THE COUNTERREVOLUTIONARY

There used to be more than twenty political prisoners locked up inside a prison in northern Sichuan. All of the prisoners were participants in the student democracy movement of 1989. They were charged with “propagating and instigating counterrevolutionary activities.” Their sentences ranged from two to twelve years.

Wan Baocheng, who was then thirty-five years old, came from what we call a “red family” because his father was a senior official and had fought with Chairman Mao during the war against the Nationalists in the 1940s. From the way he talked and behaved, one could hardly tell that Wan had a distinguished parent and that he used to be a powerful official himself. During that special time in 1989 when the whole country woke up to the call of democracy, he became an enemy of the Party.

This interview took place in February of 1993 when I was locked up in the same jail with Wan. He was released in 1994.

LIAO YIWU: Among all those who have been locked up here since the 1989 student democracy movement, you held the highest position within the government. Is that right?

WAN BAOCHENG: I guess so. Before I landed in here, I was the deputy director of the largest government-owned bank in Sichuan. I was the best of the crop in my field. I used to be an expert on the government's economic policies. Each time the government issued a new policy, I would study it very diligently. I was also a keen reader of the Communist Party official newspaper—People's Daily. It was the basic training for a government official. I followed the Communist Party line at all times and avoided making mistakes.

LIAO: How did a distinguished government official and businessman like you end up here?

WAN: In May of 1989, I happened to be in Beijing on a business trip. My assignment there was to collect an overdue loan payment. We had planned to send a clerk to do the collection, but the students' pro-democracy demonstrations were at full throttle. The whole country was in chaos. As a measure of prudence, I decided to go myself.

LIAO: Why did your bank issue a loan to someone way out in Beijing?

WAN: The company was headquartered in Beijing and had opened up a branch in Sichuan. Then the branch was closed and all the assets were transferred back to its headquarters. Anyhow, I took the train to Beijing at the end of May. It was such bad timing. As you remember, the student demonstrations started in April to commemorate the passing of the former Communist Party secretary Hu Yaobang. Then the demonstrations turned into protests against government corruption and a call for democracy. By the end of May, when the government refused to engage in a dialogue with protesters, the movement spread all over the country. More students poured into Beijing.

The minute I walked out of the train station, which was fairly close to Tiananmen Square, I could feel the tension. People from all walks of life joined the students and the whole city was paralyzed. Since the government media blocked out news relating to the demonstrations, rumors that people heard through the grapevine were getting more and more dramatic. One minute, you heard someone say that the air force had been mobilized and would parachute troops into Tiananmen Square for the crackdown. Another minute, you heard that a pro-student general, supported by several senior Chinese leaders, had started a coup.

My mind was pretty much all set, and I didn't believe any of those rumors. My father used to serve in the Communist troops under Mao and he pledged full loyalty to the Party. Somehow, I must have inherited some of the loyalty genes from him. People around me were all in a frenzy, but I chose to stay calm and focus on my work.

I went directly to the company's headquarters. The building was empty. There was one person at the reception desk. She told me that the managers and staff had gone to Tiananmen Square, waving banners and flags to show support for the students. So I left and checked into a hotel near Cuiwei Road in downtown Beijing. My room was on the second floor, with the window facing a busy intersection. I could see residents and students march by under my window. Before dusk, I went downstairs and watched people gather in small groups, exchanging the latest news and rumors. Someone standing on a wooden box said about thirty thousand soldiers would enter the city to keep order. Another one in the audience argued that there would be twenty thousand. Anyway, things around the hotel didn't quiet down until after midnight.

I stayed inside my room reading work-related material. The next day, I went back to the company again and couldn't find anyone. So I decided to postpone my trip back for another two days. On the night of June 3, 1989, I could see that the street outside my window was getting more and more crowded. The hotel was eerily empty because all the staff members had left to join the students in the street. Someone was standing on the stairs of the front entrance, and was delivering a speech on how to set up roadblocks to stop tanks from entering the city. The crowd got denser by the hour. I had never seen people so passionately involved since the Cultural Revolution. But for me, nothing changed my long-standing support for the government. I continued to be nonchalant and even went to bed earlier than usual.

