Archiving My Decade in China’s State Media and Music — Before It’s Lost Forever

Please note: I am continually updating this article with additional resources and information, and this post will remain a work-in-progress.

Hi.

If you’re new here, my name is Harry, but since I was a kid, my friends have called me Hazza. Around 2009, I signed up for a Weibo (China’s answer to Twitter, and more recently also X) account and chose “Hazza” as my username.

Little did I know that soon many people would know me by that name. In my early twenties, fresh out of university with a degree in linguistics (majoring in Chinese and Korean), I moved to China. A couple of cover songs I’d posted online had gone viral and even been featured in Chinese news reports. Someone suggested I should “go there and give it a shot.” Give what a shot? I had no idea.

In the early 2010s, I was a Mandarin-language singer. My videos had racked up more than 100 million views, and I landed a part-time gig at the local television station — never mind that my visa situation was… let’s just say, positioned in a grey area.

Back then, the Chinese internet was a bubble. Radio and television were largely domestic affairs.

Recently, I decided to look back on my career, only to find that many of the footprints I thought I’d left in China no longer exist.

A lot of the videos that went viral did so on platforms that no longer exist. Many TV segments have been wiped. I still exist on the Chinese internet, but old content is often scrubbed to make way for the new, to save server space. Some content has almost certainly disappeared because it no longer fits within China’s “harmonised” online environment.

I also realised that quite a bit has been written about my career in China that isn’t entirely accurate. So I went through my old WeChat Moments, cross-checked with online records, and put together a professional timeline.

Sometimes I was a journalist. Sometimes a singer. Sometimes a viral meme for a risqué comment on a talk show. Sometimes the target of online abuse. Sometimes a cultural ambassador. A lot has happened that didn’t receive much attention outside of China, or hasn’t been properly archived — so I’ve decided to archive it myself.

For context, I wasn’t interested in China for ideological reasons. I lived a very local life — public, yes, but local nonetheless. I rarely saw beyond Guangzhou in the early years, and I assumed there were others doing what I was doing, only better, in Beijing or Shanghai. Now I realise that what I did was unusual. In fact, I’ve yet to meet another foreigner who’s worked under contract and full-time for provincial media in China. If you’re out there, get in touch.

Finally, I want to acknowledge that China has changed. I’m fairly sure that doing the same thing in 2025 would be all but impossible. But I hope this can help fill in some gaps. I experienced China much like my young Chinese colleagues — idealistic and passionate at first, but increasingly aware of the limits and censorship as time went on. And it’s true that in those first few years in Guangzhou, the city felt far freer than it does today.

Here’s the timeline I’ve compiled and fact-checked. It focuses on professional highlights and milestones only.

Hazza Career Timeline (2009–2022)

2008–2010

While studying at Griffith University, began posting Mandarin and English song covers to RenRen.com and then later, Chinese video platforms such as 56.com and Youku.
One cover (海阔天空) reached over 10 million views in its first week, and collectively the videos went on to amass more than 100 million views.
Featured in Australian and Chinese media for performances.

Late 2011

Travelled briefly to Beijing and Guangzhou.
One month later, relocated permanently from Australia to Guangzhou.
Joined Guangdong Radio and Television (GRT), known as Guangdong Television (GDTV) at the time, as a bilingual television and radio presenter, after being featured on a talk show as a guest interviewee about music endeavours.

2012

Continued regular hosting work for GRT across radio and television platforms. Hosted and contributed to a range of programmes, including children’s shows, variety segments, and bilingual news content.
Hosted 《感知广东》(Amazing Guangdong), a co-production between GDTV World and Guangdong Satellite Television (广东卫视）.
Hosted/appeared as guest on 56.com/RenRen.com entertainment programming.

2012 (Music)

Recorded and released debut single 《该走的都走吧》 (Let Go) in June.
The song was played on various radio stations in southern China and eventually reached #1 on Guangzhou’s local radio music chart and remained in the Top 10 for 13 consecutive weeks after a music video for the song was released later (radio play began in 2012, charted in 2013).
Music video for Let Go filmed in Australia and released on iTunes on 8 August 2012.
Won Most Popular Internet Celebrity 2011 at the 56.com Short Film Awards in Beijing.
Won Best Male Newcomer at local music awards.

