Escape from China: The Long Journey from Tiananmen to Freedom - Couverture rigide

BOLI

Couverture rigide

ISBN 10 : 074343160X ISBN 13 : 9780743431606

Editeur : Simon & Schuster, 2002

Synopsis

Book by Boli Zhang

A propos du livre

Extrait :

CHAPTER ONE: ESCAPE FROM BEIJING

1

June 4, 1989. In the predawn darkness we were forced to evacuate Tiananmen Square. Negotiations with the army were completed. The terms we agreed upon were simple: we should leave before daybreak. A peaceful conclusion to the occupation of this largest of public gathering places in all of China seemed within reach. Helmeted soldiers allowed us to pass through the narrow corridor at the southeast side of the square, all the while pointing their bayonets, as if we were prisoners of war. Army commanders had promised to give the demonstrators an opportunity to disperse. The process, time-consuming because the crowd was huge, seemed under way.

"Fascist!" a female student cursed furiously. Immediately, several soldiers rushed at her and beat her down with the butts of their rifles. Her male comrades hurried to help her back into the march. And thus commenced the last phase of a major confrontation between nonviolent demonstrators led by university students and the armed forces of the People's Republic of China. On the one side, words: speeches, pamphlets, poems, petitions, the weapons of persuasion. On the other side, dictatorial power: guns, bullets, and tanks, the weapons of destruction.

For more than fifty days, student idealists, naive but brave, had done all that they could to persuade their government by peaceful means to redress their grievances. A small group at first, their numbers had grown to the hundreds and then to the thousands. Now, amplified by ordinary citizens, they had grown to the tens of thousands. At times, more than a hundred thousand. A great dramatic spectacle, seen on television screens around the world, had reached its climax.

And now an elite battalion of soldiers was moving to crush the Democracy Movement by brute force. As the day progressed, these soldiers, seemingly devoid of humanity, were to march against their own fellow citizens and employ lethal force.

As soon as we began moving away from the square, the air was filled with the roar of tanks speeding ahead. I looked back and saw the statue of the Goddess of Democracy being torn down. Rows of tents, so geometrically ordered, were being crushed by the tanks' treads, the canvas sheets sometimes flying into the air like snowflakes driven by the wind. We marched and looked back through tears of anguish. The square we had occupied for fourteen days after the government had declared martial law was now an army's playground for the enjoyment of brutal games. In addition to our fears and rage, we felt a profound sense of humiliation. All of our noble words, our passionate deeds, our bravery in the face of enormous odds were being mocked; we had entered a realm of madness and were at the mercy of men -- the soldiers and their leaders -- who were utterly without humanity.

Arriving at Liubu Avenue, we found that West Changan Street was still filled with the acrid nitric acid smoke of small arms and artillery fire. Here and there, military vehicles, buses, and tanks burned furiously. Destruction and horror everywhere. I turned on my pocket radio. The Central People's Radio was broadcasting an editorial of the Liberation Army Daily News, defining the nature of our democracy movement as "counter-revolutionary upheaval." A movement that had endured for over fifty days, designed to provide an example of direct democracy at work, was dismissed as merely a crazy grab for power. The radio announcers lied to the world. Chaos, anarchy, destruction of revolutionary ideals: these were said to be our goals. They accused the student protestors of conspiring to overthrow the government. Not only the government but socialism itself: all that the workers, soldiers, and peasants had sought to achieve.

West Changan Street was stained red. A man who had been beaten was covered with blood and was spitting bloody foam onto the street. Chai Ling, her face contorted with horror, cried, "He's still alive!"

I asked my schoolmates to take the man to the hospital's emergency room on a tricycle, but he died before they could get there.

Singing "The Internationale," we marched like a slow and boiling river that flowed toward Beijing University. Behind us we heard the thunder of tanks and the explosion of tear gas bombs. My tears flowed freely; I had no mask. It was so unbearable! Students rushing up behind us said that the tanks had crushed eleven students to death.

Li Lu suddenly said: "Wait a minute! We should go back! It's not right to just abandon the square!" Chai Ling and Feng Congde said nothing to show what they were feeling. Most of us opposed the idea of returning to the square. It was entirely unrealistic and we knew that. We would be met by overwhelming force and violence. The government would show no mercy. Nearly a hundred tanks and more than a hundred thousand soldiers guarded Tiananmen. If we returned it would be to die. To me it seemed that saving our lives, perhaps to fight again soon, should be the highest principle at this moment. Our responsibility was to bring as many students as possible safely back to the university.

Mo Xuan, our picket leader, said, "You guys are the commanders. I will lead the march wherever you say!" So Chai Ling, Feng Congde, and I continued our way at the head of the throng, leading students back to the university. Li Lu and Mo Xuan turned part of the march back toward the square. Not many students followed, and those who did soon returned to follow us. We all hated to leave the square after so many days but this was what we had to do.

