[图书] 【英】纽约书评刊登的六四文章选集。内含戴晴、刘宾雁、zzy

本主题由 张书记 于 2009-12-14 14:59 分类 曰耳又

未来中国民主转型之现实，承受不了转型正义希冀之重。这是一个无解的永恒悲剧。——韩乾

1楼 大 中 小 发表于 2009-12-3 08:21 只看该作者

【英】纽约书评刊登的六四文章选集。内含戴晴、刘宾雁、zzy

目录+链接

内含戴晴和mirsky的辩论/对话

epilogue-prologue (struggles over memory):

http://www.nybooks.com/articles/19198

jonathan mirsky’s lament on dai qing:

http://www.nybooks.com/articles/18304

dai qing’s subsequent attack on mirsky, and mirsky’s counterpunch, make me

feel they’re both bitter for their own reasons:

http://www.nybooks.com/articles/18941

later mini-exchange:

http://www.nybooks.com/articles/18456

on ma jian (i think this seems to bear out some of the things that zhao says

about the role of public emotion and its display in the movement):

http://www.nybooks.com/articles/21572

remarks from one of the more moderate leaders:

http://www.lrb.co.uk/v29/n13/wang01_.html

thoughts on zhao:

http://www.nybooks.com/articles/21203

robin munro’s account of the events (note mirsky being beaten with

truncheons):

http://lawprofessors.typepad.com … une-4th-annive.html

liu binyan: prologue-epilogue (note the date):

http://www.nybooks.com/articles/4178

鉴于有些书评校园之外的IP地址不能查阅，我决定在此粘贴文本

“here are some of the more easily available things that have been important to

my understanding – seriously, look at these (manic luke-like expression of

enthusiasm). in this order, if you please.”

‘June Fourth’ Seventeen Years Later: How I Kept a Promise

By Pu Zhiqiang

The weekend of June 3, 2006, was the seventeenth anniversary of the Beijing

massacre and also the first time I ever received a summons. It happened, as

the police put it, “according to law.” Twice within twenty-four hours Deputy

Chief Sun Di of Department 1 of the Beijing Public Security Bureau ordered

me—”controlled” me, in police lingo—to go to the Fanjiacun police station in

the Fengtai District of Beijing. This “practical action” of the Chinese

government, although it violated basic human rights, was taken in support of

the “stability” that the violent suppression at Tiananmen had brought about.

I recall the early hours of June 4, 1989. The few thousand students and other

citizens who refused to disperse remained huddled at the north face of the

Martyrs’ Monument in Tiananmen Square. The glare of fires leaped skyward and

gunfire crackled. The pine hedges that lined the square had been set ablaze

while loudspeakers screeched their mordant warnings. The bloodbath on outlying

roads had already exceeded anyone’s counting. Martial law troops had taken up

their staging positions around the square, awaiting final orders, largely

invisible except for the steely green glint that their helmets reflected from

the light of the fires. It was then that I turned to a friend and commented

that the Martyrs’ Monument might soon be witness to our deaths, but that if

not, I would come back to this place every year on this date to remember the

victims.

hat comment somehow turned into a vow—one that I may need to be fulfilling

indefinitely. So far, I have. Every year on the evening of June 3, I have come

back to Tiananmen to linger for a while. My wife and I join a few good

friends—and beginning in 1995, have brought our son—to gather at the base of

the Martyrs’ Monument and spend some time in reflection.

For me these visits have also aroused guilt feelings. The government’s

pressures to forget June Fourth have caused the day slowly to erode in public

memory: each year the Tiananmen Mothers seem more isolated, and the massacre

seems more a topic to be avoided in daily conversation; even singing “The

Internationale,” as students did that night, has become vaguely embarrassing.

A certain lazy comfort attends this forgetting, and that is why I feel guilt.

If I just slouch along through life, taking the easy route, what do I say to

the spirits of those murdered “rioters” of seventeen years ago? And if

everyone forgets, are we not opening the door to future massacres? Our

Tiananmen generation is now in middle age; we are in positions where we can

make a difference. Do we not want to? At a minimum, my guilt feelings cause me

to telephone Professor Ding Zilin, a leader of the Tiananmen Mothers, every

year on June 3 from Tiananmen Square. It allows me to feel that I am bringing

greetings to this white-haired mother from the spirit of her dead son.

I know that I am not alone in these feelings, and that is why I involve others

in my annual visits. My purpose is not to stimulate resentment. Reconciliation

is fine, but it must be based on truth.

This year, about 9 PM on June 2, I sent the following cell-phone text message

to a number of friends:

On the evening of June 3 we will gather at the base of the Martyrs’ Monument

in Tiananmen Square to reflect upon the 1989 massacre. The purpose is to

remind ourselves that those events have not been consigned to history but

remain deeply rooted in our minds. Pu Zhiqiang asks your support in declaring:

do not forget the massacre; uphold truth; promote reconciliation based on

legal rights.

In fact it was a minimal gesture, aimed mostly at assuaging my own unease.

I also forwarded the message to the low-ranking police who are assigned to

“care for” me. I did the same last year. It is better for all concerned to do

this. It prevents causing a shock to the police higher-ups, who, if angered,

take it out on their underlings as well as on me. I did not anticipate that

this time my message would set off a ruckus.

t 1:10 AM on June 3 my phone rang. It was Officer Cheng Guanglei of the

National Security Unit in Fengtai District. He had been ordered to “find his

way” to the doorway of my building, from where he was calling to inform me

that the Public Security Bureau of Beijing City wanted to have a chat with me.

He earnestly hoped that I would “coordinate” with this plan. I offered a

perfunctory protest, but then went downstairs, got into the officer’s car, and

went to the Fanjiacun police station. As we entered the main hall I noticed a

blackboard bearing the words “Be Civilized in Raising Dogs.” I had to stifle a

laugh. If our government were to reach the level of “civilization in raising

dogs,” then, yes, we would be well on our way to the “harmonious society” that

our leaders were touting.

Deputy Chief Sun Di and Officer Han Feng were waiting for me. Sun Di is about

six feet tall. He struck me as good-natured, but deadpan: there was no way to

guess what he was thinking. He said the police had received a report about my

text message, so they needed to talk to me in order to understand the details.

“We all know what place Tiananmen Square is, and what day tomorrow is,” he

said. “You sent a text message to a lot of people, including quite a few

foreign and domestic media, saying that you intend to go there. If everybody

goes, and something happens, then what?” In the view of his superiors my text

message “endangers stability,” he said, so he needed to get clear on a few

things: my motive, the message contents, the number of recipients, and the

identity of each recipient. He invited me to explain.

I began by saying that I was confident that no one on my list of recipients

would inform on me. I didn’t imagine that all the recipients would head for

Tiananmen Square, either. “I don’t have that kind of charisma,” I said, “not

even Hu Jintao does.” Would reporters go? Chinese journalists had long been

frightened into silence on this topic, and even if one went, no report could

be published. The foreign media? They always report the Tiananmen anniversary

anyway—there’s nothing you can do about that. People are going to have their

own opinions of what I’m doing in any event, so there’s no point getting all

hot and bothered by it.

Then I explained why I had forwarded the text message to the police. Since I

had been under their surveillance for some time now, I thought I might as well

be aboveboard about everything and avoid any misunderstandings. But you can’t

deprive a person of his will, I said, and going to Tiananmen every June 3 to

commemorate the dead is a promise that I made to myself. I go there to keep

the promise, and would feel wrong if I did not.

I ended by saying that I understood it to be legal to send text messages in

China and legal to go to Tiananmen Square on June 3. Moreover, no law

prohibits citizens from commemorating the victims of 1989. Since this is so,

our whole chat right now is superfluous. For you to come to my building in the

middle of the night, without any legal papers and asking for a “chat,” is

itself an example of illegal use of police power.

Deputy Chief Sun responded that he wished I would lower my profile a bit and

stop sending text messages all over the place. “If you want to go, then just

quietly go,” he advised. “What’s the need for text messages?” He promised not

to restrict my movements, but said he might assign some people to accompany me

“for protection.”

“Fine,” I said. “I understand.” Then I asked Sun to relay to his superiors my

own promise that, although I view China’s “Law on Assembly, Marches, and

Demonstrations” to be in violation of China’s constitution, I would make

written application in advance if I ever were to plan “an assembly, march, or

demonstration.” But since my present plan is a purely personal matter, and

since Tiananmen Square is a public space, police obstruction of my movement

would be unconstitutional. Please also tell your superiors, I said, that I

hope the government will finally face history squarely and solve the “June

Fourth” problem. A world of make-believe on this issue cannot last forever,

and it generates quite a lot of contempt.

Our chat ended about 3:00 AM. Officer Cheng Guanglei saw me home. But that was

not the end of it.

At 10:20 AM the police called my home to tell me that I could not go out. This

meant, without their saying it, that Sun Di’s promise of a few hours earlier

was no longer valid. Although I had half-expected this news, it angered me. I

went downstairs to walk the dog. Three patrolmen from the National Security

Unit of Fengtai District were already on duty at my door. They looked

bedraggled from lack of sleep. I telephoned Sun Di from the spot. Since he had

broken his promise, I had no choice but to send out a text message explaining

that fact, I said. I hoped that he would stay in touch, though, both with me

and with his superiors, and do what he could not to break his word too

grievously. At least, I said, he should help me to keep my promise of a yearly

visit to Tiananmen this evening. Then I walked the dog.

The police joined me on the walk, and afterward I invited one of them, with

whom I was fairly well acquainted, to come upstairs for lunch. My elderly

mother was home, and we didn’t often have guests, so she was delighted to have

one. She made special dumplings, and the young policeman helped by rolling the

dumpling skins. I was busy composing my text message about “the story that I

had no choice but to tell.”

hortly after 1:00 PM Officer Cheng Guanglei reappeared downstairs. He called

on his cell phone to invite me down for “another chat.” I gobbled down a few

dumplings, pressed “send” on my text message, and went down to see him dressed

in a T-shirt, shorts, and slippers. He, too, looked short of sleep. He told me

I would need to come down to the police station again, because some municipal-

level officers wanted to see me.

“Why don’t they come here?” I asked. “See how cool and bright it is here?”

“You know such things aren’t up to me,” Cheng said. “Could you cut the

questions and just ‘coordinate’ with us again?”

I could see what was going on. In order to guarantee that I would not be seen

that night at the base of the Martyrs’ Monument, the police were going to

“spend time” with me for a while. They had instructions from above to

“frustrate” my personal plans, but they couldn’t plainly say so.

The people waiting for me were Jiang Qingjie and Zhang Kaijun of Department 1

of the Public Security City Bureau. Sun Di joined us later. Jiang Qingjie, a

1996 graduate of the Chinese People’s Public Security University, was the

picture of competence and efficiency—but, like his colleagues, skipped the

step of showing any legal papers. Their formal agenda remained the same: they

wanted to inquire about my text message, my motive for sending it, and a

recipient list. But their real objective, clearly, was to “tie up” my time.

Jiang Qingjie began by saying that to send a text message like this, at a time

like this, harms stability and produces consequences. This is why he has to

get clear about everything.

I responded that Sun Di had broken his word. Then I inquired whether sending

text messages, going to Tiananmen Square, or commemorating June Fourth was

illegal. Who, I asked, was actually breaking the law? Just as I have no right

to force other people to commemorate June Fourth, so the government has no

right to bar me from doing so. But that, I said, is exactly what you are doing

right now. If we go by the rules, I don’t have to “coordinate” with you and we

can end our chat right here.

ut the chat did drag on, all afternoon, as the room grew heavy with cigarette

smoke. Every now and then we discussed some legal matter, but for the most

part the topics lay elsewhere. I asked if the inmates at their detention

center could eat wheat pancakes and dough-drop soup these days, or if they

still had to survive on corn balls. The policemen offered many topics of their

own: how their pay was low, promotions were impossible, and how they always

had to work overtime because there were too many cases. I joked with them that

if they did a good job “accompanying” me they might get raises. Last year the

young man who was assigned to be with me around the clock during the

“sensitive time” after Zhao Ziyang’s

About 6 or 7 PM, after box dinners all around, they wanted to “do a formality”

about my summons.

“Summons? You mean this was a summons?” I asked. “To me it felt rather more

like a kidnapping.” I told Zhang Kaijun that if I’d known it to be a formal

summons, I would have wanted a lawyer.

Zhang answered that he was basing himself on article 82 of the Penal Code of

the People’s Republic of China on the Management of Public Order.

I said that I was used to illegal detention for “chats,” but had never

received a summons before. So could he please read to me what that article

says? He didn’t read it, but showed it to me.

“You’re mistaken,” I said after glancing through it. “It says here that a

summons may be issued ‘according to law’ only after discovery that a person’s

behavior has violated the penal code on public order. My behavior has not.”

The police responded that article 82 was only a procedural regulation. “If you

don’t agree with what we’re doing, you can go into detail in your statement.”

So I “coordinated” again. I answered their questions—pointing out, in passing,

where they had broken the law. They took notes. In the end I affixed my

signature and thumbprint to their written record, noting explicitly that they

had omitted mention of the illegal behavior of the police.

By then I was starting to get cell-phone calls from friends at Tiananmen who

wondered where I was. Something else strange was going on, they said. In

earlier years the police cleared the square sometime after 9 PM, but this year

they were already shooing people out by 8 PM. I explained to my friends that I

was at a police station, kidnapped “according to law” for seven or eight

hours, and that they should take care not to get into trouble.

At 9:30 PM Sun Di asked me to sign my name “confirming” that my summons had

ended at 10 PM. It had begun at 2:30 PM, he said, and as long as it ended

within eight hours it was legal. I congratulated him on the successful

completion of his mission, which was, as both he and I knew, to thwart my

plans to go to Tiananmen. On my side, though, the half-day detention at a

police station made me feel as if I had, in fact, kept my promise to remember

the massacre victims.

I reminded Sun Di that, counting the two hours of summons in the middle of the

night, the total for the day was more than eight. Was this not a dangling

vulnerability in his work?

“The morning wasn’t a summons,” he said. “It was just a private chat.”

At noon on Sunday, June 4, I went into the offices of my law firm to do some

overtime work. Two policemen, assigned to “maintain overall stability,” came

with me.

—Translated by Perry Link

Notes

China: The Uses of Fear

By Jonathan Mirsky

Tiananmen Follies: Prison Memoirs and Other Writings

by Dai Qing,translated and edited by Nancy Yang Liu, Peter Rand, and Lawrence

R. Sullivan, with a foreword by Ian Buruma

EastBridge, 162 pp., $24.95 (paper)

Instilling deadly fear throughout the population was one of Mao Zedong’s

lasting contributions to China since the late Twenties. In the case of Dai

Qing, one of China’s sharpest critics before 1989, fear seems to explain the

sad transformation in her writing that is evident but never clearly

acknowledged in Tiananmen Follies. Arrested, she confessed and was set free;

her writing about the regime then took a different turn.

Dai Qing’s transformation—what in 1942 Mao’s chief torturer and extractor of

confessions called “becoming conscious”—its causes, and its consequences are

never explicitly mentioned by the translators and the editor of her essay

collection. Yet here is a stark example of how mental persecution, so acute it

must be called torture, can result in jettisoning a lifetime’s convictions. In

Dai Qing’s case she feared execution and considered suicide.

The process of instilling deadly fear, which Mao admired when he saw peasants

torturing and killing landlords in 1926 in Hunan, his home province,[1] was

perfected in 1942 at Yanan, his guerrilla headquarters. No one has described

that “Rectification Campaign” better than Yale’s David Apter and Harvard’s

Tony Saich in their Revolutionary Discourse in Mao’s Republic.[2] In 1994 the

authors interviewed 150 people from every walk of life, including peasants and

poets, who had endured the Yanan ordeal; some of them were the “angry widows”

of husbands who did not survive.

“Very few of those interviewed had been exempt from physical abuse and verbal

abuse, if not before then during the Cultural Revolution,” write Apter and

Saich.

All had survived by learning to keep their mouths shut, except to parrot the

appropriate line and use the exact words, phrases, and expressions

countenanced by the authorities.

Such abject and long-lasting obedience was produced by terror followed by

confession. Mao’s master at extracting information at Yanan was Kang Sheng,

who had been trained by the NKVD and wore a black uniform. He saw confession

as “a form of repentance that would bring the individual back into the fold.”

To his victims he said,

Why does the Communist Party make so much effort to rescue you? When a person

confesses to the party we immediately remove the evidence about him,…and we

are happy that he has become conscious…. Finally, I warn those people who do

not wish to confess, we have maintained a lenient policy, but leniency has a

limit.

And just as the 1942 Rectification at Yanan concentrated the Party’s efforts

to secure, through fear, the abject loyalty and acquiescence of its victims,

so did the Tiananmen events after June 4, 1989. Last January the regime

attempted to curb outpourings of emotion after the death of Zhao Ziyang, the

Party general secretary in 1989 who spent fifteen years under house arrest for

sympathizing with the Tiananmen demonstrators. Zhao would have known of the

nationwide arrests and executions of those condemned for participating in the

hundreds of other uprisings throughout China in the spring of 1989,

comprehensively described by James A.R. Miles in The Legacy of Tiananmen.[3]

In addition to the hundreds of Chinese imprisoned last year for “endangering

state security” and similar crimes, two hundred Tiananmen activists reportedly

remain in jail; anyone who posts a critical remark about 1989 on the Internet

risks arrest.

It is therefore an immediate difficulty with Dai Qing’s eight short essays and

letters, all linked to her frightening seven months in solitary confinement

after Tiananmen, that it is called Tiananmen Follies. Follies are foolish,

useless, and ill-considered things—or light entertainment. None of these words

apply in the case of Tiananmen. But the title Tiananmen Follies is not a mere

publisher’s invention. Dai Qing regards what happened in Tiananmen as a series

of mistakes by both the demonstrators and the government and she regrets her

own—very tiny—part in them.

uring her months in Qincheng prison she was accused of being involved in a

conspiracy and she was eventually released with what seems at first a mild

rebuke. Her detention was especially unfair because she had very little to do

with the Tiananmen protests. Most Beijing intellectuals in the spring of 1989

kept their distance from the demonstration. It is plain from Dai Qing’s

narrative that she knew almost nothing about what was happening in the square.

She assumed that the students would treat her with respect since she was

famous for her outspoken writings about the regime. Indeed, a sign had been

held up in the square demanding “Where is Dai Qing?” On May 19, when she spent

an hour or two with the demonstrators, she was treated with some derision.

This was unjust. Dai Qing’s life before May 1989 was exemplary. Born in 1941

(her original name was Fu Ning), the child of a Party martyr, she was raised

in the family of Ye Jianying, one of China’s revolutionary marshals, and was,

as she says, a “[Communist] Party princess.” She received an elite education

in rocket science, working on the type of missiles, she says, that were aimed

at the US, and she admits that she was trained as a spy. When she was twenty-

three, “I was so loyal to the party. I was so loyal to Mao Zedong, I thought I

would die if Mao Zedong needed me to die.”[4] But in her late thirties she

decided to become a writer and her writing made her reputation as an

independent thinker. Her independence was her main quality, as Ian Buruma

writes in his short introduction.

In 1978 she began her career as a journalist on Guangming Daily, a newspaper

often overpraised for its appeal to intellectuals. She began writing on a

variety of subjects. Using her high-level knowledge of the Party’s history,

she showed how long, and in what ways, the Party had been persecuting its

critics. Most startling was her analysis of the fate of Wang Shiwei, an

intellectual who criticized corruption inside the Party during Mao’s guerrilla

days at Yanan. Her article in 1988, “Wang Shiwei and ‘Wild Lilies,’“[5]

revealed that Wang was falsely accused of being a Trotskyite and Chiang Kai-

shek spy—and had been beheaded in 1947, and that some of those involved in his

case were now among China’s leaders. She wrote, too, about Chu Anping, an

editor of Guangming Daily, who in 1957 became a victim during the Anti-

Rightist Movement. She condemned the “world of the party” for, as Princeton’s

Perry Link puts it, its “slow pulverization” of “liberalism in almost any

form.”[6] In 1989 Dai Qing told Professor Link that between 1936 and 1946

perhaps 10,000 Communists, accused of being Trotskyists and spies, had been

“‘eliminated’ by drowning, burying alive, or death in squalid prisons.”[7]

Perhaps Dai Qing’s most famous contribution to public life was Yangzi,

Yangzi,[8] her edited collection of essays exposing the corruption and

environmental destruction of the Yangzi Gorge Dam project. She condemned

China’s leaders who

don’t know the difference between a country and a family. To them, the dam is

fun, like their big toy. It gives them great face…. To me all this “national

prestige” business, at the Olympics or anywhere, is shallow, worthless

stuff.[9]

In March 1989 Dai Qing was one of the signers of a petition calling on the

government to allow more political freedom and to cease imprisoning people for

their ideas. Zhao Ziyang ordered that no newspaper should publish any of the

petitions or, for six months, any articles written by the signers.

In the West we are used to revelations about the past and public life, and we

value whistleblowers, but in China such acts are rare and anyone who makes

unauthorized revelations about abuses is in danger. Their corresponding

effect, therefore, is explosive. Dai Qing has vividly described this:

To appreciate why Chinese readers can be so interested in one little article,

you should imagine living in a dark room with all the shades drawn. If one

shade goes up—just a crack—the light that enters is suddenly very interesting.

Everyone will rush to look. People in a normally lit room would find the same

ray of light unremarkable.

But it is not mere curiosity, Dai Qing contends. People want to know “How did

we get into this mess? Where did we go wrong?”

ai Qing, then, was a significant voice for liberty for at least a decade

before June 1989. So why is it, as Ian Buruma puts it in his introduction,

that

she [has] ended up being distrusted, even hated by all sides. The government

regarded her as a dangerous, subversive liberal, and the students as an

establishment stooge who stood in the way of their ideals.

Tiananmen Follies, however, conveys nothing of Dai Qing’s transformation. It

consists, rather, of short pieces about her imprisonment, including her

confession. A smattering of footnotes by the translators identify a few of her

allusions; hardly anything is said about her admirable past. One of her

editors has explained that Dai Qing wants her readers to figure out for

themselves what the text means, without the interpretation of an expert. This

is very different from the previous approach of a writer who made her

reputation by clear explanation. Nor do the editors correct her errors, such

as her statement that Wei Jingsheng, China’s most famous political dissident,

was putting out a journal at a time when, in fact, he was in prison.

As one would expect from a confession made under the Maoist system, Dai Qing

suggests more than once that illegal conspirators had fomented the Tiananmen

uprising; she makes a cryptic reference to “the one who was ultimately behind

the ‘planned conspiracy.’” It would have been easy for her editors and

translators to ask Dai Qing who this was, or whether she still thinks there

was such a person. She is hinting here at dark forces, thus echoing the

Party’s traditional suggestion that any organized acts it deplores are the

result of “black hands.” Yet in another one of her short essays Dai Qing also

dismisses the idea of conspiracy, deriding the Party’s official view of a

“planned conspiracy” as “careless” and criticizing Deng Xiaoping’s opinion

“that everything transpiring outside his window [during Tiananmen] was the

product of such a ‘conspiracy.’”

I sympathize with Dai Qing’s confusion. I was in Tiananmen Square from almost

the beginning of the demonstrations until the killings of June 4 and for both

foreign observers and Chinese participants—many of whom were workers and

citizens of Beijing, and who are barely mentioned in her book—it was

impossible to know who, if anyone, was guiding the demonstrations, and what

the attitude of the regime was. Until May 20 and the declaration of martial

law, the authorities were silent. Nor were we aware of the increasing number

of demonstrations in other cities and towns resembling those in Beijing. What

we journalists saw, with astonishment, was that the normal forces of law and

order in Beijing had almost completely disappeared. There were no policemen to

be seen, although undercover agents must have been present. We knew there were

army units outside the city and we knew they were drawing closer, often

through Beijing’s network of tunnels. We all wondered how this drama would

end.

I agree with Dai Qing’s estimate:

At that time, my own opinion was that the government was simply too

inefficient and cumbersome to respond to the students…. If there were

leaders with such capabilities, they were repressed at the top levels because

of a fundamental difference of opinion. Either way, the distinct impression

one came away with was that in ignoring the good youth of our nation the

government presented itself as cold and heartless—which caused more people to

become even more angry.

This view has been confirmed by many sources, including the Tiananmen

Papers,[10] the government’s own condemnation of Zhao Ziyang, and the vast

qingcha, or ferreting out, of Tiananmen participants which lasted through

But Dai Qing promptly undercuts her own insight when in the next sentence she

suggests that “those who were involved in the ‘planned conspiracy’ were

storing up their energy waiting for the prime opportunity.” She makes the

unfounded and disgraceful charge that student leaders like Wang Dan, who were

imprisoned for about seven years after Tiananmen, were manipulated by the real

masterminds, whom she does not name. Does she still think “that if troops had

been brought in at this moment [April 1989] the situation would have been

resolved very quickly”?

ere Dai Qing simply ignores that what happened in the spring of 1989 was a

nationwide movement of which Tiananmen was the most significant part, but only

a part; if she does know this, does she think that protests were provoked

throughout China by—unnamed—conspirators? Indeed, does Dai Qing still believe

what she says she told a Hong Kong radio station in May 1989: “I support the

announcement of martial law”—which occurred on May 20—”and propose that the

martial law troops carry out the order immediately, something that I have

reiterated time and again.” What did she think would happen when the army

entered the square? Those who compiled Dai Qing’s essays take no interest in

these matters, and particularly in Dai Qing’s contradictory statements, a

serious editorial failure. The editors play into the hands of those Chinese,

some of whom now live safely in the US, who were in Tiananmen and now condemn

the demonstrators for not leaving Tiananmen earlier or, even more severely,

for “destabilizing China,” the very charge the Party makes to this day.

Meanwhile the regime arrests those who use the Internet to call for a reversal

of the official verdict on Tiananmen.

How much more valuable this book would have been if the compilers had been

willing to ask Dai Qing, during her visits to the US, about how her opinions

changed and what she thinks in retrospect. During her one brief visit to the

square on the night of May 14, she and a small group of well-known Beijing

intellectuals tried to persuade students to leave. She says she told the

students, on the basis of a meeting earlier that day with some relatively

high-ranking officials, that “the Premier [Li Peng] and the Party General

Secretary have agreed to see you.” The students turned Dai Qing down flat.[11]

Disheartened, she returned home where she stayed for several days. Without

naming them, she disparages other scholars, “who were spending much of their

time playing at the ‘Democratic Movement.’” She admits that most Beijing

citizens “strongly supported the students.” But she opposed the large-scale

changes she said the demonstrators demanded, including a shift toward

democracy, because what was needed, in her view, was small incremental

reforms. She feared—rightly, as it happens—that “the situation could get

totally out of hand and a disaster would befall everyone.” More robust

democrats like Wang Dan and Wei Jingsheng have dismissed such incrementalism,

sometimes described in China as “neo-authoritarianism,” as a trap that would

maintain the dictators in power.

Tiananmen Follies is nevertheless an important book not only for its comments

on the Tiananmen events but for what it tells us about how the Chinese

authorities treated a distinguished prisoner. On June 4, 1989, when the army

moved into Tiananmen, Dai Qing, who once would have died for Mao and was a

“child of the Party,” resigned from it. Arrested on July 14, she was taken to

Qincheng, Beijing’s prison for elite political prisoners. Her account of her

arrest, imprisonment, and confession are the truly valuable parts of her book.

After her arrest, Dai Qing told friends, her hair turned white.

Dai Qing conveys with telling detail—but not at all “wittily” as the book

jacket puts it—the deliberate, and increasingly terrifying, way the Chinese

security services close in on a victim, in Dai’s case with elaborate false

courtesy, and how quickly, even in a five-star prison like Qincheng, fear

becomes overwhelming. It is incorrect to say, as one translator’s note states,

that she makes “no full-fledged confession or expression of remorse.” In fact,

as the book’s jacket and the text make clear, Dai Qing did confess and

expressed remorse.

The book begins in mid-July 1989, more than a month after the Tiananmen

crackdown and Dai Qing’s resignation from the Party. The government had

already published a list of twenty-one “most wanted” student and other

leaders, and there were plenty of rumors, “some far-fetched, others quite

scary,” of arrests of this or that person. Dai Qing heard that a Beijing

newspaper would publish her name in a list of people facing imminent arrest.

She and others immediately asked themselves the questions that had become

familiar when they learned such lists were about to be published: What title

precedes your name; for instance, are you called “comrade”? (Zhao Ziyang was

called “comrade” in his brief official death notice, which meant that he had

not been cast into political outer darkness.) On what page is the list

published in the newspaper, how big is the type font, and where does your name

appear on the list?

Dai Qing hears that her name will be the fifth or sixth on a list of twelve

scholars and writers. “It is by such ranking that your fate is determined.”

She starts thinking about prison:

I was a mere grain of sand on their large chessboard…. I was unable to

control my fate. My only wish was that I would be allowed to remain intact,

and not be crushed to smithereens.

On July 13, “a single cop” comes to her apartment; he gives no identification,

although it is plain what he is. He asks if she will be home the next day. “In

so many words my guest was telling me, ‘Tomorrow we plan to take action and we

want to know where you will be.’” The next morning an elderly woman from the

neighbor-hood surveillance committee—usually called “the granny

police”—arrives to inquire about Dai Qing’s plans for childbirth. Of course

she wants to make sure Dai Qing is at home and Dai cannot resist saying,

“Perhaps you’ve forgotten how long it’s been since I passed the age of

childbirth.”

That evening she is arrested in front of her husband and daughter. Still

confident that she would not be convicted because she “had set foot in

Tiananmen” only once, well before the declaration of martial law, Dai Qing

writes that she “had no idea that I was being delivered to Qincheng, the most

infamous penitentiary for political prisoners in China.” She recalls that very

high-level enemies of the state have been locked up in Qincheng during various

regimes. Some, she remembers, were former security and military bigwigs who

committed suicide there.

fter one day in prison, Dai Qing begins to give up her hope that China’s post-

Mao reformists might treat her properly. “What,” she asked herself, “if they

now need to create an atmosphere of terror that would involve framing people?”

She seems to be referring to the common practice during the post-Mao years of

accusing prisoners of things they hadn’t done, always citing some law. The

famous saying, which she herself quotes, “Verdict First, Trial Later,” bears

this out. She is allowed to receive a limited number of approved books and to

exercise in an open space (where she never sees another prisoner) and she can

listen to the radio. But she is forbidden to change the station, on which she

hears lectures on how to raise snails and Western music conducted by Herbert

von Karajan.

She estimates that there are about thirty prisoners in Qincheng while she is

there. She writes that she admires the guards for their patience,

incorruptibility, and discipline, and their “impervious[ness] to lust.” They

display degrees of “civilization and humanity.” One of them tells her, “Don’t

worry, we’re all family here.” A “strikingly handsome” young guard chats with

her about ice-skating and playing the guitar and permits her to look at a scar

on his ear.

In her reconstructed account, she imagines that the decent behavior of the

guards toward the important prisoners in Qincheng reflects the “general

approach” of Mao and Zhou Enlai. This sounds either like wistful fantasy or an

attempt to show she is patriotic; no one familiar with her previous writings

can read it without skepticism.[12] She says she knows there have been “dark

and poisonous” interrogators in the Party’s past, but she now believes they no

longer exist, a misconception when we consider what was happening to most

prisoners throughout China in the aftermath of the attack on Tiananmen. She

describes her own interrogators as trained in legal ethics, and she regrets

that “no one outside will know about the high quality work of investigators

like those in charge of my case…they never once tried to coerce or cajole

evidence out of me, even when I displayed a ‘bad attitude.’” In the light of

her full-scale confession and repentance, this statement rings hollow. Dai

Qing expresses sympathy for the “burdens of security” her interrogators

shoulder: trapped between the bad past and the reformist present, they know

that many are watching them. One mark of progress, she writes, would be if

China stopped insisting it had no political prisoners.

Soon she begins to fear the worst, a heavy sentence, and she wonders if she

will be executed. This is especially unfair, she writes, because she is

opposed to overthrowing the present system. She favors “enlightened

despotism,” and fears that a revolutionary change now would be worse than the

“present political order.” As for the institution that will bring about

change, “I have always believed that it is only the army leadership who have

the capacity to transform the traditional leadership in China into a more open

system.” This is a startling belief, for which she provides no further

explanation or evidence. Again the editors and translators fail to inquire

when she formed this view and whether she still holds it. But the Party is

progressing, she emphasizes; she wishes the Tiananmen students had been

willing to accept the concession that the leaders would no longer import

luxury cars.

In her account Dai Qing shows almost complete ignorance of what the

demonstrators throughout China were actually demanding, although she is well

aware of the implacable system in which she grew up. She describes its shabby

record, starting with the 1942 Rectification Campaign in which thousands were

executed, and moves through increasingly destructive “movements” and

“campaigns.” She concludes that “several generations lost their capacity to

think independently, and their basic human rights.” It is hardly surprising,

then, that she supposes none of her lawyer friends will speak up for her, and

that in any event her trial will be a “mere formality.” She fears a sentence

of more than fifteen years—Wei Jingsheng’s sentence—rather than the two the

law appears to warrant.

By the end of 1989, as interrogations continue and she sees no way out of

prison, she considers suicide. Kang Sheng’s methods, learned from the NKVD and

introduced at Yanan, have worked. All that is necessary now is a confession.

