A Heart for Freedom (24 page)

The last time Li Lu had gone to a meeting of the Capital Joint Conference, others there had offended him by questioning his identity. Li Lu was constantly singled out by various people in the movement as someone with a questionable background. After defending him repeatedly, this time I was too tired and didn’t say anything.

I would not have gone to the meeting if Li had not suggested it might be a way to obtain some badly needed funding. Feng, who was in charge of finances for the Defend Tiananmen Square Headquarters, went with me.

The meeting became a marathon, with representatives from many organizations present. I reported on the situation in the Square, including the power struggles and daily coup attempts by out-of-town student groups. The “empty campuses” idea was officially vetoed, but Wu’er Kaixi proposed to go to the provinces to mobilize more students to come to Beijing. After long hours of debate, everyone present agreed Tiananmen Square had become the banner of the democracy movement, and we could not allow that banner to fall. We concurred that the student movement should remain on the Square until the National People’s Congress convened on June 20, on the assumption that Li Peng’s government would be overruled and martial law lifted.

When it was Feng’s turn to speak, he announced we were running a deficit. Without more funding, he said, we would not be able to sustain ourselves for even one more day. This took everyone by surprise, including me. Feng had not said anything to me about a shortfall, and it was only now that I realized how serious a problem we had. Chinese Central Television had forwarded 20,000 RMB in donations from all over the country, Feng said, but it was far from enough. The Beijing Red Cross had received 40,000 RMB donated specifically for the students, but they had never forwarded the money. The Beijing Students’ Autonomous Federation had raised nearly one million RMB during the week of the hunger strike, but they had taken the money with them when the Hunger Strike Committee reassumed leadership on the Square, leaving behind a bag of loose change amounting to less than 10,000 RMB. When Feng explained to those who were not on the front lines in the Square that it cost 40,000 RMB per day to provide each student with a single piece of bread, they were shocked. All eyes turned to the representatives from the Beijing Students’ Autonomous Federation, who explained they had put half their money aside for the next movement—which was a clear indication they had no faith in the present movement. However, the spokesman agreed to provide 100,000 RMB for the Square, which meant the students could survive on their single piece of bread for another two days. Everyone present then agreed we would withdraw from Tiananmen Square on May 30—in three days.

During lunch, the focus of the meeting shifted. Liu Xiaobo, a professor from Beijing Normal University, proposed that Wu’er Kaixi be appointed as spokesman for the movement. Feng and I were both shocked by this idea, given the individualistic leadership style Kaixi had demonstrated.

When I asked Wang Dan, whom I tended to trust, what was going on, he said, “Look, all these people have their own interests and agendas. They’re not like the students at the Square, whose motives are pure.”

I was taken aback by his response. “What would you do if you were me?”

“If I were you, I would either leverage what they are interested in achieving in order to accomplish my own goals, or I would withdraw from the alliance.”

“Why are you still here?” I asked. “What’s your interest?”

Wang Dan looked me in the eye and said, “I may be interested in a little bit of fame.”

I was moved by his honesty and felt I could continue to trust him. Still, Feng and I decided to resign from the Capital Joint Conference on behalf of the Defend Tiananmen Square Headquarters.

* * *

When we returned to our headquarters, Feng went off to get ready for a press conference. Li Lu was inside the Headquarters tent, and he seemed to be in good mood.

“So what did you guys decide after such a long day?” Li Lu asked with a smile. “Did you get some money to feed the people?” He seemed ready to be amused by whatever news I had brought back from the meeting.

I told him we had managed to scrape together a few renminbi. Before I reported the shocking proposal to make Wu’er Kaixi spokesperson for the movement, I mentioned that at the meeting we had agreed to withdraw from the Square on May 30.

Li Lu exploded.

“What a stupid idiot you are!” he screamed. “Don’t you have a political brain at all? What an idiot! To
withdraw
? Don’t you realize this is exactly what the government wants but couldn’t purchase for millions of renminbi? Don’t you know the government has been buying off people on the Square with promises of riches and power if they can help bring the students out of the Square? And you guys just handed it to them on a platter. Who were these people at the meeting to make a decision like that? Do you know their background and their motives and their connections? Who are these people?”

As Li Lu stormed back and forth inside the large tent, my bodyguard, Ma Bin, looked at me as if I had just done something to bring down the entire movement. I was so embarrassed. Of course, I had no way to verify that the government was trying to bribe student leaders and scholars to get the students out of the Square. I trusted Li Lu so much I did not even question the validity of his statement. At the meeting, the decision to withdraw had centered on the funding issue and had not seemed so momentous. Now I felt horrible that I might have missed something profoundly important.

Li Lu continued to walk back and forth inside the tent. This was the first time I had seen him really lose his temper and self-control. The pacing seemed to help him get hold of himself, and he started sounding rational again, though he was still clearly upset.

“Where were they all those days and nights when we were busting our tails to get the Square in order? Where were they hiding when the Square was about to be cleared out? Don’t you know that the decision to stay or leave should be made by the representatives at the Square? We can find a way to get money. I knew nothing good would come from that meeting.”

He stormed off, leaving me on the verge of tears. Never in my life had anyone spoken to me like that.

