and how the genre ‘broadcasts, but does not cause violent crime’ (2019, p. 1301).

Hip-hop is also deeply intertwined with gender, typically portraying men as tough and authentic and women as soft and sell-outs (McLeod, 1999), and frequently featuring misogynistic themes, targeting women with derogatory labels, sexual objectification and distrust (Hunter, 2011). In response to these negative assessments, hip-hop feminism emerged in the 1990s (Durham et al., 2013). By calling attention to issues of gender stereotypes and racialised representations, the movement emphasises the role of hip-hop as a platform to empower women through the ‘articulation of feminist consciousness, epistemology and politics’ (Durham et al., 2013, p. 722). However, while hip-hop studies outside of the USA have been rapidly growing as a response to the global success of hip-hop, academic discussions about hip-hop feminism have not followed suit, despite explicit calls for transnational approaches to the field (Saunders, 2016). The Chinese case is at a very embryonic stage marked by a scarcity of research on the implications of hip-hop culture for female participants. One notable exception is the study by Chew and Mo (2019), who put forward the concept of Chinese hip-hop feminism to frame the struggles against gendered cultural stereotypes faced by Chinese b-girls. The term also aims to localise hip-hop feminism as an effort to ‘challenge, resist and mobilise’ (2019, p. 457) against the traditional Chinese patriarchal structure and gatekeeping issues for women in relevant industrial networks. This article, although not as a central dimension of analysis, employs Chew and Mo’s (2019) concept to frame some of the female perspectives in the analysis section.

In China, hip-hop emerged in the 1990s alongside rock and punk, bringing new life into an underground music scene that had been dormant since Tiananmen (Wang, 2022). Though mostly confined underground, early Chinese hip-hop represented a generation that ‘refuses to be suppressed, that seeks unseeingly . . . that grows stubbornly, that resists and struggles’ (De Kloet, 2005, p. 618). Indeed, with the rise of rap battles, Chinese rappers were offered a new platform to voice dissatisfaction with oppressive authority, widespread political corruption, rigid parental relationships and educational pressures and inequalities. However, embodying the resistant nature of Chinese hip-hop in the emerging mainstream came at a cost. In 2015, the government banned 120 songs that were deemed to promote ‘obscenity, violence, crime, and jeopardised morality’ (Amar, 2018, p. 106). Hip-hop featured heavily on this list, with Beijing’s trio In3 earning the top spot for overt references to government corruption in their lyrics. Another major censorship event in 2017 was directed to acclaimed rapper PG One, co-winner of the show The Rap of China, for encouraging young people to take drugs and belittling women in his raps (Wang, 2020; Wang 2024). Censorship, however, is only part of the State’s broader arsenal of strategies to regulate morality and culture, which also include propaganda, persuasion and accommodation approaches. A clear example of the pervasiveness of contemporary ideological work is the concept of harmonious society (hexie shehui, 和谐社会). The concept of harmony refers to the set of norms that should inform individual behaviours in relation to the moral self, the family, the State and other levels of society and include ideals of peace, equality and reconciliation (Han, 2008). Harmony remains prevalent in the contemporary mainstream and propaganda discourse and the concept is deployed to justify government measures aimed at suppressing dissent and censoring the media, on the premise that this is necessary for social stability. The effects on popular culture cannot be overstated, with impacts observed across a variety of platforms, including social media, online gaming and television programmes (Kong, 2014). Posts, images, scenery and screenplays that are deemed sensitive or challenge authority are removed and censored. Political hashtags are banned and highly visible profiles that oppose or mock official narratives are also suppressed. The overall aim remains to balance the promotion of official ideology and suppression of dissent with maintaining popular media’s fan bases, audience ratings and profits.

How censorship and ideological control achieve this balance is not always obvious. This is an argument shared among scholars of Chinese popular culture (Baranovitch, 2003; De Kloet, 2010), who refer to censorship as a ‘cat and mouse game’ (De Kloet, 2010, p. 35), a simultaneously limiting and productive force that creates a dialectical arena for artists to negotiate within the ambiguous realms of Chinese law and cultural directives. In fact, standards are often ambiguous, and censorship is ‘far from being monolithic’ (Amar, 2020, p. 32), with multiple forces, including the central government, local authorities, the police, artists, state-owned enterprises and independent labels, shaping what is deemed acceptable through continuous negotiations, bribery and discretionary practices. As Tang (2022) continues to note, the remarkable surge in popularity of Chinese hip-hop also involved a delicate balancing act between policy, business interests and creative expression to adapt hip-hop to suit mainstream sensibilities. In fact, although hip-hop culture appears to contradict traditional Chinese and State-sponsored values at every turn, the genre has steadily gained popularity among Chinese youth. Thus, the question arises as to how the rebellious and denouncing features of hip-hop are understood and negotiated by individuals within a system that aims to suppress them. Drawing on Scott and De Certeau, the following sections provide insightful interpretations of resistance in contemporary Chinese hip-hop, highlighting that resistance should not be limited to overt political rebellion but should also include ambiguity, lack of explicit intent and creative musical experimentation: a crucial toolkit employed by Chinese hip-hop in a culturally controlled environment.