In January she is told she will leave solitary confinement and be placed under

“supervised residence,” which means she can live in several places in Beijing

under almost ordinary conditions, although not at home. She is first moved to

the Qincheng staff dormitory with a retired guard to keep watch on her. It was

while there that she wrote this memoir, which, she says, is uncensored,

although she never says whether officials read it. She is released from prison

on May 9, 1990, accused only of “the ‘error’ of ‘supporting and participating’

in…‘political turmoil.’”

The translators add a note: in January 1991 Dai Qing told a Hong Kong journal,

“You could say about my release that they’ve let me out of a small prison into

a massive jail.” This is evidently true, but what happened to her next remains

somewhat mysterious. First she was moved to several different locations,

apparently so that she could not speak with an American State Department

official who wanted to visit her. Then quite suddenly she was allowed to go to

Harvard as a Nieman Fellow. She still had, she says, some writings that she

had hidden from the guards (although we are never told how); and it is in one

of these concealed prison essays that she attacks those who, she says,

“provoked” Tiananmen. She doesn’t say that one of them, Wang Dan, would soon

turn up at Harvard after a much longer sentence than hers.

he last essays in Tiananmen Follies consist of Dai Qing’s confession and what

might be described as confessional materials. It is here that the translators’

brief note claims “she is no snitch” and that she expresses no remorse. This

is clearly false, although there is no evidence that anyone Dai Qing condemned

suffered because of her accusations. What has happened is that Dai Qing has,

in one of the Party’s oldest triumphal terms, “turned over” or, as Kang Sheng

put it, she has “become conscious.” She is willing to say things that would

have been unthinkable before she was arrested.

She names names of political activists and accuses them of acts for which she

has no evidence. She says that Tiananmen demonstrators hoped people would die

in the square to make the situation worse. The translators of this book do not

ask her for any evidence or explanation. The only such expectation—not hope—of

deaths I know of was expressed by Chai Ling, one of the student leaders, in a

filmed interview during Tiananmen, in which, plainly exhausted, she said she

expected the army to kill students in the square. This, she said, would inform

the world what China was like, but she would flee before this happened because

she knew she would be a target. This interview caused Chai Ling’s reputation

to suffer. But in spite of what she said, Chai Ling remained in the square

throughout the killings of June 3 and 4 and its clearing by the army early in

the morning of the fourth. She then fled China.

As for remorse, Dai Qing confesses she regrets almost everything she did from

April 1989 on. She says that while the students were sincere in their demands

for social justice,

I failed to observe, or, perhaps, observed and did not admit, the many defects

of this generation of university students, especially the absence on their

part of a rational spirit and their inability to exercise self-restraint when

emotionally stirred up.

Referring to her own way of using “surprisingly dazzling words,” she declares

that she expressed her opinions “recklessly without much real thought or

careful consideration…. It was exactly the kind of erroneous style of

thinking that our Chairman Mao once criticized.” In what sounds like a

complete victory for Kang Sheng’s idea of being “conscious,” she promises

never again [to] involve myself with political issues nor express opinions on

important matters, especially since I am no longer a Party member.

In November 1989, Dai Qing heard from a prison interrogator that “she would be

among the very few to be ‘executed.’” I suppose very few readers of The New

York Review or its reviewers would refuse to cooperate under such pressure.

We, too, might well confess and express remorse. In any event Dai Qing did the

opposite of what she declared she would do. She broke the promise in her

confession never again to pronounce on important political matters. She has

written vigorously—and falsely—about the Tiananmen events.

Her book is an example of that broken promise. But more than that it is a

frightening example of how mental torture and the fear of death can do lasting

damage. Dai Qing’s treatment in Qincheng by the guards and interrogators she

says she admired led, after her release, to the public condemnations of the

Tiananmen students for which she is now so well known. She says, “I made a lot

of compromises [with the Chinese authorities], and now I have got the right to

live here [in the US].”[13] This, it must be said, is an unusually privileged

position, especially when we think of the refugees from the Tiananmen

repression who cannot return to China, as Dai Qing can and does.

Jung Chang, the author of Wild Swans, whose powerful book on Mao has just been

published in London,[14] recently stated that “the Chinese must be the most

traumatized people in the world. Fear is embedded in the national psyche.”[15]

Only Dai Qing knows for certain what happened to her in Qincheng prison. But

the woman once admired as China’s most fearless and effective investigative

journalist has changed, and her book, if read carefully, suggests why. She

continues to live with the fear that caused her hair to turn white.

Notes

[1] Mao’s Road to Power: Revolutionary Writings, 1912–1949, edited by Stuart

Schram and Nancy Hodes (M.E. Sharpe, 1994), Vol. 2, pp. 425ff.

[2] Harvard University Press, 1994.

[3] University of Michigan Press, 1996.

[4] “Dai Qing, Environmentalist, Writer, China,” BusinessWeek online, June 14,

[5] Dai Qing, Wang Shiwei and “Wild Lilies”: Reification and Purges in the

Chinese Communist Party 1942–1944, edited by David E. Apter and Timothy Cheek

(M.E. Sharpe, 1994).

[6] Perry Link, Evening Chats in Beijing (Norton, 1992), p. 146.

[7] Link, Evening Chats in Beijing, p. 147.

[8] International Rivers Network, 1991.

[9] Link, Evening Chats in Beijing, p. 209.

[10] Compiled by Zhang Liang, edited by Andrew J. Nathan and Perry Link, with

an afterward by Orville Schell (Public Affairs, 2001). See my review, “The

Truth About Tiananmen,” The New York Review, February 8, 2001.

[11] Link, Evening Chats in Beijing, pp. 144–147. Merle Goldman of Boston

University also discusses Dai Qing’s pre-1989 writings and sets them in a

wider political context in Sowing the Seeds of Democracy in China: Political

Reform in the Deng Xiaoping Era (Harvard University Press, 1994), pp. 284ff.

For a selection of these writings, including an erotic short story, “A Sexy

Lady,” see Geremie Barme and Linda Jaivin, New Ghosts, Old Dreams: Chinese

Rebel Voices (Times Books, 1992).

[12] For a detailed study of how Mao and Zhou treated political prisoners see

Michael Schoenhals’s “The Central Case Examination Group, 1966–79,” China

Quarterly, Vol. 145 (1996), pp. 87–111.

[13] “My Books Are Banned. But I Can Speak Outside,” BusinessWeek online, June

14, 1999.

[14] To be published in the US by Knopf in October.

[15] BBC Radio 3, “Nightwaves,” May 25, 2005.

Letters

April 27, 2006: Geremie Barmé, ‘Tiananmen Follies’: An Exchange

November 17, 2005: Jonathan Unger, The Case of Dai Qing

‘Tiananmen Follies’: An Exchange

By Geremie Barmé, Dai Qing, Reply by Jonathan Mirsky

In response to China: The Uses of Fear (October 6, 2005)

To the Editors:

In his review of the English translation of my prison writings, Tiananmen

Follies, Jonathan Mirsky [NYR, October 6, 2005] makes a number of claims in

relation to my work and my public stance both prior to, and since, the Beijing

Massacre of June 4, 1989, that call for some comment.

Based on his reading of Tiananmen Follies, Mr. Mirsky reaches two conclusions.

The first is that the Communist Party authorities employed the same methods of

emotional torture and terror in dealing with those incarcerated as a result of

the 1989 Tiananmen incident as they did during the Yanan “rescue movement” of

the 1940s. Secondly, he avers that in 1990s China such methods were still

effective, or at least they proved to be so in the case of the author of that

book, that is to say, myself. As a result Mr. Mirsky claims that while I wrote

some worthy things in the past, following my imprisonment I was cowed into

abandoning my former beliefs.

The truth about me is quite the contrary. Even though I had been on a list in

prison of people slated to be executed, I remained determined throughout that

ordeal to stick to my convictions. When I was released from prison in 1990 I

gave an interview to a foreign journalist in which I declared, for publication

around the world, that “you could say about my release that they’ve let me out

of a small prison into a massive jail.” I have continued to speak and write in

a forthright fashion ever since my release—on the environmental dangers China

faces, on the sensitive issue of repression in the Chinese Communist Party’s

history, and on a wide range of equally sensitive topics. As a consequence, at

one point I was placed under house detention, and at another I was exiled to

Hainan Island in the extreme south of China.

In his response to the letter to the editors from Geremie R. Barmé and

Jonathan Unger published by The New York Review [November 17, 2005], Mr.

Mirsky repeats his earlier claims against me and expresses a wish to hear

directly from me. Well, I have the following to say:

In his response Mr. Mirsky remarked that “the Three Gorges essays, as I

pointed out, were excellent, but were written before her time in prison.” He

attempts to demonstrate that I have been frightened into silence. Surely, this

is at odds with the facts.

Prior to my imprisonment I produced only one book related to the Three Gorges

Dam, the edited volume Changjiang, Changjiang (Nanning: Guizhou Renmin

Chubanshe, 1989). Following my release from jail, I edited another work,

Shuide Changjiang (literally, “Who Owns the Yangtze?”), a book that appeared

in Chinese in 1993 through Oxford University Press in Hong Kong. The English

version of that work was published in 1996 under the title The River Dragon

Has Come.

In relation to my public opposition to the Three Gorges project, for example,

I would have thought that any reader of Chinese with an interest in my work,

or for that matter a concern for the environmental fate of China, would have

easily been able to find the numerous essays that I have published in the

mainstream international Chinese press and on the Internet since 1992.

Furthermore, for over a decade I have given speeches, keynote addresses, and

talks relating to the Three Gorges Dam in many countries, although on one such

occasion, in Vietnam, my speech was canceled at the last minute due to

official Chinese government pressure. My most recent engagement with this

issue was in October 2005. I was able to make a public speech in Beijing for

the first time in some fifteen years at Sanwei Bookstore on Chang’an Avenue,

Central Beijing. My talk was entitled “The Three Gorges and the Environment.”

The Chinese transcript of that speech was posted on the Web for a week before

being deleted by the authorities. However, both the English and Chinese

versions of my remarks are readily accessible internationally on the Internet.

In regard to my engagement with other controversial issues of moment, I repeat

here what I said on the tenth anniversary of Tiananmen at a commemorative

symposium held at the John King Fairbank Center of Harvard University on May

13, 1999. I told my audience that:

I have lost my voice in China; I have lost my true audience, my supporters and

critics in China; and I have been deprived of a chance for open and direct

public engagement with my world. Yet although I have been thus diminished, I

have not given up hope. Nor have I given in to the fashionable opinions and

simplistic caricatures of China that prevail, both in China itself and here in

America.

In China I have refused to mouth the government lies about 1989; I will not

uncritically sing the praises of the power-holders and what they have done

during these ten years.

And here, in America, I won’t parrot the simple slogans and extreme rhetoric

that so much of the US media delights in. I refuse to play the simple-minded

dissident; I refuse to give in to the thoughtless stereotypes that so many

public figures in this country pursue when talking about China; I won’t follow

the crude claims of some critics that unless you mount a direct and

provocative challenge to the Communist Party, you are nothing less than a

toady to the power-holders.

In my own limited way I want still to write and speak of the vast, complex,

and rapidly changing realities of China.

In his response to Barmé and Unger’s letter to the editors, Mr. Mirsky

expressed some regret that the editors of Tiananmen Follies had failed to ask

me whether I still stood by “some of the things she said in the book.” I

presume he is referring to passages that I wrote in prison such as the

following:

Would it have been possible with a certain timely control to keep the Beijing

student movement from turning chaotic in the streets between April and June of

1989? The answer is yes. If, at any time during the end of April, early May,

mid-May (when the hunger strike began), and late May (once martial law was

established), the government in power had really intended to put an end to the

movement and had ordered the students and city residents to leave the streets,

it would not have been difficult. But without such action, it is quite natural

that matters escalated rapidly, because two kinds of people wanted the protest

to escalate in the hope that some people would die and the protest might then

turn into an “incident” of some magnitude.

Do I still hold to these views? Yes. I maintain the view that by declaring a

hunger strike on May 13, 1989, the student leaders contributed to a

precipitous escalation of a situation that, until then, might have been

defused. The relatively open-minded faction of power-holders who were in the

public eye and who had been charged with dealing with the protests were now

put in a very difficult position. From the perspective of Deng Xiaoping, the

paramount power-holder, these developments were proof that the “reformist

faction” was incapable of containing the situation, and therefore it would no

longer enjoy his confidence.

Mr. Mirsky is convinced that any talk of there being a “black hand working

behind the scenes” is nothing more than a repetition of a government calumny,

one aimed against the intellectuals who supported the students. He hasn’t

managed to work out what I, writing in jail and faced with the prospect of

death, was saying in my prison writings: that the people who hoped that the

situation would spiral out of control were the factional opponents of Zhao

Ziyang. As for the student leaders themselves, I believe that their problem

was their youthful rashness.

Seventeen years have passed since the events of 1989, and it is clearly

evident today how profoundly the value system and thought processes inculcated

by Mao Zedong have beguiled generation after generation of China’s young

people. Take Chai Ling for example, the activist who famously said that what

her group of student leaders were “actually hoping for is bloodshed” on the

eve of June 4, 1989 (yes, Mr. Mirsky, the word Chai Ling uses in Chinese,

qidai, does mean “look forward to” or “hope for”). People show their true

colors in extreme situations, and Chai Ling proved to be a good student of

Chairman Mao’s. Furthermore, there were others who really did hope that the

hunger-striking students would stay in the square. Various factions among the

power-holders reasoned that if they did so they could be used as political

pawns during the National People’s Congress that was soon to be held.

As to my evaluation of the question “Who benefited and who lost out?” as a

result of the massacre of June 4, 1989, I would say that perhaps even Deng

Xiaoping himself did not want to see such an outcome. This is because there

were indications in China at the time that he was actually planning to speed

up the process of political reform, a process that had long been bogged down.

Indeed, shortly before the Tiananmen demonstrations erupted, I was present

when Wang Feng, the head of the Taiwan office of the Party’s Central Committee

and one of Deng Xiaoping’s intimates, remarked that “Comrade Xiaoping is

actively considering removing the Four Basic Principles from the Constitution

and having them limited to the Party Constitution.” The Four Basic Principles,

it should be recalled, were introduced in February 1979 at the time of de-

Maoification, and they were used to maintain ideological rectitude during the

years of economic reform that followed. They were like a Sword of Damocles

that hung over the heads of people, forcing people to conform to the Party’s

norms. Such a decision to remove the Four Basic Principles from the

Constitution would have augured a major development in the political reform of

China, just as a similar act by Mikhail Gorbachev in the Soviet Union had

signaled a major political transformation in that country.

Those who got the most out of the situation were the political opponents of

Zhao Ziyang, who hoped to force him and his associates from power, as well as

those members of the nomenklatura, that is, the Party gentry, who enjoyed all

the privileges afforded by the monolithic state created under the conditions

of the “proletarian dictatorship.”

To this day I say, as I wrote then in prison, that I “support the martial law

order issued on May 20, 1989, and support the army implementing it

immediately.” I would emphasize to Mr. Mirsky that martial law was declared on

May 20, but it was not implemented immediately. Indeed, the weeks between the

declaration and the final tragedy of June 3–4 saw the further unfolding of a

complex political drama involving internal Party factions and the manipulation

of restive mass and student opinion.

The question I ask in Tiananmen Follies is: Weren’t the authorities willfully

allowing the situation to get out of hand? Weren’t they manipulating things so

that they could undermine the reformers who were in favor of using martial law

as a way of restoring order, reformers who were anxious that things not spiral

out of control? If martial law could have been imposed quickly, the power-

holders in favor of democratization would have been able to shepherd their

forces and make a comeback at some time in the future.

In his review, Mr. Mirsky was also particularly disdainful of my remark that

the students should have been satisfied with the government’s concession that

henceforth the authorities would no longer hold party meetings at the seaside

resort of Beidaihe, or avail themselves of imported luxury vehicles. I still

believe that squeezing such a concession out of the Party at the time was a

big victory for the protesters. Over the years, the Party had proved itself to

be extraordinarily reluctant to relinquish any of the perquisites of power.

And, after all, Mr. Mirsky may recall that in my work on the early Yanan-era

dissenter Wang Shiwei, which he avows to admire, I outlined that one of the

reasons for the denunciation (and the eventual beheading) of Wang was that he

had the temerity to question the special food and clothing allowances the

Party leaders gave themselves at a time of supposed egalitarian frugality.

As for my “confessions” in jail, Mr. Mirsky declares himself to be

particularly offended by my references to “Chairman Mao” and “ideological

method,” as well as my confession’s promise not to get involved in political

issues in the future. Of course, I wrote this in my confession; my life was at

stake. It is ironic that having weathered the interrogations of the

Communists, years later I am subjected to the intemperate declamations of a

reviewer who has so obviously misread my book. Well, Mr. Mirsky, I’d like to

spell it out for you: I was using my “confessions” to explicate my position,

and to announce my innocence. The vast majority of these written statements

were laden with diversionary tactics, or commonplace irony, “slipping away

under the cover of a big coat,” as we say. These are all devices with which

the average Chinese reader is completely familiar. I also used the Party’s

language to make fun of it.

Of course, I should acknowledge Mr. Mirsky’s detestation of communism and note

his sympathy for the Chinese people. However, if he presumes to have anything

of value to say regarding the complex and confusingly intricate realities of

China, I would suggest that he’ll have to work quite a bit harder. All right,

if his Chinese isn’t quite up to the task, he could always have spared a few

minutes Googling my name in English. At least in that way he could have

avoided making the most elementary mistakes regarding my work. Or, if his

Chinese was equal to it, over these many years he could have read at least a

few of the many dozens of articles I have written for a worldwide Chinese-

language audience, essays that touch on a wide range of subjects related to

his own interests in contemporary Chinese politics, culture, society, life,

and civil liberties.

Anti-Communist sloganizing does nothing so much as mirror the kind of

mentality favored by Mao and Kang Sheng during the 1942 rectification

campaign. Mr. Mirsky praised me for exposing the horrors of that campaign to

the world. The mentality of that campaign has played an invidious role in

Chinese politics and life ever since the 1940s. It is, I’m afraid, a mentality

that has been shared by many others. In the end, extremist and simplistic

ideologies express themselves in the same strident fashion, only the wording

differs. While one chants “Chairman Mao is our savior!,” the other shouts “Mao

Zedong is a monster!”

Dai Qing, with Geremie R. Barmé

Beijing

Jonathan Mirsky replies:

In Dai Qing and Geremie Barmé’s letter criticizing my review of Ms. Dai’s

book, Tiananmen Follies, there is much material on what she has done since her

release from prison in 1990. My review, however, was of her book, which is

devoted to her arrest and her time in prison. She thought well enough of these

materials to publish them under her name.

When I was preparing my review I sent a list of questions to the editors. Did

she still stand by what she had written? Were there, for example, “black

hands” behind Tiananmen? Ms. Dai still says flatly that there were. Does she

really believe that the Beijing “black hands” were behind the other four

hundred uprisings throughout China that spring? She says I should have been

able to “work out” what she really meant. She could easily have made this

plain in her book, but, one of her editors explained, “while a general reader

might need a longer introduction I don’t think this book calls for one.

Anyway, Dai Qing didn’t want one.”

I sent the editors a final draft of my review to check for factual errors.

This was the response: “review looks good, reads well, no surprises…Sullivan

team [i.e., the book’s editors] not unhappy or displeased.”

The key matter here is her confession. I asked the editors, “Is the confession

real or just something she was forced to say. In the introduction it says she

is no ‘snitch’ but she is, and she shows plenty of remorse, though it is said

she doesn’t.” So was it real or was it staged, and if staged is this obvious?

Ms. Dai now says: “I was using my ‘confessions’ to explicate my position, and

to announce my innocence. The vast majority of these written statements were

laden with diversionary tactics, or commonplace irony, ‘slipping away under

the cover of a big coat,’ as we say. These are all devices with which the

average Chinese reader is completely familiar. I also used the Party’s

language to make fun of it.”

Does that mean that the—rare—footnote in Ms. Dai’s book on her confession is

false? In it she says, “I had told the truth and nothing but the truth, mainly

because this would make things much easier and more convenient. This, I

believe, was something that left a profound impression on the minds of the

comrades of the special case group [her interrogators].”

On the book jacket, in words I presume were approved or written by Dai Qing or

the editors, it says of her confession that it is “at times quite unflattering

to the author…. She begins to accept the government’s view on certain

matters, ending up fingering others in a manner that suggests previous

collaborationist actions in China.”

So whether the confession is true, as she emphasizes in the book, or was

really “slipping away under the cover of a big coat,” Ms. Dai misled her

publisher, her editor, and me. She must take responsibility for her text,

which contains the words about which I wrote my review.

Letters

November 2, 2006: Dai Qing, Disheartened Author

The Case of Dai Qing

By Geremie Barmé, Jonathan Unger, Reply by Jonathan Mirsky

In response to China: The Uses of Fear (October 6, 2005)

THE CASE OF DAI QING

To the Editors:

In a review of the prison memoirs of the Chinese writer and dissident Dai Qing

[“China: The Uses of Fear,” NYR, October 6], Jonathan Mirsky wrote that after

her post-Tiananmen release Dai Qing’s “writing about the regime then took a

different turn” and that “fear seems to explain the sad transformation in her

writing,…jettisoning a lifetime’s convictions.”

We would like to set the record straight. As China specialists who have

personally known Dai Qing for a long time and who keep abreast of her prolific

writings, we can affirm that she did not jettison her convictions. Indeed, she

remains one of the most courageous, controversial figures on the Chinese

cultural and intellectual scene today.

In the years since her release from prison in 1990, Dai Qing has been a

persistent proponent of freedom of speech and a critic of censorship. She has

also gained an international reputation as one of China’s staunchest

environmentalists. Her energetic work against China’s gigantic Three Gorges

Dam has deservedly won her awards from environmental organizations around the

world. For this and other courageous public efforts, she has been under house

arrest more than once.

She has kept up a constant flow of writing, translating, and editing on a wide

range of topics despite her work being banned in China. Under a variety of pen

names (and also through essays published in Hong Kong and Taiwan and on the

Chinese Internet), she continues to lambast cant and political hypocrisy in a

uniquely powerful writing style that uses delicate sarcasm and irony to

withering effect. Jonathan Mirsky is an admirer of her earlier writings, and

he will be happy to know that she has lost none of her polemical vigor.

On an important point, both Mirsky and we ourselves disagree with a political

view held by Dai Qing. She does not believe that China is ready for

democracy—that is, multiparty elections to select China’s leadership. She has

long been convinced that without a lengthy period of independent publishers, a

decent education system, and a large, well-educated middle class, any

democratic vote in China would be fatally undermined by demagoguery and

corruption. She believes that until the conditions for democracy are ripe,

China would be better off under an increasingly relaxed Party rule. She

expressed such sentiments in her prison writings—which Mirsky presumed was a

sell-out of her convictions. What he does not realize is that Dai Qing

expressed such a view in writings published prior to the Tiananmen protests,

just as (consistent to a fault) she holds fast to such an opinion in

conversations and in her essays today.

This does not make her a toady or friend of the Party. What Dai Qing above all

will be remembered for is her well-researched, truly extraordinary studies of

the darker side of Communist Party history. Mirsky admiringly notes her

writings in this vein from the 1980s. Again, he will be glad to know that Dai

Qing continues to write and when possible publish major essays and books that

dissect and confront important past episodes of Party repression, with

scarcely concealed lessons for today.

In short, Dai Qing has not been scared into submission and has not betrayed

her ideals. She has remained a true, effective, courageous dissenter, contrary

to the impression Mirsky gained from her prison memoirs. She deserves to have

this erroneous impression corrected in The New York Review’s pages.

Geremie Barmé

Jonathan Unger

The Australian National University

Canberra, Australia

Jonathan Mirsky replies:

I did not say Dai Qing had sold out. I said she was terrified into making the

statements she includes in her book. I was also, as they say, careful to write

at some length that until 1989 she did great work for freedom of expression.

The Three Gorges essays, as I pointed out, were excellent, but were written

before her time in prison. Neither in the book’s introduction nor in the

edited material is this made nearly as plain as I wrote in my review.

I said that Dai Qing’s editors should have asked her if she still believed

some of the things she said in the book. She called the Tiananmen

demonstrations a conspiracy caused by a mastermind, “the one,” whom she never

names, while also saying he had used as a mouthpiece the admirable dissident

Wang Dan, who served seven years in prison after Tiananmen. She said she

regretted condemning the troops for entering the square and stated that “I

support the announcement of martial law and propose that the martial law

troops carry out the order immediately.” This is precisely what happened.

Mr. Unger and Mr. Barmé, both well-respected China specialists, do not deal

with what Dai Qing actually says in her book. They have told me they were

unable to read it because almost all the copies were destroyed in a fire at

the publisher’s. I am happy to learn that Dai Qing has resumed her libertarian

work, but she has done herself a great disservice in Tiananmen Follies and

would do well to write to the Review herself and say what she now believes.

Does she still claim, as she does in the book, that she wrote “recklessly

without much real thought or careful consideration…. It was exactly the kind

of erroneous style of thinking that our Chairman Mao once criticized…”? Does

she still promise “never again [to] involve myself with political issues nor

express opinions on important matters, especially since I am no longer a Party

member”?

Does she still say she acted “out of pure emotion and irrationality” and that

“deep down in my heart I had forgotten all the responsibility [of being a

Party member]…to protect the reputation of the government above anything

else”?

I wrote that few people would have been able to stand up to what happened to

her in Qin Cheng prison; any critical comment on her book should be seen in

that light. But her statements in Tiananmen Follies are all the more in need

of clarification following the letter of Mr. Barmé and Mr. Unger.

Casting a Lifeline

By Francine Prose

Beijing Coma

by Ma Jian, translated from the Chinese by Flora Drew

Farrar, Straus and Giroux,586 pp., $27.50

Sixty pages or so into Ma Jian’s novel Beijing Coma, the hero, Dai Wei, is

troubled by the memory of a harrowing anatomy lecture that he attended as a

university student. Taught by “a celebrated cardiovascular specialist,” the

class observed the dissection of the fresh corpse of a criminal whom the

government had just executed (in celebration of National Day) and whose organs

had been speedily harvested for transplant.

Dai Wei’s moral revulsion was tinged with personal anxiety, for this was not

the first time that politics had placed a serious strain on his love life. In

high school, he had been interrogated and beaten by the police for meeting his

girlfriend in a cement culvert, the only place they could be alone. And now

the distressing physiology lesson reminded his college girlfriend of why she

had been so reluctant to obey her parents’ wish that she cross the border from

Hong Kong to study medicine in the brutal, unenlightened People’s Republic.

How she longed to go to Canada to major in music or business management!

Like much else in Beijing Coma, this incident provides telling and subtle

information about the characters and their milieu. At the same time, the

insight it offers into Dai Wei’s academic background enables the attentive

reader—in whose intelligence Ma Jian has unusual faith—to answer a nagging

question that has been implicit since the book’s opening paragraphs. That is

the mystery of why Dai Wei’s earthy, lyrical, and, despite everything,

humorous narrative voice is so heavily inflected with scientific

terminology—”a bioelectrical signal darts like a spark of light from the

neurons in your motor cortex,” in Flora Drew’s exemplary translation. The

technical language of the surgical theater has been used, as it will be

throughout, to convey Dai Wei’s efforts to diagnose his own medical condition;

he is asleep much of the time, and in fact, he gradually realizes, he is in a

coma into which he has fallen after being shot in the head during the 1989

demonstration-massacre in Beijing’s Tiananmen Square.

For much of the book, Dai Wei lies in bed, paralyzed, mute, his eyes shut,

cared for by his mother, and hearing himself referred to as “a vegetable.” Yet

he is acutely conscious of his situation and painfully aware of the past,

which he searches for scraps of memory to assemble a coherent self. A doctor

whom Dai Wei’s mother consults informs him that

if I want to come out of my coma, I must make a deliberate effort to remember

events I’ve chosen to forget. Before I return to my old life, I must first

complete this inward journey into my past.

Trying to follow this advice, Dai Wei rediscovers not only the forgotten

events of his own life but the events that marked decades of seismic

historical change in China.

Among his earliest recollections is one of a summer night in 1980, when his

father returned home with a shaven head after twenty-two years of “re-

education” through imprisonment and hard labor. A talented violinist, he had

visited the United States as a young man and flirted with the idea of an

American concert career. In punishment for his youthful folly, he was branded

as a rightist, dooming his stigmatized family to poverty, ostracism, and

derision:

When my brother and I were walking through the school cafeteria at lunchtime

one day, two older kids flicked onto the ground the plate of fried chicken I’d

just bought, and shouted, “You’re the dog son of a member of the Five Black

Categories. What makes you think you have the right to eat meat?”

Dai Wei’s grandfather, a landowner, was executed during Mao’s land

redistribution program, and in the lobby of the public bathhouse that Dai Wei

and his family patronized when he was a child was a red box in which bathers

were urged to deposit denunciations of politically suspect neighbors.

By the time Dai Wei turns eighteen, China has changed so drastically—at least

on the surface—that thanks to his father’s foreign connections, he is given

preferential treatment when he applies to Southern University in Guangzhou

City. As Chinese society veers between repressive isolationism and a

willingness to admit a trickle of information from the outside world, cultural

novelties such as the stories of Hemingway and the paintings of Van Gogh come

into fashion, and Dai Wei and his college friends first hear about Freud, whom

they imagine to be the author of sex books as they argue about whether or not

they possess unconscious minds. Kafka’s The Castle inspires Dai Wei to read

the journal his father kept during his imprisonment, in which he learns about

the excesses of the Cultural Revolution. Thanks to the diary, Dai Wei develops

a new understanding of the parent whom he had always despised for making his

childhood so difficult. His mother, he was told, was forced to give birth to

him wearing a shirt embroidered with the words WIFE OF A RIGHTIST.

afka’s shadow falls heavily over large sections of Ma Jian’s work, which teems

with the sort of Grand Guignol nightmares that haunt some of Kafka’s stories.

It’s not enough that Dai Wei’s father be sent to a soul-destroying labor camp;

the camp is located in a region whose starving inhabitants have been driven to

cannibalism. When Dai Wei’s mother must conspire to get her wounded son

medical treatment because the government has made it illegal to have been

injured by the government, the logic could hardly be more Kafkaesque.

Yet much about Beijing Coma may remind the reader less of Kafka than of

Proust—or, if such a thing could be imagined, a Proust who had somehow

survived, and emerged from, the violent whirlwind of modern Chinese history.

Like In Search of Lost Time, Beijing Coma is driven by the obsessive force of

its narrator’s desire to retrieve the past, and derives its formal structure

from a highly particular inquiry into the nature of time.

As Dai Wei recalls moments from his youth and writes about the often grotesque

incidents (visits to traditional healers, the arrival of a pair of workmen who

believe that the apartment’s immobile resident is deaf, and the mercifully

brief stay of a sexually predatory boarder) that break the monotony of his

comatose existence, a sort of novel within the larger novel begins to take

shape. That interpolated narrative, which focuses on the buildup to the

massacre in Tiananmen Square, is at once dramatic and so slowly paced that it

almost seems a minute-by-minute reconstruction of what happened. The reader is

provided with details of the factional conflicts and power struggles, the

committee meetings, the rumors, the triumphs and humiliations, the guest

appearances of intellectual and pop celebrities, and the individual decisions

that initiated and concluded the student hunger strike and led to the

confrontation, on June 4, between the demonstrators and the army.

Some of the novel’s most evocative passages capture the atmosphere and the

mood of the crowd in the square in the days before the crackdown:

The restless, sweaty bodies below us suddenly resembled maggots wriggling over

a lump of meat. We descended to the lower terrace and slowly pushed our way

into the tightly packed crowd. It was almost impenetrable. When someone in

front of us wanted to go to the toilet or look for a friend, a tiny crack

would open, and we could follow behind them for a while. The people lining

these narrow pathways, which coursed through the Square like veins, would

instinctively raise a foot or shift their shoulders back to make way for us as

we passed. If they happened to be sitting down, we had no choice but to climb

over their heads. When someone shouted a new slogan, the crowd’s focus would

shift, and a new path would open for a second before quickly closing again,

like a wound healing over.

On June 1, the mounting tension is briefly dispelled when a crowd of children

visit the square in honor of Children’s Day, and a pair of demonstrators, who

have fallen in love, celebrate a mock wedding:

The children shouted, “When are the bride and groom going to hand out the

sweets?” The bright sunlight shone down on us benevolently. It felt as though

we were attending a wedding ceremony on the green lawn of some beautiful

estate. The people at the front of the crowd pushed back the people behind….

Chen Di announced that it was time for the groom to put a ring onto his

bride’s finger…. Mou Sen pulled out a ballpoint pen from his pocket, got

down on his knees, then took Nuwa’s finger and carefully drew a ring around

it.

The trajectory of Ma Jian’s narrative comes more or less full circle, as it

does in Proust’s masterpiece. And yet the consciousness in which this epic

drama takes place could hardly have less in common with that of Proust’s hero.