Later that night, the commotion outside the hotel became louder. I got up, closed my window, and went back to bed. I kept reminding myself that I was a government official and shouldn't join the mob outside. So I took a sleeping pill and soon I was out cold.

I was awakened by loud gunshots outside. I remember going to the window, and I saw soldiers shooting and tanks rolling in the street. Like I have said, I had never seen anything like that in my whole life. During the Cultural Revolution, when different factions of the Red Guards were fighting against each other, some gunfights were involved. But this was nothing like that. On that night, the ones carrying guns on the street were our own soldiers. They shouldn't shoot at innocent citizens. Their guns should have been aimed at our enemies outside China. I wanted to check to see what was going on, but I was still under the influence of the pill. My head was heavy. I soon fell asleep again.

At about ten in the morning, a loud knock on the door woke me up. It was the cleaning lady. She walked in and started to scream: Sir, how could you sleep under such conditions? Look at your window. I looked in the direction of her finger, and saw the window had been hit by a stray bullet and glass was shattered all over the floor. Thank heaven I hadn't stood by the window long that night. Otherwise I would have been shot dead. The cleaning lady told me that a guy on the tenth floor had reached his head out to yell at the soldiers on the street. He was hit by a bullet and died. When I heard this story, blood rose to my head. I couldn't be an outsider anymore.

LIAO: So you changed your views about the student movement.

WAN: Yes. I looked out of my window and saw the wreckage on the street. I saw hundreds of helmet-wearing soldiers patrolling the street. Every couple of minutes, there would be a tank rumbling by. A young civilian guy was running on the street. The soldiers ordered him to stop. I could tell that the guy was scared. He stopped for a few moments, but then started running to escape. One soldier raised his gun and shot at him from behind. The guy fell forward, and then plopped down, motionless. It was like in one of those war movies. I don't think my dad, who fought in the Chinese civil war, had witnessed such horrible scenes before—a soldier killing an unarmed civilian.

I was stunned. The cleaning lady pulled me from the window and asked me to go back to bed. She warned me: The soldiers have become crazy. If you get hit by a stray bullet, it will be your tough luck. Nobody is taking responsibility.

Well, I didn't care. During the next few days, I showed up on the street and talked with those who had witnessed the government brutality on the night of June 4. I visited two hospitals and saw students and residents who had been wounded by bullets. However, when I turned on the TV in the evenings, there was no mention of the massacre. The official version was that the Chinese soldiers had defended the capital from a small handful of “hooligans” and that nobody was killed. To me as an economist, the most important thing was honesty. I felt the urge to write. I jotted down everything I had seen and heard. In the past, I had only written numerous accounting reports or office memos. Overnight, I became a different kind of writer. My pen was flying. Sometimes I wrote with total outrage, and other times with tears streaming down my cheeks.

Within a week, I finally finished the draft of my article. It was seven pages long. I corrected some grammatical errors and rewrote some passages. Since we didn't have computers then, I had to hand-copy the draft neatly on fresh paper. I called my article “An Eyewitness Account of June 4.” Before I left Beijing, I secretly went to a store and Xeroxed one hundred copies.

On the train back from Beijing, I began to distribute the article to my fellow passengers. It was about a week after the government crackdown. All the student leaders had been placed on the government's most-wanted list. Police were on heightened alert and constantly searched the train cars for former leaders who were on the run. I was very cautious. Luckily, many people pitched in to help. By the time the train pulled into my hometown station, I had given away all the copies.

Life became normal again. I took a couple of days off and then resumed my work at the bank, as if nothing had happened. In the back of my mind though, I was nervous.