Arriving at a big hotel near the zoo, we saw a huge banner hanging from an upper floor. It said: "Insist on the Four Fundamental Principles. Oppose bourgeois liberalization. Take a clear-cut stand against upheaval. Firmly suppress the counter-revolutionary turmoil." We ran angrily into the hotel and tore the banners to shreds. Then we sat down to catch our breath. I had shouted so much into the bullhorn that my voice was hoarse. Now I was very tired and wanted to rest. But this was impossible.

2

We finally reached Beijing University at noon.

On both sides of the street from Zhongguancun to the university were crowds awaiting our return -- among them teachers, students, and parents. A fifty-year-old female teacher asked me: "Where is my daughter? Did she return with you?" I stood silent with my tears flowing. Emotion was adding to the flood produced by tear gas. The entrance and the buildings around were crowded with people. Students sat down, packed like sardines with their schoolmates and teachers. I took the bullhorn from a fellow beside me and made one last speech before fleeing Beijing.

I said, "My dear school, my dear teachers and schoolfellows, we are back. We were ruthlessly driven out of Tiananmen Square by savage soldiers with tanks, rifles, and tear gas bombs. But many of our schoolmates remain forever in the square and on East and West Changan Street. When they left this world, a world they loved so much, they didn't know that those who killed them were 'the most lovely ones,' as soldiers were called by our national leaders."

I continued. "Chai Ling, Li Lu, Feng Congde, and I, as the leaders, persisted to the end in the square. We tried our best not to lose face for Beida and her students."

Weeping arose from inside and out. I spoke my last words. "Now, the fatuous old dictator has finally torn off his mask and shown his grim face. He ordered the army to shoot us! He had the tanks run over students and defenseless residents of Beijing! The soldiers didn't even stop for old people and little children. They killed indiscriminately. They arrested people to create red terror and rule by violence. And yet they label us as 'ruffians'! As 'traitors'! 'Counter-revolutionaries.' Dear schoolmates and teachers, our leaders have lost their minds. Soon they will arrest and try to kill us. They will implement a totally relentless political persecution in every part of China. Many who are loyal, high-minded citizens, including distinguished intellectuals, will be beaten, put on trial, arrested, thrown into prison, perhaps even killed. However, we are not afraid. For the truth is with us, the people are with us, the world is with us, and I believe the day will come when the light of democracy and freedom shines over all of China! On that day, if I am still alive, I shall return. I shall return here where our movement began to pay tribute to our dear school, and to my brave teachers and schoolmates. Good-bye, Beida! Good-bye!"

Suddenly a voice cried out from the crowd: "Zhang Boli! Aren't you a Communist?" It sounded strange and sarcastic.

I responded, "Yes, I am a Communist, but since the Party commanded its army to shoot the people, I have sworn to withdraw from the Party and to struggle to the end. I can no longer belong to a party that has lost all rationality and humanity!"

Applause came from everywhere like a rainstorm. I heard people shouting: Yes! Withdraw from the Party! Withdraw from this autocratic, murderous, old man's Party!

We went into the university surrounded by thousands. The picket team organized by the Beijing University Preparatory Committee immediately locked the gate, preparing for the last struggle against the troops who would soon arrive. I went to the twenty-eighth floor.

At this moment, a student of the Writers' Class came and found me; my wife, Li Yan, had arrived. How amazing! I was completely surprised. How could she have come to Beida now?

Chai Ling said: "Go and see her! There is nothing else to do but escape." I replied with a classical Chinese aphorism: " 'As long as the green mountains are saved, there is always firewood.' Take care of yourselves," I said, "you and Feng Congde."

"You too," she said. "If there is really no way out, try the coast."

"I cannot leave the country right now," I said. "I have to take Li Yan out of Beijing first."

We held each other's hands tightly. Chai Ling was trembling. We knew that perhaps we would never see each other again.

3

My dorm room, 3011 on the forty-seventh floor, was packed with people. Several girls were weeping. As I entered, they rushed to me. I was touched by their friendship and warmth. I reported the evacuation of the square in very simple words.

Li Yan burst in, and my fellows instantly gave way to her. We looked quietly at each other. An intimate moment in the midst of a crowd. Li Yan had worn the pretty dress I bought for her in Guangdong before we got married; a green band shaped her hair. Since school started this semester I had not gone home to visit her and our daughter, Little Snow. She had written me a letter: "Beginning May First (International Labor Day) we are on holiday. I will take Little Snow and stay with you in Beida for a few days." By that time, I had already plunged into the student movement and was launching a newspaper, the News Herald, but I still looked forward to her visit with Little Snow. When I called the leading cadre of the department where my wife worked, I learned that Little Snow was in the hospital. How I wished I could see them! Little Snow had so many medical problems. She had been hospitalized many times since birth. However, during such momentous disputes with the government how could I leave? And now, my wife had left our child at home and dashed to Beijing under heavy fire.