The conceptualisation of (everyday) resistance

Although the concept of resistance remains loosely defined, virtually all conceptualisations and operationalisations in various settings share a sense of action and opposition, broadly intended as verbal, cognitive, or physical actions that ‘counter, contradict, reject, challenge’ (Hollander & Einwohner, 2004, p. 538) power structures, norms or dominant ideologies. These characteristics are especially evident in classical readings, which define resistance as ‘actions involving consciousness, collective action, and direct challenges to structures of power’ (Rubin, 1995, p. 245) or as ‘expressive behaviour that inverts, contradicts, abrogates, or prevents alternatives to cultural codes’ (Pitts, 1998, p. 71). Most of these frameworks also maintain that resistant acts must be visible and recognised by both targets and observers for them to count as resistance.

However, the requirement of open recognition risks overlooking the actions of powerless individuals who do not have the resources or opportunities to openly rebel. In these cases, the only possibility for resistant actors may be to engage in covert, unrecognised and invisible acts of resistance that Scott conceptualised as everyday resistance (Scott, 1989). Everyday resistance is different from insurrection, demonstration and revolution, which all have the common characteristics of being organised, collective and openly confrontational. Instead, Scott refers to small-scale behaviours of non-compliance, desertion, pilfering, foot-dragging and simulated ignorance that ‘mitigate or deny claims made by superordinate classes’ (Scott, 1985, p. 32). With everyday resistance acts, the resister seeks ‘tacit, de facto gains’, instead of aspiring to ‘formal, de jure, recognition of those gains’ (Scott, 1989, p. 34). In Scott’s commentary, the goals of open and everyday resistance are similar, but the actions are different, and this difference boils down to tactical wisdom of the resisters. This is because where there is considerable control and supervision, everyday resistance becomes the tactical and preferred, if not the only, option to resist as any other form would be quelled by the authority.

The issue of intentionality of resistance has also been contentious. Some scholars posit that conscious intent to challenge power is necessary for actions to be considered resistant (Leblanc, 1999; Scott, 1989). As Rubin (1995) puts it, resistance must involve some level of consciousness that is ‘acknowledged or acknowledgeable by people themselves in speech or thought’ (1995, p. 245). Similarly, although Scott admits that self-interest typically motivates everyday resistance, his theory assumes the existence of a hidden network of resisters who share political goal and intent. However, assessing intentionality is an arduous, if not ‘close to impossible’ (Johansson & Vinthagen, 2019, p. 49) task, especially in systems like China’s where there exist boundaries that limit what is socially possible. Even when stated, intentions may not align with actions, making the requirement of intentionality a weak measure of resistance (Weitz, 2001). In response, other scholars maintain that resistance can be unintentional, emerging through everyday practices that challenge dominant norms and values (De Certeau, 1984; Johansson & Vinthagen, 2019).

Everyday resistance also involves intricate webs of power dynamics linked to the intersection of race, class, age and gender. With regard to gender, (everyday) resistance exhibits gendered characteristics in terms of its makeup, objectives, strategies, outcomes and recognition (Johansson & Vinthagen, 2019, p. 70). These patterns are found in many settings, including rural peasant resistance, a dimension that Scott had initially neglected (Hart, 2017), social movements and street protests (Roth & Saunders, 2019) and in the everyday practices of women who use bodily expressions as a mode of resistance (Weitz, 2001). The Chinese case is no different, where embryonic manifestations of hip-hop feminism (Chew & Mo, 2019), and feminism in general (Peng, 2020), reflect the gendered dimension of resistance. These manifestations navigate a complex terrain shaped by the resurgence of patriarchal values in post-reform Chinese society, which promote a traditional docile and submissive feminine image, and the neoliberal notion of the self-reliant, empowered woman (Wu & Dong, 2019).

In this article, I side with De Certeau's (1984) argument, in that everyday resistance can be understood as the creative use of the network of social discipline. Although not a central dimension of analysis, I also acknowledge the role of gender in determining modalities and outcomes of everyday resistance. Through cultural creativity, individuals challenge and bend societal norms associated with everyday activities like buying, eating, dressing and talking to accomplish pragmatic goals. When dominant norms do not work for them, people develop their own creative strategies of resistance. Everyday life, according to De Certeau, is full of such strategies and cunning methods to resist control and discipline, even if only shifting and transitory. The key merit of De Certeau is to extend the scope of everyday resistance beyond that of collective political motivation by highlighting personal and creative instances where resistant acts represent an ‘adequate response to contingent situations’, without the ‘slightest calculation’ (De Certeau, 1984, p. 56).

Beyond dichotomies: Power, resistance and intentionality

De Certeau’s and Scott’s interpretations lack consideration of the dynamic relationship between power and resistance. Scott’s theory sees class-based conflict to be a static and insurmountable opposition, while De Certeau oversimplifies power as a top-down force: resisters either comply with the dominant power or resist it. Yet, resistance and power are not necessarily dichotomous. The Chinese case shows how they can coexist in an entangled, dynamic relationship where society-wide rules and values propagandised by the power system blur with individual interests and creative expressions of resistance where individuals constantly navigate the boundaries of what is admissible. In fact, the modernisation, relatively pluralised cultural production and the internet revolution have created more opportunities for instances of contentious politics to emerge in China, resulting in the development of more diverse and complex positions on the relationship between power and resistance. In fact, while classical accounts have focused on large-scale collective movements such as the historic Tiananmen Square protests, these overt acts represent only a portion of the multifaceted dynamics between power and dissent in China (Veg, 2019).