In the following month, every employee at the bank was forced to condemn the student movement and to pledge support for the Party. Many people who were privately outraged at the government massacre had to show compliance in public. Protesting against the government was like throwing an egg against a big rock—a futile attempt with big personal loss. Everyone was supposed to read articles from the People's Daily and toe the Party line. At staff meetings, I also voiced my support for the government's decision. As the deputy director of the bank, I had to take the lead in the brainwash movement. At the end of the month, since no employee at my bank claimed any involvement in local demonstrations, we all ended up with a handsome bonus. I knew that many people had joined the demonstrations, but nobody reported on the others.

As time went by, I almost forgot about what I had done in Beijing, but the police didn't. Two months later, I think it was in August, my director called me into his office. When I walked in, I saw two other strangers in there too. My director said, Mr. Wan, please confess everything you did in Beijing. His words sent cold chills down my spine. Almost instinctively, I pretended to be dumb: Director, you know very well what I have done. Upon hearing this, my director's face turned red and he said: Unfortunately, we don't know what you have done.

Later on, I found out that the police had obtained the article from several passengers who had helped with the police search. They had been following me for quite some time. After I was detained, many people refused to believe that, as a shrewd official, I could have been involved in something like that. At a briefing to the city council regarding my case, the municipal Party secretary even defended me by saying: It's impossible. He was born into a revolutionary family. His father and I joined the Communist army in the same year. Mr. Wan Junior is also a good Communist. He was admitted to the Party at the age of eighteen. He grew up under my nose and has always been a good boy and an excellent banker. It can't be true. The Party secretary even pleaded: This kid is a rising star. Please don't make the wrong charges and ruin his career.

The police, becoming impatient with the defensive remarks of my family and friends, invited my relatives to an office and showed them my article and the testimonies from the hotel staff and passengers on the train. Everyone was shocked. Embarrassed by the good things he had said about me, the Party secretary signed my arrest warrant.

Faced with the evidence, I had no choice but to confess. Luckily, I didn't have an accomplice and my case was relatively simple. But instead of admitting any wrongdoing, I openly declared that what I had written in the article was true. That was when the shit hit the fan. My dad's former colleagues—I mean those who held important positions in the city, my boss at the bank, and even leaders at the Public Security Bureau—came to the detention center to reason with me, and to persuade me to retract my statement. They advised me to plead guilty by claiming that some evil people had forced me to make up shameless lies to slander and sabotage the reputation of soldiers guarding Tiananmen Square.

I told both the interrogators and my dad's friends: As a Party member, I swear to Chairman Mao that everything I wrote is true. One interrogator banged on the desk and said: You are no longer a Communist Party member. They have expelled you. But if you admit your crime and be cooperative, we will reduce your sentence. I wouldn't budge: As a Communist Party official, honesty is something I live by. The interrogator was furious: Mr. Wan, don't be so fucking arrogant. You used to be the deputy director of the city's largest bank. That was your past. Right now you are nothing. I didn't buy his attitude: I'm not a corrupt official. Don't you dare speak to me like that! He replied in a cynical tone: You would have been lucky if you had been involved in a corruption case. At least your dad could use his connection to bail you out. You could still go home and live a normal life. In China, you know as well as I do, once you get involved in a political case, your whole life is done. Don't you understand? I snapped back: Since this is a serious political case, I can't admit any wrongdoing. Otherwise, it will be like dumping shit all over my head.

Nobody could change my mind. In the end, they notified my dad. I was told that he trembled with fury. He cursed me and let out a loud scream: That little short-lived bastard. He then collapsed onto the floor. My siblings took him to a hospital nearby and the doctor said he had suffered a stroke. He was partially paralyzed, but his mind was very lucid. So the police decided to bring my old man out to the detention center to see me. Using my dad as a bargaining chip totally destroyed my last piece of confidence. When police wheeled him into the detention center courtyard, I was heartbroken. He was a healthy person before I left. Now he was in a wheelchair. It was just . . . too much for me to bear. I threw myself at his feet and burst into tears. As you know, I'm the only boy in the family. He had pinned all his hopes on me. He named me after the Baocheng Railroad, China's first cross-province railway, which opened up in 1957. He was hoping that my future could be as developed as the railroad. When I was growing up, I tried to live up to his expectations, and I did very well in school. He used to tell people that I was the best thing that had ever happened to him. He could never have imagined visiting his son in prison.

