China’s state-driven education system, crafted and enforced by the Chinese Communist Party (CCP), continues to embed hostility toward Japan and the West into the minds of younger generations. This ideological programming, framed as patriotic instruction, often crosses into overt racial prejudice, fostering intolerance and isolating Chinese citizens from global engagement. Far from empowering its people, this agenda has led to tragic outcomes heightening xenophobia, damaging China’s international reputation, and provoking social instability.
Chinese influencer Deng Jiajun, known as “Jang,” caused an uproar after posting a viral video of himself hoarding luxury seafood at a Japanese buffet. With over 4.3 million Douyin followers, Deng proclaimed his overeating spree—featuring salmon, Wagyu, and king crab—as revenge against Japan. He used derogatory language in the subtitles, further fuelling outrage. Viewers, including many Chinese netizens, slammed his behaviour as rude and humiliating, sparking a larger debate on nationalism, online spectacle, and the global perception of Chinese citizens.
What began as a viral spectacle soon evolved into a mirror reflecting a more deeply entrenched ideological concern. The uproar triggered by Deng Jiajun’s antics has drawn attention to the lasting effects of the Chinese Communist Party’s (CCP) narrative control, particularly within the education system. For decades, China’s youth have grown up consuming anti-Japanese content embedded in curricula, state-approved films, and nationalist commemorations. This conditioning has, many argue, distorted public perception of Japan, cementing hostility as a cultural default.
Ironically, even as Japan provided China with more than 3.6 trillion Yen (approximately $33 billion USD) in official development aid over 43 years, this contribution is rarely acknowledged in public discourse. The persistence of hostility, observers note, owes much to the deliberate nurturing of grievance over healing.
Anti-Japanese propaganda has intensified in recent years, reaching alarming levels in 2024. That year alone saw a series of shocking incidents: the murder of a 10-year-old Japanese child in Shenzhen, an attack on a Japanese school bus in Jiangsu, and vandalism at Japan’s Yasukuni Shrine including public urination provoking outrage in Japan.
Japanese lawmaker Gen Matsubara reportedly linked such incidents to a prevailing belief in China that patriotic actions are inherently justified, attributing this mindset to the CCP’s nationalistic education system. Former Vice Minister of Defence Yasuhide Nakayama is also said to have expressed concern, suggesting that state-led indoctrination had contributed to the hostile environment underlying the Shenzhen tragedy.
Even within China’s dissident circles, there is growing recognition of how nationalism is weaponized by the Communist Party to entrench its grip on power. Many dissidents contend that what is branded as patriotism is, in practice, a tool to suppress liberal democratic thought and cultivate hostility toward perceived foreign adversaries. Reports describe how Chinese schoolchildren are subjected to “patriotic education” from a young age, with disturbing accounts of simulated drills where they hurl mock grenades at Japanese and American symbols,imagery documented in investigative features such as those produced by NHK.
Officially, China’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs denies any intent to instil anti-Japanese sentiment. Yet, watchdog groups and international observers point to a broader pattern of ideological conditioning. “The brainwashing begins in childhood,” observed a Japanese analyst, “and by the time these children become adults, that hatred has been internalized as normal.”
Although Deng’s actions were likely meant to convey a political message, observers suggest that they may have unintentionally underscored the plight of ordinary Chinese citizens trapped between state-curated historical narratives and mounting international criticism. Japanese lawmaker Gen Matsubara remarked that the Chinese Communist Party’s educational doctrine lacked humanity, and implied that its most profound casualties might be the people it claims to represent.
Amid rising concerns, various voices have advocated for a future-oriented, more empathetic framework in Sino-Japanese relations. One Japanese individual, reflecting on the matter, expressed the hope that China’s younger generation would eventually transcend historical grievances and foster more amicable, open-hearted connections with the world.
Deng Jiajun’s buffet outburst was more than viral spectacle it exposed how state-driven propaganda, personal ambition, and social media spectacle can entwine to magnify national tensions. Online platforms thrive on outrage, but they also reveal how individual behaviour can mirror or distort a nation’s image, widening rifts and reinforcing stereotypes. Such incidents raise a deeper question: Can societies acknowledge historical wounds while embracing empathy in the presentor will state-fuelled resentments keep reconciliation out of reach? The outcome may shape not just online narratives, but the tenuous relationship between two of Asia’s key powers.