News Desk
Beijing — In a chilling breach of trust, a doctor in southwestern China has been caught pilfering placentas from new mothers, spiriting them away from the delivery room to sell as ingredients for Traditional Chinese Medicine. The scandal, exposed in a grainy video circulating on mainland social media, has ignited outrage and laid bare the shadowy underbelly of a banned trade that refuses to die.
The obstetrician, whose name has not been released, worked at Renhuai Jiudu Maternity Hospital in Guizhou province. Footage shows him slipping a placenta into a biohazard bag, then stashing it in a black trash sack in his office. “He secretly took it—like no one would notice,” said the whistleblower who recorded the act, voice trembling with disbelief. “Where’s the oversight?”
The hospital acted swiftly, firing the doctor after the video surfaced. But administrators stayed tight-lipped about whether this was a one-off theft or part of a grim pattern. Health authorities have launched an investigation, though details remain scarce.
In China, the placenta—known as ziheche, or “purple river cart”—holds a storied place in Traditional Chinese Medicine. For 2,000 years, healers touted its powers: a cure for exhaustion, a boost to vitality, even a ticket to immortality. Today, some still swear it speeds postpartum recovery. Dried and ground into powder, it’s a relic of ancient pharmacology that won’t fade quietly.
But the trade is illegal. China outlawed the buying and selling of human placentas in 2005, striking ziheche from its official medical canon a decade later. The rules are clear: only a mother can claim her placenta. If she doesn’t, hospitals must treat it as medical waste—incinerated or buried. Yet enforcement is patchy, and the black market thrives. Online, whispers peg the going rate at 2,400 yuan ($340) per kilogram.
Social media erupted after the video spread. “I had no idea what happened to mine after birth,” one user wrote on Weibo, China’s version of X. “Do they all end up sold?” Another was blunter: “This is cannibalism with extra steps. I’d rather eat chicken.”
The doctor’s dismissal hasn’t quelled the unease. China’s ban lacks teeth—no specific penalties target those who flout it. Legal scholars point to a gaping loophole: without a robust punishment system, the trade festers underground. In 2017, a Beijing ring was busted for buying placentas from hospitals, but such crackdowns are rare. Critics say the government turns a blind eye, unwilling to tangle with a cultural practice that still grips pockets of society.
For new mothers at Renhuai Jiudu, the betrayal stings deepest. They trusted the hospital with their care, only to learn their placentas might have fueled a secret racket. “It’s not just theft,” one online commenter said. “It’s a violation of something sacred.”
The investigation rolls on, but few expect a reckoning. In a country where tradition often clashes with modernity, the placenta trade is a stubborn ghost—haunting maternity wards, eluding regulators, and leaving a bitter taste in its wake.