Dai Wei clings desperately to the hope that memory (his own and that of his

compatriots) may hold the key not only to individual identity, but to national

and cultural survival. The speed with which we forget, the novel suggests, is

the velocity at which we rush toward our doom.

oon after he is transferred from the hospital to his mother’s flat, Dai Wei

recalls leaving Guangzhou City for Beijing, where he planned to earn a

doctorate in molecular biology. But the heady distractions of the pro-

democracy movement rapidly diverted his attentions:

I remember setting up amplifiers in the canteen one afternoon during our first

term at Beijing University. Frustrated by the slow pace of political reform,

the students had set up unofficial “salons” to discuss the taboo subjects of

freedom, human rights and democracy. Some fellow science graduates and I had

formed a discussion group called the Pantheon Society, and had invited the

renowned astrophysicist Fang Li to give a lecture on China’s political future.

He was an outspoken critic of the government. The students held him in high

esteem. We nicknamed him China’s Sakharov. The previous month, the Democracy

Salon, a rival forum founded by some liberal arts students, had invited the

respected investigative reporter Liu Binyan to give a speech. So our society

felt we needed to invite someone of Fang Li’s stature to gain the upper hand.

The final sentence typifies Dai Wei’s sensibility—and Ma Jian’s method.

Accounts of the most high-minded revolutionary struggles are gently undercut

by an ironic, almost whimsical recognition of the emotions and

instincts—competitiveness, pettiness, ambition, vanity, lust—that

characterized the students’ behavior. In the most anxious moments preceding

the Tiananmen Square debacle, Dai Wei pauses from the demands of being a

leader to admire the beauty of the female students who arrive to offer support

or exhort the assembled crowd, and the novel captures the charged, aphrodisiac

aura that surrounds groups of attractive young men and women who believe that

they are effecting historic political change.

hen Dai Wei recalls a series of demonstrations that occurred in 1987, the

novel’s playfulness takes a surprising turn as a story by Ma Jian himself is

brought into the narrative:

A few days later, the People’s Literature magazine published Stick Out Your

Tongue, an avant-garde novella by a writer called Ma Jian. The Central

Propaganda Department denounced it as nihilistic and decadent, and ordered all

copies to be destroyed, then proceeded to launch a national campaign against

bourgeois liberalism.

By the time Stick Out Your Tongue was banned, Ma Jian, who was born in Qingdao

in 1953, had already been charged with spreading “spiritual pollution.” This

accusation, related to his participation in Beijing’s dissident artist

movement, led him to quit his job as a photojournalist for a state-run

propaganda magazine and begin a three-year journey across China, documented in

his remarkable travel book, Red Dust. His experiences in Tibet inspired Stick

Out Your Tongue, a novel in stories that portrays an unwelcoming landscape, a

devastated culture, and a ferociously savage society with little resemblance

to the popular image of a country inhabited by beaming peasants and beatific,

sonorously chanting monks.

“The poverty I saw,” Ma Jian writes in an afterword to that novel,

was worse than anything I’d witnessed in China. My idyll of a simple life

lived close to nature was broken when I realised how dehumanizing extreme

hardship can be. The Tibetans treated me with either indifference or disdain.

Sometimes they even threw stones at me. But the more I saw of Tibet and the

damage that Chinese rule had inflicted on the country, the more I understood

their anger…. Tibet was a land whose spiritual heart had been ripped out.

Ultimately, the furor over Stick Out Your Tongue drove Ma Jian into exile,

first to Hong Kong and then, when Hong Kong came under Chinese rule, to

Germany and later London, where he now lives.

In 1989 he left Hong Kong and briefly returned to Beijing. Persuaded that his

native land was changing, and wanting to be part of that transformation, he

spent six weeks with the demonstrating students, sharing their dormitories and

tents. “I watched them stage a mass hunger strike,” as he writes in an

explanatory essay,

dance to Simon and Garfunkel, fall in love, engage in futile power struggles.

I was ten years older than most of them. Their passion and idealism impressed

but also worried me. Denied knowledge of their own history, they didn’t know

that in China political protests always end in a bloodbath.

When the violence finally erupted, Ma Jian was a thousand kilometers away,

safe in his hometown, where his brother had walked into a clothesline and hit

his head on the street and slipped into a coma; in Beijing Coma, Dai Wei’s

mother will tell this story to explain her son’s injury and avoid admitting

that he was part of an illegal movement. At his brother’s hospital bedside, Ma

Jian learned that

hundreds, perhaps thousands, of unarmed students and civilians had been gunned

down and crushed by army tanks…. In a state of numb despair, I kept watch

over my comatose brother, until, one day, his eyes still closed, he moved his

finger across a sheet of paper to write the name of his first girlfriend. His

memories had dragged him back to life.

Ma Jian goes on to say that it is now forbidden in China to mention Tiananmen

Square. “The Chinese are a people who ask no questions, and who have no past.

They live as in a coma, blinded by fear and newfound prosperity.” Part of what

gives his novel its highly energized, manic edge is the fierceness of his

conviction that it might be possible for a work of literature to function as a

lifeline to cast out into the world, on the chance that it might save even a

few of its readers from drowning.

s Dai Wei’s ten-year coma drags on, his mother is contacted by the families of

other victims of the massacre, parents who have formed an underground group,

Tiananmen Mothers, dedicated to tallying the dead and wounded and keeping

alive the memory of a tragedy that the government claims never happened. Every

year, on the anniversary of the demonstration, the police move its surviving

victims—including Dai Wei—from Beijing to suburban hotels, in order to prevent

them from talking to foreign journalists.

Meanwhile, the collective memory is being efficiently erased by the popular

enthusiasm for high-end electronics, showy weddings, and luxury automobiles.

“No one talks about the Tiananmen protests any more,” Dai Wei says.

The Chinese are very adept at “reducing big problems to small problems, then

reducing small problems to nothing at all,” as the saying goes. It’s a

survival skill they’ve developed over millennia.

Like Ma Jian’s brother, “dragged back to life” by the name of his first

girlfriend, the persistently romantic Dai Wei remains in love with all three

of his former sweethearts, even after he learns that the girl he used to meet

in the cement pipe has become a real estate developer whose latest project

will destroy his mother’s apartment. When his withered body is no longer

capable of pursuing the objects of his desire, he develops a passion for a

visiting nurse, and finally a deep attachment to a sparrow that flies into his

open window.

Now when Dai Wei’s old friends visit, they wear expensive suits, carry cell

phones, and proudly display the accoutrements of their prosperous new lives.

Suddenly, everything is for sale, and, in the burgeoning Chinese economy, even

the country’s traditional healers have turned into profiteers. “The best hope

for him now would be to put him on this 20,000-yuan treatment plan,” one

doctor tells Dai Wei’s desperate mother.

This 6,000-yuan plan he’s on now gives him just five of my qigong sessions, an

acupuncture session and a course of Chinese herbal medicine. It only lasts

twenty-four days. There’s no way he will have come out of his coma by then.

Dai Wei also undergoes a profound metamorphosis, as his own suffering gives

him new respect for the courage and endurance shown by his parents in managing

to endure the barbaric era through which they lived.

Only the harsh realities of fear and repression remain essentially the same.

Granny Pang, the neighborhood informer, alerts the police each time a

representative of Tiananmen Mothers comes to visit. When Dai Wei’s mother is

forced to sell one of his kidneys to pay for his medical bills, she brings

forged records to the hospital where the surgery will be performed so the

doctors will not suspect they are treating a victim of the infamous protest.

Having endured the Cultural Revolution and witnessed her husband’s grisly

fate, she has lived her whole life in terror of committing the most trivial

infraction of government or Party regulations. So one’s heart sinks when she

casually mentions that she has been feeling healthier and happier since she

joined the Falun Gong movement.

s the novel nears its conclusion, Dai Wei’s present and past converge. Not

only do we know how the story of Tiananmen Square will end, but we have

learned the fates of the characters when a group of Dai Wei’s former comrades

gather at his bedside and discuss which of their friends were killed and

wounded, which were jailed and driven mad by torture, which have become

entrepreneurs or gone abroad to pursue academic careers and form dissident

exile groups. Nonetheless, as the army assembles and the tanks roll toward the

square, the suspense and horror are almost unbearable. At the same time, we

may find ourselves paging rapidly through the final section to see if some

miracle may yet cure Dai Wei before what remains of his mother’s sanity is

destroyed by the government persecution of a harmless sect of mystics with

ideas about inner wheels that can be set spinning by meditation and proper

breathing.

During the reunion of Dai Wei’s friends, Wang Fei, whose legs were shattered

during the army attack, delivers a rousing speech:

We’re the “Tiananmen Generation,” but no one dares call us that…. It’s

taboo. We’ve been crushed and silenced. If we don’t take a stand now, we will

be erased from the history books. The economy is developing at a frantic pace.

In a few more years the country will be so strong, the government will have

nothing to fear, and no need or desire to listen to us. So if we want to

change our lives, we must take action now. This is our last chance. The Party

is begging the world to give China the Olympics. We must beg the Party to give

us basic human rights.

This hortatory passage seems appropriate and fully earned by everything that

has preceded it; and it testifies to the success with which Ma Jian has

accomplished something extremely difficult. That is, he has created a work of

art that functions simultaneously as literature and as a call to action.

After reading Beijing Coma, you want to encourage the sad little protest

groups of Falun Gong practitioners, kneeling on the sidewalks outside Chinese

embassies and consulates. You want to inform people that China’s human rights

abuses extend well beyond the Tibetan borders, and that dozens of Chinese

journalists and writers are currently serving prison terms. Your sympathy for

the victims of the recent, catastrophic earthquake is intensified by awareness

of how their suffering has been exacerbated by man-made factors: the rigidity

of China’s one child-per-family policy and the shoddy building methods of

rapacious developers. And you wish that copies of the book could be

distributed along the route of the Olympic torch’s progress toward the

upcoming Beijing games, an event that might not be taking place had the world

not succumbed to the seductions of forgetfulness—the same dangers and

temptations that Ma Jian’s hero, and his novel, struggle so valiantly to

resist.

Diary

Chaohua Wang

Contrary to their intention, commemorations of historical events are more

often reminders of the power of forgetting: either official ceremonies that

gradually lose their meaning, becoming public holidays like any other, or

gatherings of tiny bands of militants or mourners, whose numbers dwindle to

nothing as the years pass. In Los Angeles, you can see both kinds. If you ask

people what Memorial Day stands for, virtually no one, not even professors of

history, can tell you. As for the other sort, I myself stand every summer with

a small band of friends outside the Chinese consulate in downtown Los Angeles,

holding placards scarcely anyone notices. But what we commemorate has,

unusually, not been forgotten elsewhere. It is now 18 years since soldiers and

tanks entered Tiananmen Square in Beijing. Yet every year since then, on the

night of 4 June, tens of thousands of people gather in Hong Kong and, whatever

the weather, light candles in memory of what happened then, and those who died

as a result of it. I don’t think any other mass commemoration has lasted so

long. But what is remembered so powerfully in Hong Kong cannot even be

mentioned on the other side of the border that separates the Special

Administrative Region from the rest of the People’s Republic of China.

Eighteen years is not a short time; it’s long enough for a baby to become an

adult. On 4 June this year, a strange incident occurred. In Chengdu, the

capital of the province of Sichuan, a city with a population of 11 million,

the small-ads pages of an evening newspaper contained a short item that read:

‘Salute to the steadfast mothers of the 4 June victims.’ The entry was noticed

by some readers, scanned and uploaded onto the internet, where it rapidly

circulated. The authorities jumped to investigate. Within days, three of the

paper’s editors had been fired. How had the wall of silence been breached? The

girl in charge of the small ads, born in the 1980s, had called the number

given by the person who placed the ad to ask what the date referred to. Told

it was a mining disaster, she cleared it. No one had ever spoken to her about

  1. Censorship devours its own children.

The mothers the ad was honouring are a small group of elderly women who have

become the symbol of the event the country cannot refer to. Ding Zilin, who

organised the women, is now 71. She used to teach Marxist philosophy at the

People’s University in Beijing. In 1989, when Tiananmen Square was occupied by

thousands of students, her 17-year-old son, who was still at school, got

caught up in the movement. On the evening of 3 June, as the atmosphere grew

increasingly tense, she feared the boy might join other demonstrators in the

streets and locked him in her apartment. He escaped through a bathroom window,

and was killed that night, when troops marched into the centre of the city. No

one knows how many died alongside him. Government repression has been so

complete that the number of victims remains a mystery. When Li Hai, a former

activist from Peking University, tried to collect information about them in

the early 1990s, he was sentenced to nine years’ imprisonment for ‘leaking

state secrets’. Despite constant police harassment and repeated house arrests,

Ding persisted in her inquiry, and in 1994 published, in Hong Kong, a

verifiable list of victims. Every year the list has expanded, and it now has

186 names. More and more people who lost family members have gathered around

Ding. Inspired by the example of the Mothers of the Disappeared in Argentina,

and with help from human rights activists in Hong Kong, Ding and her friends

some time ago named themselves the Tiananmen Mothers. Actually, the group also

includes fathers, wives and husbands of those who were killed, as well as some

of those who were injured during the repression. Qi Zhiyong, a worker, lost a

leg from a bullet wound near Tiananmen. For trying to get redress and

compensation, he has repeatedly been beaten by police thugs in his home; this

year he was put under precautionary arrest before 4 June, and only released

when the anniversary was over. His case is typical.

The government’s fears are not irrational. Over six weeks, what began as a

student demonstration became a national political crisis, in which the

legitimacy of the Chinese Communist Party’s monopoly of power was seriously

challenged for the first time since the foundation of the People’s Republic.

The government resolved the crisis by ordering regular troops, brought in from

the provinces, to enforce martial law in Beijing, even at the cost of opening

fire on the crowds and rolling tanks over peaceful protesters in order to

seize control of Tiananmen Square, the most powerful symbolic space in modern

China. For a whole week after the first gunshot, not a single political leader

came out to face the nation, leaving the capital in the control of a

professional army, a situation Beijing had not seen since the Allied

Expedition against the Boxer Rebellion of 1900.

With Deng Xiaoping’s decision to crush the demonstrations the Party recovered

its monopoly of power, but not its legitimacy or its authority. To fill the

ideological void Deng set China on an accelerated path of economic change,

announced to the nation by a speech in the southern city of Shenzhen in the

spring of 1992, and expressed in the message ‘to get rich is glorious.’

Plastered on billboards across the country, the Party’s new slogan dismissed

any possibility of discussion of ideas or principles, proclaiming simply:

‘Development is the Irrefutable Argument.’ Fifteen years later, China is the

industrial wonder of the world. The average standard of living has improved,

poverty has been reduced, urbanisation has exploded, exports and financial

reserves are sky-high. Abroad, admiration for the People’s Republic has never

been higher. National prosperity and pride typically go together. With such

achievements to boast of, why should the Communist Party still be so fearful

of something that happened an epoch ago? Why does it go to such lengths to

distort and repress the past, and where it is unable to erase people’s

memories entirely, why does it try to portray the demonstrations of 1989 as

senseless turmoil and the movement’s activists as conspiring tricksters? But

the real question is this: what was the conviction that led the protesters to

stand up to the military machine?

Two opposing interpretations of the movement of 1989 have gained ground,

mainly in the West but also to some extent in China. The first is socio-

economic. In early 1988, the government pushed forcefully to free prices, but

the inflation that followed provoked such strong reactions throughout the

country that it was compelled to reinstitute food rationing in the big cities

in January 1989. Some American scholars have argued that this was a factor in

the massive social unrest that manifested itself in the spring of 1989. In

China itself, thinkers on the New Left have taken this argument a step

further, seeing the military crackdown of 4 June as essentially paving the way

for the marketisation of the economy, by breaking resistance to the lifting of

price controls (they were removed again, this time successfully, in the early

1990s). According to this view, the driving force behind the mass movement,

even its inspiration, was the refusal of reforms that would deprive the

population of established standards of collective welfare. What the gunshots

in Beijing shattered were the last hopes for the ‘iron rice bowl’ of

socialism, clearing the way to a fully-fledged capitalism in China.

Another school of thought turns this argument upside down. In this account,

the mass movement, far from clinging to the socialist past, looked boldly

ahead to a liberal future. The growing number of banners written in English,

and the styrofoam statue of a ‘Goddess of Democracy’, modelled partly on the

Statue of Liberty, erected on Tiananmen in the last days of May, all show that

America was the demonstrators’ real dream: not the iron rice bowl, but the

market and the ballot box. Last month, George Bush presided over the erection

in Washington of a monument to the Victims of Communism, in the form of a

scaled-down bronze replica of the styrofoam goddess.

It is true that socio-economic discontent, especially following on the rapid

inflation of the summer of 1988, played an important role in generating

support for the student protests of the next year. But these economic

grievances were unambiguously transformed into political protests in the

movement of 1989. Their target was the way Deng Xiaoping and Zhao Ziyang, then

secretary-general of the Communist Party, ruled the country. Particularly

powerful in mobilising protest was Zhao’s description of his reforms as

‘crossing a river by stepping one by one on stones under the water’. If all

you can do is test the stability of unseen stones on the riverbed, what

entitles you to a monopoly over policy-making? Why should we wait while you

pick your way through the current, now and then finding yourself on the right

stone, and letting us drown when you step on the wrong one? That was more or

less the feeling of the movement. The economic slogans of 1989 were mostly

attacks on past policies that had gone wrong, and especially on corruption

among high officials. But these never took the form of specific economic

demands, nor did any demands of that kind come into the many attempts at

‘dialogue’ – i.e. negotiations – between protesters and officials, before

talks finally broke down. What dominated were unequivocally political demands

for freedom of speech, civil rights and citizen participation.

As for the movement’s ideology, one must remember that this huge social

upheaval erupted very quickly. When a hunger strike among the students put

pressure on the government in mid-May, the news media, including the People’s

Daily, enjoyed a week of press freedom unprecedented in the history of the

PRC. On the streets people from the most varied social backgrounds were

suddenly able to voice their ideas and debate among themselves. In the ensuing

hubbub, it was easy to overinterpret a few isolated symbols. Popular

imaginings of America are an example. A highly abstract idea of the US, based

on very little knowledge, became one of the vehicles – a shell, if you like –

in which people’s imaginative energy was invested. This shell was filled,

however, with understandings – and critical reflections – based on life in the

socialist, or semi-socialist, society of the previous decades. Socialist

discourse and notions of an idealised America were mixed together in people’s

minds. This can be a disappointment for today’s intellectuals, who occupy much

more clear-cut ideological positions, liberal or leftist. Yet below the

Goddess of Democracy, armbands on the picket line were red. The historical

significance of the upheaval of 1989 in Beijing does not lie in one paradigm

or another, espoused by this or that spokesman or leader. It lies in the space

the movement opened up for creative imagination and the opportunities it

offered for experiment. The focus was always on the right of citizens to

participate in the public life of the country, and the channels that would

enable them to do so.

However important economic developments or ideological cross-currents in the

making of the crisis, the incontestable fact is that the millions who

demonstrated in Beijing between April and June 1989 formed what was

essentially a political movement. What was its aim? On several occasions in

this past year, Party officials have, at last, publicly broached the topic of

democratic reform. It seems they think that time, and repeated lies, have

created enough of a barrier to stop people from relating the word ‘democracy’

to the protests in Tiananmen. However, I have always believed that the courage

of the demonstrators came from the power of a mass movement’s desire for

democracy.

The movement was, of course, led by students, although by the end they made up

only a modest proportion of those who took part, and they have consistently

been singled out for criticism, not only by the government, but by a number of

intellectuals in China and abroad, who claim that had they taken power, they

would have exercised a more extreme dictatorship than the Party itself. In

reality, most of the students were troubled by the question of the democratic

legitimacy of their actions. They did go beyond inviting public sympathy for

their protests, but they never meant to overthrow the government or to usurp

its authority. Although they lacked practical experience, owing to the

vigilant ban on non-governmental organisations, they benefited from the more

open and reflective intellectual atmosphere of the 1980s. Ideas of democratic

reform had been widely spread by the dissident physicist Fang Lizhi and

others. The political principles of autonomy and transparency were hot topics

at the time.

Less than a week after the death of the reformist Communist Party leader Hu

Yaobang in mid-April 1989, those who gathered to mourn him began to form

independent organisations. On campus after campus, as soon as one individual

took the initiative, many students followed. That, in effect, is how the

Beijing Autonomous Association of College Students, the core organisation of

the 1989 protest, came into being. Every university had student

representatives who used their real names rather than sheltering in anonymity

– a great difference from the student movements that had emerged since the

late 1970s. I was among them.

With their college IDs as identification and their names out in the open, the

students had to take responsibility for what they were doing, and to recognise

their own positions of power as representatives of the student body. Under

tremendous political pressure, as well as pressure of time and space, the

student organisations encountered numerous obstacles in their efforts to learn

about and practise procedural democracy. Some students’ status was

representative in name only, and would not withstand scrutiny. Yet faced with

the final decision whether or not to withdraw from Tiananmen Square, the

student leaders still relied on a vote to persuade their followers, as well as

themselves, of the rightness of their course of action. The internal working

of their organisations was always dependent on democratic legitimation.

This is not to claim that every twist of events was democratically determined.

There were many imperfections in the students’ exercise of practices that were

so new to them. Among today’s intellectuals in China, one sometimes hears a

distinction being made between a republic and a democracy. Adapting it, I

would use the term ‘republic’ for the united will that establishes a political

collectivity in the first place, and ‘democracy’ for the procedures that

govern it once unity is established. Ideally, the two should be complementary,

for without republican unity there is no framework for democracy, and without

democracy the original spirit of a republic is never guaranteed. At one level,

the students knew this. They demanded democracy, but always assumed it would

be realised in the context of the People’s Republic, and this was how they

justified their confidence in marching through the streets. But at another

level, the connections were not always well understood. The group of hunger-

strikers, for example, paid little regard to the larger student body

represented by the Beijing Autonomous Association of College Students. In

effect, it functioned as a little ‘republic’ of its own. The hunger strike had

an electrifying effect in the city, but when the strikers attempted to speak

on behalf of the students as a whole, sidestepping the BAACS, something I

argued against, there was inevitably confusion and a crisis of legitimacy.

Many students were aware of the contradiction, and desperately tried to figure

out the conceptual problems confronting them in the little time they had. But

it is fair to say that virtually all of them shared some basic understanding

of democracy, as the right to express different opinions and to participate in

public decision-making, to elect representatives or to recall them; and these

simple principles were quite sincerely, if at times awkwardly, practised.

A different criticism that has often been made of the students is that they

did not merge with the citizenry, once the population of the capital took to

the streets in vast demonstrations. Had the student organisations consciously

sought to lead a mass movement, it would certainly have been the wrong

approach. What their ‘exclusivity’ showed was their reluctance to abuse their

power: they were aware of the limits of their own legitimacy. Not all the

student leaders were flawless – how could they have been? – but I am certain

that if the government had fallen, no student-led autocracy would have

followed. Instead, student organisations would have asked the people to elect

their own representatives, not least to reduce the already unbearable burden

of responsibility. The National People’s Congress would have been the most

likely agency for the next steps in a long process of democratisation.

What of the citizens themselves? During the 20 days of the student occupation

of Tiananmen Square, huge numbers of them paraded under the banners of their

different work-units and affiliations, as if this helped to justify their

actions. But when night fell, they went out on the streets individually,

representing only themselves. Many confronted government officials face to

face. These different ways of participating, by day and by night, gradually

merged. Once the government declared martial law, and stepped up control of

all workplaces, people realised that the socialist structure tying their

economic and political rights together into their work-unit was collapsing in

front of their eyes, and took a clear stand as citizens, casting off the

ambiguous safety of their institutional affiliation, confident that the

government was in the wrong.

What brought the people out onto the streets was not only the wish to express

sympathy with the students, but also the denial of their rights as citizens.

Whether it was the unexpected success of the 27 April march, the proclamation

of martial law on 20 May, or the first gunshots on the night of 3 June, the

largest response was always in reply to the government’s toughest measures.

Without this huge outburst of energy, the upheaval of 1989 would never have

taken place.

These days, you can see many short videos on the internet commemorating the

events in China in 1989. What is most striking about them are the expressions

on people’s faces – excitement, anxiety, hope, determination and compassion –

across all groups and generations. The demonstrators were interested in

democracy, not in overthrowing the government. Only if one recognises this can

one understand why, throughout weeks of protest, people displayed so much

self-discipline. This did not come from a fear of government revenge, but from

a strong feeling of pride in their ability to take their fate into their own

hands – visibly a legacy of the Chinese revolution and a socialist past. The

crime rate in Beijing fell sharply. Not a single incident of looting or

vandalism was reported. In Beijing and Chengdu at least, even the thieves went

on strike to protest against the government. Spontaneously, there was order

everywhere. On 17 May, in an atmosphere of crisis, there was a televised

discussion between the prime minister, Li Peng, and some of the student

leaders about the ‘anarchy’ of the movement. An argument broke out over who

was responsible for the scenes in the square, interrupting one of Li’s

patronising speeches, and I watched his face turn red and then white as he

clutched the armrests of his chair with both hands. I remember insisting, when

my turn came to speak, that the students were demanding rights guaranteed them

by China’s constitution, and that what characterised the movement was the

opposite of anarchy: calm orderliness, confidence and self-restraint. Of

course, this was what the government was really afraid of.

Three days later, martial law was declared, and there were tanks on the

outskirts of the city. For two weeks, the people held them off. No one who was

there, as the people of Beijing confronted troops in trucks and APCs, will

ever forget their spirit. When the crackdown came on the night of 3-4 June,

most of the victims were not students, but ordinary citizens. Strangers helped

each other without asking questions, and some were killed as they tried to

save the lives of others. The world remembers the image of a single man

standing alone, in front of a column of advancing tanks. The city was full of

such courageous people that night. The reason for commemorating 4 June each

year is not simply to remember its tragic cost, but to recapture the

magnificent spirit of the movement, rarely seen in China in recent centuries.

That this was the real meaning of the social movement of 1989 can be seen from

the government’s lasting fear of it. Had it been spurred mainly by economic

grievances, it would have little resonance in today’s China, where the

standard of living in the cities is so much higher than it was then. If it had

been moved by a desire for things American, satisfaction has in many ways been

more than granted: fast food, Hollywood films, television quiz shows are

everywhere, business principles are exercised more vigorously at all levels of

administration than in the US itself. The reason the memory of 4 June still

haunts officialdom is that it was about something that high-speed growth and

giddy consumerism have not altered. For despite all the economic records it is

setting, China today is not a sea of social calm. Soaring inequality,

collapsing welfare systems, environmental disasters, land seizures, mistreated

migrants, labour ruthlessly exploited, children abducted and enslaved, the

unemployed cast aside, and – in many ways the most hated thing of all –

rampant corruption, have bred widespread discontent. Local explosions of

popular anger, especially in the countryside and smaller towns, where social

conditions are worse and police control is stretched more thinly, have

multiplied in recent years. In this poisoned social environment, in which the

crudest profiteering by crooks and officials, typically in league with each

other, is a daily reality, the root of such evils is clear. It is the monopoly

of power by the ruling party, which makes it impossible for people to check

the abuses from which they suffer. Only democratic rights could make the

holders of power accountable for their actions and release the popular

energies needed to achieve all the things of which they are incapable. That is

why, even today, whenever indignation over injustice or corruption boils over,

the collective memory of 1989, we can be sure, lurks in the minds of the

rulers, and – how often we can only guess – in those of the ruled.

The situation is not unchanging. This year, Professor Ding was for the first

time allowed to commemorate her son’s death on 4 June. Followed by a squad of

plain-clothes policemen, she went from her apartment to the spot beside a

subway station where he was killed, and laid flowers on the pavement.

Photographs of the scene found their way onto the internet, where also for the

first time this year, an online gathering in memory of the victims of 1989 was

held through a web-server based overseas, but which could be accessed from the

mainland with the help of special software. This is a small advance; much more

will have to come. Chinese society needs to acknowledge the tragedy, condemn

the killings, accept and respect the families of those who died, and honour

the work of the Tiananmen Mothers in preserving the memory of the collective

national past. It has not been in vain. When it was learned that the young

subeditor at the Chengdu Evening News had not known what the date of 4 June

referred to, many young Chinese born in the 1980s made it clear on the

internet that they did know.

He Would Have Changed China

By Perry Link

Zhao Ziyang: Ruanjinzhong de tanhua (Captive Conversations)

by Zong Fengming

Hong Kong: Kaifang, 399 pp., HK$98

In trying to make sense of their country’s turbulent modern history, Chinese

intellectuals sometimes resort to counterfactual speculation. How might things

have been different if one or another accidental event had happened

differently? For decades it was a sort of parlor game to guess how long the

great writer Lu Xun, who died in 1936 possessing a keen eye for hypocrisy and

a stiletto wit, and whom Mao Zedong praised in 1942 as “the bravest, most

correct national hero,” could have survived in Maoland had he lived beyond

  1. Eight years, most people said. If he had somehow managed to avoid prison

until 1957, the Anti-Rightist Campaign of that year surely would have got

him.[1] Harder to fathom is a question like what would have happened in China

if Mao Yichang and Wen Qimei, parents of Mao Zedong, had lived apart in the

spring of 1893, when Mao was conceived.

Zong Fengming’s new book, Zhao Ziyang: Captive Conversations, raises a

question of the same sort, and it has stimulated much debate both inside and

outside China. Zhao Ziyang was premier of China from 1980 to 1987, during

which time he gained much credit for pushing China’s economy forward, and from

1987 to 1989 was general secretary of the Communist Party, when he became

known for advocating reform of the political system. During the demonstrations

at Tiananmen in 1989, Zhao advocated using “democracy and rule of law” to

settle the crisis. But Party elder Deng Xiaoping, who held ultimate power and

who was swayed by Premier Li Peng and others who saw nefarious intent within

the student movement, chose repression.

After Deng had already ordered troops to surround Beijing, he summoned Zhao to

ask that he concur in possible use of the military, but Zhao, well knowing

that intransigence would cost him his position, declined. After the massacre

on June 4, Zhao was charged with “splitting the Party” and “supporting chaos.”

He then further sealed his fate by declining to write the kind of “self-

criticism” that is customary in the Chinese Communist Party when one is

disgraced. He spent the next sixteen years under house arrest at his home at

No. 6, Wealth and Power Alley, Beijing. In 2004 he developed pulmonary

fibrosis, and he died on January 17, 2005, at the age of eighty-five.

Meanwhile the Deng Xiaoping formula of “market yes, democracy no” marched

forward under Zhao’s successors, Jiang Zemin and Hu Jintao. China’s economy,

military, and international influence have grown steadily while inequality,

discontent, repression, and environmental degradation have worsened. All this

is background for the counterfactual questions that frustrated Chinese

reformers now ask about 1989. How would China be different if Zhao had stayed

on? And how might he have done that?

In August 1991, when Boris Yeltsin climbed atop a tank in Moscow to defy a

coup by Soviet hard-liners against Mikhail Gorbachev, and when Yeltsin won the

support of a cheering crowd and helped to turn the tide against the hard-

liners, some in China were led to ask why Zhao Ziyang could not have done a

similar thing in 1989. There were about a million people in Tiananmen Square

on May 17 of that year, and they were overwhelmingly on Zhao’s side of the

political debate. A New York Times reporter heard a policeman shout, “The

student movement is terrific! If the Government commands a crackdown, will I

obey their order? No, I will go against it.”[2] Large crowds of similarly

inclined protesters were in the streets of nearly all of China’s provincial

capitals.

ut this flight of fancy is far-fetched. Zhao Ziyang by nature was circumspect,

a bit timid, and hardly comparable to Yeltsin; moreover it is almost

unthinkable that China’s military, whose command is steeped in personal

loyalties, would have obeyed Zhao instead of Deng Xiaoping no matter how many

people were in Tiananmen Square. But what if the protesting students had

listened to the outspoken journalist Dai Qing and her delegation of liberal-

minded intellectuals who urged them on May 14 to declare (partial) victory and

go home? If they had, the crisis would not have come to a head and Zhao might

have remained general secretary. Or what if—even assuming that the students

remained in the square—Zhao had made some compromises with Deng in order to

stay? How much of a difference could he have made?

The question has layers. To guess what Zhao might have achieved one needs

first to estimate what he might have attempted, and that requires us to

extrapolate how his thinking as general secretary might have developed after

  1. As a first, albeit imperfect, approximation, we can look at how Zhao’s

thought actually developed even though he spent his post-1989 years observing

China from house arrest. But on that question, until now, there has been

extremely little to go on. We have a letter that Zhao wrote to China’s

Politburo in 1997 asking (futilely) for a reconsideration of the verdict on

the Tiananmen demonstrations. We have a revealing account of a two-hour talk

that Zhao had with a friend named Wang Yangsheng in July 2004 and that Wang

published in Hong Kong shortly after Zhao’s death. But that’s about it. Zhao

released no memoirs, and a family member told me recently that “as far as I

know, there is nothing left behind.” Hence Zong Fengming’s new book,

containing 385 pages of records of conversations with Zhao Ziyang between 1991

and 2004, is an almost unique resource.

Zong, three months younger than Zhao, had known him a long time. They were

both from Henan and had fought Japan together in the 1940s. Both had careers

entirely within the Communist Party system. Zong was Party secretary at the

Beijing University of Aeronautics and Astronautics until he retired in 1990.

