Internet Boot Camps in China Are Brutal

When parents pay for discipline, they often unknowingly purchase trauma. Families desperate to fix their children’s behavior inadvertently fund a system designed to break them. This industry thrives on the gap between what a parent hopes for and what a facility actually delivers. These institutions, commonly known as Internet addiction boot camps, market themselves as schools. In reality, they operate as containment zones where profit margins matter more than student safety.

The Business of Fear

High fees usually suggest professional care. Here, money fuels a darker operation. Li Zheng built a massive network based on this financial logic. His empire spans over ten schools, each capitalizing on parental anxiety. Families do not pay small amounts for these services. Baobao’s family paid 40,000 yuan. The flow of cash creates a powerful incentive to keep beds full. Li Yunfeng, a director within the sector, described the profitability as massive. The "shadow industry" nature of the business allows operators to cut corners on safety while charging premium rates. They treat teenagers as inventory. High turnover rates lead to higher profits. They even offer a "3-year warranty" for recidivism. This policy suggests confidence in their methods. In practice, it ensures a steady stream of returning "customers" if the first round of breaking them down fails.

How much do internet addiction camps cost?

These facilities charge massive sums, often ranging from $5,700 to nearly $10,000 for a six-month stay, with potential fees in new markets like Hong Kong reaching $25,000 annually.

This economic engine drives expansion. Despite legal precariousness, operations continue. The demand for a cure to "internet addiction" keeps the checks clearing. Li Zheng’s recent arrest for involvement in organized crime disrupted the network, but it did not destroy the market demand. New schools, like one recently discovered in Fujian via undercover footage, pop up to replace the old ones. The money is simply too good to walk away from.

The Recruitment Trap

You do not sign up for these schools; you get taken. A legitimate educational institution relies on voluntary enrollment. These centers rely on deception and force. Staff members openly admit to using "white lies" to trick potential students. They know a teenager will not willingly walk into a prison. So, they create a false reality to get them through the door.

When words fail, physical force takes over. The tactics resemble kidnapping more than school admissions. Staff members impersonate police officers or internet regulators to confuse the victim. Zhang Enxu faced this exact scenario. Fake police officers abducted him while his family stood by. The bystanders did nothing because they believed the lie. The authority of the "state" makes the abduction look legal.

Are Boot camps allowed to kidnap students?

Staff often use physical abduction with parental consent, technically bypassing kidnapping laws by claiming the seizure is necessary for educational transport.

This method reveals the core truth of the program. Trust is broken before the student even enters the facility. The parents’ consent to the abduction, believing it is the only way to save their child. They view the deception as a necessary evil. The camp operators view it as standard operating procedure. Once the student is in custody, the pretense of "education" begins, but the foundation is built on entrapment.

Inside the Walls

A school usually has a playground, but these places have perimeters designed to keep people in. The architecture of Internet addiction boot camps reflects their true purpose: containment. Yingsi, one such facility, utilizes razor wire around its borders. This is not for student safety from outsiders. It is to prevent escape.

The daily routine mimics a penal colony. The curriculum mixes military training with psychological counseling. However, the balance heavily favors physical control. Programs last anywhere from three months to a full year. During this time, the outside world disappears. Students lose their autonomy. They become subjects in an experiment on obedience.

How long do students stay in boot camps?

Programs typically last between three months and a year, depending on how "rebellious" the staff considers the student and the package the parents purchased.

The population inside is diverse. While the target demographic is teenagers aged 8 to 18, some adults over 18 also end up trapped in the system. The "Quality Education for Teenagers" center holds approximately 300 students. Each one represents a family convinced that strict isolation is the answer. The environment strips away individuality. Students wear uniforms. They follow rigid schedules. The goal is to replace their personality with a compliant version acceptable to their parents.

Discipline or Torture?