When police saw me crying like that, they began to think that their game plan was working. One guy, who was the police chief, helped me to my feet and said: If you admit your crime, we will be able to reduce your sentence. You can spend more time with your dad, taking care of him. You can continue to work hard at the bank to make up for your crimes. There were many innocent people like you who have been deceived by the counterrevolutionaries. People and the government will forgive your past. I hope you can return to the bosom of the Communist Party and the Chinese people. My father kept nodding while the police chief delivered his lecture. The old man even summoned enough strength to raise his hand and said, Do what the Party tells you to.

I became really agitated. I raised my voice and said: Dad, you know very well what kind of person I am. One of the things that I have learned from you is to be honest, and never lie or cheat. What I have written is all true. Innocent people were killed in Beijing.

He interrupted me and gave me a nasty look: You only witness what you are allowed to see. So what if you witnessed the killing? Those counterrevolutionaries deserved to die. We fought hard with Chairman Mao and have made China red. We can't easily give up. We can't allow the former Nationalist government or the American imperialists to destroy Communism in China. I think you have sat your butt on the wrong chair. You have moved to the enemy camp. You have slacked off on your political studies and have been corrupted by Western thinking. It's very dangerous. You should accept the punishment. You are my son and you should listen to me.

Seeing that my dad was sweating profusely, I couldn't bear to argue with him anymore. The police felt very relieved and asked me to record an “I plead guilty” message in front of my dad. I did.

LIAO: You didn't raise any hell after your dad left, did you?

WAN: I finally decided to compromise and admit that “my action had jeopardized the reputation of our country and the Communist Party.” But I didn't accept the charges that I had made up stories and spread rumors. Those charges were such insults to my character. Do you remember that poor Chinese guy on American TV? Following the government crackdown, that guy told an American reporter on camera that there was blood all over Tiananmen Square and that thousands of people had been killed. He had exaggerated, of course. After the interview was aired in the U.S., the Chinese government was furious and put this guy on the government's most-wanted list. A week later, he was caught and was sentenced to ten years in prison. I'm not that guy. I didn't exaggerate or lie. Anyway, my case is not over yet. Someday, when the official verdict on Tiananmen Square is reversed, I'm going to sue the government for wrongful imprisonment.

LIAO: You've been sentenced to four years in prison, right?

WAN: Yes, four years. It could have been worse. During the final court hearing, the judge said that my sentence was reduced due to my cooperative attitude. That was such baloney. Before I got here, I had never encountered any counterrevolutionaries. I'm now locked up with over twenty counterrevolutionaries who were involved in the June 4 student movement. All of them are just ordinary folks: teachers, college students, workers, migrant workers, a deputy county village chief, a tax collector, a journalist, and some unemployed youngsters. There is a student from a technical high school who was not even eighteen when he was arrested. Everyone is so kind, not only to one another, but also to animals.