The concept of rightful resistance is a prime example of the complexities of such interplay (O’Brien & Li, 2006). The concept frames the practices of dissatisfied individuals in rural China who, when beneficial rights are granted, typically by central government policies, but not upheld by local authorities, appropriate official slogans, policies and laws in an attempt to assert their rightful entitlements. By tactically recognising that Chinese power can be ‘both fragmented and divided against itself’ (2006, p. 14), rightful resisters tactically align themselves with specific government rulings to create divisions among different levels of governance for their own personal gain. This demonstrates how, while resisting power, individuals ‘may simultaneously support the structures of domination that necessitates resistance in the first place’ (Hollander & Einwohner, 2004, p. 541), and emphasises that contention does not always involve neatly divided antagonists in perpetual conflict. Another example is represented by the emergence of minjian (民间) intellectuals since the 1990s (Veg, 2019). The term minjian, which aptly conveys the notion of ‘unofficial’, refers to grassroots intellectuals who, through affiliations different from the State’s and engagement with vulnerable groups in Chinese society, have contributed to broadening the spectrum of action and intervention in the Chinese social discourse. This shows that independent intellectual action can coexist with power, albeit within an ‘embryonic and always endangered’ (2019, p. 13) Chinese public sphere.

Similar arguments can be made in the context of Chinese popular culture. While it is undeniable that the government still exerts substantial control, the contemporary landscape of popular culture challenges a simplistic power–resistance dichotomy. Chinese popular culture is not ‘an object over which a single force or social group has exclusive ownership’ (Baranovitch, 2003, p. 272), rather it is a space where power and resistance are in a constant process of dialogue and negotiation. This is evidenced by instances of popular culture that emerge outside the State’s realm as well as by how officialdom constantly shifts the line to be as popular as possible among the masses (Han, 2018). The overall result is that the State has progressively begun to recognise arts for entertainment’s sake, in opposition to the old dogmatism and prescriptivism. These arguments resonate with Kielman (2022), who, drawing from recent ethnography of two Guangzhou-based folk bands, problematises the excessive fascination with the political role of Chinese music. Local and independent instances of music exist in forms that do not necessarily belong to the extreme end of the power–resistance spectrum. Ignoring these nuances risks producing distorted views of popular music heard in China, ‘the majority of which . . . is not remotely subversive’ (2022, p. 164).

These nuances are a primary subject of this article. In line with Baranovitch (2003) and Kielman (2022), I hold that it is necessary to transcend a binary understanding of power and resistance to detect subtle and nuanced forms of resistance within the complex landscape of often contradictory practices of the Chinese system. I also side with Scott’s and De Certeau’s views that acts of everyday resistance are small-scale, invisible acts that have the potential to undermine power. However, I hold that resistance might take even more subtle forms in the Chinese context, where censorship and pervasive ideological work limit both the visibility of resistant acts and the possibilities of excavating intention. The subtlety of these actions is reflected in their lack of coherent organisation, formal recognition and political motivation – characteristics that, I hold, should not disqualify actions to be classified as resistance, as long as they have the potential to undermine power.

In power systems where possibilities of overt expression are limited, as in the Chinese case, the requirement of recognition and (political) intention risks overlooking the struggles of individuals who must find creative and unpatterned ways to express themselves, their desires and their discontent. Behaviours of foot-dragging, rapping against a boss, voicing social critique through rap may not have a fixed, well-expressed (or expressible) intent, be guided by an ideology, or directed towards a specific opponent. Yet, they can silently challenge the status quo by making ‘creative use of what is given and designed by hegemonic power’ (Johansson & Vinthagen, 2019, p. 40) and ‘reappropriat[ing] the space organized by techniques of sociocultural production’ (De Certeau, 1984, p. xvii). In this respect, these practices still embody the sense of action and opposition that broadly defines resistance (Hollander & Einwohner, 2004) and showcase the ‘exceptional agency, creativity, and skill’ (O’Brien & Li, 2006, p. 17) of resisters, even if actions are not conducted as deliberate and overt acts of political activism or civil disobedience.

To uncover such forms of contention that may be even less visible and motivated than what Scott and De Certeau had envisaged, or O’Brien and Li observed in rural China, I maintain that it is necessary to de-emphasise the importance of intentionality and focus on the ‘act itself’ (Weitz, 2001, p. 670) and its potential for critique, social change and personal expression. In this respect, I share the need to study everyday resistance as a ‘practice (not a certain consciousness, intent or outcome)’ and to consider it ‘heterogeneous and contingent due to changing contexts and situations’ (Johansson & Vinthagen, 2019, p. 183, emphasis added). Everyday resistance does not always require a conscious awareness of challenging power, thus highlighting ‘the significance of the unintended consequences of agents’ daily activities’ (Bayat, 2013, p. 53). Instead, resistance can emerge as a byproduct of individuals’ desires, interests and creativity intersecting with the boundaries set by the dominant system, as this article will show.

