Beijing Coma (38 page)

‘He was on a ventilator for a few months, but now he can breathe by himself. Maybe he’ll open his eyes one day.’

The harsh light falling on my face is making me dizzy.

‘Where are you taking him?’ I recognise this voice. It’s Granny Pang, the old busybody who lives on the ground floor.

My mother told me that, during the protests, Granny Pang sent her grandson to the Square to give water and rice porridge to the students, and that after the crackdown, she came up to our flat to comfort my mother, saying the army would soon leave the capital and everything would go back to normal. But after the security officers visited our compound and asked the residents to report any suspicious activity, she began monitoring our flat. If anyone visits us in the morning, when she likes to sit in the sun on a stool outside our block, she always informs the police. Sometimes she even asks our visitors to write down their names and work units. She’s become a human guard dog.

‘I’m taking him to the hospital,’ Gouzi says, pushing my leg back onto the cart. ‘Did you think I was taking him out for a meal?’

‘He knows lots of state secrets,’ a child says, running up to us. ‘The police are waiting for him to wake up. My mother told me to stay away from him.’

‘Go away, the lot of you!’ my mother shouts as she and An Qi join us outside. She pulls the quilt over my head, but I’m still freezing. ‘Here’s two yuan, I’ve counted them,’ she says, probably handing Gouzi some coins. If she’d got an ambulance to take me to hospital, it would have cost her five times that much.

Buses are hooting behind us. We’re on the road now. Through the quilt, I can hear people on the street say, ‘It’s his birthday today . . . Give me that . . . Two kilos of bananas, please.’ Someone’s sawing a plank of wood. Someone else is shovelling snow off the pavement with a metal tray. Gouzi rings his bell continuously as he drives us along in his tricycle cart. When we reach a traffic jam, we slow down and a gust of wind smelling of boiled mutton, charcoal and snow shoots up my nostrils.

My mother and An Qi are sitting in front of me, blocking some of the wind. ‘When people fall sick in America, an ambulance will take them to hospital free of charge,’ my mother says to An Qi. ‘They don’t have to suffer like we do.’

The wind blows the quilt away from my face. I can feel my skin contract as the freezing air blusters down my neck.

‘You forgot to put his hat on,’ An Qi says, pushing the quilt back down onto my face again.

‘Huh . . .’ my mother sighs.

The bright morning sun shone down on the green poplars lining the pavement, and on the green caps and uniforms of the armed police who were blocking the street ahead. The police had formed a human wall, about forty rows deep. From a distance they looked like a belt of trees on the edge of a city.

Local residents packed the pavements. Their cries of ‘Long live the students!’ echoed off the surrounding buildings and the pedestrian flyover. There was a sense that the student movement had become a people’s movement. I was with the Organising Committee members at the front of the march, right behind the flag-bearer.

The day before, on 26 April, the
People’s Daily
had published an editorial entitled ‘We Must Take a Firm Stand Against Turmoil’. It described our movement as a planned conspiracy to overthrow the government. The university authorities relayed a broadcast of the text throughout the campus. It created an uproar. Ke Xi’s Beijing Students’ Federation decided to turn the march we’d planned for the next day into a mass, city-wide protest against the editorial. Using the PA system I’d helped Shu Tong set up, we urged everyone to take part.

‘Long live the people!’ we cried as we advanced towards the police. The residents applauded, and handed us cups of water. Ke Xi was wearing a white shirt. He shouted through his megaphone, ‘Long live the people! Long live peace and understanding!’

We were marching in rows of seven, with student marshals protecting each side. Zhuzi was head of the security team, and I’d been appointed his deputy. I was responsible for crowd safety, while Zhuzi was in charge of discipline and ensuring no outsiders sabotaged the march.

Han Dan put his sunglasses back on and shouted through his megaphone, ‘The municipal government forbade Beijing residents to offer us food or money, or to come onto the streets to watch us. It looks like they’ve failed, doesn’t it!’

Wang Fei said, ‘In a speech yesterday, Deng Xiaoping said, “We’re not afraid of public reactions, international opinion, or the shedding of blood!” I think we should use that as our slogan!’ After reading the editorial, he’d stayed up all night writing a fifteen-page letter of protest. It was the longest text that had ever been displayed in the Triangle.