2013 (Television)

Became a recurring host of travel series 《行走中国》 (The Great Walk of China) on GDTV World.
Competed in 《麦王争霸》（King of the Mic), GRT’s highest-rated Cantonese singing competition, making it to the televised finals as the show’s first non-Chinese participant.
Let Go continued to chart locally in 2013.
Left GRT to sign contract with HKSTV as pay negotiations stalled with GRT (then GDTV).

2014–2015 (Television and Radio)

Joined HKSTV in Hong Kong and Shenzhen as a host and reporter.
Became a regular co-host on Shenzhen Radio FM971’s daily live Chinese-language programme 《男人帮》“Men’s Club” as one of the only foreigners in China to be permitted to present live on a local Chinese domestic radio station at the time.
(This was verbalised to me and I cannot find any secondary proof to verify this online as of 25/08/2025)

Late 2015 (Television)

Returned to GRT.
Became regular host of Guangdong Report, GRT News Channel’s flagship English news bulletin — one of the first in China to be broadcast domestically on a local Chinese-language channel.
Became regular host of China Chats (“中国谈”).
Became lead presenter for《中国体育周刊》China Sports Weekly.

2014 (Music)

Released single 《无所不欢》 (No Worries), a collaboration with Chinese singer-songwriter Wu Huan, on 28 October.
Song peaked at #3 on local radio charts, and charted for fourteen consecutive weeks.
Song wins GISA “Fourth Quarter Most Played Track” award.
Performed as a support act at a major concert featuring JJ Lin, Zhou Bichang, and G.E.M.

2015 (Music)

Released single 《绅士先生》 (Mr. Gentleman). Enjoyed limited success, peaking at #6 and falling off the charts after four weeks.
Continued chart appearances and live performances.

2016

Won First Prize at the Guangdong News Award for a radio feature report on innovative Guangdong companies and their links with Australia.
Participated in programme production for programme exchange partnership between GRT and the Australian Broadcasting Corporation.
Became co-host of lifestyle programme Canton Today (“今日广东”).
Joined Xinhua Guangdong Bureau part-time as columnist and reporter.
Became lead host for My Guangdong （“我的广东”）on GRT Radio.

2017

Won First Prize at the China News Award for journalistic work.
Became a rotating guest host/panellist on the Pearl River Channel (“珠江频道“).
Continued to host Canton Today (“今日广东”), rebranded as Little Ma Big Ha （“小马大哈”）with new co-host.
Became host of educational programme 《郑哈学院》，a Chinese-language show discussing international culture and education on GRT Radio.

2018–2019

Anchored and reported for Guangdong News Now (“双语新闻”), a bilingual radio news bulletin consistently ranked in the Top 10 in ratings for news-style radio in Guangdong.
Participated in cultural exchange events and charity initiatives.
Participated in international co-branded projects with Turkish Airlines, KFC, and the Indonesian Tourism Bureau, among others, across various programmes and platforms.

2020

Released single 《后来我以为》 (I Was Wrong), which peaked at #5 on a national music chart in China, broadcast on more than 25 radio stations across mainland China, Hong Kong, and Macao, while also charting on various regional music charts (Xi’an, Xinjiang, Guangdong/Guangzhou).
Song enjoyed several weeks of national rotation.
Appointed as an anti-drug ambassador in Guangdong — described by local media as “a first for the Pearl River Delta” — participating in public outreach events.

2021

Continued presenting Guangdong News Now and other GRT programming.
Became regular panellist and co-host for Guangdong Satellite Television (“广东卫视”) entertainment programming.
Participated in filming for “Splendid China”, broadcast on 7-two in Australia.
Resigned from Xinhua due to Xinhua’s turn to nationalistic and anti-West propaganda, particularly regarding distasteful social media content making light of rising COVID-related deaths, especially in the United States and other Western countries.

2022

Stepped down as host of Guangdong Report on 31 August 2022, leaving GRT.

Ten Lessons from an Australian Who Lived, Loved, and Lost in China

China has been a part of my life since 2004, when I first visited Beijing during a time when anticipation for the then upcoming Olympics was palpable. Since then, whether in China or from afar, I have immersed myself in learning the language, joined China-related associations and organisations, worked for Chinese state media, travelled extensively across the country, and volunteered in various social causes. I have loved and lost in China, celebrated achievements, and agonised over failures. At times, I have been embraced; at others, I have been ostracised or merely tolerated.