Rules exist to keep order, but here they exist to break the spirit. Physical punishment is not a last resort; it is a primary tool. Instructors require students to perform over 1,000 repetitions of exercises. This goes beyond fitness. It is a method of exhaustion. When exhaustion sets in, compliance usually follows.

Violence escalates quickly when students resist. In 2019, police detained an instructor at an affiliate school for beating students with water pipes. This specific detail highlights the brutality. Water pipes are weapons, not teaching aids. Baobao described life inside as absolute agony. He contemplated suicide to escape the pain. His peers also attempted self-harm.

The staff responds to resistance with severe physical retaliation. They use shoelaces to restrain students. They restrict sleep positions for those already injured. This prevents recovery and maintains a state of constant physical stress. Allegations of sexual assault further darken the picture. The discipline methods strip away human dignity. The "military-style" label provides a cover for what is essentially systematic abuse.

The Loophole Game

Shutting down a building does not stop the operation when the law looks the other way. The regulatory system fails to protect these children. Responsibility fragments between various local agencies. No single authority holds total accountability. This confusion allows operators to slip through the cracks.

When a scandal breaks, the business adapts. A student committed suicide at Baobao’s school in 2020. In a normal industry, this would end the business. Here, it caused a temporary closure. The facility later reopened under a new brand. Name changes serve as a shield. They wipe the slate clean without changing the methods.

The state tolerates this "shadowy" sector. High-level political consolidation under Xi Jinping focuses on eliminating dissent and controlling the internet. In this climate, camps that promise to cure "internet addiction" align with broader social goals. They claim to fix a societal problem. This alignment gives them a level of protection. Operators exploit loopholes to stay in business. They move locations. They change their corporate filings. They stay one step ahead of enforcement.

Conflicting Realities

Success looks different when you measure it by fear instead of health. Two distinct narratives surround these camps. State media presents one view. Western outlets and victims present another. China Daily reports a 77% success rate. They claim graduates undergo a "great change." Principal Du Lihui states the goal is converting rebellious youth into obedient subjects.

The BBC and former students describe a different reality. They detail systematic torture and trauma. They argue that the "success" is merely fear-induced compliance. A psychological consultant interviewed by state media admitted that harsh discipline is only a temporary fix. True change requires familial love and societal support. The camps offer neither.

Do internet addiction boot camps actually work?

While some sources claim high success rates, critics and victims argue they only produce temporary obedience through trauma rather than long-term behavioral change.

The ideology focuses on "conversion." This is dangerous for vulnerable groups. Zhang Enxu faced abduction partly due to parental rejection of his transgender identity. The camp became a tool to force conformity. Baobao labeled the educational philosophy as fundamentally flawed. He called the institutions scams. The damage incurred is often permanent. Students leave with PTSD, not better study habits. The conflicting statistics hide the human cost of this "success."

No End in Sight

Exposure creates scandals, yet the market demand keeps the doors open. The arrest of Li Zheng earlier this year seemed like a turning point. Authorities charged him with involvement in organized crime. Yet, the network persists. The profit potential is too high to abandon.

Li Yunfeng indicated plans to expand into the Hong Kong market. The potential fees there could reach $25,000 annually. This ambition shows the confidence of the operators. They believe they can export this model. They see a limitless supply of anxious parents.

Undercover footage continues to find new locations. The school in Fujian proves the hydra-like nature of the industry. Cut off one head, and another appears. The legal system catches individual bad actors, but the business model remains intact. As long as parents fear the internet more than they fear these camps, the camps will exist.

The Cycle of Control

The survival of Internet addiction boot camps relies on a specific transaction. Parents exchange money for the promise of control. They believe they are buying education. They are actually buying a system of enforcement. The camps deliver obedience through trauma. The operators profit from the pain.

Li Zheng’s arrest slows the machine, but it does not stop it. The loopholes remain open. The demand remains high. The students trapped inside continue to pay the price. Until the definition of "cure" changes, this shadow industry will continue to thrive on the anxieties of the modern family.