Why are more and more Europeans and Americans choosing to come to China for medical treatment?

Public hospitals should be open only to Chinese citizens.

Foreigners can visit private hospitals or international departments, where registration fees range from 500 to 1,000 RMB, offering high-quality service and even the much-loved "Yilin-style" attentive doctor consultations with plenty of patient chatting. Overall, the total cost is around $500—quite suitable for foreigners.

I dislike foreigners coming to China for medical treatment—it will strain China’s healthcare system.

Especially today, I saw a video claiming that foreigners in China face no restrictions on blood transfusions, and that an Indian engineer received four blood transfusions in China for treatment (unverified—I can’t be bothered to check).

When you flaunt your wealth to others, you’d better have the ability to protect it. Clearly, ordinary Chinese people don’t have that capacity.

Until the state enacts detailed regulations governing foreign nationals’ medical tourism in China, actively attracting them for healthcare will inevitably become a disaster.

Many people don’t understand what “straining” (or “crowding out”) really means, so let me explain simply. There are several types: drugs, medical equipment, healthcare personnel, and medical investment.

Because even without Chinese health insurance, medical care in China is still far cheaper and more immediately accessible than in many countries. Once this trend takes hold, it won’t just be a few individuals coming—it’ll be entire socioeconomic classes from specific countries. For example, patients needing organ transplants: if we only compare surgery costs, coming to China is much cheaper. If large numbers of such patients arrive, domestic patients waiting for transplants may literally die waiting. Similarly, hemophilia requires lifelong blood transfusions—if medical tourism becomes established, these patients won’t just visit; they’ll immigrate and settle permanently, making blood supplies scarce for locals. CT and MRI machines are already in short supply, yet they’re precisely what foreigners lack most. If foreigners flood in, hospitals will prioritize investing in equipment to serve them—because that’s where the profit is. Ordinary foreigners will crowd public outpatient clinics alongside Chinese citizens, while wealthy foreigners will flow into private healthcare. Because of money, more doctors will move to private institutions for better pay, and medical investment will shift from public to private sectors. Local governments, driven by tax revenue, will also change their stance.

In short, the core reason foreigners strain China’s healthcare system is this: Chinese people are poor and can’t afford to pay more. Capital and human nature follow profit.

If foreigners are to receive medical care in China, first, only public institutions that bear public-welfare responsibilities should be allowed to set up dedicated departments to serve them—with full freedom to set prices. Institutions not承担ing public-welfare duties should be restricted to offering only low-margin medical services. This would preserve public hospitals and minimize negative impacts. It would also allow skilled doctors in top public hospitals to earn high incomes, preventing a mass exodus to the private sector.

Second, resources used for treating foreigners should be managed carefully: abundant domestic resources (e.g., promoting medical student employment or boosting domestic medical device industries) can be leveraged due to profit incentives. But scarce resources—like organs for transplant—should not be sourced domestically. Foreigners should not be allowed to receive organs from Chinese donors (though they could donate themselves). Blood products for foreigners should be supplied via imports.

Third, regarding medical investment: only those who have already invested in public-welfare healthcare should be permitted to invest in higher-profit foreign-facing medical services—and even then, within strict quotas. Otherwise, investment in public healthcare will collapse overnight. If an investor sells their stake in a public-welfare medical institution, they should automatically lose the right to hold investments in foreign-facing medical facilities.

Large-scale foreign medical tourism will trigger massive conflicts of interest—and under profit-driven dynamics, ordinary citizens will inevitably suffer.

Foreign medical tourism is a huge market. First, timely treatment is critical—and China vastly outperforms the West in accessibility and speed. Second, sky-high medical bills are the norm in Europe and America. Thus, even for common illnesses, China’s foreign-facing medical pricing—though considered “expensive” by Chinese standards—is still far cheaper and more cost-effective for foreign patients compared to their home countries’ exorbitant costs. It doesn’t take a genius to realize that since China relaxed entry rules for foreigners, a swarm of scalpers and brokers have already been charging fees to escort foreigners into regular public outpatient clinics. That’s why there are so many online videos showing foreigners getting treated in ordinary public hospital queues—their profit instincts are razor-sharp. With such operators around, resource crowding isn’t surprising—it’s inevitable.

