Debate Over Lu Xun’s Smoking Portrait Highlights Clash Between Historical Preservation and Anti‑Smoking Campaigns in China

The artwork in question is a large, charcoal‑toned depiction of the literary titan holding a cigarette between his fingers. It is not a modern invention; it is a faithful visual translation of a series of archival photographs taken of Lu Xun in the 1920s and 1930s, when the habit of smoking was common among intellectuals. For decades the painting has hung above the hallway that leads visitors through the writer’s old study, serving as a reminder that the man behind the pen was also a very human figure, prone to the same vices as his contemporaries.

The controversy began on 1 July 2023, when a visitor identified only as Ms Sun—a volunteer with a local tobacco‑control organization—posted a complaint to the memorial hall’s management. In a terse note she argued that the image of Lu Xun smoking “could mislead teenagers” and suggested that the painting be altered to show the writer with a clenched fist, a symbol more compatible with anti‑smoking campaigns. Her appeal, which was also amplified on the Chinese micro‑blogging platform Weibo, tapped into an ongoing national effort to denormalise tobacco use, especially among young people.

The hall’s response was measured. Officials acknowledged the complaint, promised to “discuss a solution,” and indicated that a decision would be announced later. The matter lingered in the public sphere, resurfacing in a wave of media coverage on 25 August 2023. Reporters quoted a number of experts who dismissed Ms Sun’s concerns as an overreaction. Chief among them was Professor Shang Chongsheng, a sociologist at Wuhan University, who emphasized that historical photographs indisputably show Lu Xun with a cigarette and that the painting merely reproduces that reality. “Teenagers will not base their scientific understanding of the harms of smoking on a portrait of a literary figure from a century ago,” he said. “The image is a piece of history, not a public‑health endorsement.”

Supporting Professor Shang’s view, the Zhejiang Lu Xun Research Association issued a statement that framed the work as an illustration of the “lived Lu Xun”—a relatable, flesh‑and‑blood thinker rather than an untouchable icon. The association argued that the act of smoking, in this context, is symbolic of contemplation and the writer’s habit of deep, often disquieting reflection. It also warned that removing or altering the painting would “disrespect the shared memories of generations” and could set a precedent for erasing other uncomfortable aspects of the past.

Social media reaction on Weibo echoed the experts’ sentiments. A flood of comments praised the painting’s historical authenticity and dismissed the notion that a static image could encourage smoking among youth. Users mocked the complaint’s provenance, questioning who Ms Sun was and whether her appeal was a genuine public‑health effort or a bid for online attention. Phrases such as “respect history, don’t change it because a few people speak nonsense” trended alongside the more formal tag “鲁迅夹烟墙画被批属于反应过度” (“Lu Xun’s cigarette‑holding wall painting being criticized is an overreaction”).

Nevertheless, the dissenting voice was not entirely absent. Some netizens and public‑health advocates echoed Ms Sun’s worry that the painting, stripped of its original domestic setting, could be read as an endorsement of casual, outdoor smoking—a visual cue that might normalize the habit for impressionable viewers. They argued that the responsibility for public art, especially in a space that attracts school groups, extends beyond mere historical fidelity; it must also consider contemporary societal values.

The debate has persisted into 2024. On 15 October 2024, news outlets again referenced the “overreaction” label, indicating that the conversation has not fully settled. The memorial hall has yet to issue a final decision, though its officials have repeatedly stressed that any change would require broader consensus rather than a solitary complaint. As the discussion lingers, the wall painting remains in place, continuing to spark both admiration for its authenticity and anxiety over its potential influence.

What does this episode reveal about modern China’s cultural landscape? On the one hand, it underscores the tension between preserving historical truth and adapting public symbols to align with present‑day health policies. On the other, it highlights the power of social media to amplify individual grievances—whether rooted in genuine concern or personal branding—into national conversations. Scholars observe that while the incident has not triggered any measurable shift in cultural‑industry practices, censorship policy, or broader public‑health legislation, it serves as a case study in how quickly a seemingly innocuous piece of artwork can become a flashpoint for competing narratives about history, morality, and the role of the state in regulating cultural expression.

For visitors to the Shaoxing museum, the painting still stands as a reminder that Lu Xun—renowned for his incisive criticism of social injustice—was also a product of his time, complete with the habits that were common among his peers. Whether that reminder serves as a historical lesson, a cultural treasure, or an inadvertent public‑health message is a question that, for now, continues to be debated across cafés, classrooms, and comment sections alike. The final verdict may yet emerge, but the conversation itself illustrates the delicate balancing act that societies perform when the past meets the present.