His book is based on more than a hundred visits that he made to Zhao’s house,

which he entered at the sufferance of a squad of military police stationed

inside the residence. Plainclothes police from State Security occupied the

building directly across the alley, and from the second floor monitored

comings and goings by camera. Periodic “renovations” of the Zhao compound kept

electronic surveillance systems in shape. Zong was able to enter this police

web in the guise of Zhao’s qigong (“breath exercise”) teacher. It also helped

that Zong had played no role in the “turmoil” of 1989. The two elderly men

talked outdoors in the courtyard, presumably to minimize electronic

eavesdropping. Zong did not use a tape recorder and took no notes, but went

home after each talk to write down what he could remember.

The book is arranged chronologically and is not tightly edited. The

conversations, which retain their chatty flavor, are wide-ranging. They seem

frank but not soul-baring. There no doubt were levels of Zhao’s thinking that

died with him, or—if they have survived—live only in the memories of people

extremely close to him.

Zhao’s family members say that Zhao was opposed to publishing the book because

he feared that “inaccuracies” might result. Zong Fengming himself quotes Zhao

as calling the talks “just some random thoughts and casual comments”—but

whether this was from caution or from self-effacing convention is hard to say.

Zhao’s long-time political secretary Bao Tong, in his own memoirs, writes that

when Zong Fengming presented the conversation records to Zhao for review, Zhao

did not even look at them but said, “Let Bao Tong decide what to do.” But Bao

declined to edit them, fearful that his own taint (he had recently served a

prison term for “counterrevolutionary agitation” and “leaking state secrets”)

might only make things worse for Zhao and his family.

Bao clearly treasured the book, however, as is shown by his agreement to write

a second preface to it. The first preface is by Li Rui, once a secretary to

Mao Zedong and now another leading reformist thinker. With few exceptions the

book has been championed by liberal-minded Chinese everywhere. Even Zhao’s

family members, despite their reservations about accuracy, have expressed warm

feelings toward Zong Fengming.

he state has taken a different view. Before the book appeared, a deputy chief

of the Science, Technology, and Industry Commission of the State Council (the

“leadership” authority for the university where Zong had worked) visited Zong

at home, warning darkly that, in earlier times, his book would have been

judged “counterrevolutionary,” and demanding that he hand over the manuscript.

Zong said no. His book was published in Hong Kong and banned in China.

It is easy to see why top leaders were worried, because Zhao’s conversations

address China’s problems with a depth and clarity that they have been

accustomed to calling “dissident.” Zhao may not possess Fang Lizhi’s elegant

reasoning or Liu Binyan’s magisterial grasp of Chinese society, but his basic

outlook, especially near the end of his sixteen years of house arrest, bears

close resemblance to theirs. His thinking does not show any radical breaks,

but it does evolve as he watches developments and comes to see things in new

ways.

He comes to see, for example, that democracy is not just an attractive luxury

that a modern nation ought to want for its own sake but an indispensable

condition for the survival of a healthy economy as well. He told Zong that,

during the 1980s,

I thought that as long as we get economic reform right and the economy

develops, the people will be satisfied and society will be stable.

But by 1991 he felt that

political reform must go forward in tandem with economic reform …[otherwise]

a lot of social and political problems will appear.

“Democratic supervision” is necessary. By 2004 he had concluded that “a market

economy under a one-party system inevitably produces corruption” and that

China’s economic growth was now “deformed.”

Zhao’s analysis of how China’s growth came to be distorted is very close to

that of He Qinglian, whose 1998 book China’s Pitfall Zhao read in

captivity.[3] In Zhao’s words,

people who hold political power use that power to control resources and to

turn the wealth of society into their own private wealth.

This happened inside a “black box,” beyond public supervision, and on “an

enormous” scale. On September 18, 1998, Zhao tells Zong:

As the market economy grows, it leads to the marketization of power and the

fungibility of money and power, which leads to large-scale swallowing up of

state resources, chaotic capital formation, extortion, and blackmail. This, in

turn, makes popular opinion boil and leads to the formation of a privileged

class, a growing gap between rich and poor, and other social problems that

only get worse the more they pile up.

Five years later Zhao observes:

The government seizes land from the people, pushing the price down to a

minimum, then hands it over to developers who sell it at a huge mark-up. It

also manipulates stocks and figures out how to siphon off society’s monetary

resources—like the savings accounts of ordinary people—using the funds for

public construction that stimulates internal demand and keeps growth high….

If people were free to shift their savings out of state banks, the savings

would flow overseas and growth would end. There could be a rush on withdrawals

and banks would be in crisis.

And where were China’s intellectual gadflies as this went on? The voices that

had been so eloquent in the late 1980s? By 2004 Zhao Ziyang saw the

intellectual elite as having been co-opted:

Economic reform has produced a tightly knit interest group that is now joined

by students who have been educated in democratic countries of the West. These

people have succumbed to power, and what we now have is a tripartite group in

which the political elite, the economic elite, and the intellectual elite are

fused. This power elite blocks China’s further reform and steers the nation’s

policies toward service of itself.

Zhao concludes that “socialism with Chinese characteristics” has produced

“power-elite capitalism,” which is “capitalism of the worst kind.” He reflects

that he had once accepted the argument that free speech is a luxury when

people have empty stomachs, but now (in 1998) sees that the two are connected:

without free speech, one gets a “deformed economy.”

hina’s common folk can see the deformed economy, and those who are losers

within it—farmers whose land has been seized, state workers who have been laid

off, retirees whose pensions vanish—have been protesting at increasing rates

since the late 1990s. In 2003 the number of “mass incidents” reported by

Public Security rose to 60,000, a sixfold increase since 1993. This rise helps

to explain the tighter controls on unauthorized speech, publication, and

assembly during recent years. In 2004 Zhao Ziyang told Wang Yangsheng:

They [in the government] are afraid. They are afraid to open even a crack,

because all kinds of unsolvable problems might then spill out. They have to

protect their interests and those of their interest group.

In New York the exiled dissident Hu Ping, editor of Beijing Spring, has noted

that when a booming economy creates a need for increased repression, as it has

in China, a favorite theory of Western politicians is challenged. Bill

Clinton, George W. Bush, and Tony Blair are all on record as predicting that

economic growth inevitably will pull China toward freedom and democracy.[4] Hu

Ping sees increased wealth for China’s elite as providing not only better

means to repress but more reason to, as resentment between haves and have-nots

grows. The result, instead of democracy, could be turmoil—or, if the

repression works, a successful monster state.[5]

Such a state would surely make use of Chinese nationalism, which Zhao Ziyang,

in his chats with Zong, comes to see as “the greatest threat” to “China’s

progress toward a modern civilization.” Nationalism has understandable roots,

Zhao felt, because of “the sting of China’s past century of foreign

encroachment and bullying.” But authorities can easily exploit this sentiment

to “ignite parochial ethnic hatred” and build “the internal unity required to

preserve stability and to consolidate rule.”

By the end of his life Zhao feels that China’s politics needs at least three

things: a free press, an independent judiciary, and an end to the Communist

Party’s monopoly of power. Without a free press, citizens turn into “loyal

instruments of authority.” As for the courts,

the experience of our own country shows that there is no good at any level,

including the top level, in political interference in the judiciary.

And on Party power:

The Party must release its right to control everything…[otherwise] other

social organizations cannot get started and cannot marshal the power to do

oversight.

The concept of “dictatorship of the proletariat” must go, and “parliamentary

democracy is the necessary way forward.”

Did Zhao hope that China might actually get these things anytime soon? At the

end of his life he seemed pessimistic. The biggest obstacle to abolishing one-

party rule, he suggests, is one-party rule. The privileged group that sits

atop China and enjoys its boom will not easily give up and, as Zhao told Wang

Yangsheng, “to confront such a large interest group would be very difficult”

even if a leader wanted to. For Zhao there was not the slightest sign that

China’s current leaders wanted to. He told Zong Fengming that

the policy of Hu Jintao and Wen Jiabao is only to hand out little favors to

the common people in order to bolster their image of “caring for the people”

without infringing any serious interests of the elite, let alone changing the

system in any way. This just will not solve the problem.

he sharpness of Zhao Ziyang’s views near the end of his life makes it more

important that we recall what we know of his thinking before 1989. For most of

the 1980s, Hu Yaobang, as general secretary of the Communist Party, had been

leading the way for political change while Zhao, as premier, attended to

economic matters. In 1987, when Deng forced Hu to resign as general secretary

and transferred the title to Zhao, Zhao clearly wanted to continue Hu’s

political work. He established a “Central Small Group for Study of Reform of

the Political System” and gave it a substantial staff. Asked at a news

conference in October 1987 what his top priority as general secretary was, he

minced no words: “political reform.”

Before 1987 Zhao had not said much that was politically sensitive. He did

allow for small-scale “capitalism”—restoration of private farming, free

markets for certain agricultural products, and partial autonomy for industrial

enterprises—as part of his plan to open the economy to market forces. But he

conceived such changes within a Marxist frame, saying “the initial stages of

socialism” needed to include capitalism. According to Zhao, Marx’s argument

that all capitalism must end in order to bring about socialism had not taken

sufficient account of the necessity of capitalist enterprise to prepare the

ground for socialism. Stalin and Mao had made big mistakes by expecting that a

socialist utopia could spring directly from a peasant society. The capitalist

stage cannot be omitted, Zhao argued, so China needed to go back and “make up

this class.” It would be, though, “capitalism under the leadership of the

Communist Party” and only a passing stage. In the early 1980s Zhao saw no

problem with the formula “capitalism plus one-party rule.”

Between 1987 and 1989, however, he had begun to see how this formula bred

corruption. Bao Tong records in his memoirs that Zhao not only realized that

democratization is the answer to corruption but further saw that corruption,

as a public issue, could be used to stimulate popular interest in building

democratic institutions. This was a truly astute insight. The Chinese populace

at the time was incensed at the growing evidence of official corruption, and

if rule-based institutions like a free press, transparent administration, and

legal procedure could be presented as instruments with which to combat

corruption, there would instantly be public support for the efforts.

How would Zhao have been inclined to move after 1989? His notions about how to

make the transition to democracy seem never to have changed much. He

consistently held that, for China, the change should happen slowly and in

stages. He cited the example of Hong Kong as showing that there can be civil

rights without electoral democracy. So one could start there: release controls

on speech and the press in China generally and encourage the establishment of

nongovernmental organizations. Give more power to the provinces, less to the

center. Then take steps to make the judiciary independent. Next press for more

transparency and democratic decision-making inside the (still-monopoly)

Communist Party. When all this is done, move toward democracy in general

elections. One reason why Zhao felt that a transition to democracy could be

carried out by an authoritarian leader was that such a thing had recently

happened in Taiwan. Zhao admired Jiang Jingguo, son of Jiang Jieshi (Chiang

Kai-shek):

Jiang Jingguo is an amazing person; he deserves to be studied carefully. He

followed a world trend and pushed democratic reform on his own. He was

educated in the traditions of KMT one-party rule, and also, for many years in

the Soviet Union, in the tradition of Communist one-party rule. That he was

able to walk out of these old modes of thought is truly impressive.

During his house arrest in the 1990s, Zhao retreated from thinking strictly in

terms of Marxist “stages of history” in favor of more varied ways to measure a

society’s progress, including by its standard of living, life expectancy,

educational level, and the size of the gap between skilled and unskilled labor

and between rural and urban ways of life. Prescient among Chinese leaders,

Zhao was worried about the effects of economic development on the natural

environment as early as 1992.

ut it is one thing to have a blueprint, another to carry it out. Here two

questions arise: Would Zhao have really pursued a transition to democracy, had

he been in power? And if so, could he have pulled it off? The first question

arises because of a general pattern, widely observable in Chinese journals in

recent years, of retired officials who, once free of the pressures of working

within the bureaucracy, suddenly sound much more liberal-minded than before.

Zhao’s house arrest may have had this effect on him, and we cannot infer that

what he thought at home is what he certainly would have done as general

secretary. There is, moreover, evidence that an ideal image of the Communist

Party of China, arising from his experience with it in the 1940s, survived in

Zhao’s mind to the end. If he had stayed in power and had peered across the

brink of actually ending the Party’s system, would he still have moved

forward?

The question is interesting but probably moot, because it is not likely that

Zhao could have had much power after 1989 even if he had accommodated Deng and

stayed on—not, anyway, before Deng died in 1997. Zhao’s talks with Zong

Fengming make it quite clear that throughout the 1980s both Zhao and Hu

Yaobang were only “frontstage characters” for Deng. All real power rested with

“the two old men,” Deng and Chen Yun, each of whom had his network of loyal

followers. Deng and Chen divided power awkwardly, controlling somewhat

different spheres but with the balance favoring Deng. Zhao reports that Deng

once sent a message to Chen that “this Party can have only one grandma.” The

seven-man standing committee of the Politburo meant even less to Deng, who

called it a “many-headed horse cart” whose meetings are a waste of time. “As

Party general secretary,” Zhao asks Zong Fengming rhetorically, “could I

change the chief of the Organization Department? The Propaganda Department? I

could not—not so long as ‘somebody’ supported him.” To fully grasp Zhao’s

predicament one needs to appreciate why Deng was using “frontstage characters”

in the first place. Why didn’t he just dictate?

Political power within the Chinese Communist system depends almost entirely on

the favor of one’s bureaucratic superiors, not on opinion “from below,” but

there is an interesting exception at the very top where no superior exists.

There, the opinion of people at the level immediately below the top can matter

considerably. If the top leader makes “mistakes,” these can be grounds on

which his rivals who are one level down can try to move him out.

Even Mao Zedong was subject to this dynamic. When his Great Leap Forward in

the late 1950s precipitated a famine that began costing millions of lives, his

“mistake” made him vulnerable. His launching a few years later of the Great

Proletarian Cultural Revolution was in large part a counterpunch at rivals who

had been holding him responsible for the famine.

Deng Xiaoping came to power in the late 1970s fully aware of the political

role of mistakes. He was charting a radical new course for the Chinese economy

and he knew that the risks involved might be tremendous. If something went

wrong he might lose power. By bringing in “frontstage” people like Hu Yaobang

and Zhao Ziyang, Deng gained not only energetic executors of his program but

potential scapegoats as well. Of course, the underlings would need to remember

who was really in charge, and in 1986 Hu seems briefly to have forgotten. When

Deng offered that year to step down as chair of the Military Commission, he

apparently expected Hu to say, “No, no, you have to stay.” But Hu unwisely

agreed to the idea. Deng then saw Hu as a usurper and nine months later Hu was

out, ostensibly for “bourgeois liberalization.”

Two years later it was Zhao’s turn to feel the pinch of the “frontstage”

position. In May 1988 Deng decided that China’s system of fixed prices should

be removed for an experimental period. Skirting Zhao, who was worried about

the dangers of doing this too abruptly, Deng began to announce to visiting

foreign leaders that China was instituting price reforms, and this left Zhao

with no choice but to go along. In summer 1988, when rapid inflation led to

panic buying and social unrest, and it became obvious that a “mistake” had

been made, Zhao, as general secretary of the Party, had to take

responsibility. In September, “representing Party Central,” he published an

official apology. Many people were left with the impression that Zhao had been

the originator of the ill-conceived reform, and his authority suffered. But

even people who knew the truth knew that it did not much matter; right or

wrong, Zhao was now falling from favor. People close to Zhao say that by 1989

he was already so weak that he might not have lasted long even if there had

been no demonstrations at Tiananmen.

Moreover, if he had wanted to keep his position beyond 1989, small concessions

to Deng would not have been enough. He would have had to completely endorse

the Deng approach, including Deng’s decision to use troops at Tiananmen. But

to do that, while still in a “frontstage” role, would mean that the massacre

could have been blamed on him. Zhao does not say in his chats with Zong

Fengming that he made such a calculation at the time, but several people close

to Zhao have said that it could—and certainly should—have been part of his

thinking.

ny doubt that the octogenarian Deng was still capable of such a maneuver

against Zhao was dispelled in 1992 when Deng stripped his longtime comrade

Yang Shangkun of his power base in the military. The purge of Yang left behind

a tripartite division of power among Party chief Jiang Zemin, Premier Li Peng,

and Party elder Qiao Shi, among whom relations were sufficiently strained that

Deng, standing above them, could still dominate.

Zhao Ziyang would not have done well in such an environment. He never

developed much of a power base even in his special field of economics. In

early 1988, a chief of the State Bureau of Price Control, whose “backstage

somebody” was Chen Yun, could still openly defy Zhao at meetings. For Zhao to

have embraced controversial political reform in the 1990s would have required

patience, persistence, and Herculean effort, and it is not clear that Zhao,

for all his other virtues, was capable of these. Some of his friends defend

his 1989 decision to quit rather than to persist by saying that his image as a

martyr turned out to be the best practical contribution he could have made to

the cause of political reform. A shining example of principle, they hold, has

more value than a doomed effort.

Still, to “predict” a counterfactual past is as risky as predicting the

future. Who knows? It is indeed far-fetched to imagine Zhao Ziyang atop a tank

proclaiming a republic, and yet there was nothing imaginary about the broad,

nationwide character of the 1989 upheaval, the government’s fear of it, or

Zhao Ziyang’s lasting association with it. Zhao’s sixteen-year house arrest

was less intended to punish him than to foreclose any possible revival of his

appeal. Could there have been any warmth left in the 1989 embers by the time

he died?

China’s top leaders apparently thought so. Within days of Zhao’s death, Hu

Jintao had formed an “Emergency Response Leadership Small Group” with himself

as chair and China’s top policeman Luo Gan as vice-chair. This group put the

paramilitary People’s Armed Police on alert, issued instructions on riot

control, and declared “a period of extreme sensitivity.” The group ordered the

Ministry of Railways to speed up the movement of people, especially students,

who were leaving the capital and to screen tightly anyone moving in. News of

Zhao’s death was kept out of the press and television. People approaching the

Zhao residence to offer condolences were screened or blocked by State

Security.

In fall 2006, when Zong Fengming’s book was about to appear, some friends of

his, including Bao Tong and Li Rui, became concerned. Beijing had just banned

several other books; the authors were coming under considerable pressure; and

Zong had a heart condition. Zong’s friends sent a delegate to suggest that he

postpone publication for a while. But Zong was unpersuaded. He was already

eighty-six years old; what could they do to him now? Moreover the book was, in

a sense, his own declaration of independence. He sent the messenger back with

this poem:

SPITTING IT OUT

—on the concern that my friends feel for me

I’m a silkworm, I just expectorate,

Cheer for the truth, nudge justice along,

And hope to leave some pure strands behind.

But I’m a free moth, too.

Broken out of the cocoon, like a Buddha-spirit

Floating aloft, untouched, untouchable.

Zong underwent heart surgery on March 20, 2007, and seems to be doing all

right.

Notes

[1] Mao himself contributed to the parlor game on July 7, 1957. In addressing

a group of writers and others in Shanghai, Mao said, according to someone who

was present, “Lu Xun? He’d either be writing his stuff in prison or else

saying nothing at all.” Huang Zongying, “Wo qinling Mao Zedong he Luo Ji’nan

duihua,” Wenhui dushu zhoubao, December 6, 2002.

[2] Sheryl WuDunn, “A Million Chinese March, Adding Pressure for Change,” The

New York Times, May 18, 1989.

[3] See Liu Binyan’s and my review of her book in The New York Review, October

8, 1998. Zhao Ziyang, although formally educated only through high school,

became an assiduous reader during house arrest and seems to have had a special

taste for “dissident” writers. He mentions He Qinglian, Wang Lixiong, Wu

Guoguang, Gao Wenqian, Gordon Chang, and others in his chats with Zong.

[4] See James Mann, The China Fantasy: How Our Leaders Explain Away Chinese

Repression (Viking, 2007), pp. 2–3.

[5] See, for example, Hu Ping, “Pochu jingji juedinglun de shenhua” (Abolish

the myth of economic determinism), Beijing Spring, No. 147 (August 2005), p.

http://lawprofessors.typepad.com … beijing_and_why.pdf

The Price China Has Paid: An Interview with Liu Binyan

By Nathan Gardels

Liu Binyan is a sixty-two-year-old writer and journalist who is regarded as

the preeminent intellectual advocating reform in China today. During the

mid-1950s and again throughout the post-Mao period, he has strongly criticized

Communist party officials for abusing their power and suppressing people’s

rights.

In the 1950s Liu wrote stories intended, in the tradition of Confucian

literati, to express the views of the inarticulate masses to the country’s

leaders. In 1957 he was, as a result, expelled from the Party and sent from

Beijing to the countryside to do hard physical labor and was prevented from

publishing. After further persecution during the Cultural Revolution, he

returned to Peking in the late 1970s to produce an extraordinary series of

investigative reports, stories, and essays that were published in Chinese

newspapers and periodicals. One of the most powerful and widely praised of

these, “People and Monsters,” published in 1979, was a report on the behavior

of corrupt Party officials in northeastern China that was seen as applying to

corruption in the Party generally. Because of such writings, Liu became one of

the main targets of the regime’s campaigns against intellectuals launched in

1981, 1983, and 1987. Along with the physicist Fang Lizhi and the Shanghai

writer Wang Ruowang, he was expelled from the Party after Hu Yaobang, the

reform-minded General Secretary of the Chinese Communist party, was demoted in

Liu’s views have gradually but radically changed since the 1950s. He has moved

away from the traditional Chinese reliance on ideological persuasion to

restrain people in power and now puts more emphasis on the need for legal and

political institutions to protect liberties, particularly freedom of the

press. While Liu remains a Marxist, he began to express such views publicly

and repeatedly during the 1980s.

No writer in the Western countries seems comparable to Liu. His position in

China resembles that of Eastern European intellectuals such as Vaclav Havel in

Czechoslovakia who, while apparently powerless, can have a deep effect on

their society. The great respect now accorded him throughout China derives

from his courage in saying what many believe and talk about privately but are

afraid to say openly. Now visiting Harvard as a Nieman Fellow, Liu was

interviewed by Nathan Gardels, editor of New Perspectives Quarterly, which

will publish a somewhat different version of the following interview later

this winter.

—Merle Goldman

NATHAN GARDELS: Fang Lizhi, the physicist, and yourself are the most prominent

intellectuals expelled from the Communist party during the reform period. Fang

Lizhi has concluded that socialism failed and Marxism is irrelevant at the end

of the twentieth century. You, on the other hand, remain a committed Marxist.

Why?

LIU BINYAN: The problem does not lie with socialism itself. The socialism

imported from the Soviet Union and implemented in China was not true

socialism. From Stalin to Mao Zedong, we have had false Marxism.

NG: The head of the Soviet Writers Union has said Stalin compromised socialism

on a world scale by his crimes. Do you feel the same way about Mao Zedong?

LIU: Stalin was the first to ruin socialism. The second was Mao. Cambodia’s

Pol Pot was the third. All of these men completely destroyed the meaning of

communism.

These men were not really Marxists at all. They ignored Marx’s basic tenet

that socialism presupposes a high level of material development. The

conditions in each of the countries where these men came to power were not

economically mature enough to build a socialist society.

If we construct a building where there’s no foundation, it’s not a surprise

when the building collapses. A society that is supposed to emerge from a

materialist theory of development cannot simply be willed into existence.

NG: Is that how you would summarize the experiences of Stalin and Mao—trying

to force socialism into existence through political power?

LIU: Yes—utopia through the barrel of a gun.

In the beginning, Lenin himself believed socialism could not happen in an

undeveloped place like Russia. He looked to revolution in advanced Germany and

Austria to lead the way. When their revolutions aborted, the need to maintain

state power persuaded Lenin to push aside the materialist science of Marxism

and attempt to establish socialism in one backward country. The result was not

true socialism.

Furthermore, there can’t be socialism without democracy. Gorbachev has now

made this tenet of Marx into an influential slogan in the ussr—”More democracy

means more socialism.” But over the last thirty years there has been less

democracy and freedom in both China and the Soviet Union. This can’t be

socialism.

NG: So, China has to develop, or redevelop, a market in order to build a more

advanced economy before it can become truly socialist?

LIU: That was even Mao’s original theory. In fact, he named the

postrevolutionary stage, during which market forces would develop the economy,

“the new democratic phase.” In 1949, Mao said China’s “new democracy” would

need fifteen to twenty years before it could change over into socialism. But

in 1953, Mao wanted to be the leader of the world communist movement so he

attempted to leap into socialism. He ignored the material reality and tried to

rush into the “glorious future.”

NG: You sound very much like Abel Aganbegyan, an economic adviser to

Gorbachev, who has remarked that everything since Lenin was a mistake!

LIU: Even though the Maoist course was premature and mistaken, there were

achievements. We built heavy industry; culture and education advanced; the

people’s standard of living was raised. But we paid a great price—twenty cents

for something that should have cost only five cents.

Perhaps our enormous suffering has contributed to humanity. We have taught

other countries not to take our disastrous path.

NG: The price China must now pay for this tragic past is the deep

disillusionment of today’s youth. What can a young person believe about the

future in China?

LIU: So many of our youth have seen nothing good since they were born. Now,

everything depends on the reform and democratization process, including reform

of the Communist party itself. I believe our youth will gradually see that

there is hope for China.

NG: What is the difference in outlook between a Chinese intellectual in 1956,

at the time of the Hundred Flowers Campaign, and an intellectual now during

the reform period?

LIU: There is a profound difference. In 1956 Chinese intellectuals still

believed in the Party. Now they don’t.

Chinese intellectuals awoke in 1956 from the slumber of Stalinist “socialist

realism,” in large part as a result of Khrushchev’s thaw in the Soviet Union.

They realized then that idealizing life in literature and the arts had been a

mistake. Instead of writing that everyone lived well, they now sought to

depict life realistically, with all the contradictions and conflicts of

socialist society that “realism” had attempted to suppress.

Paradoxically, just as this “new wave” thinking began to take hold, China

embarked on a new phase of “socialist construction” patterned after Stalin’s

industrialization of the Soviet Union. This course transformed the Chinese

Communist party into the very bureaucratic and oppressive apparatus that

Khrushchev was criticizing. The Party soon clamped down brutally on critical

thinking, which was not reactivated until after the Two Great Disasters—the

Great Leap Forward and the Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution—completely

destroyed faith in Mao and the credibility of the Party.

When intellectual life awakened in 1979, twenty-three years after the 1956

Hundred Flowers Campaign, the faith of Chinese intellectuals in the Party was

profoundly shaken.

In 1979, many intellectuals nevertheless took the new opportunity to begin

developing a theoretical framework to support the economic reforms of Deng

Xiaoping. Essays and reports published in the People’s Daily negated the era

of Mao as a total mistake. But no sooner did this begin than the Party

leadership decided that they could not allow the complete delegitimation of

Mao without endangering their own power.

Rather than a new ideological openness, Deng himself put forward the Four

Cardinal Principles in 1979 which constrain intellectual freedom in China to

this day. Those principles are keeping the socialist road; upholding the

People’s Democratic Dictatorship; respecting the leadership of the Chinese

Communist party; and adhering to Marxist-Leninist-Mao Zedong thought.

I was expelled from the Party in 1987 for breaching these principles.

NG: What on earth does Marxist-Leninist-Mao Zedong thought mean? I asked a

twenty-one-year-old student in China this question, and all she could answer

was “love the motherland.”

LIU: There are many slogans like “Marxist-Leninist-Mao Zedong Thought” in

China which are not taken seriously either by those who shout them or by those

who listen.

Over the last ten years, the more intellectuals have fought for the reforms

launched by Deng, the more they have been attacked for breaching the Four

Cardinal Principles, including the violation of Marxist-Leninist-Mao Zedong

thought. Since the reforms are totally opposed to the economic ideas of Mao,

the officials launching reforms have found it necessary to proclaim

unanimously their loyalty to the Four Cardinal Principles. In fact, these

principles, that have been put into a constitution that guarantees freedom of

thought and expression, do not belong there. I suppose these weird

juxtapositions can only happen in China.

NG: What accounts for the two-steps-forward, one-step-back nature of change in

China?

LIU: Since 1979, liberalization has occurred in an on-and-off fashion, opening

up and closing down. Virtually every year there has been a campaign against

liberalization, but each campaign gets weaker and weaker.

In 1981 there was the long campaign against Bitter Love, the film by Bai Hua

in which he exposed the people’s sufferings during the Cultural Revolution and

laid the blame squarely on Mao. In 1983 there was the Campaign Against

Spiritual Pollution which lasted only twenty-seven days. In 1987 there was the

Anti-Bourgeois Liberalization Campaign that was stopped after three months.

These campaigns all belong to a single strand of counterreform which emanates

from one faction of the leadership that is obviously getting weaker as time

goes on.

NG: But didn’t former chairman of the CCP Hu Yaobang’s dismissal last year

mean a weakening of liberalizing forces in the Party?

LIU: Even though Hu Yaobang has been removed, the forces that he represented

inside the Party have actually become stronger. They’ve expanded even in the

last year because the Anti-Bourgeois Liberalization Campaign provoked very

strong negative reactions both inside and outside the Party. The dismissal of

Hu Yaobang and the expulsion of Fang Lizhi and myself were viewed as illegal

acts against the Party and the Constitution. For the first time, people

publicly opposed a political campaign and defended its victims. They asserted

that the Party’s actions were against the Constitution.

There is another reason why progressive forces in the Party have become

stronger: the Party anticorruption, or “rectification,” program of 1983 and

1984 failed. Originally a lot of people had put their hopes in the

rectification program, because it was going to eliminate the corrupt elements

from the Party. Even some conservative-minded people in the Party wanted to

see the Party improved, and they also opposed corruption.

So, when Hu Yaobang was deposed and I was expelled, there was sympathy for our

position, even from many conservatives, because not only had the corruption

problem not been solved, but those who opposed corruption had been thrown out

of the Party! As a result, the corrupters became more brazen and attacked

those who had exposed the corruption. Their brazenness, which has become more

blatant, has upset even some conservatives who are moving closer to our side.

This realignment is key to understanding the current political situation in

China. “Conservatives” realize that opposing the free expression which exposes

corruption harms their own interests in reestablishing the credibility and

leadership of the Party. That’s why the Anti-Bourgeois Liberalization Campaign

ended so quickly.

The Party leadership also finally understood that every time it unleashed a

new campaign the economy was severely damaged. Private businessmen and foreign

investors, already nervous about Party stability, were worried; and these

campaigns only proved that the fears of the private concerns were correct.

NG: Does the Party leadership now believe that political reform is necessary

for economic reform? Or, in effect, is Deng Xiaoping for perestroika without

the glasnost?

LIU: The economic reform is a very long leg in China, while the political

reform is a very short one. One can’t proceed without being tripped up by the

other. The student movement in 1986 exploded because political reform has

hardly begun.

Actually, the first person to bring up the idea of political reform was Deng

Xiaoping. In 1980 he said we must reform the political system, fight feudalism

and bureaucracy, and expand democracy.

But it never came to pass. The resistance within the Party was too strong.

Senior officials refused to give up their positions and privileges. They are

not concerned about socialism; they are concerned only with their own

interests and that of their children and grandchildren. I think real glasnost,

or openness, will gradually come about, not because conservatives want it, but

because the people will force them to accept it.

NG: Is there another conservative reaction on the horizon?

LIU: If there is it will have different rationalizations than past campaigns.

It’s possible high inflation will be the excuse. Inflation has caused a lot of

dissatisfaction among the masses. Conservatives could use economic reasons to

attack the reforms, saying, “Look! The majority of people are suffering from

inflation while a minority who benefit from the market reforms lives well!”

That approach might be effective because people are upset about the new social

inequality and what they perceive as a falling standard of living. Peasants

are often richer than urban dwellers, and a cab driver, for instance, can make

ten times as much as a bus driver and even an intellectual.

NG: How would you compare China’s progress under reform to the Soviet Union’s?

LIU: There are many areas where conditions in China are behind those in the

Soviet Union, including political and cultural conditions, and the state of

the legal system. The Soviet Union is also riddled with corruption, but

Gorbachev has been more effective in exposing this corruption.

But we are better off than the Soviets in the sense that, after the Cultural

Revolution, nobody in China believes anymore. As a result, if a drastic reform

program is put forward in China that challenges all dogma, the people will not

oppose it the way many are opposing reforms in the Soviet Union.

Another distinction. While the Anti-Bourgeois Liberalization Campaign got rid

of Hu Yaobang, the reforms went forward. It was decreed in March 1987 that in

the elections to the local people’s congresses there would be more candidates

than positions to be filled and that the candidates can be nominated not only

by the Party but by the people themselves. If the Soviet Union were to have an

antiliberalization campaign that removed Gorbachev, their reforms would be in

real difficulty.

NG: How important for the Chinese is the Soviet experience of perestroika and

glasnost?

LIU: Very important. We are watching Gorbachev because he began his reforms

with politics and the media. He is very good at glasnost, which is exactly

what China lacks.

So we would be very concerned if Gorbachev should fail. If Gorbachev is

successful, it will encourage Chinese intellectuals and the media to demand

greater freedom. One of China’s biggest difficulties is that our problems are

always covered over. For example, China has never fully revealed the Party’s

role in the economic disaster of the Great Leap Forward in the late 1950s. We

have to open up and face our problems if we are going to fix them.

If we don’t open up, then we won’t have democracy. Democracy means the power

to choose, and choice is an illusion without information.

NG: As the substructure of the economy evolves under market reforms, the

Chinese economy will develop different strata with conflicting interests. Some

people will become richer than others; peasants will want more for their

crops, urban workers will want cheaper produce.

Won’t these different interests seek expression in multiple political parties?

