When Danger Finds the Innocent Indiscriminate Violence and the Fragile Right to Safety in China

I. An Ordinary Night Turned Tragic

On the evening of November 11, 2024, Zhuhai’s city sports complex bustled with life. Children chased each other around the well-lit square, parents strolled hand in hand, and music played loud as dozens of retirees danced to synchronized moves under the night sky. It was a scene of ordinary peace.

Then came the crash.

A black BAIC off-road vehicle slammed through the stadium gate and charged onto the track at terrifying speed. In seconds, laughter turned to screaming. Bodies flew. Shoes and handbags littered the ground. Someone screamed into the night, “谁会啊，帮我！”—“Does anyone know CPR? Help me!”

By the time the chaos stilled, at least 35 people were dead, 43 more wounded. Zhuhai’s tragedy, described by survivors as “beyond human imagination,” marked one of the deadliest indiscriminate attacks in China’s recent history.

II. What Is an Indiscriminate Attack?

“Indiscriminate attack” is a term used to describe violence initiated by an individual (or rarely, a small group) targeting random, often unknown people in public spaces. It’s characterized by:

Lack of specific targets
Public, civilian settings like parks, malls, or transport hubs
Suddenness and unpredictability
A high psychological toll on communities

While countries across the world have experienced such tragedies—the 2008 Akihabara stabbing in Japan, or the 2016 Nice truck attack in France—China has seen a worrying increase in such incidents, often shrouded in state silence.

III. 2024: A Deadly Pattern

According to public reports, China recorded at least 17 major attacks on public spaces in 2024. Most were carried out using knives or vehicles, and targeted places like school gates, pedestrian streets, or subway stations.

A few notable cases:

April: A man stabbed five people near a kindergarten in Fujian.
August: A shopping mall in Changsha witnessed a sudden knife attack, killing four.
October: A former security guard rammed his vehicle into a metro station entrance in Chengdu.

Behind the statistics are real people whose lives were shattered. Yet each time, the media coverage was fleeting, the details scarce, and no deeper analysis was permitted.

IV. The Forgotten Victims

In the aftermath of the Zhuhai attack, stories began to surface on social media before being quickly scrubbed. One survivor, a retired factory worker, described the terror of watching her dancing partner crushed before her eyes. “She was just there a second ago. The music was still playing.”

Another account came from a young father who had taken his two children for an evening stroll. He lost his son in the crowd, only to find him minutes later—unconscious and lifeless.

For victims and their families, the pain doesn’t end with the attack:

Minimal mental health support
Little to no state compensation
No public memorials or mourning events
Muted discussions due to censorship

In a country where “social harmony” is a core political narrative, these victims become inconvenient stories—quickly forgotten.

V. Why Do These Attacks Happen?

The rise of indiscriminate violence in China reflects deeper, often hidden societal fractures.

1. Mental Health Crisis

China faces a severe mental health gap. Millions suffer from depression or psychosis, yet access to treatment is extremely limited, especially in rural and working-class areas. Social stigma means few seek help until it’s too late.

Many attackers are middle-aged, unemployed men with histories of social exclusion. The rigid hukou system, job precarity, and lack of social mobility contribute to feelings of helplessness and rage.

3. Grievances with No Outlet

In a system where public dissent is punished and legal complaints often go unanswered, some individuals implode—and take others down with them.

Psychologist Wang Zhiyong writes, “Violence becomes the final, tragic performance of those who believe they have no voice.”

VI. The State Response: More Control, No Care

The Chinese government’s typical response to such incidents follows a predictable script:

Rapid police deployment
Information blackout
Arrest or killing of suspect
Brief news note on state media

Rarely are the underlying causes publicly discussed. There are no state-led mental health initiatives launched in response, nor are systemic failures acknowledged.

Instead, surveillance is increased, and public spaces become even more controlled.

But no number of cameras can address desperation. Control replaces care. The trauma festers.

VII. The Human Right to Safety

The right to life and security of person is enshrined in the Universal Declaration of Human Rights (Article 3). It obliges governments not just to prevent violence, but to foster conditions that reduce its likelihood: access to mental healthcare, economic stability, and responsive institutions.

China’s authoritarian model excels in surveillance, but fails in trust-building or emotional resilience. Its citizens are watched—but not protected. Heard—but not listened to.

By contrast, after public attacks in democratic countries, victims receive:

Public acknowledgment
Transparent investigation
Government-funded support
Opportunities for public mourning

In China, silence is the official policy. But grief demands expression.

VIII. Why This Must Be Told

Talking about indiscriminate attacks in China isn’t about shaming the country—it’s about remembering the human beings behind the numbers. Every death deserves more than a censored article or a forgotten hashtag.

In one online post before deletion, a mother who lost her daughter wrote:

“她只是想跳舞。她不该这样离开这个世界。”
“She just wanted to dance. She didn’t deserve to leave this world like this.”

We must not forget them.

Writing about these incidents is an act of resistance against enforced forgetting. It’s a way to say: Your life mattered. Your death was not just collateral in someone else’s breakdown.

IX. Conclusion: Memory as Resistance

What kind of society are we building if a father cannot safely walk with his child, or a grandmother cannot dance under the night sky?

Safety is not a privilege. It is a right.

And remembering is not weakness—it’s how we remain human in a system that asks us to forget.

So let us remember Zhuhai. And not just as a tragedy, but as a call to reflect, to reform, and to speak the names that power prefers buried in silence.

For the safety and privacy of some individuals, certain names and identifying details have been changed.