Famous Hundred-Million-Dollar Tofu Bridges in Mainland China Are Collapsing!

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A man in Hefei never expected one signature to upend his entire life. Years ago, he acquired foreign citizenship—not to abandon China, but simply to make it easier for his children to study and live overseas. His work, property, and daily life all remained firmly rooted in China. Yet one day, the local police station legally canceled his household registration. Overnight, he lost his Chinese citizenship, faced serious obstacles managing his assets, and found his life thrown into chaos.
Believing the decision was unfair, he took the police station to court, demanding the restoration of his Chinese citizenship. The verdict was swift and cold. Under Chinese law, the moment he voluntarily obtained foreign citizenship, his Chinese nationality was automatically forfeited. The court ruled the cancellation lawful and rejected his claim outright. A single choice—made years earlier—had no reversal button.

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What kind of vehicle is this, and why does it look so heavy? Why are so many people riding it, and why does it feel so wrong? China’s new electric vehicle regulations are out, and electric bikes are suddenly no longer allowed on the road. Overnight, millions of people were told they had to stop riding the most basic and affordable means of transportation.
So the question becomes unavoidable: if electric bikes are banned, what exactly are ordinary people supposed to buy instead? No one gave a clear answer, and people were left to figure it out on their own. And then, almost by accident, someone discovered a loophole. Electric wheelchairs were still allowed.
Electric wheelchairs require no helmet, no license plate, no registration, and no usage restrictions. The price is similar, and the national speed limit is exactly the same—15 kilometers per hour. Faced with no real alternatives, people didn’t complain or protest. They adapted.

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It’s unbelievable, yet this is exactly where China stands today. This is no longer a phase that can be endured or explained away. Pretending has become more dangerous than speaking out, because pretending only delays collapse until it becomes irreversible. Throughout history, the poor have never truly been allowed to speak the truth, and no system has ever been willing to help them do so. They are trained to endure, to remain silent, to swallow injustice as fate. Lately, I’ve been drifting from city to city, sleeping in my car, watching once-busy streets fade into darkness. One night, I had a strange dream. An old man appeared and said, “When the dragon turns, the horse follows.” When I woke up, the meaning was clear. Every collapsing dynasty follows the same path: trust collapses first, then the economy, and finally speech itself. When no one is allowed to talk, it means the system has run out of answers and is surviving on tricks. It may still be standing today, but only by clinging to the edge.

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“Tofu-dreg construction” has become a chilling symbol of systemic failure in China’s building industry. The term refers to structures that look solid on the outside but crumble under minimal stress, much like tofu. Over the past two decades, countless apartment blocks, schools, bridges, and public facilities have been exposed as dangerously substandard, collapsing during earthquakes, floods, or even routine use. These failures are not isolated accidents. They are the predictable result of a development model that prioritizes speed, political targets, and short-term profit over safety and accountability.

At the core of the problem lies a toxic chain of incentives. Local officials are evaluated on visible economic growth, pushing them to approve massive construction projects at breakneck speed. Developers, often protected by political connections, cut costs by using inferior materials, reducing steel reinforcement, falsifying safety reports, and bribing inspectors. Regulatory oversight, rather than acting as a safeguard, frequently becomes a formality or a source of rent-seeking. When disasters occur, investigations are tightly controlled, responsibility is diffused, and meaningful accountability is rare.

The human cost of tofu-dreg construction is devastating. Families lose homes overnight, parents bury children killed in collapsed school buildings, and entire communities are left traumatized and financially ruined. Yet public discussion is often suppressed. Victims seeking justice face intimidation, censorship, or forced settlements that silence them without addressing the root causes. As a result, the same patterns repeat year after year.

Tofu-dreg construction is not merely an engineering problem; it is a governance crisis. It exposes deep flaws in transparency, rule of law, and public oversight. Until safety standards are enforced independently, corruption is punished consistently, and citizens are allowed to speak freely about failures, the concrete may keep rising—but trust, once broken, will not be so easily rebuilt.

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“Tofu-dreg construction” has become a chilling symbol of systemic failure in China’s building industry. The term refers to structures that look solid on the outside but crumble under minimal stress, much like tofu. Over the past two decades, countless apartment blocks, schools, bridges, and public facilities have been exposed as dangerously substandard, collapsing during earthquakes, floods, or even routine use. These failures are not isolated accidents. They are the predictable result of a development model that prioritizes speed, political targets, and short-term profit over safety and accountability.

At the core of the problem lies a toxic chain of incentives. Local officials are evaluated on visible economic growth, pushing them to approve massive construction projects at breakneck speed. Developers, often protected by political connections, cut costs by using inferior materials, reducing steel reinforcement, falsifying safety reports, and bribing inspectors. Regulatory oversight, rather than acting as a safeguard, frequently becomes a formality or a source of rent-seeking. When disasters occur, investigations are tightly controlled, responsibility is diffused, and meaningful accountability is rare.

The human cost of tofu-dreg construction is devastating. Families lose homes overnight, parents bury children killed in collapsed school buildings, and entire communities are left traumatized and financially ruined. Yet public discussion is often suppressed. Victims seeking justice face intimidation, censorship, or forced settlements that silence them without addressing the root causes. As a result, the same patterns repeat year after year.

Tofu-dreg construction is not merely an engineering problem; it is a governance crisis. It exposes deep flaws in transparency, rule of law, and public oversight. Until safety standards are enforced independently, corruption is punished consistently, and citizens are allowed to speak freely about failures, the concrete may keep rising—but trust, once broken, will not be so easily rebuilt.

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