If we have but 100 years or less on this Earth, it is almost impossible to fully grasp the “real China” or even begin to define what that could mean. Yet, over the past two decades, I have fallen in and out of love with the country multiple times. I built a career and lost it. I started to build a family, only for that future to be taken away when my husband passed away from a heart attack in 2019. I may not know the “real China,” but I have had many real, sometimes heartwarming, sometimes confronting experiences in the country.

Rather than rehashing the past, I want to share ten life lessons—ways in which I have come to better understand myself after living, loving, and losing in the People’s Republic of China. I am publishing this to look back on and reflect upon my views in two, five, or even ten years from now. In the meantime, I hope that some of the thoughts I share here may be of value to others.

1. Assumptions can be useful, but they can also be counterproductive

We all rely on assumptions. They help us navigate life without constantly starting from scratch. If we had to reassess everything at every moment, we would never get anything done. But when it comes to China, I have learned that it is essential to frequently revisit and challenge the assumptions we hold.

In recent years, especially in Australia, debates over engagement with China have intensified. Some argue that economic, academic, and cultural exchanges should continue unfettered, with economic considerations outweighing concerns over foreign interference or human rights. Others contend that China has changed, and that the once-common belief—that Australia’s prosperity is intrinsically tied to China’s rise—no longer aligns with reality.

I frequently find myself in conversations where arguments arise from clashing assumptions. Some people, who have not set foot in China for years, describe a country that is perpetually opening up, misunderstood by the West, and committed to peaceful trade above all else. A few years ago, I largely agreed with that perspective. Others form their views solely from media reports or social media content, which often either idealise or demonise China.

Personally, I believe neither perspective fully captures the China of today. It remains our largest trading partner, a land of immense opportunity, yet it is also the greatest strategic rival to our closest ally, the United States, at a time of rising global tensions. Public sentiment within China can shift rapidly, and outdated or misguided assumptions can lead to poor decisions—whether in business, diplomacy, or personal relationships.

Instead of fixating on why someone holds a particular assumption, I have found it more useful to explore how they arrived at that belief. Most importantly, I have learned to give little weight to the opinions of those unwilling to entertain the possibility that they might be wrong. In China, what was considered a norm yesterday may no longer be so today. That is how quickly things can change and evolve—and if we are to engage meaningfully, we must keep up.

2. Considering the mental health of those engaged in cross-cultural spaces is paramount

The “China space” attracts a wide range of personalities. For me, it was Chinese culture, particularly music, that sparked a curiosity I had no choice but to explore. I have an inquisitive mind, and if I do not understand something, I tend to make it my mission to do so. For many years in China, I was not involved in anything political. I hosted light-hearted talk shows, released music that made it onto the charts, performed at concerts and events, and immersed myself in the Guangzhou music scene. It was not until four or five years into my time in China that I began forming friendships with fellow expats.

Though my views on immigration have evolved, I will admit that when I was younger, I held some fairly conservative opinions—such as a prejudiced frustration with certain communities’ supposed unwillingness to integrate into Australian society or learn English fluently. So, when I moved to China, I made a conscious decision to be respectful by learning the language to a level that would allow me to function in a workplace setting. I wanted to meet Chinese people, make local friends, and hear what China meant to them. I wanted to learn how to “fit in.”

Over time, largely due to my work in state media, I gradually met both Chinese and foreign nationals who were more politically inclined. Before 2019, one could hear a range of views. Some did not support communism or socialism but acknowledged that life in China was improving overall and, for that reason, did not oppose the government. Some were openly critical of the CCP. Others expressed admiration for it.

I came to realise that geopolitics, particularly where China is concerned, attracts highly ideological individuals, some with an eternal axe to grind. Some see China purely through a political lens, disregarding the human aspect—the vast number of Chinese people who are largely indifferent to politics. I recall attending a birthday dinner for a friend of a friend, where I was introduced as a television host. A young guest asked, “So, what did you report on today?” I replied that I had covered comments made by Li Keqiang. Their response: “Who is Li Keqiang?” I was surprised, but it was a reminder that we should not impose political biases on people simply because they are from China.