Li Yan threw herself into my arms and embraced me urgently. Caressing her shoulder, running my hands through her soft hair, I could feel her body trembling.

All my friends wept. They knew that this meeting could also be a farewell, our last moments together.

I said, "Li Yan, my dear wife, do you blame me?"

She shook her head.

"Dear Li Yan," I said, "you shouldn't run the risk of coming to Beijing."

She shook her head vigorously.

I wiped the tears on her face and asked softly, "How is Little Snow? Is she all right?"

Her face brightened. "Little Snow can say 'papa' now."

My heart had been pierced. I was having trouble holding back my own tears. My daughter could say "papa" already, so soon! When I left home for school, she was happily crawling; now, after only a few months, she could call for Papa. Would I ever hear that voice?

A well-known woman writer rushed into my room and shouted to stop the weeping. "We must be calm! This is no time to be immersed in love or sorrow! The tanks and troops are closing in. They'll soon be here and we'll be under siege. You better pack up your things and follow me."

"Not so fast." I said. "Are they so ruthless that they will spare no one?"

"Don't be silly!" the writer replied. "They will arrest all leaders and others besides. What? You think you'd rather be executed like the national hero Tan Sitong? Hurry up! Follow me! And this girl too." She pointed at Li Yan, whose hands still clung to my neck. "She is not a girl," I corrected her. "She is my wife."

"Fine," she said decisively. "Let's go!"

Everyone urged Li Yan and me to leave. One could hear rifle fire in the distance. Helicopters were wheeling in the air above Beida, reconnoitering the campus.

"Come on!" the woman writer pressed me with a sense of urgency. "We won't get out of here if we don't leave now!" Li Yan and I took our bicycles and followed the writer's car off the campus through the old west gate.

We rode through many streets and lanes. Our friend kept looking back at us fearfully, making certain we were not being followed. Soon she got out of her car in front of the huge door of a courtyard and rang the bell.

A young woman opened the door slightly. Seeing us through the crack, she immediately let us into the courtyard.

The writer introduced us. "This is my blood sister, you will be safe here!" Pointing at me, she said, "This is Zhang Boli, a writer, also one of the student leaders."

The young woman answered me with a bashful smile and then led me into the living room. She introduced her husband, Mr. Gong.

The man was gracious and hospitable, greeting us with smiles. He motioned for us to rest and went to the kitchen with his wife.

In a short while, they set the table with several appetizing dishes and offered beer. I felt no appetite but drank the beer. Mr. Gong said that he would like to go to the many hospitals of Beijing to find out the number of dead and injured. His wife and the writer also wanted to observe the situation in Beida. Mrs. Gong brought me some clean underwear and said, "Take a bath and then sleep. Don't go anywhere for a couple of days, you're likely to get shot." I nodded with gratitude.

They left, and the small courtyard standing alone among the houses became unusually quiet. It was a hot day. The fan in the living room made rhythmic humming and buzzing sounds.

Li Yan prepared the water for a bath and called me.

I removed my dirty, reeking clothing. Li Yan picked up the shower nozzle and rinsed me thoroughly. Then she began lathering my body with soap. Suddenly I realized that she was leaning on my back. Her hands caressed it ceaselessly and she was weeping.

During the two years of our marriage we had come to know each other intimately. I knew her faults and her virtues well. As we stood there in the bathroom, I took her hands to my chest and held them. Then I told her, "Li Yan, if I am captured, it's all right to remarry someone, a well-behaved man. The Chinese Communists will not rest until they have silenced me."

"No," she said quietly. "I will definitely not do that."

I tried hard to maintain my composure. But the thought of leaving my wife and of not seeing my child was overwhelming. Not for the first time I tho...

Présentation de l'éditeur :

No one can forget the scalding images of defiance and bravery that appeared on our television screens in 1989. Teeming masses of students made history in Tiananmen Square, uniting their voices in protest of China's Communist regime. Impassioned young libertarians stood their ground in front of advancing tanks, stared down the menace of hulking cannons, and withstood two weeks of mounting tension. In the end, military forces charged in and brutally suppressed the revolt, killing untold numbers of students - and ordering the arrest of all responsible for the protest. Over the next two years, Chinese police managed to account for every one of these student leaders - except one.
ESCAPE FROM CHINA is a gripping first-person account of how China's most-wanted fugitive trumped overwhelming obstacles and evaded a ruthless police search for more than two years before finding freedom in the West. Travelling across the frozen terrain of the former Soviet Union, where Russian peasants rescued him, and finding his way through the deserted lands of China's precarious borders, Zhang had little but his extraordinary will to keep him moving, surviving for months at a time on wild animals. In the course of his long ordeal, he loses his love, finds God and eventually, freedom.

À propos de cette édition

• Éditeur: Simon & Schuster
• Date d'édition: 2002
• ISBN 10: 074343160X
• ISBN 13: 9780743431606
• Reliure: Relié
• Nombre de pages: 288