‘That was an internal speech, we don’t have a written copy of it,’ said Yang Tao. His previous leadership of the Democracy Salon prepared him well for his new role as head of the Organising Committee’s political theory office. He was wearing black-rimmed glasses. His neck was long and spindly, his shirt collars were always clean and his hair neatly combed.

‘We’ve inside information that the police won’t arrest us today,’ said Shu Tong, ‘but if this blockade proves impenetrable, it would be best to return to the campus and continue the demonstration there.’ He looked very glum. He hadn’t been in favour of the march. Earlier that morning, he and Liu Gang had spoken with the university authorities, who’d promised that if the students called off the protest, they would act as mediators and persuade the government to establish a dialogue. Shu Tong favoured the deal, but the rest of the Organising Committee rejected it, which left him with no alternative but to join the march. Old Fu, who was now head of logistics, had stayed behind to keep watch over the campus.

‘This blockade is much larger than the one at the Zhongguancun intersection,’ said Hai Feng, looking like a village schoolteacher in his white shirt and beige jumper.

The blockade at Zhongguancun had only been four rows deep. We’d charged through it very easily. The officers had been unarmed, and had retreated to the sides of the road as we approached. Some of them even laughed and waved.

But as we neared this blockade, the police raised their megaphones and bellowed aggressively. We came to a terrified halt. I swallowed the last mouthful of my pork bun, and shouted, ‘Student marshals – hold hands! Don’t give the police an excuse to attack us!’ The megaphone made my voice sound crisp and clear.

‘Keep calm, everyone!’ Zhuzi shouted out from his side. ‘Remember – this is a peaceful march! We’re not breaking the law.’

Wang Fei and I had cajoled many science students into joining the student marshal team. They were now moving to the front of the procession to fend off any police attack.

The New Year’s Day march of 1987 had taught me the importance of maintaining order. If things got out of hand, the police would make arrests and accuse a ‘small band of manipulators’ of creating turmoil. During marches staged in Changsha and Xian the day before, local residents had taken advantage of the commotion to loot shops. Zhuzi and I had already decided that if there was any violence we’d immediately lead the marchers back to the campus.

Bai Ling and Sister Gao were standing at the front. This was the first march Sister Gao had joined. Since she’d committed herself to the movement, she’d worked harder than anyone else. As well as playing an active role in the Beijing Students’ Federation, she’d drawn up new guidelines for the Organising Committee, ruling that Ke Xi shouldn’t be authorised to sanction expenditures of over one hundred yuan, and that all committee members must attend the daily meetings.

The students at the head of the procession began to line up opposite the police blockade.

Ke Xi held up a copy of the
People’s Daily
and shouted to the police: ‘Comrades! In yesterday’s editorial entitled “We Must Take a Firm Stand Against Turmoil” it says, “A small handful of opportunists bent on fomenting unrest took advantage of the death of Hu Yaobang to deliberately . . .”’

While he read out the editorial, two students lifted him up onto the rack of a bicycle so that everyone could see him. When he came to the end, he yelled, ‘We must oppose slanderous reporting and let the public hear the truth!’

He then pushed his way over to the police and asked them to let us through. The night before, he’d written out a will, and repeated his vow to fight to the bitter end.

‘Go back to your campuses!’ the head of police shouted. ‘The road is blocked. If you come any closer, we won’t be responsible for the consequences!’ He had white gloves and shiny gold epaulettes. His face was expressionless.

Shu Tong turned to Cao Ming and said, ‘Let’s retreat and try to get to the Square through the back lanes. If we charge, who knows what might happen?’

‘You said the police aren’t going to arrest us, so what are you afraid of?’ Shao Jian said. He’d seldom disagreed with Shu Tong in the past.

Wang Fei waved his index finger. ‘This wouldn’t be the first blockade we’ve charged through. Let’s give it a go. If it doesn’t work, we can turn back.’

Liu Gang said, ‘There are 100,000 students marching with us today. We can’t lead them through the back lanes. It would take us hours to reach the Square. We must press on. All the other universities are in the same situation. The Beijing Normal students have just sent word that the Beitaipingzhuang intersection is blocked too.’

