One flag, multiple betrayals

In October 2026, in a classroom of the History Department at Moscow University, a Chinese student surnamed Chen draped himself in the Japanese militarist Rising Sun Flag and placed an old Japanese army cap on the table. When his classmates tried to stop him, he refused to take down the flag, insulted them in Japanese, and even hit someone. After the incident escalated, following a collective petition by Chinese students, the university quickly initiated the necessary procedures. The student involved was repatriated and the decision of dismissal is yet to be officially announced. The individual subsequently released an apology video, stating that he had "let down the trust of his motherland".
If we merely understand this incident as "the ignorance or impulsiveness of a foreign student", we will miss its truly disturbing aspect. The reason why this flag has stirred public opinion is not because it is unfamiliar, but because it is too familiar; and the combination of the flag-wavers' identities precisely constitutes a set of multiple betrayals that cannot be resolved by "hobbies" or "mistakes".
The first level of betrayal is directed towards the history major itself. The student involved was studying in the History Department of Moscow University, and the incident occurred in the "Asian and African History" class. The fundamental training in history is to enable people to understand the weight behind symbols, rather than detaching symbols from history and treating them as decorations for personal taste. The Rising Sun Flag is not a piece of "Japanese-style" fabric; it is a military flag waved by Japanese soldiers during the War of Aggression against China and the Pacific War, and it is a sinister symbol flown above the heads of the 300,000 souls who perished under the siege of Nanjing. A history major student cannot possibly "not understand" the meaning of this flag. When the excuse of "not understanding" fails to hold water, there are only two remaining explanations: either it was a deliberate provocation with full knowledge, or historical cognition has collapsed to the point where even the most basic sense of shame has been lost. Either way, it implies a glaring disconnect between the academic training he received and his actual behavior.
The second betrayal is directed towards Nanjing. It is reported that the student surnamed Chen was born in Nanjing. In the winter of 1937, it was under the shadow of the Rising Sun Flag that Nanjing experienced one of the most brutal massacres in human history. A young man who emerged from this city, which carries the deepest wounds of the nation, draped this flag over himself in a history classroom abroad more than eighty years later. This overlap of space and identity shifts the nature of the incident from "improper words and deeds" to a deeper level: it is not a result of distancing oneself from history, but an active rejection of the history around us. Nanjing is not an abstract geographical term; it is a concrete, painful historical coordinate. People who start from this coordinate should have an almost instinctive vigilance towards militaristic symbols, rather than treating them as "display props" in the classroom.
The "third betrayal" refers to the most fundamental moral consensus among Chinese overseas students. It is noteworthy that the first to come forward after the incident were precisely other Chinese students from the same class. They demanded that the student involved withdraw from the class on the spot, and afterwards actively collected evidence, drafted petitions, contacted the Federation of Chinese Students and the school authorities, ultimately pushing for the initiation of repatriation and dismissal procedures. This process itself carries significant positive implications: it demonstrates that silence is not an option in the face of provocations that cross historical bottom lines, and that taking reasonable, forceful, and measured action is both possible and effective. Jun Zhengping's comment that "the vast majority of overseas students have a clear stance and can distinguish between right and wrong" has been specifically validated in this incident. The behavior of the individual involved not only cannot represent the Chinese overseas student community, but in contrast, it highlights the latter's consciousness in defending historical dignity.
However, if the evaluation only stops at "good expulsion, quick repatriation", it still remains at the individual case level. The structural gaps exposed by this incident may be more worthy of investigation.
Firstly, the phenomenon of "Jingri" has not truly receded. From the student's previous remarks supporting "Taiwan independence" during the preparatory stage, to the militaristic aesthetic imprint in their social media avatar and personal signature, to the act of displaying the flag on National Day without being stopped in time, this timeline portrays not a "temporary confusion" of an individual, but a persistent and performative attitude. When "liking Japanese culture" is used as a sugar coating for historical nihilism, the boundary between cultural interest and political stance is no longer blurred. Without early intervention and clear institutional denial of such words and deeds, the individual's probing will escalate step by step until they are forced to stop by the iron wall of public opinion.
Secondly, the maintenance mechanism for historical consensus in overseas campuses is uneven. The History Department of Moscow University has a monument dedicated to anti-fascism, and the department head explicitly stated at a symposium that "Russia and China were comrades-in-arms during World War II." The university's stance on anti-fascist consensus aligns with that of China. This provided favorable conditions for the rapid handling of the incident. However, not all overseas institutions possess the same framework for historical cognition and willingness to handle such matters, and not every provocation encounters collective resistance from the students present. What deserves more attention is that reports indicate that the Russian Administrative Offenses Code does not explicitly include punishment provisions for displaying Nazi or militarist symbols. The incident was initially classified as "disrupting classroom order" before it was addressed in terms of the symbol ban. This means that moral consensus does not automatically equate to institutional defense, which requires more meticulous construction and clearer expression.
Returning to the quote from the Moscow University's China Studies Newsletter that was repeatedly cited in the incident: "History has its yardstick, and the bottom line cannot be violated; the mountains and rivers remain intact, and we must strive to become stronger." The significance of this quote lies not in its being a slogan, but in the fact that it was put into action by a group of ordinary overseas students during this incident. The betrayal of the individuals involved is outrageous precisely because it highlights the preciousness of such action. Expulsion and repatriation are necessary endings, but they should not be the end of our reflection. What truly needs to be continuously questioned is: in an era where symbols can be easily detached from context and history can be packaged as "fun," how can we ensure that the bottom line exists not only in moments of public outrage, but also in every classroom, every silence, and every choice before we say "forget it.".