LIU: Before 1957, the question of multiple parties was actually raised in

China, but for the near future I don’t think it’s possible to have multiple

parties.

China is a very special country. There is no other country with such a long

“feudal” history—two thousand years, ten times the length of European medieval

times. Furthermore, in the forty years since the revolution the Party has not

allowed opposition parties or tolerated people with different political ideas.

It has not allowed nonpolitical ideologies to spread.

As a result, it is even more difficult for a political society or organization

to appear in China than in the Soviet Union or Eastern Europe. Unless social

chaos and popular pressure develop to the degree that they render the Party

utterly powerless, a new opposition is not likely to appear. The more

realistic possibility is the evolution of pluralism within the Party.

NG: What would pluralism within the Chinese Communist party look like? After

all, there seems to be no room for critical Marxists like yourself. You were

expelled.

LIU: But so many of my comrades are still in the Party; and, because they are

in the Party, in three to five years the Party will change internally, even

though the outer shell of the CCP may not change. In fact, the Four Cardinal

Principles are themselves a statement that this outer shell cannot change. But

the insides will change. The Communist party is right now in the midst of

internal change. The Party leadership has lost control over the Party itself.

The progressive forces at different levels disregard instructions from above

when they feel they are not beneficial to their districts. So, there is room

for pluralism in the Chinese Communist party.

NG: Does that internal pluralism satisfy your idea of socialist democracy, or

are you simply admitting the upper historical limit of what is now possible in

China?

LIU: I’m not at all satisfied. But China is a country with a lot of walls,

symbolized by the Great Wall. Many changes occur behind the wall, but it is

difficult to see these changes because the wall itself is the same as before.

It’s hard to say in what form future changes will take place. Perhaps one day

the different factions within the Party will publicly acknowledge their

differences, and there will be an organizational mechanism for Party

pluralism. At present there is no organizational mechanism, but the factions

nevertheless exist and struggle without a set of rules. In the secret

elections at the Thirteenth Party Congress in the fall of 1987, in which it

was possible to choose among several candidates, several conservative

candidates lost out.

NG: What are the most important historically and politically possible reforms

that could help curb corruption and the abuse of power?

LIU: There are two vital reforms. One is to expand freedom of the press. The

other is to strengthen the legal system.

Freedom of the press means that existing newspapers, Party newspapers, have

more freedom to expose, criticize, and express different opinions. This

process has already begun. Papers such as the China Youth Daily are still

Party newspapers, but in reality they aren’t the same newspapers they once

were. For example, the president of China’s elite Beijing University, Ding

Shixun, criticized the government for not giving enough attention and money to

education. Even though the authorities were angered by this criticism, the

China Youth Daily published his speech. The editors knew they would be

censured for it, but they did it anyway. In addition, we also need to

establish independent newspapers that are outside the reach of the Party.

Interestingly enough, Beijing People’s University recently polled two hundred

high-level Party cadres. Seventy percent believed that Party newspapers were

not managed well. More than 70 percent said they did not believe the

newspapers. Thirty-four percent believed that there should be a large

independent newspaper. As the inflation continues to accelerate, the Party’s

power continues to weaken, and a relatively independent middle class emerges

in the countryside and cities, a constituency is being formed that could

support independent newspapers.

Reform of the legal system has only just begun. Previously, we had the pitiful

situation where there were no private attorneys at all, only government

attorneys. Now we at least have a small number of private attorneys who may be

able to defend victims of official abuse.

NG: After all you’ve been through, all the ups and downs, the backward and

forward patterns of reform and reaction, do you still have faith that China

can build the type of socialism that inspires you?

LIU: Yes, because of my faith in the Chinese people. We are a very intelligent

and industrious people. And we have paid such a high price—Americans can’t

understand because they have never had to pay such a price. The deaths, the

suffering, and the misfortune have forged a strength that will push society

forward.

In 1957, before our great man-made disasters, the Chinese people were not

strong enough to push forward. Now, they are.

[ 本帖最后由 曰耳又 于 2009-12-3 08:27 编辑 ]

Terminusbot 整理，讨论请前往 2049bbs.xyz

luugoo

拖延心理学：向与生俱来的行为顽症宣战】https://1984bbs.com/viewthread.php?tid=60185

2楼 大 中 小 发表于 2009-12-3 09:00 只看该作者

很多很强大~

george

思想罪在逃犯 大洋之声轮值DJ

3楼 大 中 小 发表于 2009-12-3 09:32 只看该作者

拜读了浦律师写的第一篇。很好很强大。

meitounao2008

穿人字拖去白宫！

4楼 大 中 小 发表于 2009-12-3 15:36 只看该作者

强大的文，可惜部分看不懂，有中文翻译不？？？

有关部门

5楼 大 中 小 发表于 2009-12-4 15:07 只看该作者

请问有没有中文的？

whhphd

让党员先上

6楼 大 中 小 发表于 2009-12-4 15:26 只看该作者

看不懂……

照顾好你

围观的P民

7楼 大 中 小 发表于 2009-12-4 19:36 只看该作者

谷歌翻译，凑活看~~~~

【英】纽约书评刊登的六四文章选集。内含戴晴，刘宾雁，zzy

目录+链接

内含戴晴和米尔斯基的辩论/对话

后记，序言（斗争，内存）：

http://www.nybooks.com/articles/19198

梅兆赞的叹气戴晴：

http://www.nybooks.com/articles/18304

戴庆随后的进攻米尔斯基，和米尔斯基的反击，使我感到他们都为自己的痛苦的原因：

http://www.nybooks.com/articles/18941

后来小型交流：

http://www.nybooks.com/articles/18456

马剑（我认为这似乎证实了一些事情，赵紫阳对公众情绪及其在运动显示器的作用表示）：

http://www.nybooks.com/articles/21572

讲话从较温和的领导人之一：

http://www.lrb.co.uk/v29/n13/wang01_.html

赵思考：

http://www.nybooks.com/articles/21203

罗宾曼洛的事件（附注米尔斯基被用警棍殴打）：

http://lawprofessors.typepad.com …新英格兰大学- 4 - annive.html

刘宾雁：序言，后记（注意日期）：

http://www.nybooks.com/articles/4178

鉴于有些书评校园之外的的IP地址不能查阅，我决定在此粘贴文本

“这里有一些比较容易得到的东西是重要的，以我的理解-认真，看看这些（躁狂卢克般的热情表达）。按此顺序，如果您请。”

‘六四’17年后：我是怎样保持了承诺

作者：浦志强

在2006年6月3日的周末，是在北京大屠杀17周年，也是我第一次收到了传票。同样的情况，由于警方所说的，“依法”。内两度二四小时副主任孙狄部门北京市公安局一命令我，“控制”我在警察术语，去在北京丰台区范家村派出所。这种“实际行动”，我国政府，尽管它违反了基本人权，是考虑到“稳定”，位于天安门暴力镇压所带来的支持。

我记得1989年6月4日凌晨。在几千名学生，谁拒绝驱散其他公民仍挤在烈士纪念碑在天安门广场北面。火灾的眩光一跃向上和炮火中夹杂。松树对冲的广场排队了纵火，而其扬声器尖叫媒警告。外围道路上的流血事件已经超过了任何人的票。戒严部队已采取了广场周围的阵地的舞台，等待最后的订单，主要是无形除了钢铁般的绿色闪烁，他们的头盔从火灾情况反映出来。就在那时，我转身给朋友，并认为烈士纪念碑可能很快就会看到我们的死亡，但如果没有在这个日子里，我将回到这个地方每年要记住的受害者。

帽子评论变为有些许愿一，我可能需要履行下去。到目前为止，我有。每对今年6月3日晚上，我回来天安门广场持续一段时期。我和我妻子参加一些好的朋友，并于1995年开始，带来了我们的儿子，聚集在烈士纪念碑基地，花一些时间思索。

对我来说，这些访问也引起罪恶感。政府的压力，忘记六四天，造成了在慢慢地侵蚀的记忆：每年天安门母亲似乎更孤立，而且屠杀的主题似乎更要避免在日常会话，甚至高唱“国际歌”，学生但那天晚上，已成为隐约尴尬。某懒舒适参与这项忘记，这就是为什么我感到内疚。如果我只是一直在生活懒散，采取简单的方法，我该怎么说的谋杀“暴徒的前17年的”人的灵魂？如果每个人都忘记了，我们不是敞开大门，未来的大屠杀？我们的天安门一代人正处于中年，我们的立场是，我们可以有所作为。我们不想要？至少，我的内疚使我打电话给教授丁子霖，一个天安门母亲，每6月3日从天安门广场年的领导者。它使我觉得我把她从死亡的儿子精神问候这个白发苍苍的母亲。

我知道我不是在这些情感孤独，所以我参与，我每年访问等。我的目的不是为了刺激不满。和解是好的，但它必须建立在事实基础。

今年，约9 6月2日下午，我给下面的手机短信不少朋友：

在6月3日晚上，我们将在烈士纪念碑在天安门广场聚集基地，以反映1989年后，大屠杀。其目的是提醒自己，这些事件还没有成为历史，但仍深深扎根在我们的头脑。浦志强问你在宣布支持：不要忘了大屠杀，坚持真理，促进和解的法律权利为基础。

事实上，这是一个很小的姿态，主要是在安抚自己不安的目的。

我也转发消息的低谁被指派为“我”照顾高级警官。我做了去年同期。最好是有关各方必须这样做。它可以防止造成冲击警方上级，谁如果激怒，承担起自己下属出来以及我。我没有料到，这一次我的消息将引发人们的好奇。

上午01时10吨6月3日我的电话响了。这是郑蕾主任，国家安全部队在丰台区。他曾奉命“找寻自己的方式”，到了我住的楼门口，在那里他打电话告诉我，公安局的北京市希望有一个与我聊天。他殷切希望我将“配合这个计划”。我给敷衍的抗议，但随后下楼，到人员的车了，并到范家村派出所。当我们走进大厅，我注意到黑板写着“将在养狗文明。”我不得不笑扼杀。如果我们的政府是达到养狗的“文明程度”，那么，是的，我们便可以在我们的方式向“和谐社会”，我们的领导人吹捧。

副主任孙狄和主任韩奉等着我。孙迪约6英尺高。他打了我的脾气好，但不动声色：有没有办法猜测他在想什么。他说，警方接到一宗关于我的文字信息的报告，所以他们与我交谈，以了解详情。

“我们都知道哪个地方的天安门广场是，和明天是什么日子，”他说。

“你的文字信息发送到很多人，包括不少外国和国内媒体，说你打算去那里。如果大家都去，和事情发生，又是什么？”在他的上司认为我的短信“危害稳定，”他说，因此他需要获得一些事情很清楚：我的动机，邮件内容，收件人数，以及每个收件人的身份。他请我解释一下。

我开始说，我相信没有我的收件人列表人会告诉我。我没有想到所有的人就会跑到天安门广场，或者。

“我不认为有这种魅力，”我说，“连胡锦涛也。”记者会去？中国记者早已吓得沉默这个主题，即使去，没有报告才能发表。的？外国媒体他们总是在天安门周年报告反正没有什么可以做的。人们将会有什么，我在任何情况下做自己的意见，所以没有一点让所有热，受它困扰。

然后我解释为什么我的短信转发给警方。既然我已经在其一段时间的密切监视之下，我想我也可能是什么都光明正大，并避免任何误解。但你不能剥夺他的一个人，我说，到天安门每6月3日，以纪念死者是一个承诺，我作出了自己。我去那里保持承诺，会觉得错了，如果我没有。

最后我说，我理解它是合法的，发送短信和法律在中国继续下去6月3日天安门广场。此外，没有法律禁止纪念1989年的受害者公民。既然是这样，我们的整个聊天，现在是多余的。因为你来我在半夜的建设，没有任何法律文件和一个“聊天问，”这本身就是对非法使用警权的例子。

副主任孙回答说，他希望我会降低我的个人资料1位和停止发送所有的地方的文字信息。 “如果你想要去的话，只是静静地去，”他表示。

“这有什么需要的文字信息？”他承诺不会限制我的行动，但他可能会指定一些人陪同保护我“。”

“好，”我说。

“我明白。”然后，我问孙转达他的上司，我自己的承诺，虽然我认为在大会，游行，示威“是在中国宪法的侵犯中国的”法，我会事先提出书面申请，如果我曾有过计划“集会，游行或示威。“但由于我目前的计划是纯粹个人的事情，因为天安门是一个公共空间，警察对我的运动障碍是违宪。也请告诉你的上司，我说，我希望政府将最终正视历史，解决“六四”的问题。一个使世界相信，在这个问题上不能永远持续下去，并产生相当多的蔑视。

我们的聊天结束大约上午03时00分。主任程蕾看到我回家。但是，这不是它的结束。

在上午十点20分，警察叫我回家告诉我，我不能出去。这意味着，如果他们不这么说了，这孙迪的几个小时前的承诺已不再有效。虽然我的一半，预计这一消息，这激怒了我。我下楼遛狗。三，从国家安全部的丰台区巡警在执勤已经在我的门。他们则从浑身脏兮兮的睡眠不足。我打电话从现场孙娣。由于他打破了他的诺言，我别无选择，只能发出一个文本消息，说明事实，我说。我希望，他会保持联系，但都与我和他的上司，做他无法打破他的话太巨大损害。至少，我说，他应该帮助我继续我每年访问天安门今晚的承诺。然后，我走的狗。

警方在竞走加入我，后来我请其中之一，我与他相当熟悉，前来吃午饭楼上。我的老母亲的家，我们没有经常有客人，所以她很高兴有一个。她特别饺子，年轻的警察被轧饺子皮了。我忙于撰写有关“的故事，我已别无选择，只能告诉我的短信息。”

hortly后，下午1点00主任程蕾又出现在楼下。他呼吁他的电话邀请我来，为“另一个聊天。”余吞并了几个饺子，按下“发送”我的短信，他深入到看到他穿着T恤，短裤和拖鞋。他也看短睡眠。他告诉我，我需要回落到警察局再次，由于一些市级官员要见我。

“他们为什么不来这里？”我问。 “看，清朗，是吗？”

“你知道这些事情是不取决于我，”郑说。 “你能削减的问题，只是’协调’我们了吗？”

我看到了什么事情。为了保证我不会看到，在烈士纪念碑基地晚上，警察将要“陪我的时间”了一段时间。他们从上面的“阻挠”我的个人计划的指示，但不能明显地这样说。

人民等着我是江杰，张部公安局市局一开俊。孙迪稍后加入。江杰，是中国人民公安大学1996年毕业，是能力和效率图片，但是，像他的同事，跳过的任何法律文件证明的一步。他们的正式议程仍然是一样的：他们想打听我的短信息，我的动机发送它，收件人列表。但是他们的真正目的，显然是“捆绑”我的时间。

江杰首先介绍说，派遣这样的文字信息，在这样的时刻，危害稳定，并产生的后果。这就是为什么他要得到什么都清楚。

我回答说孙娣打破了他的话。然后我询问是否发送短信，去天安门广场，或纪念六四是非法的。谁，我问，其实是犯了法？正如我没有权利强迫别人纪念六四，因此政府无权禁止我这样做。不过，我说，就是你正在做的。如果我们的规则走，我没有“协调”与你一起，我们可以结束，我们在这里聊天。

超声聊天做下去，整个下午，的房间变得沉重与香烟的烟雾。时不时地，我们讨论过的一些法律问题，但大部分的议题在别的地方。我问他们拘留中心的犯人可以吃小麦煎饼和面团滴汤这些天，或者如果他们仍然生存玉米球。警察提供了自己的许多问题：他们的薪酬如何低，促销是不可能的，以及它们如何总是要加班，因为有太多的案件。我开玩笑说他们，如果他们干得不错“所附的”我，他们可能会提高。去年，年轻人谁被分配到24小时左右与我在“敏感时期”后，赵紫阳的

死，晋升此后不久，在几十人的副站站长。

约6或7点，晚餐后框四周，他们要“做我的传票一种形式”。

“传票？你的意思是这是传票？”我问。 “对我来说也很更像一个绑架。”我告诉章开骏，如果我早知道这是一个正式的传票，我会希望律师。

章启月回答说，他是立足于条的人民共和国刑法典中国82对治安管理自己。

我说，我是用来非法拘留“聊天”，但从未收到传票到庭。因此，便请他给我读文章说，那是什么？他也没有看过，但拿给我。

“你错了，”我说后，通过它一眼。 “这里说的，一个可发出传票’依法’后，才发现，一个人的行为已违反了公共秩序的刑法典。我的行为却没有。”

警方回应时表示，第82条只是一个程序性规定。 “如果你不同意我们在做什么，你可以在你的声明。详述”

所以，我“协调”了。我回答他们的问题，指出，在经过，他们已经触犯法律。他们做着笔记。最后我贴我的签名和指纹他们的书面记录，明确指出，他们漏掉了警察的非法行为只字不提。

那时我开始让细胞在天安门广场从朋友的电话谁知道我在那里。别的东西奇怪的事情，他们说。前几年警方清晚上9点以后的某个广场上，但今年他们已经shooing

8日人了。我向我的朋友说在一个警察局，绑架“依法”为七，八个小时，并应注意不要陷入困境。

晚上九时三十分孙娣要求我签名我的名字“确认”我的传票曾在10日结束。它已开始在下午2点30分，他说，只要8小时之内结束这是合法的。我祝贺他的使命，这是，因为他和我知道，我的计划，以挫败去天安门他成功完成。在我的身边，虽然，半日在警察局拘留令我感到如果我有，事实上，保持我的诺言记住大屠杀的受害者。

我提醒孙迪说，计数在半夜传票两个小时，是一天超过8个。这不是在工作中摇摇欲坠的脆弱性？

“上午不是传票，”他说。 “这只是一个私人聊天。”

在周日，6月4日中午，我走进我的律师事务所办事处做一些超时工作。两名警察，分配到“保持总体稳定，”跟着我。

-译林培瑞

注释

总书记1987-1989年的中国共产党丢脸，并被软禁1989年6月举行的，直到他2005年1月17日死亡。

中国：恐惧的用途

作者：乔纳森米尔斯基

天安门歌舞团：监狱回忆录及其他著作

由戴晴，翻译和南希羊流，彼得兰德公司和劳伦斯河沙利文，编辑，由伊恩布鲁玛前言

EastBridge，162页。，24.95美元（纸）

灌输在整个人口死亡的恐惧是对中国毛泽东持久的贡献之一，自20年代末。在戴晴，对中国的尖锐批评者之一1989年以前的情况，恐惧，似乎可以解释的悲哀改造她写作，但从来没有清楚地看出在天安门广场歌舞团承认。被捕后，她承认，并获得自由，她对当时政权写了不同的声音。

戴青的改造，在1942年毛什么的首席折磨和提取口供被称为“成为自觉的”，其原因，其后果是没有明确的笔译和她的文章中提到的收集器。然而，有一个如何精神迫害鲜明的例子，如此严重，必须被称为酷刑，可能导致抛弃一生的信念。在戴晴的情况下，她担心的执行和自杀的念头。

致命的灌输恐惧，毛泽东崇拜的过程，当他看见农民折磨和杀害于1926年在湖南的地主，他的家乡，[1]是完善在1942年在延安，他的游击队总部。没有人形容的“整风运动”比耶鲁的阿普特和哈佛大学的革命话语的托尼赛奇毛的共和国。[2]

1994年，作者采访了各行各业，包括农民和诗人，谁曾经历150人延安考验，其中一些人的“愤怒的寡妇的丈夫”，谁也无法生存。

“极少数的受访者是从身体虐待和辱骂豁免，如果不是在此之前在文化大革命期间，”写阿普特和塞奇。

所有幸存的学习，保持缄默，除了鹦鹉适当的路线，使用完全相同的单词，短语，以及当局纵容表达式。

这种赤贫和长期服从制作由供认其次恐怖。毛泽东在延安的提取信息主人康生，培训了谁的秘密警察，身着黑色制服。他认为是“忏悔的形式，将使个人的怀抱回的自白。”对他的受害者，他说，

为什么共产党这么多工夫来拯救你？当一个人承认自己在党，我们立即删除有关他的证据，…，我们高兴地看到，他已成为自觉….最后，我警告那些人谁不想承认，我们保持了宽松的政策，但宽容有限制的。

而且，正如1942年在延安整风集中党的努力，确保通过恐惧，在极端的忠诚和对受害者的默许，从而也天安门事件后，1989年6月4日。今年1月，该政权试图制止后，赵紫阳在1989年党的总书记谁软禁与同情天安门示威者被逮捕的15年死亡的情感澎湃。赵都知道了全国逮捕和为在1989年春在全中国数百名参加其他起义谴责这些处决，全面地描述詹姆斯铁迈尔斯在天安门遗产。[3]除了“危害国家安全”和类似的罪行，200天安门积极分子被关押的中国去年的数百名据称仍被关押在监狱，谁都职位谁在互联网上关于1989年重要讲话风险逮捕。

因此这是一个与戴晴的8短文和信件，都与天安门事件后，她可怕单独监禁7个月，它被称为天安门歌舞团，立即困难。歌舞团是愚蠢的，没有用处，而且考虑不周的事情，或轻娱乐。这些话没有适用于天安门事件。但是，标题天安门歌舞团不仅仅是一个出版商的发明。戴晴至于如何在天安门广场发生的错误，作为双方的示威者和政府，她感到遗憾的是她自己的系列，非常微小的，在其中的一部分。

uring在秦城监狱，她被指控参与的阴谋，最终，她以什么起初似乎温和的责备她的月公布。特别是她的拘留是不公平的，因为她很少与天安门抗议。大多数北京在1989年春天从知识分子保持示威的距离。很明显，从戴晴的叙述，她知道什么是几乎在广场上发生什么。她认为学生们尊重地对待她，因为她接受了这个政权她直言不讳的作品而闻名。事实上，标志举行了在广场上，要求“戴晴在哪里？”

5月19日，当她与示威者用一两个小时，她被一些嘲笑对待。

这是不公正的。戴晴的1989年5月之前的生活，堪称典范。

1941年出生（她原来的名字叫傅鲵嗯），一个党的烈士的孩子，她提出了叶剑英，对中国革命元帅之一，和家人，她说，一个“[中共]党的公主。

“她收到了在火箭科学精英教育，对型导弹的工作，她说，这是针对美国的，她承认她是一个间谍培训。当她2003年，“我是如此忠于党。我非常忠于毛泽东，我想，我要死如果毛泽东早已需要我死。”[4]但是，在她30年代后期，她决定要成为一个作家，她写了她作为一个独立的思想家的声誉。她的独立是她的主要质量，伊恩布鲁玛在他写了简短的介绍。

1978年，她开始作为对光明日报，常常呼吁知识分子过奖成为新闻记者她的职业生涯。她开始在各种主题写作。用她的高党的历史知识水平，表现出多长时间，以及以何种方式，在党一直在迫害批评。最令人吃惊的是她的王渭，一个知识分子谁批评党内在延安期间，毛泽东的游击天腐败命运的分析。她在1988年的文章，“王室韦，’野生百合，’”[5]表明，王是错误的，是一个托派和蒋介石指责蒋介石的间谍，并于1947年被斩首，而一些涉及这些他现在的情况在中国的领导人。她说，也对储安平的光明日报，谁在1957年成为在反右运动的受害者编辑器。她谴责党“为”世界，正如普林斯顿大学的林培瑞指出的，它的“慢粉碎”的“自由主义在几乎任何形式的。”[6]

1989年戴晴链接，告诉教授1936年和1946年之间，也许万共产党人，被托洛茨基主义者和间谍指控是“’消灭’了溺水，活埋，或肮脏的监狱中死亡。”[7]

也许戴晴最著名的公共生活的贡献是扬子，扬子，[8]她揭露的腐败和长江三峡大坝工程对环境的破坏杂文编辑集合。她谴责中国领导人谁

不知道与一个国家和一个家庭的区别。对他们来说，大坝很有趣，就像他们的大玩具。它给了他们很大的面子….所有这一切对我来说，“国家信誉”企业，在奥运会或任何地方，很浅，秕糠。[9]

在1989年3月戴晴是一项要求政府请愿，要求签名者之一，让更多的政治自由，并停止对他们的思想监禁的人。赵紫阳下令任何报纸应当公布的请愿书，或6个月，撰写的签名的任何条款。

在西方，我们已经习惯于在过去和公共生活的启示，我们的价值和举报人，但这种行为在中国是罕见的，谁使擅自披露有关侵犯的危险。其相应的作用，因此，具有爆炸性。戴晴有生动的描述是：

要理解为什么中国读者可以在一个如此小的文章感兴趣，你应该想象与所有的色彩绘制黑房住。如果遮荫上涨，就是一个裂缝，进入了光，突然非常有趣。每个人都会急于寻找。在一个房间里的人通常会发现光射线一样平淡无奇。

但它不是单纯的好奇心，戴晴争辩。人们想知道：“我们是如何进入这个地步？但我们有什么错？”

艾青，那么，是一个自由的发言权，至少在10年前1989年6月。那么，为什么它，伊恩布鲁玛在他的介绍，可以认为

她[有]结果被信任，甚至各方痛恨。政府视为危险的，颠覆她的自由，并作为建立傀儡谁在阻挠理想的学生。

天安门歌舞团，但是，带出了戴晴转型什么。它包括，而是对她入狱短文，其中包括她的自白。一个脚注零星的翻译，她确定几个典故，几乎没有什么令人钦佩的是她的过去说。她的编辑之一戴晴解释说，她的读者希望弄清楚自己的文字意味着什么没有一个专家解释。这是非常不同的作家谁作出清楚的解释，她的声誉，以往的做法。编辑也不正确，例如她的发言，她的错误，魏京生，中国最著名的持不同政见者被扑灭一次日记，但事实上，他在监狱中。

正如人们所预期的制度下，毛泽东提出了供词，建议戴晴不止一次地煽动非法团伙拥有天安门起义，她让一个秘密提到“一个谁最终背后’有计划的阴谋。”这将她已编辑和翻译容易要求戴晴这是谁，还是她仍认为有这样一个人。她还暗示，这里的黑暗势力，从而体现党的传统的建议，即任何一种有组织的行为感到痛惜的“黑手”的结果。然而，在她的另一戴晴短文一还驳回了阴谋的想法，嘲笑为“不小心党的”有计划的阴谋官方意见“，”邓小平的批评的意见，“一切都在他的窗口，在天安门[蒸腾]是生产这种’阴谋’。“

我同情戴晴的混乱。我在天安门广场从几乎直到6月4日开始杀害的示威和外国观察员和中国的参与者，其中许多人是工人和北京市民，谁的，只能勉强在她的书中提到，这是不可能的知道是谁，如果任何人，是指导示范，以及该制度的态度。直到5月20日和宣布实行戒严，当局正在保持沉默。也不是我们认识到在其他城镇类似的示威活动在北京越来越多。我们的记者看到，惊讶地，是法律和秩序的正常北京部队已几乎完全消失了。有没有看到警察，虽然卧底必须在场。我们知道有城外的部队，我们知道他们往往是通过拉近了北京的隧道网络。我们都知道如何做到这戏剧将结束。

我同意戴晴的估计：

当时，我的意见是，政府效率低下，实在太麻烦回应学生….如果有这种能力的领导人，他们被压抑的原因是根本不同的意见最高水平。无论哪种方式，不同的印象，临走时留下的一个是无视我国政府提出的冷酷无情本身造成更多的人更加愤怒的好青年。

这一观点已得到许多来源，包括天安门文件，[10]政府自己的谴责赵紫阳，和广大qingcha，或揭露，参与其中的天安门到1990年持续。

但是，戴晴迅速削弱了自己的见解，在未来的时候，她建议，一句“谁是在’有计划的阴谋’是涉及了他们的能源储存的黄金机会等待。”她使毫无根据的指控和可耻，像王丹，谁是大约7年监禁后，天安门，是由真正的主谋，他们的名字，她没有操纵的学生领袖。她是否仍然认为“如果部队已在这个时候提出[1989年4月]的情况会很快得到解决”？

埃雷戴晴不理会，发生在1989年春天，一个全国性的运动，其中天安门是最重要的一部分，但只是其中的一部分，如果她不知道这一点，她是否认为抗议活动引起全中国的命名的，阴谋？事实上，没有戴晴仍然相信她说，她对1989年5月在香港电台：“我支持宣布戒严法”，于5月20日发生的-

“，并建议戒严部队执行命令立即，一种是我多次重申。“她想什么时候会发生军队进入广场？那些谁汇编戴晴的文章采取任何在这些方面的兴趣，特别是在戴晴的相互矛盾的陈述，一个严重的社论失败。编辑们玩到了举手中，其中一些人现在住在美国的安全，谁在天安门，现在谴责天安门前不离开，或者甚至更严重，对“不稳定中国”，非常负责的示威者党使得这一天。与此同时，政权逮捕那些谁使用互联网呼吁关于天安门事件平反。

多少更有价值的这本书本来，如果编译器已经愿意呼吁戴晴，在她访问美国，她的意见如何改变，她回想起来认为。她在一次短暂的访问，于5月14日晚平方米，她和著名知识分子北京一小撮试图说服学生离开。她说，她告诉了一个会议的基础上与一些相对高级官员当天早些时候的学生，说：“总理[黎澎]和党的总书记已同意要见你。”学生拒绝了戴晴持平。[11]

灰心，她回家，她数天之久。不点名，她贬低其他学者，“谁是花费大量的时间在’民主运动发挥多大。”她承认，大多数北京市民“大力支持的学生。”但她反对大规模调整，她说，示威者要求，其中包括向民主的转变，因为所需要的，在她看来，是小渐进的改革。她担心，正确的，因为它发生的，说，“情况可能完全失去手的灾难将降临每一个人。”像王丹和魏京生更强大的民主派人士驳斥了这种渐进主义，有时在中国形容为“新权威主义”，作为一个陷阱，将维持权力的独裁者。

然而天安门歌舞团不仅对在天安门事件的评论中重要的书，而是因为它告诉我们如何对待中方一位杰出的囚犯。

6月4日1989年，当军队进入天安门广场，戴晴，谁曾会死了毛泽东，并且是党的“孩子”，辞去了。

7月14日被捕，她被带到秦城，北京的精英政治犯的监狱。她考虑她的逮捕，监禁，和忏悔是她的书的真正有价值的部分。她被捕后，戴晴告诉朋友，她的头发变成了白色。

戴晴传达了有说服力的细节，但不是所有“辩”作为书的封面所说的那样，故意，而且越来越恐怖，这样的中国安全部门密切在受害者中，傣族精心假礼貌的情况，以及如何迅速，即使在五星级秦城监狱一样，恐惧占有压倒性的优势。这是不正确的说，作为一个译者注状态，她使“没有全面的供认或悔恨的表现。”事实上，这本书作出的夹克和文字清晰，戴晴也承认，并表示后悔。

2。

这本书首先在7月中旬1989年，一个多月后的天安门事件和戴晴从党辞职。政府已经公布了21名单“通缉”的学生和其他领导人，并有大量的谣言，“有些牵强，有些很可怕，”本逮捕或该人。戴晴透露，北京一家报社将发表在面临即将被逮捕人名单她的名字。她和其他人立即要求自己的问题，已成为熟悉当他们得知这些名单即将公布：请问你的名字前面的标题，比如，你被称为“同志”？

（赵紫阳被称为“同志在其短暂的正式死亡通知，这意味着他没有被纳入政治黑暗外投。”页是根据什么在报纸上，有多大公布清单）是字体，并在不你的名字出现在名单上？

戴晴听到她的名字将是第五或在十二学者和作家排在第六。 “是的。这种排名，你的命运取决于人心向背”她开始思考监狱：

我是他们的大棋盘上的沙只是粮食….我无法控制自己的命运。我唯一的希望是，我将被允许保持不变，而不是被压成碎片。

7月13日，“一个警察”来到她的公寓，他给没有确定，虽然他是平原。他问她是否会在第二天回家。他说：“这么多的话我的客人告诉我，’明天我们计划采取行动，我们想知道你会’。”第二天早上从邻居老妇罩监督委员会，通常称为“警察的奶奶“-到达，查询分娩戴晴的计划。她当然希望确保戴晴在家中，傣族是无法抗拒说：“也许你已经忘记了多久时间以来，我通过了生育年龄。”

她是在她丈夫和女儿面前日晚被捕。仍然相信她不会被定罪，因为她“在天安门广场设置了脚”只有一次，在之前宣布实行戒严，戴晴，她写道：“没有，我被送到秦城，最臭名昭著的监狱的想法在中国政治犯。“她回忆说，国家非常高层次的敌人已被锁定在各种制度中，在秦城了。一些，她记得，是前安全，谁自杀有军事权贵。

fter监狱里的一天，戴晴开始放弃，她希望中国的后毛泽东改革派可能正确对待她。

“什么，”她问自己，“如果他们现在需要制造恐怖，涉及整人的气氛？”她似乎是指一般的做法在后的指责他们没有做过的事情囚犯毛泽东时代，总是援引一些法律。著名的说法，她自己报价，“裁决第一，审判后，”证明了这一点。她被允许获得批准的书籍数量有限，要在一个开放的空间（在那里她从来没有看到另一名囚犯），她可以听收音机。但她不得改变站上，她听到关于如何提高蜗牛和西方音乐的赫伯特冯卡拉扬进行讲座。