Methodology

This research employs in-depth semi-structured interviews with Chinese rappers and listeners recruited from October 2019 in online hip-hop groups on the Chinese social media platform WeChat. Several online groups were chosen based on their high level of activity (100+ members and 10+ daily posts by group members). These are private groups, where access needs to be granted by an admin. When I joined the groups, I posted interviewees’ recruitment calls explaining that I was looking for group members to be interviewed about Chinese hip-hop. This research obtained ethical approval and considered the potential risks of online surveillance and censorship, especially given the potentially sensitive nature of themes of resistance. Consequences may involve having a WeChat account deleted or suspended. To mitigate the risk, I recruited interviewees from WeChat groups, but later communicated via WhatsApp.

During half a year of fieldwork, I enrolled 42 participants through purposive sampling. Among the individuals who replied to the recruitment posts, I selected those who possessed characteristics and experiences relevant to the scope of this research: either long-term followers (3+ years according to their posting history) who regularly engage with hip-hop by viewing, sharing and commenting on relevant content online, or active hip-hop producers who make their own music, either full-time or as a hobby. Interviewees come from diverse backgrounds that include blue- and white-collar professions. Only two interviewees are female, and the age of the interviewees ranges from 19 to 31. Following interview recording, I conducted manual coding. Codes were created through a mix of inductive and deductive approaches. Deductive coding included codes such as ‘resistance’, ‘rebelliousness’, ‘diss’, ‘anger’, ‘censorship’; while inductive codes emerged from the data, such as ‘peace’, ‘harmony’, ‘love’. The overall rationale is to uncover the connections established by the interviewees between hip-hop and these themes, with a focus on the underlying reasons behind these perceptions.

Due to the impracticality of conducting fieldwork in China due to the COVID-19 pandemic, this study relies on online ethnography and interviews as a valuable alternative. While this approach limits the possibility of an immersive ethnographic experience within music scenes, it allows for increased accessibility, cost and time efficiency, as well as enhanced anonymity, potentially encouraging more candid responses. In addition, as a Chinese researcher with a long-standing passion for hip-hop, I have been able to engage in this study with insider knowledge and cultural sensitivity thanks to significant cultural closeness with the interviewees. This cultural intimacy helps create a relaxed atmosphere that favours gathering close insights and grasp cultural subtleties in the interviewees’ responses. Moreover, my participation and acceptance within the WeChat hip-hop groups fostered a sense of trust, as evidenced by the enthusiastic response to my recruitment calls.

An important dimension related to sampling concerns gender, with a notable predominance of male participants. This gendered pattern is a common characteristic of hip-hop scenes globally, stemming from the association of hip-hop with traits of masculinity, toughness and assertiveness that are often regarded as authentic and legitimate within hip-hop culture (McLeod, 1999). These characteristics indicate gatekeeping challenges that restrict opportunities for female engagement or cast doubt on the authenticity of their presence within music scenes (Chew & Mo, 2019). To highlight some of the difficulties experienced by women and present a gender perspective, the analysis section features interview quotes from the two female respondents.

‘Hip-hop is not about resistance’: Rejecting resistance

This section attempts to answer the core question about whether hip-hop culture in China is considered to be a form of resistance. In interviews, the term dikang (抵抗) was used to refer to the concept, which is commonly translated as ‘resistance’ or ‘to resist’, referring to the broad notion of opposition. Bennet Wang has been a full-time rapper for more than five years with his own crew in Beijing. When asked about his opinion on resistance in Chinese hip-hop, his answer revealed a rejection of the idea of resistance:

Why does hip-hop have to be resistant? I don’t think that the word resistance represents hip-hop. Some lyrics in hip-hop music from some crews I know are really dirty and are not suitable for minors. However, sometimes government censorship is too strict, and the process is rigid, which could limit our rappers' artistic creativity.

Based on this response, it appears that acts and ideas of resistance in Chinese hip-hop are not immediately recognised and that the definition of resistance is ambiguous and contradictory. While Bennet supports censorship of vulgar content, he also criticises the strictness of censorship since it might limit creativity. In response, he later explained: ‘when I upload my songs, in order to pass censorship, sometimes I have to rap tactically, avoid sensitive words or disguise them’. Similar strategies were voiced by several other interviewees. ‘Sure, I use emojis to spell out certain topics, they are much harder to spot’ and ‘using pinyin [the Romanised spelling of Chinese characters] instead of characters sometimes works too’, two other interviewees explained. Here, the participants refer to escaping the filtering processes adopted by online censors that can automatically identify sensitive words and prevent them from being published or accessed (Han, 2018). In response, people tactically modify words to bypass filtering. This is a rather common strategy in the contemporary cyberspace in China, where individuals recur to homophones, puns and wordplays to mock and escape censorship. These practices show how language can be used as a small-scale resistance tool to censorship through which artists can create an ‘alternative imagined community that defies the official order’ (Meng, 2011, p. 44).

However, the potential scale and scope of such acts is limited. Bennet’s rejection of defining his actions as resistance echoes Lagerkvist’s scepticism about the political potential of practices of language subversion, which he considers a ‘rather feeble expression among largely apolitical urban youth’ (Lagerkvist, 2010, p. 151). Similarly, Nordin and Richaud (2014) believe that official discourses are only ‘hollowed out or disrupted, rather than contested head-on’ (2014, p. 61) by such practices. Yet, this behaviour does not automatically imply accommodation intended as ‘actions that accept subordination’ (Weitz, 2001, p. 670). Instead, if one’s needs conflict with authority, individuals may superficially conform, while, in fact, circumnavigating obstacles in creative ways. Despite the feebleness of these expressions and their underlying intentions, Bennet’s behaviour remains a pragmatic and creative strategy to navigate power dynamics while avoiding potential consequences like censorship or online account suspension.