Those who are deeply ideological often speak in absolutes and engage in black-and-white thinking. Regardless of where one stands—whether labelled a “panda hugger” or a “China hawk”—it can be difficult to engage with people if they perceive you as part of the opposing tribe.

Amidst all this, people’s lives continue. Outside of political arguments, people have their own personal struggles. The world keeps turning. Behind the bravado of the most outspoken individuals, there can be pain or anger—whether about their personal lives or the societies they come from. Some face mental health challenges such as anxiety or depression. Others are on different spectrums. I have witnessed outbursts of anger, indignation, and even personal abuse directed at those who have merely expressed an opinion.

I have been the target of online abuse—at a time when I was already struggling. I know what it is like to face a mental health crisis while simultaneously being attacked for my perceived political views. I did not prioritise my mental health when I should have, and I am now living with the consequences of that. However, I have made much progress.

Because of this experience, I refuse to engage in discussions that become overly personal or hostile. If we are to one day reach a place where people can exchange views respectfully, we must move past tribalism and accept that, at the end of the day, we are all just human beings, trying to make sense of the world with the cards we have been dealt. None of us have all the answers.

3. What doesn’t kill you will always make you stronger—it just takes time

In December 2019, my husband passed away from a heart attack at 34. After having only been married a short time following the legalisation of same-sex marriage in Australia, and after both of us had come out—me to my parents and friends, and Wayne to his friends and a select few family members—it felt like a cruel twist of fate. My world imploded.

Then COVID hit. Despite everything, I still felt a strong bond to China, the country I had lived in for a third of my life, and I felt a responsibility not to leave so soon after Wayne’s death. So I stayed. The political environment became increasingly fraught, and I found myself in a highly visible role as a presenter for state media during this time. I became an easy target—not just for people overseas who derided me as a CCP puppet or traitor, but also for those domestically who harboured resentment towards Australia and the West.

Every day, if the Australian Prime Minister made a comment about China, or if the Global Times amplified a fringe politician’s remarks, I would tense up. I knew I would have to face the same exhausting questions repeatedly: “Why does your country hate us so much?” “What is wrong with your government?” “How does it feel to be an American lapdog?” Some questions do not bear repeating, but that did not make them any easier to hear.

I left China in 2022. I had not properly grieved Wayne’s death. I was emotionally exhausted from the isolation and xenophobia that COVID had brought. I was disillusioned after being harassed and targeted multiple times. I was worn down from years of trying to engage with my late husband’s surviving family, hoping to obtain the documents I needed to move on with life back home—documents that would allow me to prove I was no longer married if I were ever to remarry. My confidence was shattered. I had lost the love of my life, my career, the existence I had built, friends I once held dear, and my optimism.

I was treated unfairly after COVID hit. I would not wish my experiences on anyone. The pain still lingers years later. If I could go back in time, there are certainly things I would change.

But today, in 2025, I am engaged again and planning to marry in the near future. I have earned a master’s degree, achieved with Distinction while mourning the two subjects in which I fell short of a high distinction, in typical Chinese helicopter-parent style. I have found meaningful and rewarding work, which has taken me to interesting places and introduced me to fascinating people. I have travelled again. I have plans for the future, and I feel optimistic.

At 29, when Wayne passed away, I felt as though my life was over. My career was all I had left. A couple of years later, when that too was gone, I felt as though I had no place in China-related discourse—that I may as well write off the last twenty years of my life and pursue something completely different. Part of who I am today was shaped in China. Elements of my personality carry “Chinese characteristics,” so amputating myself from a life connected to China was painful.

My near- and medium-term goals no longer involve China, and I am at peace with that. Now that the past is behind me, the future feels manageable—almost easy by comparison. Challenges will arise, but I have confidence that I am equipped to face them.

What happened to me in China nearly broke me. It killed my spirit for a time. But I am now at a point where I am grateful for having been tested so severely. I survived. My mental and physical health took serious hits, but today, I am stronger than ever.

I used to mask my lack of confidence well. Now, I can say—without needing to mask anything—that I am quietly confident. And I would not have reached this point without my experiences in China.