她估计，大约有30名囚犯在秦城，她是存在的。她写道，她钦佩的耐心，廉洁卫士，纪律，他们的“不透水[岬]的欲望。”他们表现出的“文明和人类的程度。”其中一人告诉她，“不要担心，我们所有的家庭在这里。”一个“惊人的英俊的”少壮派与的聊天记录了她对溜冰和弹吉他，并允许她看他的耳朵上的疤痕。

在她的重建帐户，她想见的走向在秦城监狱的重要警卫体面的行为体现了“一般方法毛泽东，周恩来”。这听起来像渴望的不是幻想或试图表明她是爱国的，没有人与她以前的作品不熟悉的可以阅读怀疑它。[12]她说，她知道有“黑暗和有毒”审讯党的过去，但她现在相信，它们不再存在，一种错觉，当我们考虑到在发生些什么关于天安门事件后，以全中国大多数囚犯。她形容自己的审讯法律道德的培训，她感到遗憾的是“没有人知道外面对像我负责此案的调查工作…高品质的一次尝试，他们从来没有把我强迫或哄骗证据，即使我表现出’态度恶劣。“在她的全面坦白和悔改，本声明空洞光。戴晴表示出于安全的“负担”，她的审讯肩膀：坏之间过去和现在的改革被困，他们知道，很多人都看着他们的同情。进步的标志之一，她写道，如果中国将不再坚持它没有政治犯。

不久，她开始做最坏的估计，重判，她想知道，如果她将被执行。尤其是不公平的，她写道，因为她是反对推翻现行制度。她主张“开明专制”，并担心一个革命性的变化会比现在的“目前的政治秩序更糟。”至于这个制度会带来改变，“我一直认为，这仅仅是军队的领导谁有能力在中国转变成一个更加开放系统的传统领导地位。”这是一个令人吃惊的信念，而她没有提供进一步的解释或证据。同样的编辑和翻译不询问时，她组织了这个看法，她是否仍然持有它。但是，党在前进，她强调，她希望天安门学生被愿意接受特许权，各国领导人将不再进口豪华车。

在她的账户戴晴几乎完全显示，在整个中国的东西，实际上示威者要求的无知，虽然她很清楚无情的制度，她长大知道。她描述了破旧的记录，与1942年整风运动中，数千名被处决，并开始通过移动破坏性越来越大的“运动”和“运动。”她认为，“经过几代人失去了独立思考的能力，他们的基本人权。”这是不足为奇，那么，她假定她的律师朋友都不会说话的她，在任何情况下对她的审判将是一个“走过场”。她担心超过15年的刑期，魏京生的判决，而不是两个法律似乎令。

到1989年底，审讯继续下去，她认为监狱没有出路了，她认为自杀。康生的方法，从秘密警察的教训和在延安介绍，起到了作用。所有这些是必要现在是自白。

今年1月，她被告知，她将离开单独监禁，并会在“监视居住放置”，这意味着她能住在北京的几个地方一般情况下，虽然几乎不在家。她是第一次提出了退休的秦城警卫人员宿舍继续她的手表。这是在那里，她写这本回忆录，其中，她说，是未经审查的，虽然她从来不说，官员是否看过。她出狱，90年5月9日，只有“在’错误的’支持和参与’英寸..’的政治风暴指责。”

译者添加的说明：1991年1月戴晴说香港杂志，“你可以说我的发布成为一个巨大的监狱，他们已经让我的小监狱了。”这显然是对的，但是她的遭遇下依然有点神秘。首先，她被转移到几个不同的地点，显然使她无法说话美国国务院官员谁想要看望她。然后，很突然，她被允许去作为哈佛大学尼曼研究员。她仍有她说，一些她从警卫隐藏著作（虽然我们从来没有告诉如何），并在这些隐藏的监狱的文章，她袭击的人谁，她说一个是“挑衅”天安门。她不说，其中，王丹，将很快转入哈佛大学后1比她更长的刑期。

他在天安门歌舞团去年散文包括戴晴的供词以及可能被教派的材料说明。正是在这里，翻译’的字条索赔“，她没有打小报告”，她表示没有任何悔意。这显然是错误的，尽管没有任何人戴晴谴责，因为她受到的指控的证据。发生了什么是戴晴已在党的最古老的凯旋条款之一，“上交”，或如康生所说的那样，她“已经变成自觉。”她愿意说的事情是不可思议前，她被逮捕。

她的名字的政治活动家的名字，并指控她的行为没有证据。她说，天安门示威者希望人们在广场上死，使情况变得更糟。本书的翻译不要求任何证据或解释她。唯一的期望，而不是希望本人的死亡是由仔岭，学生领袖之一，在表达的天安门，其中，显然用尽拍摄采访知识，她说，她希望军队杀死广场学生。为此，她说，这会告诉世人知道中国是这样，但是她逃离之前发生的事，因为她知道她是一个目标。这次采访造成柴玲的声誉受到损害。但她说什么，尽管柴蓠嗯留在广场整个6月3日和4和杀戮及其结算的军队早在第四上午。然后，她逃离中国。

至于悔恨，戴晴坦承她感到遗憾的是几乎所有的她从1989年4月就做。她说，虽然学生在争取社会正义的要求，真诚的，

我没有遵守，或者也许，遵守和不承认，这一代大学生的许多弊病，特别是缺乏对他们的理性精神的一部分，他们无法克制情绪时，激起了。

指的是她用“出乎意料的令人眼花缭乱的话自己的路”，她宣布，她表示她的意见“没有多少真正的思想或仔细考虑肆意….这是绝对错误的思想作风，我们的毛主席曾经批评。

“在什么就像是康生的是“意识观念彻底胜利的声音，”她承诺

再也[的]涉及政治问题，我也表达对重要事项的意见，尤其是因为我不再是一个共产党员。

1989年11月，戴晴从监狱审讯听到“她会是其中极少数是’执行’。”我想在纽约书评或其评论的读者很少会拒绝合作，在这种压力。我们也很可能会承认，并表示悔意。在任何情况下不戴晴的相反她宣布，她将尽。她打破了她的自白承诺再也发表意见的重要政治问题。她撰写大力和虚假，天安门事件。

她的书就是一个很好的例子背弃了承诺。但更重要的，这是一个可怕的精神，例如如何酷刑和对死亡的恐惧可以持久的损害。戴晴的治疗由看守和审讯她说，她领导的钦佩，她获释后，到天安门学生，她现在是如此众所周知的公开谴责秦城。她说：“我与中方很多妥协[]，现在我有权利生活在这里的美国[]。”[13]这应该说是一个不同寻常的特殊地位，特别是当我们认为从天安门镇压谁无法返回中国的难民，因为戴晴能够而且确实。

荣的野生天鹅，其强大的对毛泽东的书刚刚在伦敦出版，作者：张[14]最近指出，“中国必须在世界上最创伤的人。恐惧是民族精神的嵌入式。”[

15]只有戴晴知道肯定发生了什么事，她秦城监狱。但该名女子曾称颂中国最无畏的和有效的调查记者发生了变化，她的书，如果仔细阅读，建议的原因。她继续生活在恐惧导致她的头发变成白色。

注释

[1]毛泽东政权的道路：革命著作，1912至1949年，由斯图尔特施拉姆和南希霍德斯（我的夏普，1994年），卷编辑。 2，页。 425ff。

[2]哈佛大学出版社，1994。

[3]美国密歇根大学出版社，1996。

[4]“戴晴，环保，作家，中国，”商业周刊在线，1999年6月14日。

[5]戴晴，王室韦，“野百合”：物化和肃反在中共42年至44年，由大卫E阿普特和蒂莫奇克（我的夏普，1994年）编辑。

[6]林培瑞，在北京晚报聊天（诺顿，1992），第146。

[7]链接，在北京晚报聊天，第147。

[8]国际河流网络，1991。

[9]链接，在北京晚报聊天，第209。

[10]作者：张良由黎安友和林培瑞，编辑的，编制了后来的奥维尔谢尔（公共事务，2001年）。看到我的评论，说：“关于天安门事件的真相，”纽约书评，2001年2月8日。

[11]链接，在北京晚报聊天，页。

144-147。梅尔波士顿大学高盛还讨论了戴晴的前1989年的著作，并设置了更广泛的播种的种子在中国的民主：在邓小平时代（哈佛大学出版社，1994），第政治改革政治的范围内。

284ff。有关这些著作的选择，包括色情短故事“性感夫人，”见Geremie Barme和琳达贾温，新鬼，旧的梦想：中国反叛之声（时报书籍，1992年）。

[12]详细研究毛泽东和周恩来是如何对待政治犯看到迈克尔舍恩哈尔斯的“中央案件的审查组，66年至79年，”中国季刊卷。 145（1996），页。

87-111。

[13]“我的图书被禁止。但我可以说在外面，”商业周刊在线，1999年6月14日。

[14]将公布克诺夫在美国10月。

[15] BBC电台3，“Nightwaves，”2005年5月25日。

信函

2006年4月27日：Geremie Barmé，’天安门歌舞团’：一个Exchange

05年11月17日：昂格尔，戴晴的案例

‘天安门歌舞团’：一个Exchange

由Geremie Barmé，戴晴，答复梅兆赞

在回答中国：恐惧的使用（05年10月6日）

对于编辑：

在他的著作我的监狱英文翻译的审查，天安门歌舞团，梅兆赞[NYR，2005年10月6日]也能在我的工作有关的索赔件数和我公开的立场之前都，自，北京屠杀1989年6月4日，对于一些评论的电话。

根据他的天安门歌舞团读，先生米尔斯基达到两个结论。首先，共产党雇用的情绪酷刑和处理恐怖相同的方法当局的监禁，作为1989年天安门事件的结果，因为他们没有在延安“抢救运动20世纪40年代”。第二，他断言，20世纪90年代中国在这些方法仍然有效，或者至少他们被证明是如此，是那本书的作者而言，这就是说，我自己。因此，米尔斯基先生声称，虽然我写在过去的一些有价值的东西，我入狱后，我放弃了我的前到信仰所吓倒。

关于我的真相是完全相反。尽管我对在监狱的预定已被列入名单的人将被处决，我整个的考验仍然决心坚持我的信念。当我被释放了在1990年，我采访的外国记者向我宣布，在世界各地出版，说：“你可以说我的发布成为一个巨大的监狱，他们已经让我的小监狱从监狱。“我一直在说，写在我的直率的方式发布以来不断对中国面临的环境危险，对敏感问题的镇压，在中共党的历史，并在同样敏感题材广泛。因此，有一点我是软禁拘留，并在另一个我被放逐到海南岛在中国最南端。

在他的回应从Geremie河Barmé和昂格尔在纽约发表的评论编辑[05年11月17号]信先生米尔斯基重复他以前对我表达了要求和希望听到我的直接。嗯，我有以下地说：

在他的反应米尔斯基先生表示，“三峡文章，正如我指出的，非常好，但她之前在监狱的时间写的。”他试图证明，我一直保持沉默害怕。当然，这是与事实不符。

入狱之前，我本人只产生了一本有关三峡大坝，长江编辑成册，长江（南宁：贵州人民出版社，1989）。下面我从监狱释放，我编辑的另一个工作，Shuide长江（字面意思是“谁拥有长江？”）一书，该书在中国出现，通过牛津大学出版社于1993年在香港。该项工作的英文版出版于1996年在河龙来了冠军。

关于我的公开反对三峡工程，例如，我认为，任何与中国在我的工作，兴趣，甚至是一对中国环境的命运表示关注的读者，会很容易能够我发现已发表在国际主流媒体和中国自1992年以来在互联网上多篇文章。

此外，十几年来我给演讲，主题演讲和谈判，与许多国家的三峡大坝，虽然在这样一个场合，在越南，我的发言是在最后一刻由于中文官方政府的压力取消。我最近与这个问题的介入是在2005年10月。我能有机会在北京的一些在三味书屋在长安街，中央北京15年来第一次公开讲话。我讲的题目是“三峡和环境。”这个讲话的中文全文被张贴了一个星期，然后被当局删除了网页。然而，无论是英文和我的谈话内容的英文版本，提供便捷的服务在国际互联网上。

关于我与其他有争议的问题时刻接触，我在这里重复我在天安门10周年表示在费正清中心哈佛大学举行的99年5月13日纪念座谈会。我告诉我的听众说：

我已经失去我在中国的声音，我已经失去了真正的观众，我的支持者和批评，在中国，和我一直是一个公开和公众参与的机会直接被剥夺我的世界。然而，尽管我一直在减少，因此，我并没有放弃希望。我也从未考虑到时尚的意见和中国的胜利，无论在中国和美国本身在这里简单的漫画。

在中国，我拒绝口在于政府对1989年，我不会不加批判地唱权力的赞扬，持有和他们在这10年所做的。

在这里，在美国，我不会鹦鹉简单的口号，这么极端的言论，美国许多媒体美食英寸我拒绝扮演头脑简单的持不同政见者，我不屈服于轻率的陈旧观念，使许多公共在这个国家奉行的数字时，对中国讲，我不会以一些批评，除非你直接装入和挑衅挑战共产党，你只不过是拍马屁的权力不负责人的原油索赔。

在我自己有限的方式，我想还是书写和会话的庞大，复杂，迅速变化的中国现实。

他在回应时Barmé和昂格尔的信编辑，米尔斯基先生表示，一些天安门歌舞团的编辑没有问我，我是否仍然受到“一些事情，她说，站在这本书的遗憾。”我相信他是指段落，我在狱中写如以下：

就被淘汰了一定的及时的控制，以防止可能的转折点在4月至1989年6月，街道混乱北京学运？答案是肯定的。如果您在任何在4月份的结束时间，5月上旬，5月中旬（绝食时开始），和5月下旬（解严后成立），当权的政府真的想制止运动结束并已下令学生和城市的居民离开街头，就没有困难。但如果没有这样的行动，这是很自然的事情迅速升级，因为两种人，想升级的抗议，希望有人会死亡，当时的抗议可能会变成一个“事件的范围相当大”。

我还是认为这些意见？是。我坚持认为，宣布于89年5月13日绝食的学生领袖，促成了一个，在此之前，可能已经平息局势骤然升级。相对开明派的权力持有者谁在公众眼中，谁是已与负责处理的抗议现在处于非常困难的位置。从邓小平，邓小平的至高无上的权力拥有者，这些事态发展证明，“改良主义派”则是控制局势能力的角度，因此将不再享受他的信心。

米尔斯基先生相信，任何有作为的“黑手幕后工作”，不过是多谈政府的诽谤，对知识分子谁支持的目的是使学生一重复。他并没有设法找出我，写在监狱和死亡的前景，是我的监狱著作说：人民谁希望这种情况会失控都是赵紫阳派系对手。至于自己的学生领袖，我相信他们的问题是他们的年轻鲁莽。

17年过去了，1989年以来的事件，这是显而易见的今天如何深刻的价值体系和思维过程毛泽东灌输的蛊惑后，中国的一代又一代的年轻人。为例仔岭，著名的活动家谁，她说，什么学生领袖组“，其实希望的是流血的1989年6月4日前夕（是的，先生米尔斯基，这个词柴蓠嗯使用中文，qidai”

，确实意味着“期望”或“希望”）。人在极端情况下显示其本色和柴黎嗯证明是一个好学生毛主席。此外，还有其他谁真的希望绝食的学生将留在广场上。各派系之间的权力持有人的理由是，如果他们这样做，他们可以作为政治的筹码，在全国人大，这是即将举行。

至于我的问题“谁得益，谁失去了吗？评估”作为对一九八九年六月四日屠杀的结果，我要说，甚至邓小平本人不希望看到这样的结果。这是因为有当时，他是计划加快政治改革的过程中，已久的进程，中国停滞的迹象。事实上，前不久爆发的天安门示威，我也在场时，王峰的党的中央委员会和邓小平熟人一台办事处负责人说，“小平同志正在积极考虑取消从宪法的四项基本原则并让他们仅限于党章。“四项基本原则，应当记得，在1979年2月推出在时间缩减Maoification，它们被用来保持在经济改革思想风骨年之后。他们就像一把达摩克利斯，超过人民头上的红剑，迫使他们遵守党的准则。这一决定删除宪法四项基本原则将预示着同样由戈尔巴乔夫在苏联类似行为，在对中国政治改革的重大发展，主要有暗示该国的政治变革。

那些谁得到了最大的情况都是赵紫阳，谁希望迫使他和他的同事的权力，以及利益集团的成员，即党的士绅，谁享有一切特权所提供的政治对手由单片国家根据“无产阶级专政的条件所造成的。”

为了这一天我说，我当时写在监狱里，我是“支持戒严令5月20日1989年推出的，支持军队立即执行。”我想强调先生米尔斯基，戒严令于5月20日宣布，但并没有立即执行。事实上，宣言与6月3-4周的最后悲剧的进一步看到了一个复杂的政治，涉及党内派系和大规模的动荡和学生的意见操纵戏剧展开。

这个问题我在天安门歌舞团问的是：不是当局故意让局势失控？没有他们操纵的东西，让他们破坏改革者谁在用做恢复秩序的方式，赞成戒严，谁急于改革者，事情不失控？如果戒严本来可以很快实施，权力在民主化有利于持有人已能够牧羊人他们的军队，并在一些将来卷土重来。

在他的审查，米尔斯基先生还特别在我的话轻蔑，学生应该与政府的让步，从今以后，当局将不再举行的北戴河海滨胜地党的会议，或利用自己的豪华汽车进口满意。我仍然认为这样的挤压党让步在当时就指出是为抗议大胜利。多年来，党已证明自己是非常不愿意放弃权力的任何额外收入。而且，毕竟，先生米尔斯基也许记得，在我的工作，尽早延安时代的持不同政见者汪师威，他avows欣赏，我概述了为退出的原因之一（与最终斩首王）是他理直气壮地问题的特殊食品和服装津贴给党的领导人应该在平等的节约时间自己。

至于我的“供词在狱中”，米尔斯基先生宣布自己是我的特别生气提到的“毛主席”和“思想方式”，以及我的自白承诺不会让在未来的政治涉及的问题。当然，我说我交代这，我的生命受到威胁。具有讽刺意味的具有抵御中共的盘问，几年后，我受到了谁拥有如此明显误解了我的书评过激declamations。那么，米尔斯基先生，我想为你拼写出：我是用我的“自白”，以阐明我的立场，并宣布自己无罪。这些书面陈述，绝大部分是充满了迂回战术，还是平常的讽刺，“滑下大大衣盖了，”当我们说。这些都是与该设备平均的读者是完全熟悉。我还用党的语言来取笑。

当然，我应该承认米尔斯基先生对共产主义的厌恶和说明他的中文人民表示同情。不过，如果他假定有任何有价值的东西说复杂就复杂和混淆的中国现实，我认为他将继续努力，相当多的困难。好吧，如果他的中文不太完成这一任务，他总是可以幸免一谷歌搜索我的英文名字几分钟。在他能避免决策失误的最起码对我工作的方式最少。或者，如果他的中国等于它，对这些他看了很多年，至少，我为全球中文读者，散文写的文章的数十少数涉及的有关内容广泛他自己的利益，在当代中国政治，文化，社会，生活和公民自由。

反共不喊口号没有这么多的如镜由毛泽东和康生的青睐，在1942年的整风运动心态。米尔斯基先生赞扬揭露恐怖活动，我的世界。该运动自20世纪40年代起，在中国政治生活中的作用越来越反感心态。这是，我担心，一个被很多人的心态。最后，极端主义和简单化的思想表达相同的刺耳的方式来，只有不同的措辞。虽然人们喊着“毛主席是我们的救星！”的其他条留言：“毛泽东是一个怪物！”

戴晴与Geremie河Barmé

北京直辖市区

梅兆赞的答复：

在戴晴和Geremie

Barmé的信中批评我的戴女士的书，天安门歌舞团，有什么她以来，她从监狱释放在1990年做了很多材料进行审查。我的审查，但是，她的书，这是专门给她和她的被捕在监狱的时间。她认为好这些材料足以公布他们根据她的名字。

当我准备我的检讨，我发出了问题清单，编辑。她是否仍她写的东西的立场？在那里，例如，“六四背后黑手”？戴女士说一口仍然有。难道她真的相信，北京“，”黑手落后于其他400人起义整个中国的春天？她说，我应该能够“解决办法”她真正的意思。她可以很容易地在她的书中这样平淡，但是，她的一位编辑解释说，“而一般读者可能需要较长的介绍，我不认为这本书的要求之一。无论如何，戴晴不想之一。

“

我把我的编辑审查的最后草案检查事实错误。这是回应：“审查看起来不错，行文很好，没有意外… Sullivan团队[即，本书的编辑]不快乐或不快。”

这里的关键问题是她的自白。我问编辑，“是真正的忏悔或仅仅停留在她被迫说。在推行时说，她没有’打小报告’，但她，她显示了大量的悔恨，虽然它说，她不。

“那么，是真实的，抑或是举办，如果举办是显而易见吗？现在戴女士说：“我用我的’招供’来阐明我的立场，并宣布自己无罪。这些书面陈述，绝大部分是用转移视线的伎俩，或普遍具有讽刺意味的载货，’滑下掩护距离大衣，’，就像我们说。这些都是与该设备平均的读者是完全熟悉。我还用党的语言来取笑。“

这是否意味着，稀土在戴女士对她的自白书脚注是假？在这份她说，“我说真话，而且全部是事实，主要是因为这会使事情变得更容易，更方便。，我相信这是东西留下的同志头脑中的印象特别深刻专案组[她的审讯]。“

在书的封面，我相信在批准或戴晴或编辑文字，它说这是“蛮讨人喜欢提交….她开始接受政府对某些问题的意见她的自白，结束了指法的方式表明，在中国以前的汉奸行为人。“

因此，无论供认是真实的，因为她在书中强调，还是真的“滑落下大大衣盖了，”戴女士误导她的出版商，她的编辑，和我。她必须为她的文本，其中包含有关的话，我写了检讨责任。

信函

2006年11月2日：戴晴，沮丧作者

戴晴的案例

由Geremie Barmé，昂格尔的答复梅兆赞

在回答中国：恐惧的使用（05年10月6日）

在戴晴案例

对于编辑：

在对中国作家和持不同政见者在监狱戴晴回忆录审查[“中国：恐惧的用途，”NYR，10月6日]，梅兆赞说，在她后释放天安门戴晴的“关于政权书面接手不同的发展“，以及”恐惧，似乎可以解释在她的书面悲哀改造，…抛弃了一生的信念。“

我们要以正视听。随着中国专家亲自谁知道很长一段时间戴晴，谁掌握她多产作品的最新消息，我们可以肯定，她没有抛弃她的信念。事实上，她仍然是最勇敢的，对中国文化和知识界今天争议的人物之一。

之后的几年中，她从监狱释放1990年，戴晴一直坚持言论自由倡导者及评论家的检查。她还获得了一个作为中国最坚定的环保主义者之一的国际声誉。她对中国的三峡大坝的巨大精力充沛的工作理所当然地赢得了来自世界各地的环保组织她的奖项。对于这个问题和其他勇敢市民的努力，她已被软禁超过一次。

她一直保持了持续流动的写作，翻译和编辑工作，但她被禁止在中国就广泛的议题。根据不同的笔名（也通过在香港和台湾出版的论文和中文互联网），她继续揍一个独特的功能强大的写作风格，它使用微妙的嘲讽和讽刺萎缩的影响伪善行为及政治虚伪。梅兆赞是她早期的作品的崇拜者，他会很乐意知道，她失去了她的论战没有活力。

在很重要的一点，无论米尔斯基和我们自己与戴晴举行的政治观点分歧。她不认为中国是民主的准备，也就是说，多党选举，选择中国的领导。她一直相信，如果没有独立出版商，良好的教育系统的长时间内，以及大量的受过良好教育的中产阶级，在中国的任何民主投票将受到致命的蛊惑人心的宣传和腐败破坏。她认为，民主的，直到条件成熟，中国会过得更好下越来越宽松的执政。她表示在她的狱中著作的米尔斯基推定这种情绪是出卖她的信念。他不知道的是，戴晴表示，这种观点在发表前天安门事件的作品，就像（是一致的故障），她坚守这项意见，在对话和今天在她的文章。

这不会使她的哈巴狗或党的朋友。什么戴晴首先将记住的是她的精心研究，对共产党的历史上黑暗的一面真正非凡的研究。米尔斯基钦佩注意到在此静脉从20世纪80年代她的作品。同样，他会很高兴知道，戴晴继续撰写和发布时，可能主要的文章和书籍，解剖自己，直面过去党的镇压重要的情节，今天几乎与隐蔽的教训。

总之，戴晴从来没有惧怕屈服，也没有背叛自己的理想。她仍然是一个真正的，有效的，勇敢的持不同政见者，这违背了她的印象米尔斯基监狱回忆录经验。她不愧为有此错误的印象，在纽约书评的网页纠正。

Geremie Barmé

昂格尔

澳大利亚国立大学

澳大利亚堪培拉

梅兆赞的答复：

我没有说过戴晴已销售一空。我说她曾使她在陈述书中包括害怕。我也是，因为他们说，认真写了若干时间，直到1989年，她的表现非常出色的工作为言论自由。三峡文章，正如我指出的，非常好，但她之前在监狱的时间编写的。无论这本书的介绍也不在编辑材料这使得几乎为纯正如我在一篇评论中写道。

我说，戴晴的编辑应该问她，如果她仍然相信一些事情，她在书中说。她呼吁，天安门示威由策划的阴谋所造成，“一个，”她从来没有他们的名字，同时也说，他曾经当喉舌，令人钦佩的异议人士王丹，谁在监狱中服刑7年后天安门使用。她说，她感到遗憾，谴责进入广场，并说：“我支持宣布戒严，并建议戒严部队执行命令立即撤军。”这正是发生。

Unger先生先生和Barmé，都备受尊敬的中国专家，不涉及什么实际戴晴在书中说。他们告诉我，他们无法阅读，因为几乎所有的副本均在一场大火烧毁了出版商的。我很高兴地得知，戴晴已恢复她的自由意志的工作，但她做了自己在天安门广场歌舞团巨大的损害，并做好写信给她回顾说，她现在相信什么。难道她还声称，她在这本书中没有，她写道：“鲁莽没有多少真正的思想或慎重考虑….这是绝对错误的思想作风，我们的毛主席曾经批评…“?难道她还承诺“不会再[的]涉及政治问题，我也表达对重要事项的意见，尤其是因为我不再是一个党员”？

难道她仍然说她的所作所为完全“出于纯粹的情感和非理性”，而且“内心深处在我的心里我忘记了所有的责任，作为党员] …，以保护政府的信誉高于一切”[？

我写的，几乎没有人本来可以站起来，发生了什么秦程监狱对她与她的书应该从这个角度看待批评。但在天安门歌舞团她的发言更是需要澄清后Barmé先生和Unger先生的信。

铸造一生命线

作者：弗朗辛散文

北京昏迷

马剑，从被译成中文植物德鲁

法勒，斯特劳斯和吉罗出版社，586页。，$ 27.50

60页左右进入马建的小说北京昏迷，英雄，代伟，是困扰了一个悲惨的解剖演讲，他作为大学生参加了记忆。授课以“一个著名的心血管专家，”阶级观察到的新鲜尸体的解剖犯罪的，政府刚刚执行（在国庆），其器官已迅速移植收获。

戴卫的道德反感的个人色彩的焦虑，因为这是不是第一次，政治上放置了一个他的爱情生活带来严重的压力。在高中时，他进行了讯问，并为会议的水泥涵洞警察殴打他的女朋友，他们的唯一地方可能被孤立。现在生理的痛苦教训，提醒他她为什么迟迟不肯听她的父母希望她从香港跨边界学习的野蛮，无知的人民共和国医学院的女友。她是如何渴望到加拿大的音乐或商业管理专业！

像很多其他在北京昏迷，这件事告诉和提供有关的人物和他们的社会气氛微妙的信息。同时，了解他们该到戴薇的学术背景使提供的情报，在马建细心的读者，都有不平凡的信念，回答问题困扰，自本书的开头段落暗示。这就是为什么戴薇朴素，抒情神秘，而且，尽管一切，幽默的叙述声音是如此严重受感染的科学术语，“像一光在您的运动皮层神经元的生物信号飞镖火花”，在植物德鲁模范翻译。该剧院的手术技术已使用的语言，因为它会在整个，转达戴薇的努力，诊断自己的病情，他是睡着了大部分时间，事实上，他逐渐意识到，他在昏迷状态，到他已经下降后，头部中弹，在1989年展示在北京天安门广场的大屠杀。

对于大部分图书，戴薇在床上，瘫痪，静音谎言，他的眼睛关闭，照顾他的母亲，听他自己称为“蔬菜来。”然而，他敏锐地意识到自己的处境和痛苦的过去，他的记忆碎片搜索组建一个连贯的自我认识。其中一位医生戴蔚的母亲告诉他，咨询

如果我要来我昏迷时，我必须作出刻意记住我选择忘记的事件。在我回到我过去的生活，我必须先完成了我的过去，这外来的旅程。

尝试仿效这一建议，戴薇重新发现不仅自己的生命庆典，但地震事件在中国历史变革，在几十年。

在他最早的记忆是夏天的一个夜晚，在1980年，当时他的父亲回来后，与2002年的“再教育通过监禁和辛勤劳动”年光头回家。阿天才小提琴家，他访问了作为一个年轻的美国男子，并在美国演唱生涯的想法调情。在他年轻的愚蠢的惩罚，他被打成右派，注定他的耻辱家庭贫困，排斥和嘲笑：

当我的兄弟和我在午饭时间，通过学校食堂一天走，两名年龄较大的孩子挥动在地上的炸鸡我刚刚买了盘，并喊道：“你的狗儿子成员五黑分类。是什么使你觉得你有权利吃肉？“

戴卫的祖父，地主，在被执行死刑毛泽东的土地重新分配计划，并在公共浴室大厅，戴炜和他的家人光顾时，他还是一个孩子是一个红色的框，泳客敦促存款谴责政治上有嫌疑邻居。

到时候戴卫变成18，中国已经改变得这么快，至少在表面上，是他父亲的外交关系感谢，他给予优惠待遇时，适用于广州市南方大学。孤立主义之间的镇压和愿意承认从外部世界的信息涓涓细流，如海明威的故事和流行起来走出梵高的画，戴炜和他的大学文化新奇的朋友弗洛伊德首次听到有关华人社会不见得让它，他们所想象的是色情书籍的作者，因为他们争论他们是否具备潜意识。卡夫卡的城堡激发戴薇读杂志，他的父亲一直在狱中，他在对文革的过度学习。由于该日记，戴薇发展的人，他总是使他的童年鄙视父母有了新的认识非常困难。他的母亲，他被告知，被迫生下他穿着绣字样的衬衫的妻子是右派。

afka的影子落在进行了大量的马建的工作，同大吉尼奥尔噩梦的困扰排序林立的卡夫卡的一些大段的故事。这还不够戴薇的父亲被送到一个灵魂，破坏劳动营，该营是在饥饿的居民已不足以吃人肉区域内。当戴炜的母亲必须合谋让她受伤的儿子治疗，因为政府是非法的已被政府受伤，逻辑更难以卡夫卡。

然而，许多对北京昏迷提醒读者少卡夫卡比普鲁斯特，或者，如果这样的事情可以想像，一个普鲁斯特谁了还是活了下来，并走出，现代中国历史的暴力旋风。像在寻找失去的时间，北京的昏迷是由它的叙述者的愿望来检索过去迷恋力量驱动的，来自一到时间，调查的性质非常独特的正式结构。

由于戴炜回忆说，从他的青年时刻和对经常怪诞事件（传统治疗师访问写道，一个工人的到来对谁相信，公寓的不动的居民是聋子，以及掠夺性的寄宿性大发慈悲，短暂停留）的打破了他昏迷的存在，一种新型的新的更大范围内那种单调开始形成。这插值说明，其中关于向在天安门广场屠杀建设的重点，是一次戏剧性的和缓慢节奏，它仿佛一分钟按一分钟发生的事情的重建。读者可与派系冲突和权力斗争的细节规定外，委员会会议的传闻，胜利和屈辱，知识产权和流行名人客串，和个人的决定，发起并结束了绝食的学生，并导致对抗，6月4日，示威者之间和军队。

小说最动人的段落有把握气氛和在广场的人群前几天的镇压心情：

在不安，下面我们出汗机构突然很像蛆超过一块肉蠕动。我们下到较低的阳台，慢慢地推到人群紧凑的方式。这几乎是坚不可摧的。当在我们面前的人要上厕所或找朋友，一个微小的裂缝会打开，我们可以支持他们遵循了一段时间。人民衬砌这些狭隘的途径，它通过静脉广场的套餐一样，会本能地提高一英尺或肩膀转向回为我们正如我们通过。如果碰巧是坐下来，我们只好爬在他们头上。当有人喊出了新的口号，观众的焦点将转移，新的道路将进行第二次公开很快结束前再次像一个伤口愈合了。

6月1日，安装简单消除紧张气氛时，参观的孩子们挤在了儿童节荣誉广场，示威者和1对，谁也爱上了，庆祝模拟婚礼：

孩子们高呼：“当是新郎和新娘要手出糖果？”明亮的阳光照下来对我们的仁慈。这感觉就像我们参加了一些漂亮的地产绿色草坪婚礼。在人群前面的人推落后于人民….陈迪宣布，该公司是为新郎把时间到他的新娘的手指….一环牟森拿出从他的口袋圆珠笔，我在跪下，接着把女娲的手指，仔细提请周围一环。