Further complexities are illustrated by Abby Zhang’s case. Abby is an independent female artist who uploads her songs on online streaming apps where she has tens of thousands of monthly listeners, something she is very proud of. During our conversation, she strongly recommended me to listen to her rap ‘A Pipe Dream’. This is how the chorus goes:

Draw a peaceful world

where poor babies are no longer used as

toys. Girls walking at night

are no longer afraid, all the bad guys pay the price.

Draw an equal God

who wants all children to receive equal

education.

When I quizzed Abby about the meaning behind these lyrics and why she chose to rap about these themes, she told me that, prior to becoming a full-time rapper in Shanghai, she worked for many years for an educational charity in rural parts of China. This experience made her aware of the reality of education inequalities across the country and made her interact with children from disadvantaged backgrounds. The song simultaneously denounces these unjust social realities and invokes an ideal world where such issues do not exist. Her song speaks for the voiceless and the marginalised in a society where the urban–rural divide, as well as gender inequalities, persists and limits access to social and educational resources.

Abby’s experience can also be considered an attempt at resistance to the resurgence of patriarchal values in Chinese society promoted by the State’s recent revival of Confucianism, which calls for a societal hierarchical order where women are supposed to be gentle, humble and unassuming. Abby challenges the male dominance of hip-hop scenes with her successful position as a rapper and the image of the traditional Chinese woman with her assertive facial expression, braided hairstyle and vintage sunglasses that she flaunts in her WeChat profile picture. With her song, she asserts her agency and uses music as a platform to denounce issues of women’s safety. This attitude resonates with the emerging discourse of Chinese hip-hop feminism, in that she employs rapping to ‘challenge, resist and mobilise collectives to dismantle systems of exploitation’ (Chew & Mo, 2019, p. 457). She strategically employs her online presence and fandom to promote emerging forms of online feminism, which have recently experienced a surge in online discussion forums, community question-and-answer sites and blogs (Peng, 2020). In contrast to street-level demonstrations and protests, the online sphere in China is where women are becoming more aware of and openly critical about issues such as domestic violence, reproductive rights and inequalities in education and the workplace. More broadly, these attitudes reflect Chinese urban youth’s increasing awareness of women’s positions and growing alignment with neoliberal notions of self-worth and autonomy, underscoring that younger generations of Chinese women find it unfeasible to maintain continuity with socialist-state feminism (Wu & Dong, 2019).

However, when the discussion continued to the point of excavating the implications behind these resistant visions, Abby said: ‘it’s all in rap, nothing else behind, it’s rap that expresses resistance, not me’. Her words show that, although lyrics convey ideas of resistance and social critique, individuals are reluctant to openly recognise them. Abby’s behaviour also responds to the characteristics of everyday resistance, in that her answer is clearly aimed at concealing her critical intentions in the eyes of me as an external observer. As Scott points out, everyday resistance ‘rarely make[s] headlines’ (Scott, 1985, p. 49) as resisters do not wish to call attention to themselves. However, Abby’s attitude points to a far more complex relationship between power and resistance than what Scott’s emphasis on class struggle may suggest. While Abby acts as an agent of resistance through her music, she is also inevitably subjected to hierarchies of power that prevent her from openly taking responsibility for her creation. Abby’s response, much like Bennet’s, needs to be considered ideologically embedded, in that cultural values of deference and State-sponsored propaganda compel actors to act apolitically for fear of being seen as transgressive, incurring censorship or being stigmatised. In this sense, the rejection of defining themselves as resisters serves as a tool for hip-hop artists to navigate the boundaries of permissible expression in a society that places high value on social harmony, conformity and deference to authority (Han, 2008).

Notably, all interviewees displayed a consistent reluctance to associate themselves with resistance, albeit with varying degrees of nuance. While some participants explicitly distanced Chinese hip-hop from any notion of resistance, other interviewees, like Bennet and Abby above, displayed a more subtle aversion, implying a certain degree of caution in addressing the topic. While they acknowledged the potential for hip-hop to convey sociocultural messages, they avoided explicitly labelling their activities as resistant. These behaviours invite us to reflect on the issue of intentionality behind acts of resistance. Clearly, reaching a full determination on whether artists like Abby and Bennet intend to challenge power is an arduous task. Excavating the intentionality behind practices of everyday resistance in repressive systems is ‘close to impossible’ (Johansson & Vinthagen, 2019, p. 49). After all, how can intention be established when resisters have full interest in misrepresenting it, or when the subject is compelled to act in ways that reflect mainstream ideology? The solution I propose here is that, in strongly ideological systems, it is necessary to de-emphasise the importance of intentionality in order to detect everyday forms of resistance that may be even more subtle and less motivated than what Scott and De Certeau had envisaged. Privileging political intention or consciousness, or well-articulated intent, risks neglecting transient, apolitical (or not-yet-political) acts. We are then left with the only sensible possibility to assess ‘the nature of the act itself’ (Weitz, 2001, p. 670). The act of writing lyrics maintains the denouncing and criticising characteristics of hip-hop. In its attempt to raise awareness of societal issues, Abby’s song represents ‘the silent, protracted but pervasive advancement of the ordinary people’ (Bayat, 2013, p. 56) that may have the potential to spread among her listeners and transform perceptions, relations and cultural patterns, whether Abby openly admits it or not. These traits are further explored in the next section, which will continue to highlight creative practices of ambiguous and hidden resistance.

