Falun Gong, also known as Falun Dafa, surfaced in China in 1992 under Li Hongzhi’s guidance. It marries five gentle meditative exercises with a moral compass anchored in truthfulness, compassion and tolerance. Drawing on ancient qigong traditions, it promised better health and spiritual growth—so much so that by the late ’90s, government estimates suggested tens of millions of participants across China, outnumbering even Communist Party members.

Beijing’s 1999 ban ignited one of the most intense human-rights debates of the 21st century. Reports of detention camps, forced “re-education” and international protests have kept Falun Gong in the headlines ever since. Every week, demonstrators gather outside Chinese embassies from Washington, D.C. to Brussels, performing the movement’s slow, deliberate exercises as a peaceful act of solidarity. In New York’s Columbus Park at dawn, the serene silhouettes of practitioners often leave passersby curious.

Beyond political tensions, Falun Gong’s real draw lies in its simplicity. No membership fees, no formal hierarchy—just free classes in public parks or livestreams that went viral during recent lockdowns. Its core text, Zhuan Falun, has been translated into dozens of languages, fueling grassroots study groups from São Paulo to Sydney. This isn’t a flashy fitness fad or a digital detox trend; it’s a commitment to an age-old ethos, tweaked for modern life.

Critics sometimes label it a cult, but adherents insist it’s a personal journey toward inner peace and moral clarity. In a world chasing the next wellness craze, Falun Gong stands out for its quiet perseverance—slow and steady, even as global scrutiny remains high.