‘The Politics and Law University’s march was blocked at Xinjiekou,’ I said, ‘and they’re trapped in a road to the north.’

‘Let’s get more students to line up opposite the police wall and start shouting slogans,’ Wang Fei said, his cheeks turning red. ‘We’ll show them who’s the strongest.’

‘If we break up the ranks, there could be a stampede, and people will get crushed,’ I said.

‘We’ll never get past that blockade,’ said Chen Di who must have climbed a wall or a lamp post to get a better view. ‘There are two walls of police, each twenty rows deep, and between them, a crowd of old women from local neighbourhood committees. If we breach the first wall, we’ll be squashed in the middle like mince in a pie.’

Han Dan patted a marshal’s shoulder and said, ‘Go and tell the other universities behind us what’s happening.’

The back of our column suddenly began pushing forward, unaware of the blockade. The students crushed at the front ran off onto the pavements. I could hear girls screaming.

The sun shone on the sea of student faces. The eyes of the policemen opposite us were hidden by the shadow of their green caps.

‘Continue the class boycott! Demand a dialogue with the government and a retraction of the 26 April editorial! The people’s police love the people! The police fight official corruption, not patriotic students!’ The waves of chanting voices continued to roll through the air above us and crash against the buildings.

‘The Qinghua students have joined the back of our procession, Han Dan!’ Yang Tao shouted, squeezing his way to the front. ‘There are thousands of them.’

‘Good! We might just make it then. Who’ll lift me up?’

Chen Di and I squeezed over and lifted Han Dan onto our shoulders. He shouted through his megaphone, ‘Fellow Beijing University students! The Qinghua students have come to help us! We’re about to turn a new page in our university’s history. Let’s march forward with our heads held high, for the sake of our motherland, freedom and the Chinese people!’

‘Come on, fucking hell, let’s charge!’ Wang Fei yelled through his cupped hands. Within seconds, two officers appeared in front of him. One told him to step back. The other, who had an official badge on his sleeve, talked into a walkie-talkie, no doubt giving a description of him. Moments later they were both knocked aside by the surging hordes of students. Everyone screamed and yelled in the mad rush. Bai Ling, who’d fallen down and was crawling on her knees, poked her head out between the legs of two policemen. By the time we’d pulled her up, she could hardly breathe.

Students from the Beijing Aeronautics University came up behind us singing, ‘
March on! March on! Our troops march towards the sun, treading the soil of our motherland . . .
’ The banner they were holding said
IF THE OLD GUARD DOESN’T STEP DOWN
,
THE NEW GUARD CAN’T STEP UP
!

I shouted for the girls to move to the back. Then I gave my bag to Xiao Li and my megaphone to Wang Fei, and together with some tall guys from the Physical Education Department, I pushed to the front to take charge of the assault. ‘Marshals at the front link arms,’ I shouted. ‘Everyone behind us start pushing – now!’ I squeezed my face into the ranks of armed police. My legs became trapped. If the students behind hadn’t pushed me forward, I couldn’t have budged.

We rammed into the police a few more times, and although we didn’t break through, we managed to push them back a few metres. Everyone was sweating now.

I squeezed over onto the pavement and climbed a tree to gain a clearer view of the scene. The first wall of armed police was now only eight rows deep. I was surprised to see some female officers among them. A few sergeants were standing beside the police vans parked on the side. They had handguns fastened to their belts and were speaking nervously into walkietalkies.

By midday, the students were exhausted from the pushing and shoving, and sat down to rest.

Zhuzi came and said to me that he wanted to organise another attack. Ke Xi said we should put the flag-bearer at the front, but Zhuzi said that in a crush, the pole might stab someone. He also said that the four guys holding the long blackboard should move to the back. They’d taken the board from the university’s lecture theatre, and had written across it Deng Xiaoping’s famous quote: A
REVOLUTIONARY GOVERNMENT SHOULD LISTEN TO THE VOICE OF THE PEOPLE
.
NOTHING SHOULD FRIGHTEN IT MORE THAN SILENCE
.