Chinese rappers’ everyday resistance

The passage below, extracted from an interview with Jee Sun, highlights different subtle forms of resistance that may arise in different daily contexts. Jee Sun is an amateur rapper from Beijing who writes his own songs and shares them with friends. When asked about his interpretation of resistance in hip-hop, he stated:

Fundamentally, I don’t think that hip-hop can only be defined by resistance. It’s not like we need to fight any big injustice. Instead, I write or listen to raps to release my frustration from work and swear against co-workers sometimes, other times I do it just to chill. I think that hip-hop has different meanings depending on the rappers’ and listeners’ different understandings and how you’re feeling on any day.

According to Jee’s viewpoint, hip-hop is not primarily defined by resistance. Instead, he attaches meanings to hip-hop that are intimately related to the listeners’ and creators’ mood, emotions and daily life contexts. During the interview, Jee invited me to browse his Netease account. A look at his profile revealed song titles and lyrics that reflect his daily frustrations and narrate small acts of defiance. The first song on his profile is titled ‘shut up’. In this rap, he takes on people who ‘show off sweet times with their partners’, while ‘I am 35 years old, I earn minimum wage and I don’t have a girlfriend’ and ‘everyone laughs at me when I try to be funny’. In another song, he raps: ‘I complained about super annoying supervisors who don’t want to work overtime today, super annoying bosses who only control us’. Jee’s raps point to the microscopic nature of resistance, based on temporality, individual choices and context opportunities that are all shifting and transient, and assume meaning only when considered within ongoing negotiations with daily reality. In fact, Jee’s music captures transient emotions while silently challenging power relations via creative use of his time, contesting societal expectations on relationships and complaining about low wages. In addition, unlike Scott, who suggests the existence of a ‘tacit cooperation that develops among the resisters’ (Scott, 1989, p. 53), Jee’s use of hip-hop is ever shifting. Jee uses hip-hop as an ‘adequate response to contingent situations’, without the ‘slightest calculation’ (De Certeau, 1984, p. 56) rather than with a specified, well-articulated intent. In this sense, Jee’s experiences also invite us to move away from consciously articulated political intentions, often privileged by scholars of everyday resistance. This is also reflected by another interviewee, MC Guang, who said:

The rebellious part of hip-hop is that people have various and colourful stories of the past and they have been transformed into different emotions. There are depressed, angry and relief-bringing versions of raps. These hard-nosed life attitudes are all included in hip-hop music.

MC Guang’s response continues to show the potential of other dimensions of everyday resistance focusing on shifting sentiments of anger, frustration, relief, which are a more integral part of rap than well-directed intention. These feelings are the silent, mundane and entertainment patterns that are normalised within a certain subordinated culture or community that ‘vent[s] anger in a non-revolutionary manner’ (Nordin & Richaud, 2014, p. 50). This is aptly illustrated by MC Guang’s story, who kept telling me about working several part-time jobs, while using his leisure time to write songs. In one of his most popular raps, MC Guang sings: ‘his persuasive power comes from arrogance, a greedy, unwise, and selfish little bastard. This type of person is the worst and the most hateful.’ MC Guang later admitted that the dissing is aimed at one of his line managers, who often tries to sow discord in the workplace by taking advantage of his high status. In response, MC Guang fakes compliance and uses work time to create hip-hop, exemplifying how resistance in contemporary China can be stylish and creative and manipulates rapping to one’s advantage.

This is how everyday resistance in China unites features from Scott, who describes its practices as hidden, small-scale survival techniques, with De Certeau’s arguments, who believes that resisters unleash creativity to utilise and bend norms and rules, to form styles and forge new identities. This interpretation seems to explain MC Guang’s behaviour, as the resisters’ desires to evade norms pushes them towards a creative use of their own time, style and daily circumstances (Wang, 2023). In fact, the example of faking compliance in a workspace typifies De Certeau’s ‘time theft’, which he described as acts of foot dragging (1984, p. 25). Instead of producing profit for the employer, MC Guang uses time and space for his own needs, leisure and interests, for activities that are creative and non-profit, thus silently challenging hierarchies of power and rules at work. Overall, these variegated understandings suggest that resistance in Chinese hip-hop and practice does not respond to a traditional and dichotomous concept (either overt or covert resistance), rather it encompasses ambiguous small acts and behaviours, fragments of emotions and normalisation of lifestyles. Emotional and personal dimensions are highlighted more than any subversive or rebellious traits of hip-hop resistance in the Chinese context, where the success of everyday resistance is measured by its ability to conceal intentions or, in fact, to misrepresent intentions as loyal and allegiant in the face of the repressive power system.

Most interviews revealed similar patterns, with participants refraining from describing their activities as openly defiant. However, a notable difference emerged between producers and listeners. While producers demonstrated creativity in their tactical resistance strategies, such as using homophones, metaphors, satire and parody in their music, listeners tended to turn to hip-hop for emotional support, daily relief and self-empowerment. The common thread lies in the modest nature of these acts, lacking overt intention and coherence, in line with the typical traits of everyday resistance. Such mundane, small acts of resistance represent creative, effective and smart survival tactics in a modern power centre, where individual expression and one’s desires need to be carefully balanced with the potential consequences of open critique.