4. The loudest people rarely have anything useful to say

I believe that, across the world, societies share similar structures. Cultures differ, but they prioritise the same elements in different ways. In every country, there exists a minority of loud, obnoxious individuals who feel left behind by the world—and China is no exception. Neither is Australia. There will always be people unwilling to engage in self-reflection or consider that they may not always be right. This vocal cohort is often highly influenced by media, especially social media, and is perpetually fixated on the next crisis, disaster, or catastrophe that, in their view, should demand everyone’s undivided attention. They believe the world is lying to them, that society is a scam, and that they alone hold the answers.

Then, there is the much larger segment of society—including in China—that does not care about politics. Their primary focus is their families, their businesses, their hobbies, and making the most of life.

When I first moved to China, I was not a political person in the slightest. Embarrassingly, I did not even know the difference between Australia’s Liberal and Labor parties or which was left-wing and which was right-wing. I did not feel the need to be politically engaged. When I voted for the first time, I gave my preference to the “Sex Party” simply because I liked the name and their support for gay rights. That was the extent of my political involvement—I did not even listen to political discussions outside of election day. Politicians, I thought, were all just as bad as each other.

Over time, I was pulled into politics. It is difficult to remain apolitical when working for Chinese state media, even if you believe you are managing to do just that. Looking back, I should have left as soon as I sensed things shifting, but I did not. Instead, I gradually started seeing the world through a political lens too.

Especially in the year after I lost my husband, I became overly affected by the loudest voices on both sides of the China debate. I was labelled differently depending on who was speaking—some saw me as an anti-China neoliberal colonialist, while others accused me of being a CCP spy or sympathiser. Instead of simply living my life and focusing on what mattered to me, I allowed these vocal extremes to influence my thinking. They distorted my reference points.

I was convinced that if I engaged with both sides, I would find the truth in the middle. But the truth was never found in those two opposing factions. It was always held by the vast majority of people who simply did not care. I found it by engaging with real people—those living their lives, doing things, not just talking about doing them. Not those who commentate from the sidelines, critiquing the political views of people they have never met.

I will never fully cut myself off from learning what people with extreme views think—it provides insight into a segment of society that exists everywhere. But I will no longer dedicate time to analysing, listening to, or debating with those who speak the loudest yet rarely have anything meaningful to say.

5. There are people who actively seek and benefit from division, and this must be acknowledged

Politically, I see myself as a centrist with poor balance. I lean from one side to the other, but I always return to the middle — or sit on the fence. I enjoy bringing people together, trying to understand different perspectives, and learning what makes people tick. Conversations where everyone agrees can become dull very quickly.

But not everyone appreciates people like me. Some do not like those who refuse to take strong stances. Making an effort to understand opposing views is often taken as a personal attack by some. Actually, scrap the “almost”—it is taken as a personal attack, against their own opposing ideas and biases.

Then there are those who, instead of building fences to sit on, would rather build walls to separate. There are people who thrive on division, fear, and anger. For some, their livelihoods depend on fuelling frustration and directing hate at their chosen targets.

Recently, when hundreds of thousands of TikTok users flocked to RedNote, the early days saw some genuinely interesting and good-faith exchanges. But soon enough, certain individuals began politicising the event. It became clear that, for some, the influx of foreigners with foreign perspectives on Chinese social media was a threat—whether to expats who had carved out their own online niches or to Chinese individuals who had studied abroad and positioned themselves as gatekeepers of information.

Occasionally, wonderful things happen spontaneously. If a person’s first reaction is to ridicule or criticise cultural exchange from thousands of kilometres away, or even a little closer to the action, one has to ask: what is it that they truly want? Do they desire a world where people are quarantined from each other? A world where people cannot explore and assess things for themselves? A world where only a select few profit from misunderstandings, ensuring conflicts persist indefinitely?

Moving forward, I will be actively aware of those who see mutual understanding as a threat to their relevance, existence, or even financial gain.

6. Self-reflection and self-awareness are important, but gaslighting is never acceptable

After I left China and shared my story with the Australian public broadcaster, ABC, I was shocked—and, to be honest, disappointed—by some of the reactions.