Let me tell you a story. One morning, a pigeon suddenly fell from the sky to the ground. I was the first one to discover the poor thing. Initially, the pigeon haltingly stretched its wings and attempted to fly again. But, seconds later, it plunged like a piece of stone to the courtyard ground. We all dashed out and carefully picked it up. Luckily, the ground was covered by a layer of snow, which saved the life of that poor thing. But its wings and legs were broken. This small accident glued all the inmates together and kept us busy for quite some time. We took turns caring for that little pigeon. One guy made a cast out of a bamboo shoot and attached it to the pigeon's leg. Another inmate stole some antibiotic ointment and cotton swabs from the prison clinic to treat its wounds. My new friend, Little Yang, got some uncooked rice from the prison kitchen, chewed the rice in his mouth to make a pulp, and then fed it to the pigeon. At first, the pigeon wouldn't take anything. Little Yang and Old Lei pried its beak open and gently fed it down its throat. During the next few days, we dug up worms, and saved rice, beans, and corn from our own ration to feed the bird. We divided our group into five nursing teams. During the daytime, when we labored away in the field, we hid the pigeon inside a mosquito net over an upper-level bunk bed. We put a small bowl of rice on the bed and placed a piece of newspaper under the pigeon to catch its droppings. Generally speaking, political prisoners were treated slightly better than ordinary criminals. Guards seldom checked our cells. After two weeks, the pigeon was fully recovered. It became restless and was ready to say goodbye. Everyone felt very sad. At the same time, we all envied the pigeon's ability to fly to a free world outside.

The time finally came. The pigeon fluttered its wings, turned around and around on the ground, and kept cooing to us. It was such a smart bird. Lao Lei had an idea: Why don't we use this pigeon to send a message to the outside world?

Everyone thought it was a great idea. We found a pen and a piece of paper. Lao Lei wrote a message on our behalf: We are the twenty-three political prisoners. We are in jail because of our involvement in the June 4 student movement. We aim to overthrow the totalitarian system and bring democracy to China. That's our aspiration. We hope people outside don't forget about us and about our fight for democracy.

We tied the paper to the leg of the pigeon and held a farewell ceremony in the courtyard. We named the pigeon our “messenger for democracy” and released it. The pigeon circled above our heads and then up to the sky. A few minutes later, for some unknown reason, the bird came back, circled around, and flew in the direction of the correctional officers' dorm building.

Everyone was so carried away and nobody saw the little movement at the end as anything unusual. Afterward, we would look at the clock on the wall, trying to figure out where the pigeon was at that very moment. Lao Lei wondered if the one we saved could be a special messenger from Hong Kong or Taiwan. Little Yang totally believed it. He said it was highly possible. The pigeon from the free world deliberately landed in this prison to carry a message of hope to us. I nodded in agreement. Inside this hopeless prison, it was better to have something to believe in. Hope made time pass fast.

LIAO: You guys attached too much symbolic meaning to an ordinary pigeon. The world is so big. I wonder where the pigeon finally landed.

WAN: Be patient, I haven't finished the story yet. The next morning, our courtyard was suddenly surrounded by armed police with machine guns. Prison officers ransacked our beds and our clothes. All kinds of paper products—books, poems or essays written on toilet paper, journals—were taken away. Then several officers came in to hold individual talks with each one of us. They wanted to investigate what they called the “pigeon incident.”

LIAO: What happened? Did the pigeon get shot down by the police?

WAN: It turns out the pigeon was a pet raised by one of the prison officers. When the pigeon dropped to the courtyard, the guard thought it might have been killed. Then, two weeks later, his pet miraculously returned, with a note tied to its leg. The officer immediately reported it to his boss. They were thrilled by the precious intelligence his pet had gathered.

LIAO: You guys saved a spy pigeon!

WAN: Our hope was dashed in seconds. Several of us were locked up in solitary confinement for two days. Luckily, they didn't find any hard evidence. But, after that incident, our whole group was separated. I'm now staying with murderers, rapists, and drug dealers. While doing physical labor outside, each political prisoner has been assigned two or three guards. Life is getting very miserable.

LIAO: What are you planning to do after you get out of here?

WAN: I don't think they will allow me to go back to work in the government bank anymore. The government will never give a counterrevolutionary an opportunity to be financially successful. I don't know what I will do. Maybe I should become a professional democracy advocate. I guess I'm supposed to be a piece of stone, being used to pave the way for bigger things to happen in China. If that's my fate, I accept it, even if it means sacrificing my life.