马剑的叙事轨迹来或多或少一圈，因为它在普鲁斯特的杰作一样。但是，在此意识本史诗剧发生很难有共同的不足与普鲁斯特的英雄，。戴卫不放拼命，希望内存（他自己和他的同胞）可能会认为不仅是个人身份的关键，但对民族和文化的生存。的速度，我们忘记，小说那样，是速度上，我们对我们的厄运繁忙。

云公司后，他是从医院转移到他母亲的单位，代伟回忆离开北京，广州市，他计划，从而获得了分子生物学博士学位。但是，民运人士的猛烈分心迅速改了注意事项：

我记得设立在食堂的一个下午，在北京大学第一届放大器。通过政治改革进展缓慢感到沮丧，学生们成立了非正式的“沙龙”，讨论自由的禁忌，人权和民主。有些同事理科毕业生，我已成立了一个讨论小组称为神殿协会，并邀请著名的天体物理学家方励在会上就中国的政治前途讲座。他是一个政府的公开批评。学生们敬重他。他的绰号，我们中国的萨哈罗夫。上月，民主沙龙，论坛的竞争对手，一些文科的学生创办，已邀请尊敬的调查记者刘宾雁的演讲。因此，我们认为我们的社会需要，邀请李方的地位有人占上风。

最后一句typifies戴薇的敏感性和马建的方法。帐目最高尚的革命斗争，是轻轻打掉了讽刺，几乎异想天开的承认情绪和本能竞争力，琐碎，野心，虚荣，欲望，学生的特点的行为。在最紧张天安门广场前的瞬间崩溃，戴薇暂停从被领导欣赏谁的抵达提供支持或怂恿聚集人群，和小说抓住了起诉，壮阳药的光环女学生美的要求有吸引力的年轻男性和女性团体围绕谁相信他们正影响历史的政治变革。

母鸡戴卫回顾了示威活动，在1987年发生的系列小说的游戏性需要作为自己的马剑的故事令人惊讶又分为叙事带来的：

几天后，人民文学杂志上发表了你，一个前卫舌派一名作家中篇小说叫马剑棒。中宣部谴责虚无主义和颓废它，并下令所有副本被破坏，进而发动对资产阶级自由化的全国性运动。

到了伸舌头被取缔后，马建，谁在青岛出生于1953年，已与传播“精神污染费用的时间。”这种指责，与他在北京的持不同政见艺术家运动的参与，使他辞去作为国家摄影记者的工作，所有的宣传杂志，开始为期三年的将途经中国，在其出色的旅行书，滚滚红尘记录。他在西藏的经历激励你的舌头，在故事的小说，描绘一个冷淡的景观，遭破坏的文化，野蛮的极度激烈的社会，没有相似之处由喜气洋洋的农民和幸福的响亮口号僧人居住的国家流行的图像棒。

“我看到的贫困，”马建写入该小说的后记，

更糟糕比什么我在中国看到。我的一个简单的生活牧歌生活贴近自然被打破时，我意识到如何人性化，可以极大的困难。西藏人或冷漠对待或蔑视我。有时，他们甚至向我投掷石块。但我看到更多的西藏，是中国规则对国家造成的损害，我越理解他们的愤怒….西藏是其精神的心已经被拆下来的土地。

最终，在棒轰动开出你的舌头流亡马建，首先香港，然后，当香港受到中共统治，德国和伦敦，在那里他现在的生活。

1989年，他离开香港，并简要回到北京。相信，他的祖国的土地正在发生变化，并希望成为这一变革的一部分，他花了六个星期的游行示威的学生，分享他们的宿舍和帐篷。

“我看着他们舞台上集体绝食，”他在一份解释性文章写道：

舞蹈西蒙和加芬克尔，恋爱，进行徒劳的权力斗争。我在十年以上的大部分。他们的热情和理想主义的印象，而且担心我。否认自己的历史知识，他们不知道，在中国的政治抗议活动一直在流血结束。

当暴力事件终于爆发，马建是1000公里，在他的家乡，在那里他的兄弟安全走进晾衣绳，撞上在街头他的头陷入昏迷状态下滑，在北京昏迷，代伟的母亲会告诉故事解释她儿子的伤害，避免承认自己是非法运动的一部分。在他哥哥的病床边，得知马建

数百，甚至上千名手无寸铁的学生和平民，被枪杀和军队的坦克压….在绝望的麻木状态，我一直在我昏迷的弟弟，直到看，有一天，他的眼睛仍然关闭，他提出在一张纸上写他的手指在他的第一个女朋友的名字。他回忆了他拖到恢复生机。

马剑接着说，它现在在中国被禁止提及天安门广场。

“中华民族是谁问的人没有问题，谁没有过去。他们住在处于昏迷状态，被恐惧和新发现的繁荣蒙蔽。”的部分内容，给他的小说充满活力的高度，疯狂的边缘，是一种凶猛的文学作品，他相信有可能作为一个生命线功能投出走向世界的机会，它甚至可能会节省一些，从溺水读者。

拧戴卫的10年拖昏迷，他的母亲是由其他的大屠杀受害者的家属联系，家长谁形成了一个地下组织，天安门母亲，专门清点死伤，永葆的悲剧记忆政府声称从未发生过。每年对示范周年之际，警方将其幸存的受害者，包括戴薇从北京到市郊的酒店，以防止外国记者交谈他们。

同时，集体记忆被有效地清除了民众的热情高端电子产品，华丽的婚礼，和豪华汽车。 “没有人对谈判的天安门抗议了，”戴炜说。

中华民族是非常善于“减少大问题小问题，然后减少小问题，什么也没有，所谓”去。这是一个生存的技能，毁了自己千年发展。

像马建的兄弟，“被拖回生活的他的第一个女朋友，坚持浪漫戴薇名称”仍然在与所有热爱他的前女友三，即使在他得知，该名女童他用，以满足水泥管已成为房地产开发商，其最新项目将毁掉他的母亲的公寓。当他枯萎身体不再是追求的对象，他希望有能力，他开发了来访的护士激情，最后深深依恋的麻雀飞入他的开放窗口。

现在，当戴卫访问的老朋友，他们穿昂贵的西装，携带手机，骄傲地展示他们的新生活富裕的装备。突然间，一切为了销售，并在蓬勃发展的中国经济，甚至国家的传统治疗师将变成奸商。他说：“他现在最大的希望将在此作20000元的治疗方案他，”一个医生告诉戴薇的绝望的母亲。

这6000元的计划，他现在给他的只是我的气功会议，会议的针灸和中药的过程中5的。它只是持续二十四天。没有什么，他会来，他昏迷由当时的方式。

戴卫也有一个深刻的转变，因为他本身的痛苦使他的勇气和在管理忍受野蛮时代的生活，通过他们的父母表现出耐力新的尊重。

只有恐惧和压迫的严酷的现实基本上保持不变。彭奶奶，街道举报人，警方提醒每次的天安门母亲的代表前来访问。当戴炜的母亲被迫卖掉自己的一个肾脏，以支付他的医疗费，她带来了伪造的记录，其中将进行手术，因此医生也不会怀疑他们是处理一个臭名昭著的抗议受害者的医院。在经历了文化大革命，目睹了她丈夫的可怕命运，她一直住在犯下政府或党内法规是微不足道的违规行为的恐怖，她的一生。因此，一个人的心情沉重，她随便提到，她一直感觉更健康，更快乐，因为她加入了法轮功。

S的小说接近尾声，戴炜目前和过去的衔接。我们不仅知道如何天安门广场的故事将结束，但我们已经学会了人物的命运时，戴炜前组的同志聚集在他的床边，讨论他们的朋友的死亡和受伤，而被监禁，推动酷刑，这已成为企业家或到国外去求学形式的学术生涯和持不同政见者流亡团体疯了。不过，作为军队组装和坦克向广场推出的悬念和恐怖几乎无法忍受。同时，我们可能会发现自己传呼通过了最后一节很快，看看是否有奇迹还可能在什么样的治疗母亲的理智仍然是由一个大约神秘主义思想的内在车轮无害政府迫害摧毁节戴卫可以设置适当的呼吸冥想和纺纱。

在戴魏的朋友，王飞的腿在军队进攻粉碎团聚，提供了一个激动人心的演说：

我们是“天安门一代”，但没有人敢给我们打电话说….这是禁忌。我们一直在粉碎和沉默。如果我们不采取立场，我们现在将被删除，从历史书。经济是发展蓬勃的步伐。在数年该国将如此强烈，政府将没有什么可怕，没有必要或希望听我们的。因此，如果我们要改变我们的生活，我们必须现在就采取行动。这是我们最后的机会。党是乞求世界给予中国的奥运会。我们必须乞求给我们党的基本人权。

通过这一劝告似乎是适当和充分的一切预示盈利，并证明与之马健已经完成非常困难，取得成功。也就是说，他创造了一个艺术作品的文学功能，同时，作为行动的号召。

看完北京昏迷，要鼓励伤心法轮功学员的抗议团体很少，外部中国驻外使领馆跪在人行道上。你想告诉人们，中国侵犯人权的行为远远超出了西藏边境，对中国记者和作家数十人目前正在监狱服刑。您最近的，灾难性的地震是由他们的苦难是如何被人为加剧的认识加强了受害者表示同情，人为因素：在中国的一个孩子，每个家庭政策和掠夺性开发的劣质建筑方法僵化。并且您希望这本书的副本可沿奥运火炬传递的进展情况对即将到来的北京奥运会，一个事件，可能不发生的路线分布没有屈服于遗忘的诱惑，同样的危险和诱惑的世界马建的英雄，他的小说，斗争，勇敢地抵抗。

日记

超华王

相反，他们的意图，历史事件的纪念活动，更常常是数典忘权力提醒：要么举行正式仪式，这渐渐失去了意义，成为像任何其他，或武装分子或哀悼，他们的人数减少到任何微小的公众假期带聚会随着时间的通过。在洛杉矶，你可以看到两种。如果你问什么人阵亡将士纪念日的主张，几乎没有人，甚至历史的教授，可以告诉你。至于其他类型，我自己站每年夏天与朋友在市中心以外的洛杉矶中领馆的小乐队，几乎没有人持标语告示。但是，我们纪念了和往常一样，没有被遗忘的地方。现在是18年来的士兵和坦克进入北京天安门广场。然而，此后每年都，聚集在6月4日，在数万人晚上在香港，无论天气如何，在当时发生了什么，并点燃蜡烛的记忆谁是因此死亡。我不认为任何其他大规模的纪念活动已经持续了这么长时间。但什么是记得这么有力，在香港甚至不能在边界分隔从人民共和国其他地区的中国特别行政区的另一边提及。

18年不是一个短的时间内，它的长期的婴儿，足以成为一个成年人。在今年6月4日，一个奇怪的事件发生。在成都的四川，一个11万人口的城市，小广告的一个晚上报纸版面省会载有短期项目，上面写着：’致敬向六四死难者的母亲坚定。’的项目被注意到了一些读者扫描，并在互联网上，在那里迅速分发载。当局跃升至调查。几天之内，该文件的编辑3人被解雇。如何有沉默之墙被破坏？在小女孩的广告费，在20世纪80年代出生的，曾要求的人谁放置广告，问提到的日期的编号。说这是一个矿难，她清除它。从来没有人说过话了她对1989年。检查吃掉自己的孩子。

广告的母亲，是履行是老年妇女的小谁，已成为这一事件的国家不能指的象征。丁子霖，谁主办的妇女，现在是71。她曾经任教人民在北京大学马克思主义哲学。在1989年，当天安门广场一度占领了数以万计的学生，她17岁的儿子，谁是还在学校走入厄运。在6月3日晚上，气氛变得日益紧张，她担心孩子会加入在街上的其他示威者和锁在她的公寓了。他躲过了一间浴室，通过窗口，被打死的晚上，当部队进入市中心游行。没有人知道多少与他死亡。政府镇压已经完成，以便受害者人数仍是一个谜。当李海，来自北京大学前活动家，试图收集在90年代初有关它们的信息，他被判处’至9年徒刑，泄露国家秘密’。尽管不断受到警察的骚扰，多次软禁，丁坚持她的调查，并于1994年出版的香港，可核查的受害人名单。每个名单扩大的一年，现在它有186名。越来越多的人谁失去了家庭成员聚集在丁。得到的灵感在阿根廷失踪的母亲的例子，并与人权在香港，丁和她的朋友前一段时间活动家命名自己的天安门母亲的帮助。其实，该小组还包括父亲，妻子的丈夫被打死谁，以及谁是那些在镇压一些人受伤。齐志勇，工人，从子弹失去一条腿的伤口天安门附近。对于希望获得补救和赔偿，他曾多次被暴徒殴打警察在他家，这一年他被预防性逮捕下6月4日前提出，只有释放出来周年了。他的案件是典型的。

政府的担心是没有理性的。过去6个星期，原本是一个学生示威成了全国政治危机，其中中共党的垄断权力的合法性受到严重的自中华人民共和国基金会第一次挑战。政府解决下令正规军，来自各省带来的危机，在北京实施戒严，甚至在开幕式上的人群火滚来滚和平示威者的坦克，以夺取天安门广场，控制成本的最强大的象征性的空间在现代中国。对于第一次枪击后整整一个星期，没有任何一个政治领袖出来面向全国，在离开专业军队的控制，这种情况在首都北京，因为还没有对1900年义和团运动盟军远征看到。

以邓小平决定镇压示威党恢复了对权力的垄断，而不是它的合法性和权威。为填补意识形态真空邓小平踏上了经济变革的加速路径中国，向全国宣布，通过在南方城市深圳，在1992年春讲话，并在邮件’致富光荣表示。喷涂在全国各地的广告牌，党的新口号解雇任何思想或原则的讨论的可能性，只是宣布：’发展是不易之论。’，15年后，中国是世界工业奇迹。在平均生活水准有所提高，减少了贫困，城市化的爆炸，出口和财政储备是天价。在国外，为人民共和国的崇拜空前高涨。国家富强和自豪通常一起去。有了这样的成就，以骄人的，为什么共产党仍然会如此的事情发生了划时代前的恐惧？为什么要这样费力地扭曲和压制过去，那里是难以抹去人们的记忆完全，为什么它试图把自己描绘为无谓的动乱和骗子的阴谋运动的积极分子1989年示威？但真正的问题是：什么是信念，带领示威者站起来的军事机器？

两种对立的1989年运动的解释有所抬头，主要是在西方，而且在一定程度上在中国。首先是社会经济。

1988年初，有力地推动了政府放开价格，但随后引发通货膨胀各地，它不得不国家reinstitute粮食配给的大城市在1989年1月如此大的反响。一些美国学者认为，这是在庞大的社会动荡，表现在1989年春天本身的因素。在中国本身，对新左派思想家都采取这一论点进一步看到在本质铺平了经济市场化的方式，打破阻力取消价格控制，6月4日军事镇压（他们再次被拆除这一次成功，90年代初）。根据这种观点，背后的群众运动的动力，甚至它的灵感，是改革会剥夺的集体福利既定标准人口的拒绝。什么的枪声打破了在北京的’铁饭碗社会主义’的最后希望，扫清了道路，以一个完全成熟的资本主义在中国。

另一种学派轮流这种说法颠倒了。在此帐户的群众运动，在坚持社会主义的过去，展望未来，以大胆开放的未来。在以英文书写的横幅越来越多，而一’女神雕像的发泡胶民主’，一定程度上的自由女神像在天安门广场竖立在5月的最后几天，为蓝本，都表明，美国是示威者真正的梦想：不是铁饭碗，但市场和投票箱。上个月，布什主持在华盛顿的纪念碑，以共产主义的受害者，在形成一个按比例缩小的发泡胶青铜女神副本。

的确，社会经济的不满，特别是在1988年夏天之后急剧的通货膨胀，在创造中发挥了明年的学生抗议活动的支持方面发挥重要作用。但这些经济不满被毫不含糊地转化为在1989年运动的政治抗议。他们的目标是邓小平的方式，赵紫阳，当时的秘书长共产党一般，统治该国。特别是在强大的动员抗议是赵的描述为’他的改革，通过加强过境由石块下的一个水’的河流之一。如果所有你能做的就是测试在河床的石头稳定看不见，你有什么权力的垄断，比政策的决策？我们为什么要等你挑选您的方式通过目前，现在，然后在右边找到石头自己，让我们淹没当你在错误的一步？这或多或少运动的感觉。

1989年的经济口号大多是出了问题过去的政策的攻击，特别是高级官员之间的腐败。但是，这些从来没有具体的经济要求的形式，也没有了开始时的许多尝试’对话’

-即示威者之间的谈判和官员-之前，会谈最终破裂任何此类要求。是什么主导了明确的讲话，公民权利和自由的公民参与政治的要求。

至于运动的思想，我们必须记住，这个巨大的社会动荡爆发速度非常快。当学生中绝食向政府施加压力，在5月中旬，新闻媒体，包括人民日报，享有新闻自由前所未有周在中华人民共和国的历史。在从最不同社会背景的街道上突然之间能够表达自己的想法和辩论。在随后的鼓噪下，很容易过度解读几个孤立的符号。美国流行想像就是一个例子。美国的一个高度抽象的概念，根据所知甚少，成为了车辆-

外壳，如果你喜欢-在人们的想象力的能量投资之一。这壳充满，但是，与认识-和批判性反思-

基于生活的社会主义，半社会主义，社会对前几十年。社会主义的言论和美国的一个理想化的概念混在一起，在人们的心中。这可以是对今天的知识分子，谁占据更鲜明的意识形态立场，自由派或左派失望。然而，下面的民主，在纠察线女神的红色臂章。在1989年在北京动荡的历史意义不在于一个范例或另一本拥护，或者发言人或领导。它是在空间的运动开辟了创造性的想象力和把握机遇的实验课程。重点是总是在公民有权参与国家公共生活，和渠道，使他们这样做。

但重要的经济发展或思想跨危机使电流，无可争辩的事实是，谁出的数百万4月至1989年6月在北京成立什么基本上是一个政治运动。其目的是什么？在过去一年中多次，党的官员，最后，提出超出民主改革的话题。他们似乎觉得那个时候，一再重复的谎言，已经创造出足够的屏障，阻止有关这个词’民主’在天安门抗议活动的人。不过，我一直认为，示威者的勇气，从一群众运动的民主，上台执政。

这个运动，当然，由学生领导的，虽然最终都作了只有那些谁参加适度的比例，他们一直被挑出来批评，不仅由政府，而是由知识分子在中国和国外，谁声称，如果他们掌权，他们将行使比党的自身更加极端的独裁统治。在现实中，大部分是由他们行动的民主合法性问题困扰的学生。他们没有超越他们的抗议活动，邀请公众的同情，但他们绝不是推翻政府或篡夺其权力。虽然他们缺乏实际经验，由于警惕禁止非政府组织，他们得益于更加开放和反思20世纪80年代知识分子的气氛。民主的改革思路已广泛扩散的持不同政见的物理学家方励之等。自治的政治原则和透明度是当时的热门话题。

不到一周后的中共改革派领导人胡耀邦逝世于4月中旬1989年，那些谁聚集，悼念他开始形成独立的机构。在校园里校园后，只要一个人采取了主动，许多学生其次。这实际上是如何自治协会，北京大学生，在1989年抗议活动的核心组织，应运而生。每所大学的学生代表了谁使用，而不是在匿名掩护他们的真实姓名-

从学生，在20世纪70年代后期以来出现的波动很大的差别。我是其中之一。

作为鉴定，他们的名字在开放其大学身份证，学生必须要为他们做些什么责任，认识自己的权力地位，作为学生团体的代表。在巨大的政治压力，以及时间和空间的压力，学生组织的努力中遇到许多障碍，了解有关程序，并实行民主。有些学生在名义上地位仅代表，也不会经不起推敲。然而，面对最终决定是否退出天安门广场，学生仍然表决，以说服他们的追随者依靠领导人，以及自己对他们的行动方针是正确的。其组织内部的工作一直依赖于民主的合法性。

这并不是要求每一个扭曲的事件是民主决定。有在学生的做法是这样的话对他们进行新的许多不完善之处。在今天的中国的知识分子，人们有时听到之间的区别是一个共和国和民主的。适应它，我会用这个词’共和国’的团结将是建立在以政治集体，和’民主的程序’制约其本身又统一成立。理想情况下，两者应相辅相成，因为没有共和团结，没有民主的框架，而没有民主共和国的原始精神是从来没有保障。在一个层面上，学生们知道这一点。他们要求民主，但一直认为，这将是在人民共和国的背景下实现的，这是他们证明了自己是如何透过上街游行的信心。但在另一个层面，连接并非总是很好的理解。饥饿的小组绝食例如，漠视较大的机构，由学生自治会的北京大学生代表。实际上，它充当一个小’中华民国自己’。绝食了市内一个激动人心的效果，但如果罢工试图就作为一个整体的学生代表，回避BAACS，这是我极力反对，但不可避免地混乱和合法性危机。许多学生都知道的矛盾，拼命找出所面临的时间不多，他们有这些概念问题。但是，公平地说，几乎所有这些共享了一些民主的基本了解，有权表达不同的意见，参与公共决策，选出代表或罢免他们，而这些简单的原则是相当真诚的，如果实行有时尴尬。

一种不同的批评，往往是学生的意见是，他们并没有合并的公民，一旦首都居民走上街头大游行。如果学生有意识地寻求过群众运动组织，肯定会一直是错误的做法。什么他们的’排他性’表现是他们不愿意滥用权力：他们是自己的合法性的限度知道。并非所有的学生领袖都完美无瑕-

怎会有？

-但我可以肯定，如果政府的下降，没有学生领导的专制也会跟随。相反，学生组织会要求人民选出自己的代表，至少要减少责任已经难以承受的负担。在全国人大会已在漫长的民主化进程的下一步骤是最可能出现的机构。

什么是公民自己？期间的天安门广场，其中大量的学生占领了20天游行根据其不同工作的横幅，单位及从属关系，因为如果这有助于他们的行为辩解。但是，当夜幕降临，他们出去单独在街上，只占自己。面对许多政府官员面对面。参加这些不同的方式，白天，晚上，逐步合并。一旦政府宣布戒严，并加强了对所有工作场所的控制，人们意识到，捆绑其社会主义经济体制和政治权利以及在其工作单位在他们眼前的崩溃，并采取了明确的立场作为公民，铸造关闭其机构的从属关系暧昧的安全，相信政府在错误的。

是什么使人民对他们走上街头，不仅是想表达对学生的同情，而且是作为公民的权利被剥夺。无论是在4月27日游行意想不到的成功，5月20日，或在6月3日，最大的反应是在回答总是政府的最严厉的措施首先开枪夜间宣布戒严。如果没有这种巨大的能量爆发，1989年的动荡，永远不会发生。

这些天来，你可以看到纪念在1989年发生在中国互联网上的许多短片。什么是对他们最引人注目的是人的脸部表情-兴奋，焦虑，希望，决心和同情心-

所有团体和各代。示威者感兴趣的民主，而不是推翻政府。如果人们认识到，只有这样才能理解为什么在整个星期的抗议，显示这么多的人自律。这并没有来自政府的报复的恐惧，但是从强烈的自豪感他们有能力照顾自己掌握自己的命运-

明显的中国革命传统和社会主义的过去。北京的犯罪率急剧下降。不是一个单一的抢劫或破坏事件的报道。在北京，成都，至少，连小偷了罢工，抗议政府。自发地，有秩序无处不在。

5月17日，在一种危机气氛，有一个与总理，李鹏，和对’无政府状态运动’一些学生领袖的电视讨论。参数发生了争吵谁负责在广场上的场景打断李的光顾的一个讲话，，我看着他的脸变红，然后白色的，他用双手抓住他的椅子的扶手。我记得坚持，当轮到我发言，这些学生都要求保障中国宪法他们的权利，这是什么特点的运动是相对的无政府状态：平静有序，自信和自我约束。当然，这是什么政府真的怕。

三天后，宣布戒严，并有在城市郊区的坦克。两个星期以来，人们举行了送行。没有人谁在那里，作为北京面临的卡车和装甲运兵车的部队的人，永远不会忘记他们的精神。当打击来到了3-4

6月，大多数受害者都是没有学生，但普通市民夜晚。陌生人的帮助，而不询问对方，有的被杀害，因为他们试图挽救他人的生命。世界记住了一个人孤零零的形象，在坦克的推进列前。这座城市充满了这样的勇敢的人，那天晚上。为纪念每年6月4日，是不是简单地记住它的悲惨费用的理由，但是夺回运动的宏伟精神，很少出现在中国近百年。

，这是1989年社会运动的真正意义，可以从政府的长期恐惧看到它。如果不是这样的刺激经济的不满主要是，它会在今天的中国，那里的城市生活水平高这么多共振效果比那时。如果它是由一个美国的东西的愿望，满足在许多方面已超过批准：快餐感动，好莱坞电影，电视问答节目无处不在，企业原则上实行更加积极地比美国本身所有的管理水平。原因6月4日仍挥之不去官场内存是它的一些事的高速增长和晕眩消费并没有改变了。对于尽管它正在建立的经济纪录，中国今天是不是社会平静的海面。矗立的不平等，福利制度崩溃，环境灾害，强征土地，虐待移民，劳工进行残酷的剥削，绑架和奴役儿童，失业者唾弃，以及-

最讨厌的东西-

腐败猖獗，许多方面都孕育怨声载道。地方爆炸的民众的愤怒情绪，尤其是在农村和小城镇，那里的社会条件恶化和警察的控制，被拉伸得更平均，在最近几年成倍增加。在这种毒害社会环境，其中最原始的暴利骗子和官员通常在联赛，彼此是一种日常现实，这种罪恶的根源是清楚的。这是权力的执政党，这使得人们无法检查滥用，他们遭受的垄断。只有民主权利，可以利用权力持有人对其行为负责，并释放，以便实现所有的东西，在它们所无法流行的精力。这就是为什么即使在今天，每当在不公正和腐败的愤怒沸腾了，1989年的集体记忆，我们可以肯定，在统治者心中潜伏，以及-

多久，我们只能猜测在统治的- 。

这种情况不是一成不变的。今年，丁教授是为纪念让她儿子的死6月4日第一次。由便衣警察队随后她就从她的公寓，到现场旁的一个地铁车站，他被打死，奠定了在人行道上的花朵。现场的照片上了互联网，也为在今年第一次，是在1989年纪念受害者网上聚会是通过网络举行的海外服务器，他们的方法，但可从与大陆访问帮助的特殊软件。这是一个小进步，更会来。中国社会需要承认的悲剧，谴责屠杀，接受和尊重的人的家庭，谁死了，履行在维护民族集体记忆中过去的天安门母亲的工作。它没有白费。当人们得知在成都晚报青年subeditor已不知道什么6月4日那天，在80年代出生的许多年轻的中国使在互联网上，他们确实知道清楚。

他将会改变中国

作者：林培瑞

赵紫阳：Ruanjinzhong日坦胡阿（八九）

由宗凤鸣

香港：开放大道，399页。，港币98元

在努力使自己国家的动荡近代意义上说，中国知识分子有时诉诸反事实的猜测。怎么可能有不同的事情，如果一个或另一个偶然的事件发生了变化？几十年来，这是一个游戏的客厅这类猜测多久，伟大作家鲁迅，在1936年死于谁拥有一个虚伪敏锐的眼光，一短剑智慧，与谁毛泽东在1942年被誉为“最勇敢，最正确的民族英雄，“可能在Maoland存活了1949年以后，他住。

8年来，大多数人说。如果他总能避免监狱，直至1957年的反右运动的这一年一定会得到他。[1]很难捉摸是像在中国会发生的问题，如果毛泽东宜昌闻期玫，家长毛泽东，已分居在1893年春天，当毛泽东的构想。

宗凤鸣的新书，赵紫阳：圈养的谈话，引起了同一类问题，它引起了很多争论内外中国。赵紫阳总理，中国1980至1987年，在此期间，他获得了为推动中国经济发展的信贷，以及1987年至1989年普遍共产党时，他成为鼓吹政治体制改革称为书记。在1989年期间在天安门示威，赵紫阳主张用“民主与法治”来解决危机。但是，党国元老邓小平，谁持有最终解释权，谁是动摇国务院总理李鹏等人看见谁在学生运动邪恶的意图，选择了镇压。

在邓小平已经下令军队包围北京，他召集赵，请求他同意在可能的军事用途，但赵，以及顽固不知道他将花费他的立场，拒绝。之后，6月4日的大屠杀，赵紫阳被指控“分裂党”和“支持混乱。”然后，他进一步印证下降写的“自我批评”，在中共习惯当一个人是一种蒙羞他的命运。他软禁在未来16年他在第6，财富和权力巷，北京的家中。

2004年，他开发的肺纤维化，他死在05年1月17日在80岁时，。

与此同时，邓小平的“市场规则是，没有民主”赵进军下提出的接班人，江泽民和胡锦涛。中国的经济，军事和国际影响力稳步增长，而不平等的不满，镇压和环境退化恶化。所有这一切是为反事实的问题，现在感到沮丧中改革者询问1989年的背景。如何将中国不同如果赵留了呢？他又怎么可能有这样做？

1991年8月，当叶利钦爬上在莫斯科之上坦克以身试法，苏联强硬派反对戈尔巴乔夫的政变，当叶利钦赢得了欢呼的群众支持，并帮助把反对强硬派的潮流，一些中国被带到问，为什么赵紫阳不能在1989年做了类似的事情。大约有在天安门广场万人在当年5月17日，他们在赵的政治辩论的一方压倒性。纽约时报记者听到一个警察大喊“学生运动，真棒！如果政府镇压的命令，我将服从他们的命令？不，我会反对。”[2]类似的倾斜示威人群在大近的中国的省会城市的所有街道。

超声花式飞行这是牵强附会。赵天生赵紫阳是谨慎，有点胆怯，远不叶利钦，而且几乎是无法想象中国的军事，其命令是沉浸在个人的忠诚，将服从，而不是邓小平赵不管有多少人在天安门广场被广场。但是，如果抗议的学生听取了直言不讳的记者戴晴，她的代表团的开明的知识分子谁要求他们5月14日宣布（部分）的胜利，回家？如果他们的危机就不会到了一个头，赵可能仍然总书记。或者，如果，即使假设学生留在广场，赵同邓小平提出了一些妥协，以保持？多少区别，他有可能呢？

这个问题已经层。赵猜测可能需要先取得一估计他可能尝试，并要求我们推断他是如何为总书记的思想，可能1989年以后发展。作为第一个，尽管不完善，逼近，我们可以看看如何召思想的发展其实即使他度过了他89年后的时间，观察中国的软禁。但是，关于这个问题，到现在为止，已有极少继续下去。我们有一封信，赵紫阳在1997年写道，要求对中国的政治局委员（徒劳）为关于天安门示威复议裁决。我们有两个揭示帐户小时的通话，赵名为2004年7月王胜1和的朋友已经在香港出版后不久，赵紫阳逝世王。但仅此而已。赵并没有公布相关的回忆录，以及家庭成员最近告诉我，“据我所知，没有留下什么。”因此，宗凤鸣的新书，其中载有385对赵1991年至2004年赵紫阳谈话的记录页，几乎可说是独一无二的资源。

宗，比赵三小，就知道他很长一段时间内。他们都来自河南，并争取在20世纪40年代日本在一起。他们都是职业完全是在共产党的体制。宗是在航空航天北京大学党委书记，直到1990年退休。他的书是基于超过100访问，他向赵的家，他在一个住宅内的驻军进入警察队的仁慈。从国家安全便衣警察占用的建筑物对面的胡同，从二楼监测摄像机人员往来。定期“翻修的赵化合物”保持形状的电子监视系统。宗能够进入这在赵的气功（“呼吸运动”）教师的幌子警方网站。这也有助于发挥了这宗在“风暴的1989年”没有作用。两名老年男子交谈室外院子里，大概是为了减少电子窃听。宗没有使用一台录音机，没有采取任何说明，但回家后，每个专题讲座写下他能记住。

这本书按时间顺序排列，而不是紧紧编辑。的谈话，保留其健谈的味道，十分广泛。坦诚，但他们似乎没有灵魂，霸菱。毫无疑问是有赵的思想水平与他的死，或者，如果他们有生存，只有在人们的记忆中非常接近他。

赵紫阳的家人说，赵紫阳反对出版这本书，因为他担心“不准确”可能的结果。宗凤鸣自己援引调用会谈“只是一些随机的想法和随意的评论”赵，但是，这是否从告诫或自我是爱出风头的公约还很难说。赵紫阳长期的政治秘书鲍彤在自己的回忆录中写道，当提交宗凤鸣的谈话记录，赵审查，赵甚至没有看他们，但表示，“让鲍彤决定怎么做。”但宝拒绝编辑它们，生怕自己的污点（他最近曾担任过“反革命煽动徒刑”和“泄露国家机密”）可能只会为赵紫阳和他的家人更糟糕。

宝清楚地珍惜这本书，不过，正如他所表明的协议写一序言它。第一序是由李锐，一次对毛泽东的秘书，现在又一家改革派思想家。有了这本书一直所倡导开明中到处少数例外。即使是赵的家人尽管对准确性的保留，表达了对宗凤鸣热情。