I speak Chinese fluently, I lived in China for twelve years, and I worked within a Chinese state-owned company. I may not fully understand China in its entirety, but I was certainly not new to it. What hurt the most was the suspicion and unwillingness to believe that what had happened to me was real. Being told that my experiences were mere misunderstandings was an insult to my intelligence. Suggestions that I had been paid to “smear” China were equally hurtful. Accusations that I had fabricated my story to reintegrate into Australian society were particularly upsetting.

As someone who often engages in self-reflection, I initially took some of that criticism to heart. Was I imagining things? Had I misinterpreted so many situations? Did I come across as dishonest? For a time, I questioned myself.

But after hearing some of the rumours circulating about me in China—such as the claim that when I returned to Australia for three months of long-service leave in 2021, I had secretly been recruited by an intelligence agency and received training before returning to China as a spy, only to be discovered and expelled—I reminded myself that self-reflection does not mean doubting reality. It is one thing to be open to new information, but I had not hallucinated for two years.

Perhaps I wear my heart on my sleeve too obviously. Perhaps I give off the impression that I am unsure of myself. For a time, I lacked confidence, and I had become so accustomed to people criticising everything I said that I just expected it.

The ABC investigation gave me answers. Thanks to the efforts of Echo Hui and her colleagues, I now know who approached me in China. When I reported the harassment I experienced, I was initially told that I had been targeted by Falun Gong, who were supposedly attempting to recruit sympathetic foreigners across China. That was a lie. The person who harassed me—relentlessly, for weeks on end, not long after my husband had died—was a member of China’s United Front Work Department. In other words, it was not Falun Gong. It was the government. Having that piece of the puzzle helped—it allowed my mind to put something to rest.

One particular comment that cut deeply came from someone who knew I had been married to a Chinese person. They told me that I was misguided about China, that I had become an anti-China mouthpiece, and that if I had married a Chinese woman, perhaps I would have truly understood Chinese culture. That remark stung. I may not have been married to a woman, but I was married to a Chinese person nonetheless. And perhaps, having loved and lost, I experienced a side of Chinese culture that this individual had not—and I hope they never have to.

Gaslighting, judgement, and knee-jerk conclusions about others, without considering their circumstances or why their perspectives may have shifted, are unacceptable.

If you are a person who values critical thinking and self-reflection, it is important to remember that when others make judgements about who you are or what motivates you, they are not drawing from lived experience. They are basing their opinions on their own perceptions, filtered through their own assumptions. Not taking personal attacks to heart is crucial, especially if you want to engage effectively in cross-cultural settings.

7. Many crises are borne out of incompetence, not evil intent—but some will never be convinced of that

Whether in the United States, China, or Australia, disasters and crises are often the result of human error or incompetence rather than malicious intent. But some people refuse to see it that way.

For them, everything happens for a reason—and rarely a good one.

If a plane crashes en route to Guangzhou, it is not due to pilot error or the possibility that mental health played a role; it is because the U.S. has a secret ability to bring down planes at the push of a button. If stock markets crash, it is not due to domestic policy failures or bearish signals from the capital; it is because “foreign forces” have meddled with the system or spread propaganda to incite hysteria. If a virus jumps to humans in a crowded, unhygienic wet market, it is not a freak event; it was intentionally leaked from a Chinese lab to destabilise the West. Or, alternatively, the virus was not from China at all—it was developed in a U.S. lab and secretly introduced at the Military World Games.

For these people, nothing is ever an accident. Nothing is ever a coincidence, an unlucky disaster, or the result of human error. Everything is a deliberate act of sabotage, betrayal, or conspiracy.

For so long, I wanted to understand the minds of people who think this way. Why? What causes them to lose all faith in humanity?

I have given up trying to make sense of it.

Perhaps, for some, it is easier to believe that every catastrophe is the result of deliberate actions—it removes the uncertainty and randomness of life. But the truth is, most people on this Earth are not scheming villains. Most people are kind. They want the best for their families, their communities, and themselves. They try their best but make mistakes. People get tired, miscalculate, or lack the skills required for the responsibilities they hold. Human error happens—a lot. And failing to acknowledge that can lead you down irrational and strange rabbit holes.

I refuse to lose faith in humanity.

