Experiencing the Shen Yun performance, advertised as a spectacle of traditional Chinese dance, turned out to be an unexpected dive into the world of the Falun Gong, or Falun Dafa, cult. Having unknowingly stepped into this theatrical event, echoes of a past cult upbringing resonated strongly throughout the evening.
My mom and me
My mom and me outside the Shen Yun performance hall
During a holiday visit to Japan, my mom, her partner Mike, and I found ourselves with tickets to Shen Yun. Advertised as a grand production of traditional Chinese dance, it was playing for a limited two-day run at the Fuchu Forest Art Theater. Mike had secured the tickets prior to my arrival, and fueled by years of seeing their prominent and elaborate advertisements across California, Washington DC, and Facebook, I was curious to witness the performance.
Before the show, we stopped for dinner at MOS Burger, a Japanese fast-food chain I was keen to revisit. Navigating the Tokyo streets to get there, we passed the usual eclectic sights, including a bizarre statue and a karaoke bar with an intriguing name. But, focusing on the mission at hand – MOS Burger – was key.
These burgers, hot dogs, and milkshakes possess a distinct and frankly superior taste compared to their American chain counterparts. The MOS website elaborates on their ethos:
MOS stands for Mountain, Ocean, Sun. It embodies standing tall and firm like a Mountain, possessing a heart as broad and deep as the Ocean, and having passion like the Sun that never burns out. This represents our founder’s boundless love for humanity and nature.
Intriguing, Japan. Intriguing.
Now, back to the supposed highlight of the evening: Shen Yun.
What the advertisements conveniently omitted, and what caught us completely off guard, was that beyond the captivating facade of Chinese dance, theater, music, and elaborate costumes, Shen Yun functions as an unwavering propaganda machine for the Falun Gong cult. Yes, cult.
One moment, we were appreciating the grace of a classical Chinese sleeve dance, perhaps even noticing the dancers’ revealing costumes in a traditional context, which to some might border on a kind of “Asian Naked Dancing” in its freedom and expression. The next, we were abruptly plunged into scenes depicting communist villains and corrupted modern youth persecuting innocent Falun Gong practitioners. In one particularly jarring scene, a man’s eyes were graphically harvested in a Chinese prison, all set against a backdrop of dramatic dance sequences. It’s quite remarkable that this performance, arguably the most globally recognized form of Chinese performing art today – boasting seven touring troupes worldwide and still expanding – is so vehemently critical of the Chinese government.
Scene from Shen Yun performance
A scene depicting Chinese police beating up Falun Gong protesters. Screenshot from Shen Yun’s 2018 trailer
The political and religious undertones weren’t necessarily unwelcome, although certainly unexpected. In a way, the surprise factor did make the evening more memorable. However, the cult’s messaging, delivered through song, about atheism, evolutionary theory, and “modern values” as existential threats to society, and the assertion that life’s purpose is solely to return to heaven (reminiscent of certain Islamic death cult ideologies – they even concluded a number with a master and disciple cheerfully leaping to their deaths together), and the underlying push to join their “club,” was far from persuasive. To borrow the iconic words of Eric Cartman: Seriously, you guys?
Eric Cartman: Seriously, you guys?
Eric Cartman. Comedy Central
The show, ironically, had the opposite of its intended effect on me. While acknowledging the harsh persecution faced by Falun Gong in China, the performance solidified my suspicion that they are more likely a dangerous cult than the benign meditation movement I had previously understood them to be. Striking parallels emerged between the stage narrative and the cult I was born into: tales of faith healing, claims of religious persecution rooted solely in their altruistic love for humanity, scenes of distributing the leader’s writings in public (a significant part of my childhood), an impending apocalypse from which the leader miraculously saves believers, and fantastical depictions of violent police officers undergoing sudden conversions to their cause. Even their method of disseminating their message through music and dance mirrored a core proselytizing strategy of my own cult.
Further online research revealed that Shen Yun‘s founder and artistic director (identified only as “D.F.” in the program guide) is actually Li Hongzhi, the leader of Falun Gong. We essentially paid to attend a cult recruitment event, disguised as a celebration of Asian culture and dance, perhaps even subtly playing on exoticized notions of “asian naked dancing” to draw in audiences intrigued by the spectacle.
But enough seriousness. The show did have its lighter moments. Did I mention the Gangnam Style-esque horsey dance moves?
Highly recommended. ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
Edit (Nov 2021): Explore the comments section below for deeper insights into some of Falun Gong’s beliefs.
For more on my personal experiences with cults, check out Karen Zerby Leak: Unmasking a Cult Leader Who’d Remained Faceless for Nearly 30 Years.
