Dhaka's Streets, New Delhi's Name: What Chinese Livestreamers Reveal About Beijing's Soft Power Battle

In the narrow lanes of Tekpara, in northern Dhaka, a camera points towards a row of tin-roofed houses. A woman speaks to viewers in Chinese, describing the neighbourhood as New Delhi. At a roadside tea stall, another livestreamer offers a similarly distorted account of what he sees, claiming that the tea being consumed by local residents is made from cow urine. The streets are in Bangladesh. The audience, however, is being told that they are watching India.

For months, Chinese nationals have been filming in Uttara's Sector 12 and the adjoining Tekpara neighbourhood, broadcasting footage on Chinese social media platforms. An investigation by Bangladeshi newspaper Prothom Alo, published on November 6, found that local residents estimated more than 150 Chinese nationals were involved. ThePrint subsequently reported a figure of over 5,000, citing local estimates, but no official count has been established. The footage, some of it translated using Google Translate and checked by four Bangladeshis familiar with Chinese, reportedly shows streamers presenting Dhaka locations as Delhi while making disparaging remarks about living conditions in India and Bangladesh.

The episode raises a question larger than the conduct of individual content creators: how does a country shape the way its citizens and the rest of the world see other societies? China's investment in international influence, its expanding tourism ambitions and the growing reach of digital platforms offer a useful lens through which to examine the controversy. But there is an important distinction between an organised state campaign and misleading content produced by individuals for online attention or commercial gain. The available reporting has not established that the livestreams are directed or funded by the Chinese government.

From Livestreams To An Ideological Contest

The mechanics of the broadcasts appear relatively simple. According to Prothom Alo, some streamers carry two mobile phones: one to livestream and another to follow prompts or scripts. They film residential lanes, shops and roadside businesses, sometimes entering private homes. Local residents have complained that the visitors record people without permission and occasionally enter bathrooms.

One Chinese national, identified as Fangyou, told Prothom Alo that the broadcasts on WeChat were part of product-promotion activities. A local guide, Ritu Akhter, said she earned Tk 700-800 a day helping the visitors navigate the neighbourhood. She also said the streamers uploaded videos to platforms including WeChat and Douyin, China's version of TikTok. The product-promotion explanation, however, does not clarify why some broadcasts allegedly misrepresent Dhaka as Delhi or why the commentary is derogatory.

The police response has so far offered little clarity. Mohammad Khalid Mansur, officer-in-charge of Uttara West Police Station, told Prothom Alo that he did not know why the Chinese nationals were filming or where the videos were being shown. He said he had informed senior authorities and that work was underway. The newspaper reported that language barriers and the reluctance of the visitors to engage had complicated attempts to establish their purpose. No public confirmation of a wider investigation or an official explanation from the Dhaka administration has emerged in the reports examined.

Chinese Studies expert Srikanth Kondapalli of Jawaharlal Nehru University has placed the videos within a broader pattern of online narratives. Speaking to ANI, he said anti-India and anti-South Asia videos on Chinese social media platforms had increased, with some reportedly circulating since November 2024. He argued that creators were selectively highlighting poverty, inequality and sanitation problems to attract subscribers, likes and online validation. He also described the phenomenon as an ideological struggle, although the evidence available does not establish a centrally coordinated campaign behind the Dhaka broadcasts.

The Price Of China's Global Image

China's pursuit of international influence extends well beyond social media. It uses diplomacy, development partnerships, cultural exchanges, state media and international institutions to shape perceptions of the country and its political model. Under President Xi Jinping, Beijing has placed greater emphasis on expanding its international presence and promoting its global initiatives.

The scale of this effort is visible, though not fully captured, in its diplomatic budget. China's proposed diplomatic expenditure for 2026 stood at 70.975 billion yuan, or approximately $10.28 billion, an increase of 9.3 per cent over the previous year, according to the South China Morning Post. This is not a dedicated soft-power budget: it includes broader diplomatic activities. A US Congressional Research Service report says China's officially reported diplomatic expenditure in 2024 was 59.7 billion yuan, covering foreign aid, contributions to international organisations and overseas diplomatic posts. The report also cautions that the published figures may not capture all party-state activities connected with overseas influence.

Soft power, unlike coercion or economic leverage, rests on attraction: the ability to make a country's culture, institutions, values and way of life appealing to others. China's cultural diplomacy has included language programmes, educational exchanges, international media outreach and the promotion of its civilisational heritage. Its efforts to project an image of technological modernity and economic achievement are also part of this wider exercise.

Tourism has become another important instrument. China's official statistical communiqué recorded 154.5 million inbound visits in 2025, a 17.1 per cent increase over the previous year. Foreign visitors accounted for 35.17 million of these trips, while spending by inbound visitors reached $131.1 billion. The country has also expanded visa-free entry arrangements, with 30.08 million foreign visits made under such policies in 2025. Beijing has said it intends to make travel, payments, accommodation and transport easier for international visitors while combining traditional cultural experiences with modern attractions.

Tourism works as a form of public diplomacy because visitors experience a country beyond the images presented by governments or media. High-speed trains, modern cities, historical sites, food and cultural festivals can all become part of a country's international identity. Yet tourism can also turn inequality into a spectacle. The Dhaka broadcasts raise a troubling version of that question: when poverty becomes content, who controls the narrative, and whose dignity pays the price?

Poverty As Content, And The Limits Of The Narrative

The fascination with deprivation is not unique to Chinese content creators. India's slum tourism industry, particularly in Mumbai's Dharavi, has attracted foreign visitors interested in seeing how people live and work in densely populated informal settlements. Some tours are presented as opportunities to understand local economies and communities; others risk reducing hardship to an attraction. The difference lies in whether residents participate willingly, benefit from the activity and retain control over how their lives are represented.

In Dhaka, the allegations go further than the commercialisation of poverty. The central concern is the apparent misrepresentation of one country's neighbourhoods as another's, accompanied by commentary that can distort viewers' understanding of both societies. It also raises questions about consent and privacy, particularly when residents say cameras have entered their homes without permission.

For India, the episode is a reminder that national image-making increasingly takes place beyond official diplomatic channels. For Bangladesh, it is a question of how local residents are protected when foreign visitors film in their neighbourhoods. For China, it raises questions about the content circulating among its online audiences and the distinction between individual creators' commercial incentives and state-sponsored messaging.

The mystery remains unresolved. Who is commissioning the broadcasts? Why were these particular neighbourhoods selected? And are the streamers working independently, or as part of a larger commercial operation? Until those questions are answered, the videos should not be treated as proof of a Chinese government disinformation campaign. But the episode demonstrates how easily a camera, a misleading location tag and a captive online audience can turn an ordinary street into an instrument of someone else's narrative.