8. You will never make everyone happy—and that’s okay

I have come to accept that I am, by nature, a people person. Perhaps even a people pleaser. For years in Guangzhou, I felt I was exactly where I was meant to be. Somehow, I had found a role, in a foreign country, that allowed me to connect with a wide range of people. The radio news programme I hosted consistently ranked among the top ten in Guangdong Province, home to 120 million people. I sometimes hosted children’s shows. I presented in both Chinese and English. I sang in Mandarin and Cantonese. I interviewed diplomats and regularly featured Australian expats and visiting businesspeople on my show. I genuinely believed I was contributing, in my own way, to fostering understanding between cultures.

In China, it can be difficult to find people willing to talk on camera or participate in extensive interviews. But there was always a steady stream of people who trusted me—sometimes proactively requesting interviews. Occasionally, the requests came from embassies and consulates. Even when the Australian consulate wanted nothing to do with me, others—including those from Western countries—were more than happy to invite me to events and have me interview their dignitaries. The Canadian, New Zealand, British, and even American consulates come to mind.

But after I lost my husband, it was as if I had woken up in a China that had changed while I was preoccupied with love and planning my future. I had been so consumed by building a life with Wayne—thinking about where we would live, how we would eventually have children—that I had not noticed the gradual shifts around me.

Suddenly, I was no longer embraced. I was merely tolerated.

Only a few years earlier, an Australian diplomat had introduced me to a former Australian Prime Minister, referring to me as “our unofficial ambassador to this country.” I was frequently approached for my take on Australia-China relations. I often received messages from people thanking me for my balanced perspective.

But all of that changed during COVID.

There was a time when I clung desperately to the life I had built. I held onto the China I knew. I held onto the robust Australia-China relationship I had once championed. I held onto my role as a bridge builder. Grief warps the mind. It was too painful to grieve anything beyond the loss of my husband, so I refused to accept that I was also losing my career, my identity, and my sense of belonging.

I told myself that once COVID was over, China would return to the place I had loved. That patience, resilience, and hard work would allow me to return to the life I had before.

But in my attempts to remain someone respected and appreciated by both sides—by China and Australia—I became a symbol of something else. To some, I was a reminder of clashing cultures, values, and ideologies. To others, I was an opportunistic propagandist.

I found myself in a strange position: I had not strayed from my core beliefs and values, but to many, it appeared that I had.

I made personal sacrifices for what I believed was the greater good, yet others saw me as a pawn. I began over-explaining myself before offering even the most basic of opinions, terrified of how I would be perceived. I felt deeply uncomfortable that people either admired or despised me for views I did not hold.

For an already grieving mind, it was too much to process.

I internalised the hate, the abuse, and the constant pressure to justify myself.

But the truth is, you will never make everyone happy. And if you spend your life focused solely on how others perceive you, you will never be happy yourself.

Basing your self-worth on the approval of others is dangerous. It feels good when people support you, but when that support turns to hostility—so suddenly that it feels like whiplash—it can be devastating.

Seeking recognition and acceptance from others should never come before you offer the same to yourself.

9. Hard work and sacrifice do not always pay off, and exhaustion does not equal success

For many years in China, I worked seven days a week. I took on too many roles—not for extra money or screen time, but because I believed that if I could hold on to my small corner of Chinese state media, I could maintain certain journalistic standards. I felt a responsibility to ensure that truth, even within China’s censorship boundaries, had a place. I wanted to prevent ideologues and anti-Western influencers from dominating the airwaves with misinformation and divisive rhetoric.

I did this for years. I had around 14 days off per year—ten days of paid leave and the occasional long weekend when I returned home.

Eventually, the workload became unsustainable, and I cut back to six days a week. But I was determined to stay. I convinced myself that having someone like me in that space—someone who understood how to navigate the system—was better than leaving the platform to be overrun by propaganda. It was not that I supported increased censorship or the rise in overt nationalism, but I wanted to limit its impact where I could.

Some assume I was handsomely paid for my work. On paper, my salary seemed high. But I only earned that amount because I worked long, relentless days. Some nights, I would be in rehearsals for a variety show until 1 am, only to wake up early to present the morning news, followed by two or three more programmes, and then another rehearsal at night. My life revolved around work. I had little time for anything else.

In the back of my mind, I told myself that hard work pays off. That making sacrifices now would lead to greater opportunities in the long run. That the exhaustion, the stress, the deteriorating mental and physical health—was all worth it.