Peace, love and respect: Resistance in a harmonious society

The reluctance of the interviewees to openly describe hip-hop as resistant was often followed by identifying the core spirit of Chinese hip-hop as ‘peace, love and respect’ (heping, aiyu zunzhong 和平,爱与尊重). The phrase ‘peace, love and respect’, which was used interchangeably in English and Chinese by interviewees, evokes the spirit of Afrika Bambaataa’s vision of ‘peace, love, unity, and having fun’, which he articulated when founding the Universal Zulu Nation in 1982. This hip-hop movement embraced socially and politically conscious rappers, B-boys, graffiti artists and followers. Bambaataa’s motto aimed to nurture the creativity of young people and promote ideals of justice and equality (Katz, 2012). In the Chinese context, considering the similarity of this motto with the values of the harmonious society propagandised by the government, it is interesting to discuss how such themes may morph into expressions of resistance. Tim Yang, a long-term listener of hip-hop, provided an exemplary viewpoint when he stated:

I think hip-hop stands for ‘peace, love and respect’. My understanding of American hip-hop culture is that African American black people pursue a better life and fight out their poor lives and dark reality. I feel that Chinese hip-hop also fights that darkness of reality and advocates for a better world.

Tim identifies the concept of hip-hop resistance with the struggle of African Americans in the 1970s, who saw hip-hop as an escape from their dark realities. By aligning hip-hop with themes of ‘peace, love, and respect’, Tim’s words show how hip-hop can provide both a politics of recognition and rage and an aspirational focus for today’s youth against marginalisation, isolation and violence. This aspirational focus offers an alternative sense of place to speak and a different way of expressing resistance, just like the long-term hip-hop listener Wendy Liu expressed:

Rap resists the dark side of society and advocates the bright side of society, which is consistent with the idea of harmonious society based on reciprocal peace, love and respect. . . . Hip-hop should represent the positives of life and be against exclusion and violence.

Wendy makes an explicit connection between the concept of the harmonious society and the spirit of hip-hop. In her view, the two are perfectly aligned in emphasising the positives of life and rejecting exclusion and violence. Her response even features a verbatim reproduction of official government discourse on popular media, which requires cultural products to promote ‘the bright side of society’ (Kong, 2014, p. 55). We can thus see a further manifestation of ideals of harmony, as both traditionally embedded in Chinese culture and sponsored by State ideological works. Several other interviewees created similar connections. Carl Zhang, a passionate hip-hop fan, concurred in stating: ‘hip-hop should embrace inclusivity and reject violence’, as also echoed by Ian Wu, who believes that ‘hip-hop is for everyone to enjoy and should spread ideas of harmony and mutual respect’.

The instances above can be interpreted as an appropriation and strategic use of the central government narrative on harmonious culture and positive change in society. Much like O’Brien and Li’s rightful resisters, the interviewees `creatively appropriate and refashion official rights’ discourses’ (2006, p. 128) to advocate for what is supposedly rightfully theirs social harmony and order, as the government propagandises and promises in its policies. Through this form of claims, individuals tactically leverage the government’s own rhetoric to challenge and reshape prevailing power dynamics and assumptions within society. Further, the appropriation of such themes shows how resistance under the Chinese power network may push hip-hop to evolve into an ambitious social vision that promotes equality and fairness (Wang, 2024). This viewpoint is, once again, far beyond a dichotomous conception of power and resistance and resonates with a growing body of hip-hop literature that emphasises how traditional themes of violence and vulgarity are progressively replaced by aspirational discourses of personal growth, communal well-being and elimination of inequalities. These viewpoints appear to be compatible with Tim’s and Wendy’s perceptions as well as with the mainstream propaganda.

Another interesting viewpoint on how artists redirect resistance concerns the theme of positive energy (zheng nengliang, 正能量). This is how another interviewee, MC King, understands hip-hop’s positive energy:

Hip-hop brings me a lot of positive energy. It teaches me to seek the truth, critically think about the world and be optimistic. When I write raps, I feel energised, my raps push me to fight my fears and reject the dark side.

MC King, who participated in the third season of The Rap of China, insisted on showing off some of his raps during the interview: ‘We will always be as alive and fearless as newborn babies, may the world be young and bright, the whole world is bright and young.’ In another rap, he sings: ‘you are always full of hope and strong and warm every day. How many times did the endless night and darkness fail to consume you? You always light up my day.’ He then explained to me that this song is dedicated to hip-hop, which saves him from negative emotions and consistently provides comfort. His reply and raps exude optimism, and rapping is a valuable means for MC King to express his positivity and encouragement. Worth noting, the term ‘positive energy’ mentioned by MC King is also appropriated from the public propaganda discourse. The core of the positive energy government discourse is that individuals should behave and think positively (Chen & Wang, 2019) with the aim of maintaining harmonious stability and equilibrium, both at the individual and societal level. As such, the ideal objective is for both the artists and their fans to achieve deep bonds over life struggles and rise above hard feelings through a cathartic cultural experience that privileges positive thinking, optimism and harmony. Although rappers worldwide have a long tradition of using personal suffering and sorrow in their music and converting it into mobilising power, in modern China, positive energy converts rap into self-help solutions against hardships, and moulds direct and open venting of dissatisfaction into optimistic themes and positive thinking.