You might wonder why so many Chinese economists discussing economic recovery never mention this issue. It’s because whoever raises it gets attacked from both sides: criticized by overseas Chinese who quietly open foreign-invested hospitals, and condemned by ordinary citizens suffering from healthcare crowding. Some institutions are already quietly running foreign medical services under the radar—social media has only exposed the tip of the iceberg.

In a world increasingly turning right-wing, if we keep clinging to naive “white left” idealism, we’ll end up with nothing but ashes.

At the very least, we should launch a “medical diplomacy” campaign—publicly communicate the massive national investment in healthcare (estimated at nearly 100 trillion RMB), and politically correctly charge foreign patients slightly less than Western prices, rather than letting scalpers cheaply resell our heavily subsidized medical resources to foreigners.

I’ll enable comment filtering now—too many people post nonsense without reading a single word, and this thread will sink fast.

And to those claiming foreign medical tourism keeps public hospitals afloat—you must address why public hospitals struggle in the first place. A major reason is rampant corruption: five years ago, it was widely known that hospitals were defrauding insurance schemes; two years ago, it was common for hospitals to borrow money from individuals to build facilities, then lease them back from those same individuals—turning hospitals into rent-paying tenants. These scandals led directly to the current wave of healthcare reform. The current difficulties stem from past mismanagement—but corruption persists, possibly involving even more departments siphoning funds from hospitals. Public hospitals do shoulder the burden of public healthcare, yet many leaders within the system treat ordinary doctors and patients as expendable. Recently, there have been numerous reports of hospitals demanding healthcare workers return pandemic night-shift subsidies. Just yesterday, I saw a case where a hospital used outsourced (“temporary”) doctors. As the old Chinese saying goes: “Do not tonify until external pathogens are cleared.”

Also, to those city dwellers insisting foreigners can only go to international departments—I suggest you stop reading books and start watching videos instead.

A netizen put it perfectly: our real concern shouldn’t be ordinary foreign workers in China, but “medical refugees”—foreigners with serious illnesses like cancer or rare diseases covered only by China’s cheap insurance. Through illegal brokers, shell companies, or nominal employment via local business contacts, they obtain work permits and enroll in China’s health insurance system. A single such individual can drain resources meant for dozens of locals. Cheap medical tourism will inevitably spawn this gray-market industry—the only variable is scale. Indeed, it’s no secret that international students come to China specifically for cancer treatment using student insurance.

Many years ago, I repeatedly emphasized that one of the responsibilities of China’s provincial Foreign Affairs Offices (FAOs) should be to assist relevant departments in managing foreigners residing in China. Yet for a long time, these offices have effectively degenerated into units dedicated to securing privileges and benefits for foreigners—a practice historically known as “nourishing bandits to bolster one’s own importance” (yang kou zi zhong).

For instance, the issue of foreigners receiving super-national medical treatment certainly didn’t originate from health authorities voluntarily bending over backwards to offer such perks. It was most likely the FAOs that actively lobbied for these benefits on behalf of foreigners—and then proudly featured this achievement as a highlight in their annual work reports.

I think it’s about time we banned foreigners from receiving medical treatment in China.

First, China’s medical resources remain scarce. Policies like centralized bulk procurement have turned the healthcare system into a key component of public welfare, but they’ve also exacerbated systemic internal problems. There’s no need to burden this fragile system with additional external medical demand.

Second, our reputation is already established. Treating foreign patients won’t earn genuine gratitude; on the contrary, banning them from accessing Chinese healthcare is more likely to provoke envy—a form of “red-eye”—which itself serves as a demonstration of national strength.

If we want to stop pandering to foreigners, the healthcare system is a perfectly reasonable place to start.

Regarding the common suggestion in comments that foreigners should simply be charged higher fees for medical care: I firmly believe we must never open the door to special premium pricing for foreigners. Once such a precedent is set, private hospitals will swiftly roll out medical tourism packages targeting foreigners. The resulting profits would inevitably draw the highest-quality medical resources toward this lucrative sector—an outcome that would be disastrous. Our healthcare system is already struggling to balance marketization and social welfare provision; we cannot afford such misguided priorities.