I now believe that was a myth.

Especially in China, working hard does not guarantee success. Working smart does. I did not need to put myself through the exhaustion of handling multiple shows, six or seven days a week, to make an impact. Perhaps if I had been smarter about how I allocated my time and energy, things would have turned out differently.

Now, in 2025, I enjoy a quality of life that I could have achieved years ago had I stayed in Australia—without the need to sacrifice so much. The time, energy, and emotional investment I poured into my work in China have amounted to almost nothing. I have valuable experience, knowledge, and skills, but I currently have no way of using them.

I do not want those years to have been for nothing. I want to find a way to make use of everything I learned and endured. But for now, my priority is my own health, wellbeing, and the people I love.

10. Difficult times reveal who your real friends are, and people should be judged by their actions, not their words

It may surprise some to know that I still maintain strong relationships with many people in China. Those who truly know me understand that when I criticise China, it is not out of anger or resentment, but from a genuine hope that it can become a more tolerant and accepting place—whether for ethnic or sexual minorities, or for the many ordinary Chinese people who, despite the country’s rapid development, still struggle to make ends meet. These friends recognise that after living in China for so long, leaving was not an easy decision for me.

Our conversations do not revolve around politics. We talk about our lives. What made us happy today? What didn’t? What exciting or frustrating news do we have to share? What are the latest trends? Occasionally, people share political opinions, but I never push for them.

Before leaving China, I would have said I had many friends there. Now, I can count on two hands the number of genuine friends I truly trust—those who respect me, who have shown me empathy, and for whom I do the same in return.

Outside of work, I am a reserved person. On television, I could allow my extroverted side to shine, but in my personal life, I revert to being an introvert.

This is worth mentioning, I believe, because, in my industry, I encountered many people who displayed narcissistic tendencies or thrived on notoriety. For me, television was never about being seen—it was a platform that allowed me to ask questions, to step into other people’s lives and thoughts without intruding. But for some, attention—whether positive or negative—was an addiction.

There were people I once considered genuine friends who disappeared the moment I was no longer a television presenter. Others, who had always held opposing political views, tolerated me for years—until they believed my views had shifted too far from theirs.

For years, I was referred to as a “friend of China.” I have not changed as a person, nor have my values or principles. The years I dedicated to fostering people-to-people and cultural exchanges were not erased simply because my circumstances changed. I did not choose what happened to me—those decisions were made by others. I simply reacted to them. And I told the truth.

For that, I am grateful to the people—both in China and in Australia—who supported me in sharing my story. Shared knowledge is shared power. Anyone who berates you for honestly telling your own story was never a true friend to begin with. And those who condemn you for how you respond to mistreatment are nothing more than manipulators.

Conclusion

If you have made it through this near-6,000-word reflection, I thank you.

Right now, I am on a seven-day cruise around the South Pacific, alone. It feels like the first real opportunity I have had to be with my own thoughts since returning home from China. Slowly, I am allowing myself to enjoy life again.

I have made peace with the fact that I may not be welcome in today’s China—and perhaps not for some time. I have also come to terms with the fact that, here in Australia, many see my years abroad, particularly in China, as a liability rather than an asset.

But I have also realised that our experiences—no matter how painful—shape us. And while we cannot always control what happens to us, we can control how we respond. We can choose to take back our emotions. We can choose to ignore those who try to manipulate us, who exploit our kindness, or who thrive on division. Most importantly, we can learn to forgive ourselves—for the mistakes we made, for the things we wish we had done differently, for simply being human.

China once represented excitement and opportunity for me. In the end, my time there ended much the way it began—with a suitcase, a plane ticket, and little else. But the lessons I learned will stay with me for a lifetime. And to honour my late husband, I will live that life to the fullest.

I will stand by my choices, my values, and my principles. If that means I cannot engage with China for now, so be it. But I believe that, one day, circumstances will change. And when they do, I may once again find a way to contribute meaningfully to the discourse that shaped so much of my life.

Until then, I will continue forward. The world is vast, and I am grateful for every single day I have the privilege to explore it.

Archiving My Decade in China’s State Media and Music — Before It’s Lost Forever

Hazza Career Timeline (2009–2022)

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