The crowd began to assemble in Tiananmen Square well in advance. The crisp spring day, sunny and bright, was perfect for a parade. Little children waved flags. Students sunned themselves, happy to be away from the tedium of school. Even the elderly gathered to watch the festivities and gossip among themselves.
The parade, when it began, did not disappoint. Rows and rows of soldiers marched, goose-stepping in tight formation. They appeared to be younger and younger every year. But they were soon replaced by a phalanx of tanks and trucks and even airplanes rolling by. The government flexing its military muscle, reminding the world of their might. The vehicles were followed by marching bands playing patriotic music that brought cheers from the crowd. Then came more soldiers with helmets, rifles, and shiny knee-high boots; young girls in short red uniforms; and giant Chinese flags, borne proudly by eager boys and girls.
Toward the middle of the procession rolled three open limousines, German made, slowly advancing to the tempo of the bands’ music. One carried the president, one bore the premier, and the third was occupied by General Gao Zhi Peng, who had recently been promoted to chairman of the Central Military Commission. There was no higher military position, and it was rumored that he might even become the next president. As he passed, cameras snapped and smartphones clicked, and the roars of approval swelled. He acknowledged the cheers with an occasional salute. He had ascended the pinnacle of Chinese power, and his beaming expression indicated he intended to stay there.
While the parade consumed Beijing, the people of the Xinjiang Uyghur Autonomous Region in the Tarim Basin desert mourned their dead. The relentless drone strikes were taking their toll, and there were funerals every day. Children buried parents; parents buried children; and the sight of tiny coffins, each symbolizing a future cut short, brought anguished cries from the grieving.
One mother suppressed her sorrow and shook a threatening fist at the sky, as if daring more bombs to drop. Her husband grabbed her hand and lowered it. “There is nothing we can do. And if the soldiers see you, they will take you to prison.”
“I do not care. I should be dead too; I do not want to live anymore. We mean nothing to those who destroy us. To them we are mere specks on the ground to be swept away by the fires and forgotten.”
“You must not talk that way. Allah will protect us. He will vanquish the infidels.”
The woman threw her husband a look that said he was crazy. “Allah? You think Allah will save us?” She spat on the ground. “That is what I think of your Allah. Unless he sends us guns and weapons that will shoot the enemy out of the sky, I have no use for your Allah.”
The woman’s husband blanched. “You must not talk that way. If someone hears you…”
Suddenly a man wearing the uniform of a soldier approached, attracted by their squabble. The couple said nothing as the soldier slowed, stared at them with a scowl, but then eventually passed.
“You see?” the husband said. He took her gently by the arm and led her away from the grave site.
Grace and Yusup’s mother clenched her jaw. She had lost both her children to the Americans and the Chinese and their weapons. She had no more words to express her anguish. No answers. No hope. For one brief moment she had thought it would change. A bright shining light for her people would burn. Her daughter had assured her it would. But Grace had been wrong. It was not to be. It had always been thus.
It would always be so.