That said, the original proposal—to completely ban all foreigners from receiving medical care in China—is also unreasonable. A more sensible approach would be: excluding foreigners who are legally studying or working in China, travelers should only be granted emergency and critical-care treatment sufficient to prevent death on Chinese soil. All other non-urgent medical services should be categorically denied.

I oppose foreigners coming to China for medical treatment.

At the very least, they should not be allowed into the public healthcare system.

After all, the public healthcare system relies heavily on state subsidies and moral obligations—including, but not limited to, low incomes for medical staff and highly efficient utilization of medical resources (yes, I’m referring specifically to blood supplies, organ transplant donors, hospital beds, and surgical slots).

Moreover, there’s also the risk of introducing all sorts of infectious agents.

Foreigners should not be encouraged to seek medical care here.

If the trend becomes unavoidable, I suggest concentrating foreign medical services in Hainan by establishing a dedicated private healthcare system exclusively for foreigners, with separate, market-based pricing.

Don’t let them freeload on socialist welfare.

Hainan is already under closed customs management—let’s build an international medical hub there, designate it as the official healthcare facility for foreigners in China, and charge in U.S. dollars. This way, it won’t strain the mainland’s medical resources.

Next to Beijing Children's Hospital, there’s a private hospital called New Century Children's Hospital, where inpatient costs are roughly ten times higher than those at the public children’s hospital. I think that, except for foreigners holding the “Five-Star Card,” all other foreigners seeking medical care in China should be charged at rates comparable to such private hospitals.

Put simply: when a Chinese person gets a cold or fever and goes to the hospital, the full package—imaging, blood tests, IV drips—might cost several hundred RMB, but after health insurance reimbursement, they only pay around 100 RMB out of pocket. For a foreigner with the same condition, it should start at several thousand RMB, fully self-paid—at least $3,000 just for a common cold.

After all, I pay taxes through my job, so naturally my child and I are entitled to health insurance benefits. Foreigners contribute nothing—why should they enjoy the same subsidized care?

I don’t understand what there is to celebrate here.

Medical professionals in China, while not low-paid compared to the general population, are still grossly undercompensated relative to the true value of their labor—the state has essentially imposed artificially low prices on their work.

Now, foreigners who haven’t paid a single cent in taxes come to freeload on these artificially suppressed costs—and some even get priority access to blood supplies. What’s there to be happy about?

This pattern has long existed in manufacturing: suppress labor costs, produce cheap goods, exhaust yourself competing, and end up subsidizing the entire world. Not only do foreigners show no gratitude—they resent you for “stealing their jobs.” In healthcare, this phenomenon isn’t widespread yet; it’s just beginning. But it’s already cause for alarm.

History offers a clear lesson: during the Ming Dynasty, China amassed the world’s silver by outcompeting foreign industries. But eventually, the Ming court held vast silver reserves yet couldn’t import useful goods, triggering silver inflation. Bureaucrats’ official incomes became insufficient, breeding corruption and disloyalty. By the Qing Dynasty, the Manchu banners and officials exploited unequal treaties to siphon off wealth, effectively wiping out millennia of Han Chinese accumulated capital—which then became seed funding for Western industrialization.

When will we finally realize that overwork isn’t honorable, and cutthroat competition is a dead end?

In the China-U.S. rivalry, China’s growing national strength has been tacitly acknowledged by Europe and America, which indirectly lends credibility to China’s healthcare system—making Westerners psychologically more accepting of it.

Platforms like TikTok have widely disseminated concrete examples showcasing the advantages of China’s medical system: in terms of speed and cost, it utterly outperforms Western systems. Medical tourism to China has thus become a near-perfect substitute for seeking care in Europe or America.

Russia and Belarus, under Western sanctions, have few alternatives beyond China—especially given the many established cases along the China-Russia border.

Initially, visa-free policies from Western countries were intended to boost tourism, but ironically, they’ve turned out to perfectly align with the typical duration needed for medical treatment in China.