他国家已经采取了不同的看法。书出版之前，一个科学技术工业委员会，国务院副局长（以下简称“领导”的地方工作过的大学宗）当局到在家宗，隐晦地警告说，在早期，他的书会被评定为“反革命”，并要求他交出手稿。宗说没有。他的书在香港出版，在中国被禁。

我们很容易理解为什么高层领导人担心，因为赵紫阳的谈话报告的深度和清晰度，他们已经习惯叫“持不同政见的中国的问题。”赵可能不具备方励之的优雅的推理或刘宾雁的中国社会的裁判掌握，但他的基本观点，特别是靠近他的软禁16年年底，近似熊他们。他的思想还没有显示任何激进的时间，但它演变为他的发展和手表来看到事物的新方式。

他来见，例如，民主不仅是一个有吸引力的奢侈品，一个现代国家应该要为自己的利益，而且是一个健康的经济生存的必要条件，以及。他告诉宗说，在20世纪80年代，

我想，只要我们得到正确的经济改革和经济发展，人民就会满意和社会的稳定。

但到1991年，他认为，

政治改革必须与经济改革同步发展… [其他]社会和政治问题就会出现。

“民主监督”是必要的。到2004年，他总结出，“实行一党制的市场经济必然产生腐败”，中国的经济增长，现在是“变形”。

赵紫阳的分析如何中国的经济增长逐渐被扭曲是非常接近他的青莲，其1998年出版中国的陷阱赵圈养阅读。[3]赵的话，

谁持有人使用政治权力，权力来控制资源并把它变成自己的私人财富是社会的财富。

这发生在一个“黑盒子”，超出市民的监督，对“一个巨大的”规模。在1998年9月18日，赵告诉宗：

随着市场经济的发展，它导致了权力和金钱和权力互换性，从而导致市场大规模吞噬国家资源，资本形成混乱，勒索，敲诈了。这反过来又使民意沸腾，并导致特权阶级，一个富国和穷国之间，和其他社会问题形成的差距越来越大，只有变得更糟，越堆。

五年后，赵指出：

政府抓住了人民的土地，推动价格降到最低，然后双手它交给谁开发销售了巨大的提价了。它还操纵股票和数字如何虹吸小康社会的金融资源，如一般人的储蓄帐户，使用公共建设资金，刺激国内需求，保持高速增长….如果人们可以自由地改变国有银行的所有积蓄，储蓄会流向海外和增长将结束。有可能是一个繁忙的取款和银行将在危机。

并在这中国人的智慧gadflies了呢？的声音，使已经在80年代后期说服力？到2004年赵紫阳认为，作为知识精英在被增选：

经济改革产生了紧密的利益集团，现在是谁一直在西方民主国家教育的学生参加。这些人死于权力，和我们现在是一个三方小组，其中政治精英，经济精英和知识精英的融合。这项权力精英阻止中国的进一步改革并指导对自身服务的国家的政策。

赵的结论是，中国特色的“社会主义”产生了“权力精英的资本主义”，这是“最坏的一种资本主义。”他反映，他曾接受了论点，即言论自由是奢侈品，当人们饿肚皮，但现在（1998年）认为，这两个连接没有言论自由：，可以得到“畸形经济”。

希纳的普罗大众可以看到变形的经济，以及谁是输家之内，他们的土地被没收，国家工作人员谁下岗农民，退休人员的退休金化为乌有，一直在提高利率抗议90年代后期以来。

2003年，“公安报群体性事件”人数上升至60,000，自1993年以来增加了6倍。这有助于解释崛起对未经授权的言论，出版的严格控制，并装配在最近几年。赵紫阳在2004年向王伟胜：

他们[在政府]害怕。他们甚至不敢打开一条裂缝，因为无法解决的各种问题，然后可能会泄漏出来。他们必须保护他们的利益和他们的兴趣组。

在纽约，流亡海外的异议人士胡平，北京春天的编辑，曾指出，当经济蓬勃发展创造了一个加强镇压的需要，因为它在中国，西方政客最喜欢的理论提出了质疑。克林顿，布什和布莱尔都记录在案的预测，经济增长必然拉动走向自由和民主的中国。[4]胡丕嗯认为增加对中国的作为不仅提供更好的手段镇压，但更多的财富精英原因，贫富之间的怨恨与穷国的增长。而不是民主的结果，可能是动乱，或者，如果镇压工程，一个成功的怪物的状态。[5]

这样的国家必将使中国的民族主义，而赵紫阳与他聊天宗，涉及到视为“最大威胁”，“中国的对现代文明进步的使用。”民族主义可以理解的根源，赵认为，因为“在中国的外国的侵略和欺凌过去的一个世纪刺痛。”不过，当局可以轻易地利用这种情绪，以“点燃狭隘的种族仇恨”，建立“内部团结，必须保持稳定和巩固统治。”

到他生命的最后赵认为，中国的政治需要至少三件事：新闻自由，司法独立，是对共产党的垄断权力结束。如果没有新闻自由，公民变成“权力的忠实工具。”至于法院，

我们自己的国家的经验表明，没有任何级别好，包括最高层次，在政治干预司法。

与党的权力：

党必须释放所有的控制权… [其他]其他社会组织无法启动，不能元帅有权这样做监督。

在“无产阶级”必须专政的概念和“议会民主是必要的前进道路。”

难道赵希望中国实际上可能得到这些东西很快？在他生命的他似乎悲观结束。最大的障碍，取消一党专政，他认为，是一党统治。特权集团，位于中国之上，并得到了蓬勃发展，不会轻易放弃，正如赵告诉王阳，“面对如此庞大的利益集团，将是非常困难的”，即使领导想。对于赵有没有丝毫迹象表明中国的现任领导人希望。他说，这宗凤鸣

胡锦涛和温家宝的政策是只派小青睐下至普通老百姓，以加强不侵犯任何严肃的精英利益的“为人民的关怀”的形象，更遑论改变以任何方式制度。这就是不会解决问题。

他在附近的晚年赵紫阳的意见，锐度使之更重要的是，我们回顾一下我们在1989年之前，他的思想认识。对于20世纪80年代，胡耀邦作为共产党总书记，大部分已被领导的政治改革的方式，而赵总理，出席经济问题。在1987年，邓小平被迫辞职胡锦涛为总书记的所有权转移给赵，赵显然想继续胡锦涛的政治工作。他建立了“中央对政治体制改革研究小组”，并使它大量的工作人员。当被问及在1987年10月在记者招待会上，他的首要任务为总书记时，他直言不讳没有的话：“政治改革”。

在1987年前赵并没有说这是政治上非常敏感。他让小规模的“资本主义”的私人养殖的恢复，对某些农产品的自由市场和部分工业企业自主权，作为其计划的开放经济，市场力量的一部分。但他设想的框架内，马克思主义这些变化，表示“需要包括资本主义的社会主义”的初级阶段。据赵，马克思的论点是，所有的资本主义必须停止，以实现对社会主义没有采取对资本主义企业的必要性充分考虑准备为社会主义地面。斯大林和毛泽东作出预期，社会主义乌托邦可以从一个农民春季社会直接太大的错误。资本主义阶段不能省略，赵认为，这样中国需要回去“弥补这一类。”这将是，尽管“资本主义下的共产党的领导”，只有经过的阶段。在80年代初与赵没有看到公式“资本主义加一党专政的问题。”

1987年至1989年，但是，他已经开始看到这一公式滋生了腐败。鲍彤记录在他的回忆录，赵不仅认识到，民主化是腐败的答案，却进一步看到，腐败作为一种社会问题，可以用来刺激建立民主机构流行的兴趣。这是一个真正的敏锐洞察力。当时的中国民众被激怒了官员的腐败现象越来越多的证据，如果规则为基础的自由等新闻机构，透明的政府，法律的程序可以作为工具，用以打击腐败提出，就立刻被公众支持的努力。

如何将赵已倾向于将1989年以后？有关如何使向民主过渡，似乎从来没有太大的改变他的观念。他一贯认为，对中国的改变应缓慢而发生阶段。他举出显示有可以不选举民主民权香港的例子。因此，人们可以从这里开始：在讲话一发表，控制和在中国舆论普遍，并鼓励非政府组织的成立。让更多的权力到省，少的中心。然后采取措施，使司法独立。下一步争取更大的透明度和民主决策内（仍然垄断决策）共产党。当这一切完成后，朝迈向民主大选。原因之一赵认为，向民主过渡可由独裁领导人指出的是，这样的事最近在台湾发生。赵钦佩蒋经国，蒋介石的儿子（蒋介石）：

蒋经国是一个了不起的人，他值得认真研究。他跟着世界的潮流，并推动自己的民主改革。他曾在国民党的传统之一党统治，而且，在苏联多年，在共产党的一个传统，党统治。他能够走的以为这是旧的模式的是非常惊人。

他在20世纪90年代软禁，赵退出了严格的思想在马克思主义“的历史阶段上的更多样化的方法来衡量一个社会的进步，包括它的生活水平，预期寿命，教育程度，大小青睐”之间的熟练和非熟练劳动力和生活之间的城乡差距的途径。在中国领导人有先见之明，赵很担心对自然环境的影响，经济发展早在1992年。

超声它是一回事，有一个蓝图，一个抓落实。这里有两个问题：请问赵有真正实行向民主过渡，在他执政？如果是的话，可能他已经赢了？第一个问题的产生是因为一般的模式，广泛地观察到，在中国期刊近年退休的官员谁，一旦官僚机构内工作的压力的，突然更为开放的声音比以前的态度。赵紫阳的软禁可能有这对他的影响，我们不能就此推断，就是他在家里的想法是什么，他肯定会为总书记的完成。有，而且，证据表明，对中国共产党的理想形象，从他的经验与它在20世纪40年代产生的，在赵的头脑存活到最后。如果他继续执政，并在实际结束的党的制度的边缘盯着，他会仍然是向前发展的？

问题是有趣的，但可能没有实际意义，因为它不太可能是赵能有这么大的权力后，1989年即使他住邓并留校，不，无论如何，邓小平在1997年去世。与宗凤鸣赵紫阳的会谈使上述情况表明，整个80年代都赵和胡耀邦只是“frontstage字符邓小平”。所有真正的权力与休息“的两位老人，”邓小平和陈云，每个人有他的忠实追随者网络。邓，陈笨拙地划分权力，控制球，但略有不同的平衡偏袒邓小平。赵报告说，邓小平曾经传话给陈水扁说：“这个党只能有一个老奶奶。”该七人政治局常委意味着更少的邓小平，谁把它叫做“很多头马车”的会议是浪费时间。

“作为党的总书记，”赵问宗凤鸣问道，“我能改变组织部部长？宣传部？我不能，不能只要’人’支持他。”为了充分抓住赵的困境，人们必须明白为什么邓小平是先采用地方“frontstage字符”。他为什么不只是主宰？

在中共体制，政治权力几乎完全取决于一个人的官僚上级的青睐，而不是意见“从下面”，但有一个最高层有趣的例外，没有优越的存在。在那里，人们在仅次于最高层的意见都能够大大的问题。如果一把手“犯错”，这些理由可以是他的对手谁是下一个层次可以尝试将他出去。

即使是毛泽东接受这一动态。当他的大跃进，在50年代末触发了一场饥荒开始耗资百万人的生命，他的“错误”，使他容易受到伤害。他推出了数年后的无产阶级文化大革命在很大程度上是在被对手谁持有他负责饥荒反击。

邓小平上台，在充分的政治作用的错误认识到70年代末。他绘制了我国经济激进的新课程，他知道所涉及的风险可能是巨大的。如果出了问题，他可能会失去权力。在“frontstage”像胡耀邦，赵紫阳，邓小平使人民获得了他的计划，但潜在的替罪羊，以及不仅有力执行者。当然，下属需要记得谁是真正负责，并在1986年胡锦涛似乎已经忘记简单。当邓小平当年提出辞去军委主席后，他显然希望胡锦涛说，“不，不，你必须留下来。”但胡锦涛同意不明智的想法。邓小平则认为这是一个篡位者，9个月后，胡湖一出，为“资产阶级自由化的表面上。”

两年后，这是赵轮到感受到“frontstage捏”的立场。邓小平在1988年5月决定，中国的固定价格制度应作为试验时期删除。赵掠过，谁是关于这样做的太突然的危险担心，邓小平宣布开始向来访的中国实行价格改革是外国领导人，这别无选择，但赵一起去。

1988年夏天，当发生严重的通货膨胀，导致抢购和社会动乱，并已变得越来越明显，一个“错误”了出来，作为党的总书记赵紫阳，必须承担责任。今年9月，“代表党中央，”他发表了正式道歉。许多人留下的，赵紫阳已经在考虑不周的改革发端的印象，他的权威受到影响。但是，即使人们知道真相谁知道，它没有太多的问题;对还是错，赵现在失宠下降。知情人士说，赵到了1989年他已经非常虚弱，他可能不会长期存在，即使发生了在天安门广场没有示威游行。

此外，如果他想保住自己的职位1989年以后，以邓小平就没有足够小的让步。他将不得不完全赞同邓小平的做法，包括邓小平的决定使用在天安门广场的部队。但要做到这一点，但仍然处于“frontstage”的角色，将意味着大屠杀可能是对他造成的。赵说，在没有与他聊天宗凤鸣说，他当时作出这样的计算方法，但接近赵几个人说，它可以和当然应该，一直是他的思想的一部分。

纽约怀疑，80多岁的邓小平仍是这种对赵演习是在1992年能够消除被剥夺时，他的长期邓小平杨尚昆同志，他在军队的权力基础。杨的整肃运动背后的权力在市委书记江泽民，国务院总理李鹏三方分工离开了，党国元老乔石，其中得到了充分的紧张关系，邓小平，上面站着，仍然可以主宰。

赵紫阳不会做得很好，在这样的环境。他从不发达国家甚至在他的经济学特殊领域的权力基础了。

1988年初，一个是价格管制，其“幕后人”，而陈郧局负责人还可以在会议上公然违抗赵。对于赵拥抱20世纪90年代有争议的政治改革将需要耐心，毅力和艰巨努力，目前尚不清楚，赵紫阳，他的所有其他优点，就是其中的能力。他的一些朋友捍卫自己1989年离开的决定，而不是坚持说，他的形象作为烈士被证明是最有效的实际贡献，他作出了政治改革的事业。一个原则光辉的榜样，他们认为，有超过1注定努力的价值。

不过，“预测”一个假想过去一样预测未来的风险。谁知道？这实在是牵强附会的想象之上一宣布成立共和国坦克赵紫阳，但目前还没有什么广泛，1989年全国动乱字符想象，政府的担心，或赵紫阳的持久与它关联。赵紫阳的16年的软禁较少旨在惩罚，而不是预先排除任何可能恢复他的上诉他。难道有余烬在1989年离开的时候，他去世的温暖？

中国高层领导人显然是这么认为的。内赵紫阳去世的日子，胡锦涛成立了一个“应急领导小组”，与自己的主席和中国最大的警察罗夹嗯为副主席。这个小组把警觉的人民武装警察，防暴发出控制指令，并宣布“一个极为敏感时期。”该小组下令铁道部加快人员流动，特别是学生，谁离开首都和严格筛选的人搬进来赵紫阳去世的消息被排斥在报刊和电视。人们接近赵紫阳住所吊唁筛选或国家安全封锁。

2006年秋，当宗凤鸣的书即将出现，他的一些朋友，包括鲍彤和李锐，开始担心。北京刚刚禁止其他一些书籍的作者受到相当大的压力来;及宗有心脏病。宗庆后的朋友派代表前往建议他推迟了一段时间的出版物。但宗是没有说服力的。他已经八十六年岁，他们做什么可以给他呢？而且这本书，从某种意义上说，他对自己的独立宣言。他派信使回来这首诗：

华叔输出

就担心我的朋友我觉得

我是蚕，我只是啐，

对真理的欢呼，轻推正义一起，

并希望能留下一些落后的纯丝。

但我是一个自由蛾也。

突破了茧，像佛的精神

浮动高举，风平浪静，贱民。

宗接受的2007年3月20日心脏手术，而且似乎是尽一切权利。

注释

[1]毛泽东本人作出了贡献客厅游戏1957年7月7日。在处理一群作家和上海人，毛泽东说，据在场的人谁，“鲁迅？他会既可以在监狱中写的东西，否则说什么也没有。”黄宗英，“禾秦岭茅则峒他罗济南duihua，”文汇报墅zhoubao，2002年12月6日。

[2]雪儿吴丹，“百万中文3月，增加了改革的压力，”纽约时报，1989年5月18日。

[3]见刘宾雁和我对她在纽约书评，1998年10月8号书评。赵紫阳，但只有通过正式高中教育，成为软禁期间刻苦读者，似乎有对“持不同政见者”作家独特的口味。他提到何清涟，王力雄，吴国光，郜温谦，戈登张，以及其他与他聊天宗。

[4]见詹姆斯曼，在中国幻想：我们的领导人去解释中国镇压（海盗，2007），页。 2-3。

[5]见，例如，胡平，“Pochu经济日报juedinglun日申花”（取消经济决定论的神话），北京的春天，第147号（2005年8月），第3。

http://lawprofessors.typepad.com … beijing_and_why.pdf

中国的价格已支付：与刘宾雁访谈

作者：森加德尔斯

刘宾雁是一个62岁的作家和记者谁是卓越的智慧，在中国改革的主张视为今天。在50年代中期，再在整个后毛泽东时期，他强烈批评利用手中权力和对压制人民的权利，共产党官员。

刘建超在20世纪50年代中写道传统儒家文人的故事原意，表达人民群众的口齿不清，为国家的领导人的意见。他是在1957年，因此，开除党籍和来自北京到农村去，做艰苦的劳动，并从发布预防。后在文化大革命期间进一步的迫害，他回到70年代末北京编制一份调查报告，故事非常系列，以中文报纸和期刊上发表论文。最强大和广泛，这些赞扬，“人与怪物，在1979年出版的”之一，是对腐败的中国共产党在东北的官员的行为被运用党的普遍腐败看到报告。由于这些作品中，刘成为对在1981年，1983年发射知识分子政权的运动的主要目标之一，1987年。随着物理学家方励之与上海作家汪若罔，他被开除后，胡耀邦的改革，从党的思想，中共党的总书记，1987年被降职。

刘的看法逐渐从根本上改变，但自20世纪50年代。他已脱离了传统的思想说服中国依赖制约权力的人，现在提出关于法律和政治机构需要保护的自由，特别是新闻自由的重视。虽然刘仍然是一个马克思主义者，他开始公开表达这些意见，并在80年代多次。

没有西方国家相比，似乎作家刘。他在中国的地位相似，东欧知识分子，如哈韦尔在捷克斯洛伐克谁，但显然是无能为力的，可以对他们的社会深刻的影响。现在伟大的尊重整个中国给予他的勇气来自于他在说什么很多人认为，谈论私人，但不敢公开说。现在，视察团作为哈佛大学尼曼研究员，刘是由内森加德尔斯新观点季刊，这将公布在下面的访谈有所不同版本的编辑采访到今年冬天。

-默尔戈德曼

1。

内森加德尔斯：方励之，物理学家，和自己最突出的是从共产党驱逐在改革期间知识分子。方励之的结论是，社会主义的失败，马克思主义在二十世纪末无关。你，另一方面，仍然是一个致力于马克思主义者。为什么？

刘宾雁：问题不在于社会主义本身。从苏联进口的社会主义，在中国执行的是不正确的社会主义。从斯大林到毛泽东，我们有假马克思主义。

吴：苏联作家联盟负责人说斯大林妥协在世界范围内他的罪行的社会主义。你觉得毛泽东的一样吗？

刘：斯大林是第一个破产的社会主义。第二个是毛泽东。柬埔寨的波尔布特是第三次。这些人都彻底摧毁了共产主义的意义。

这些人是不是真正的马克思主义者的。他们忽略了马克思的基本原则是社会主义的前提是物质发展水平较高。在每一个国家的条件下，这些人上台后在经济上并没有成熟，建立一个社会主义社会。

如果我们建造一座建筑物就没有基础，它不是一个惊喜的建筑物倒塌。一个社会应该摆脱的发展的唯物主义理论不能简单地把生存意志。

吴：这就是你将如何总结斯大林和毛泽东的经验，试图迫使存在通过政治权力的社会主义？

刘：是的，通过枪杆子乌托邦。

一开始，他认为，列宁的社会主义不可能发生在俄罗斯等不发达的地方。他期待着革命的先进的德国和奥地利领导的方式。当他们的革命流产，必须保持国家权力说服列宁推开了马克思主义，并试图建立一个落后的国家社会主义的唯物主义的科学。其结果是不是真正的社会主义。

此外，就不可能有社会主义，没有民主。戈尔巴乔夫已经制成了苏联有影响力的口号，这一对马克思主义的宗旨，“更意味着更多的民主社会主义。”但在过去30年来出现了两个中国和苏联的民主和自由少。这不可能是社会主义。

吴：所以，中国要发展，或重建一个市场，以建立一个更先进的经济，才能成为真正的社会主义？

刘：这是连毛的原始理论。事实上，他命名为革命后的阶段，在此期间市场力量将发展经济，“新的民主阶段。”

1949年，毛泽东说：中国的“新民主”，将需要15年到20年才能变成社会主义了。但在1953年，毛泽东想成为世界共产主义运动的领袖，所以他试图跨越到社会主义。他忽略了物质现实，并试图冲进“辉煌的未来。”

吴：你好像是阿贝尔阿甘别吉扬，经济顾问戈尔巴乔夫，谁曾说过，一切都因为列宁是一个错误！

刘：尽管毛泽东当然是不成熟的，也是错误的，有成就。我们建立了重工业，文化，教育先进，人民生活水平的提高。但是，我们付出了巨大代价，20的东西应该有成本只有5美分。

也许我们的巨大苦难为人类作出了贡献。我们教给其他国家，不要把我们的覆辙。

吴：价格中国现在必须为此付出悲惨的过去，是今天的青年深深的幻灭感。怎么一个年轻人认为对未来的中国？

刘：所以，我们看到很多年轻人没有好处，因为他们出生。现在，一切都取决于改革和民主化进程，包括共产党的自身改革。我相信我们的年轻人会逐渐看到，中国是有希望。

2。

吴：什么是在Outlook中之间的智力差异在1956年，在百花齐放运动的时间，以及在改革期间智慧呢？

刘：有一个深刻的变化。在仍然相信1956年在党的知识分子。现在，他们没有。

中国知识分子惊醒了1956年的斯大林“社会主义现实主义沉睡，”作为一个赫鲁晓夫在苏联解冻造成的很大一部分。他们体会到生活理想化，文学和艺术是一个错误。而不是每个人都生活写作好，现在他们试图描写现实生活的所有矛盾和冲突的社会主义社会，是“现实主义”，企图压制。

矛盾的是，正如本“新浪潮”的思想开始占据上风，中国走上了“社会主义建设在斯大林的苏联工业化图案”的新阶段。本课程变成非常官僚和压迫性器具，赫鲁晓夫批评中共党。党很快取缔了粗暴的逻辑思维，这是直到经过两次巨大的灾难，大跃进和文化大革命，彻底摧毁信心毛和党的信誉恢复。

当知识界的觉醒于1979年，03年后的1956年百花运动，在党的知识分子的信仰动摇了深刻年。

1979年，许多知识分子但仍采取了新的机会，开始制定一个理论框架，以支持邓小平的经济改革。文章和人民日报否定作为总的错误，毛泽东时代发表的报告。但是，没有越早开始做这比党的领导决定，让他们无法在不危及自己的权力完整的毛泽东权威丧失。

而不是一个新的思想开放，邓小平本人提出了四项基本原则制约于1979年在中国思想自由，这一天。这些原则是保持社会主义道路，坚持人民民主专政，尊重中共党的领导，坚持马克思列宁主义，毛泽东思想。

我是1987年被驱逐出违反这些原则，从党。

吴：什么地球上的马克思列宁主义，毛泽东思想是什么意思？我问一个21岁的女学生在中国这个问题，以及所有她的回答是“热爱祖国。”

刘：有很多这样的口号：“马克思列宁主义，毛泽东思想在中国”，不属于那些认真对待他们，谁留言那些谁也听。

在过去10年来，更多的知识分子都争取以邓小平发起的改革，越受到攻击违反四项基本原则，包括马克思列宁主义违反毛泽东思想。由于改革是完全反对毛泽东的经济思想，在改革的官员认为有必要宣布一致的忠诚四项基本原则。事实上，这些原则，已经投入的宪法保障的思想和言论自由，不属于那里。我想这些怪异的并列，只可以在中国。

吴：什么帐目两步向前，一步回在中国变化的本质？

刘：1979年以来，发生在自由化和富裕的方式对开放和关闭。几乎每年都发生了反对自由化的运动，但每次活动得到弱。

1981年有对苦恋，由柏忽阿暴露，他在文革期间人民群众的疾苦，放在毛将责任归咎于电影的运动。在1983年出现的反精神污染运动，仅持续了二七天。

1987年有反资产阶级自由化运动，是3个月后停止。

这些运动都属于其中的counterreform从一个领导，显然是越来越弱的时候产生于单链派下去。

吴：但没有中共胡耀邦被解雇前主席去年意味着自由化削弱党的力量？

刘：尽管胡耀邦被删除，他的力量在党内的代表，实际上已成为强大。他们已经扩大了在过去的一年，甚至因为反对资产阶级自由化运动引起内外党非常强烈的负面反应。在胡耀邦解雇，方励之驱逐和我本人被视为党和反对宪法的非法行为。第一次，人公开反对政治运动，捍卫它的受害者。他们说，党的行动违反宪法的。

还有另外一个原因是党的进步力量，也越来越强烈：党的反腐败，或“整顿”，计划1983年和1984年失败。本来很多人已经制订整改计划的希望，因为它要消除党内的腐败分子。即使一些思想保守的人，在党希望看到党的改进，他们也反对腐败。

所以，当胡耀邦被废黜，而我被开除，有我们的立场的同情，甚至许多保守派，因为不仅有腐败问题没有得到解决，但那些谁反对腐败被抛出党了！作为结果，腐败者变得更加肆无忌惮，攻击那些已暴露了谁的腐败。他们的嚣张气焰，这已成为更加肆无忌惮，使不大甚至一些保守派谁正在接近我们这一边。

这种调整的关键是了解中国当前的政治局势。

“保守派”认识到，反对自由表达的揭露腐败现象，损害了重新建立信誉和党的领导自己的利益。这就是为什么反资产阶级自由化运动，那么快就结束。

在党的领导也终于明白，每次发动新广告系列的经济遭到严重破坏。私营商人和外国投资者，已有约党稳定性紧张，担心，而这些活动不仅证明私人问题的担忧是正确的。

3。

吴：在党的领导是否现在认为，政治改革是经济改革的必要？或者，实际上是没有邓小平的公开性？的重组改革

刘：经济改革在中国是一个很长的腿，而政治体制改革是一个很短的。一个不能在没有被摔倒由其他。在1986年学生运动的爆炸，因为政治改革几乎还没有开始。

事实上，第一人带来了政治改革的思想是邓小平。 1980年，他说，我们必须改革政治制度，封建主义和官僚的斗争，扩大民主。

但是，它从来没有通过。党内的阻力太大。高级官员拒绝放弃其立场和特权。他们不关心社会主义，他们关心自己的利益，而只是他们的子女和孙辈。我认为真正的开放政策，或开放，将逐步发生的，并不是因为保守派想要它，而是因为人们会强迫他们接受。

吴：有其他在地平线上的保守势力反弹？

刘：如果有比它以往活动不同的合理化。

这是高通胀可能将成为借口。通货膨胀已引起了群众不满情绪比较强烈。保守党可以利用经济理由来进行攻击的改革，他说：“你看，大部分人正受通胀困扰，只有少数谁的市场改革以及受益的生命！”

这种方法可能是有效的，因为人们感到十分不安的新的社会不平等和他们所生活标准下降的感觉。农民往往比城市居民更丰富，以及出租车司机，例如，可以10倍，公共汽车司机，甚至是知识分子。

吴：你如何比较中国的改革进展情况下，苏联的？

刘：有，在中国条件下落后于苏联，包括政治和文化条件，这些都是许多领域，以及法律制度的状态。苏联也充斥着腐败，但戈尔巴乔夫已经更加揭露这个腐败的有效。

但是，我们比苏联起飞的意思是，文革结束后，在中国没有人相信了。因此，如果一个重大改革方案，是经中国提出的挑战教条，人民不会反对它的方式很多反对苏联的改革。

另一个区别。虽然反资产阶级自由化运动得到胡耀邦除掉，改革前去。这是1987年3月颁布法令，在选举地方人民代表大会将有多于应填补的职位和候选人可以由党提名，不仅但是，候选人由人民自己。如果苏联人有一个antiliberalization运动，清除戈尔巴乔夫，他们的改革将在真正的困难。

吴：如何为中国重要的就是改革的苏联的经验和公开化？

刘：非常重要。我们正在看戈尔巴乔夫，因为他开始与政治和媒体的改革。他非常善于开放政策，而这正是中国所缺乏的。

因此，我们都十分关注，如果戈尔巴乔夫失败。如果戈尔巴乔夫是成功的，它将鼓励知识分子和媒体要求更大的自由。是中国最大的困难之一是，我们的问题始终覆盖的。例如，中国从来没有充分揭示了党的50年代末在大跃进的经济灾难的作用。我们必须开放，面对问题，如果我们要解决这些问题。

如果我们不开放，我们就没有民主。民主意味着选择的权力，并选择是没有信息的幻觉。

4。

吴：作为市场经济下的子结构改革的发展，我国经济将发展与各阶层的利益冲突。有些人会变得比别人富裕，农民将要为他们的庄稼多，城镇职工会希望更便宜的产品。

将这些不同的利益，不谋求在多个政党的表现呢？

刘：在1957年，多党派提出的问题实际上是在中国，但在不久的将来，我不认为这是可能有多个政党。

中国是一个非常特殊的国家。没有任何其他国家，这么长的“封建”历史二千年，10倍，欧洲中世纪时代的长度。此外，在40年中，革命的党没有让不同的政治理念与反对党或容忍的人。它不允许非政治性意识形态传播。

因此，它更是困难的，政治社会或组织出现在中国比在苏联或东欧。除非社会混乱和民众的压力发展的程度，他们使党无能为力，一个新的反对派不会出现。更现实的可能性是党内的多元化发展。

吴：是什么在中共看起来会多元化？毕竟，似乎没有像自己关键的马克思主义者的空间。你被驱逐。

刘：但是这样的同志很多，我仍然在党和，因为他们的党是在三至五年党将改变国内，即使中共的外壳可能不会改变。事实上，四项基本原则是自己的一份声明中，这个外壳不能改变。但是，内脏会发生变化。现在该是在内部变革中共产党。在党的领导已经失去了党的自身的控制。在不同层次的进步势力无视上述指示时，从他们觉得自己不利于他们的地区。于是，我们在中共政党多元化空间。

吴：这是否满足你的内部多元化的社会主义民主政治的思想，还是完全承认上的东西现在可能在中国历史的限制？

刘：我都并不感到满意。但是，中国是一个拥有很多国家的墙壁，由长城象征。发生了许多变化背后的墙上，但很难看到这些变化，因为隔离墙本身和以前一样。

这很难说将来以何种形式将发生变化。或许有一天党内不同派别将公开承认他们的分歧，将有党的多元化的组织机制。目前还没有组织机制，但各派系仍然存在，没有一套规则的斗争。在党的第十三次代表大会在1987年，其中有可能选择在几个秘密选举候选人下降，一些保守的候选人被淘汰。

吴：什么是最重要的历史和政治改革，可能有助于遏制腐败和滥用权力？

刘：有两个重要的改革。一个是扩大新闻自由。二是加强法制。

新闻自由意味着现有的报纸，党报，能更自由地揭露，批评和发表不同意见。这个过程已经开始。论文，如中国青年报还党报，但实际上并没有他们曾经是相同的报纸。例如，在中国的精英北大，丁师薰总裁批评没有给予足够的重视和金钱来教育的政府。尽管当局这种批评激怒了中国青年报发表了讲话。编辑们知道他们会因此而受到谴责，但他们并没有那样做。此外，我们还需要建立之外的党达成的独立报纸。

有趣的是，北京人民大学最近调查的200高层次的党的干部。百分之七十认为，党报没有管理好。百分之七十以上的说，他们不相信报纸。

34个百分之认为，应该有一个大的独立报纸。由于通货膨胀不断加剧，党的力量不断削弱，以及相对独立的中产阶级在农村和城市的出现，一个选区正在形成能够支持独立的报纸。

法律制度的改革才刚刚开始。在此之前，我们有可怜的情况有根本没有私人律师，只有政府律师。现在我们至少有私人律师少数谁可以保卫官方虐待的受害者。

吴：毕竟你已经经历了，所有的起伏，落后，推进改革和反应模式，你仍然有信心，中国可以建立社会主义类型的激励吗？

刘：是的，因为我在中华民族的信心。我们是一个非常聪明和勤劳的人民。我们付出这么高的价格，美国人无法理解，因为他们从来没有付出这样的代价。的死亡，苦难和不幸，结下了力量，将推动社会前进。

1957年，在我们伟大的人为灾难，中华民族没有强大到足以推动。现在，他们。

[ 本帖最后由曰耳又于09年12月3号8时27分编辑 ]