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China is mourning the death of a revered herdswoman who gained national fame as a symbol of rural resilience, while her passing raises uncomfortable questions about the political exploitation of her image.
Siqinfu, an ethnic Mongolian woman from the Inner Mongolia Autonomous Region, died last week at the age of 72. Her death triggered an outpouring of grief across Chinese social media, where she had been elevated to folk hero status through decades of state media coverage.
Known as “Sister Braid” for her traditional Mongolian hairstyle, Siqinfu rose to prominence in the 1980s when the government showcased her as a model citizen who persevered through harsh conditions on the grasslands. State media regularly featured her tending to her horses and sheep on the windswept steppes, portraying her as the embodiment of nomadic hardiness and dedication.
“She represented the spirit of the grasslands—resilient, resourceful, and devoted to her community,” said Professor Zhang Wei of Beijing Normal University, who studies rural cultural representation in Chinese media. “For many urban Chinese who had never experienced life in remote regions like Inner Mongolia, she became the face of China’s diverse ethnic minorities.”
However, behind the carefully crafted public image lay a more complex reality. Reports have emerged that Siqinfu faced significant economic hardships despite her fame. Local sources indicate she continued working well into her later years out of necessity rather than choice, raising questions about the gap between propaganda narratives and the actual living conditions of those showcased in them.
The Chinese Communist Party has long employed the “model worker” concept to promote its values and policies. Dating back to the Mao era, this approach identifies and elevates ordinary citizens whose lives can be presented as exemplary tales of socialist virtue and nationalistic dedication.
In recent years, President Xi Jinping has reinvigorated this propaganda tradition, emphasizing “positive energy” narratives that showcase individuals who overcome adversity through hard work and loyalty to the state. Siqinfu fit perfectly into this framework, particularly as the government sought to promote ethnic harmony in a region that has experienced occasional tensions.
“The state media created a simplified version of her life that served political purposes,” explained Dr. Liu Jian, a media studies expert at Hong Kong University. “While she genuinely was an impressive woman who maintained traditional practices in changing times, the narrative around her often ignored the structural challenges facing ethnic minority communities in China’s borderlands.”
The commodification of her image extended beyond news coverage. Siqinfu appeared in tourism promotions, cultural exhibitions, and even on merchandise. Inner Mongolia used her likeness extensively in campaigns to attract visitors to the region, highlighting traditional horse-riding cultures while downplaying ongoing environmental challenges like grassland degradation and desertification that threaten nomadic livelihoods.
Following her death, the contrast between official commemorations and public responses has been revealing. State media eulogized her primarily as a patriotic figure who embodied national unity, while many ordinary citizens on platforms like Weibo expressed admiration for her personal qualities and concern about the hardships she endured.
“I admired her strength and connection to our traditions, but I wonder if all the attention actually improved her life,” wrote one Weibo user in a comment that received thousands of likes before being removed by censors.
The phenomenon extends beyond Siqinfu. China regularly identifies and promotes individuals from various backgrounds—farmers, factory workers, teachers in remote areas—whose stories can reinforce official narratives about national progress and social harmony.
Experts note that such propaganda efforts often obscure more nuanced policy discussions about regional development disparities, ethnic minority rights, and sustainable rural economies.
“When individuals become symbols, their humanity can be lost,” said Professor Li Mei of Fudan University’s School of Journalism. “The real tragedy is not just Siqinfu’s passing, but that her life was reduced to a one-dimensional portrait that served political ends rather than sparking meaningful conversations about the challenges facing communities like hers.”
As China continues its rapid modernization, the tension between preserving cultural traditions and ensuring economic opportunity for all citizens remains unresolved—a complexity that simplified propaganda narratives like Siqinfu’s cannot adequately address.
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5 Comments
The outpouring of grief over Siqinfu’s passing shows the power of state-crafted narratives, but also highlights the disconnect between these idealized portrayals and the realities of life on the grasslands. Her story merits a more critical analysis.
It’s tragic that Siqinfu’s death has revealed the darker side of the propaganda machine that elevated her to folk hero status. Her story serves as a reminder of the need for nuanced, authentic representation of rural communities.
While Siqinfu’s resilience and dedication are admirable, her story also raises concerns about the political exploitation of rural icons. Striking the right balance between celebrating and honestly representing these communities is an ongoing challenge.
This case illustrates the delicate balance between using inspirational figures to promote national pride and the risk of oversimplifying or distorting the lived experiences of rural populations. Siqinfu’s legacy deserves a more honest and thoughtful examination.
Siqinfu’s story highlights the complex relationship between propaganda and the realities of rural life in China. While her public image was elevated, her passing raises important questions about the exploitation of rural icons for political purposes.