Discussion and conclusion

How do people use music to resist, express discontent, or voice critique in environments where authorities’ cultural supervision is greatest? How can intent be excavated and assessed when individuals have full interest in disguising motivations, or acts are simply unintentional? In such circumstances social actors may not necessarily choose between compliance or resistance, extreme action or passive acceptance of the status quo. The examined case of Chinese hip-hop offers a unique vantage point in that it combines ongoing mainstream success with contradictions of the principles of cultural control exerted by Chinese authorities. In such a situation, the key challenge for individuals becomes balancing desires for change, emotional relief and self-expression with avoiding open challenge to authority and its potential negative consequences. This article provided insight into how Chinese individuals achieve this balance through complex practices of resistance.

Hip-hop in China can only express resistance in ways that are compatible with the boundaries imposed by censorship and propaganda. This is either as everyday resistance, which remains hidden from power, or by being, at least superficially, aligned with State-sponsored messaging. These outcomes should not disqualify these acts from being considered as resistance, in that ‘no particular effect or outcome should be mandatory, only the potential of undermining power’ (Johansson & Vinthagen, 2019, p. 47). Not only does the Chinese system compel individuals to feign allegiance, but, in the realm of everyday, transitory and opportunistic defiance, makes well-expressed, or expressible, intent a weak measure of resistance. Only by de-emphasising the focus of intentionality can one delve into the realm of subtle, less motivated forms of resistance that may also cater to the everyday, rather than the political arena (Wang, 2023). These practices ‘elude discipline without being outside the field in which [they are] exercised’ (De Certeau, 1984, p. 96), rather than engaging in ‘symbolic and ideological warfare’ with power (Rose, 1994, p. 101). These activities are conducted ‘not as deliberate political acts; rather, they are driven by the force of necessity’ (Bayat, 2013, p. 58). As such, their recognition would be masked by the requirement of (political) intention which, in ideological systems like the Chinese one, produces the rejection of being associated with resistance. This is in stark contrast with the overt targeting of state institutions and the explicit political consciousness of other music movements, such as punks (Way, 2021), who consider subversion and political motivation an integral part of their identity. Chinese hip-hop also differs from organised movements, which typically rely on a shared framing of a sociopolitical issue and a common sense of injustice to successfully mobilise (Blyton & Jenkins, 2012). Instead, this article aligns with research on the relevance of the ‘everyday’ as a significant site for sociological enquiry (Wang, 2023), such as in recent analyses of street life (Jones, 2018) and everyday queer activism (Fish et al., 2018).

In line with these works, this article recognises the value of ordinary actions and their potential to catalyse change, shape social spaces and public perceptions, and transform cultural patterns. While one could critically argue that everyday resisters ‘produce without capitalizing’ (De Certeau, 1984, p. xx), I maintain that the atomisation, transience and lack of coherence of mundane tactics do capitalise on individual musical creativity and the exploitation of fleeting opportunities to subtly challenge power dynamics and develop social agency. Everyday resisters demonstrate ‘exceptional agency, creativity, and skill’ (O’Brien & Li, 2006, p. 17) in circumnavigating daily obstacles and coping with restrictive environments or social norms that do not work for them, especially considering the complex ways in which power and resistance are entangled in strongly ideological systems.

These are significant nuances that call for a focus on the resistant act, regardless of (political) intent or its feigned allegiance induced by structures of power. The agency of resisters in restrictive environments should not be diminished by the lack of acknowledgement in front of an external observer. As Ortner argues, ‘things do get changed, regardless of the intentions of the actors or the presence of very mixed intentions’ (Ortner, 1995, p. 175). These behaviours also emphasise the importance of actions over intentions and invite us to look at resistance as a ‘practice, not a certain consciousness, intent or outcome’ (Johansson & Vinthagen, 2019, p. 183, emphasis added), not as a ‘politics of protests, but of practice’ (Bayat, 2013, p. 20), which assumes meaning only when observed through the appropriate sociocultural and historical lenses. Furthermore, this article provides a glimpse into the gender dynamics and perspectives of female participants in Chinese hip-hop by subscribing to the emerging discourse of Chinese hip-hop feminism and online feminism (Chew & Mo, 2019; Peng, 2020). While the perspective is brief, this study acknowledges the gendered nature of practices of (everyday) resistance and advocates for the use of non-Western frameworks (Saunders, 2016) when examining localised aspects of gender politics of Chinese hip-hop and, more broadly, of Chinese society.

Overall, the Chinese case invites us to recognise the everyday, creative and individual spheres as valid targets of resistance, underscoring the significance of emotional relief and self-expression as important components of social agency. Understanding how individuals find ways to quietly voice discontent while managing societal constraints and avoiding open confrontation expands our understanding of coping mechanisms and individual agency in challenging environments. By contrast, an overemphasis on intent and openness risks overlooking the struggles of resistant actors in oppressive power systems, where, only by remaining apolitical, can individuals protect themselves from potential retaliation. Overtly rejecting resistance, while, in fact, practising everyday resistance appears to be a sensible and pragmatic path for resisters to struggle for existence. I would go as far as to say that this type of resistance is more adventurous, since such unpatterned, covert practices tend to stay out of the gaze of power and mainstream society, while still challenging them.