From day one, I had trusted Li Lu. I had defended him and fought long and hard for his right to be one of our leaders, even as others attacked him viciously and accused him of being a government spy because he didn’t have a student ID. So many times, when people questioned who he was, I had defended him unconditionally. Now he was questioning other people’s motives and identities. I had supported him and stood with him through the most difficult times because I believed in him and in the fundamental fairness and rights of all participants, not just the Beijing students. But if all this time he had thought of me as an idiot—someone to be manipulated, someone easy to control—then I couldn’t possibly continue to work with him. I was hurt and humiliated by his insults. After how calm he had been through much of the chaos, Li Lu’s crazy rant now shook my trust and sense of judgment to the core. Worse yet, I found myself thinking he might be right and I was wrong. If the government truly wanted us to leave the Square, had I been deceived into agreeing to the May 30 withdrawal on behalf of the students? Li Lu’s point was valid that only the students at the Square should have the right to vote about whether to stay or leave.

* * *

The organizers of the Capital Joint Conference had scheduled a press conference for half an hour from now to announce the results of the meeting—including the decision to withdraw. But if that was the wrong thing to do, what should we do now? I was torn and tormented, but there was hardly any time to think it through.

Just as I was about to step out of the tent, the communication liaison from the conference crashed in and started shouting at me, “Chai Ling, how could you do that? Li Lu told us you changed your mind about announcing the withdrawal decision now. Our press announcement was already written and printed out. How dare you change your mind and play us like that!”

After Li Lu’s outburst, I did not have enough energy to calm down another angry man. So I said, “You should go ask Li Lu to explain it to you.” He looked at me with daggers in his eyes and left. Only later did I learn that he and another man from the conference were threatening to drag me out and beat me up for what they’d heard I had done.

I was still trying to collect myself when a student marshal came to me with a complaint. He told me he was the head of the picket line guarding our headquarters, and for this task he had been rewarded with a pair of toy binoculars—but the guys guarding the Beijing Students’ Autonomous Federation had been given walkie-talkies. In the midst of all the chaos, you can imagine how astounded I was by this petty concern. I didn’t say a word. I just looked at him. This kind of thing had driven me to the edge of exhaustion. As the commander in chief, I was at the center of every conflict, large and small.

Ma Bin came to the rescue this time. “What are you guys here for?” he said. “Are you here for these toys or to find a better future for our country?” The embarrassed student marshal returned to his post.

Seeing me in a moment of calm, another student approached. He was from a maritime college in northern China. When he and his fellow cadets first appeared on the Square, they immediately stood out in their eye-catching white uniforms. They were tall, well built, and clean cut, impressively military in their bearing. After martial law was declared, they were recruited to guard the broadcasting station. “We have been standing here day and night,” he told me, “watching your leaders come and go without doing anything. We were disappointed, and most of us went home. Originally several hundred cadets from my school were here, but now only ten of us remain.” Tears welled in his eyes. “I’m still here,” he said. “I just want to see if there is still any hope for us and for our country.”

Deep down I felt the same way. I was disappointed by all those in the movement who seemed to care only about grabbing power and fame. The country was in crisis; the ruling party was split; the government stood against its own people; the capital was under martial law; troops surrounded the city; tens of thousands of students from out of town occupied a square that was growing ever more squalid and filthy; rumors circulated about blacklists being compiled or that so-and-so had been arrested; many familiar friends had said farewell and disappeared. Yet students like this cadet looked to me for strength and advice. How could I possibly tell him I felt the same way he did? I had been appointed commander in chief of the Defend Tiananmen Square Headquarters, and I had led the entire Square in an oath to fight to the very end. Now, in my worst moment of humiliation by someone I had trusted, I still needed to be a source of encouragement for the many who looked up to me as a leader.

“We’ll figure something out,” I said. “Don’t give up.”

“I won’t,” he replied. “I’ll never give up.”

21

Last Will and Testament

At the press conference to announce the decision to withdraw from the Square on May 30, Wang Dan, Wu’er Kaixi, and I were portrayed as the three main student leaders. I felt neither joy nor relief. I felt I had made a mistake to agree to the withdrawal without a vote by the students at the Square. I had led the students in an oath to hold our ground in a stand for democracy. As commander in chief, I bore a responsibility to those who had invested their trust in me. To conform to an arbitrary retreat without giving the students a chance to vote would violate the same democratic principles the movement was striving to achieve.

At the press conference, I dissented from the official announcement and declared the students on the Square would first have to sanction any such decision. After the announcement, the students held another congressional meeting, and the majority voted to stay at the Square.

Bai Meng, the poet from the Beida writing class, found me after the press conference. He had been with us since the launch of the hunger strike and had taken charge of the broadcasting center, which was always the first object for takeover by those who unendingly tried to seize power on the Square. Bai Meng told me that given the deteriorating conditions on the Square, I should consider the plan to withdraw. It was obvious, he said, the government was waiting for the movement to die out on its own. If I did not agree with him, he said, it would be time for him to resign and leave the Square.

By then I had had it. I was tired of people using personal pressure, charm, or threats to get me to announce that we were staying or leaving. I was upset that someone so trusted, a friend so passionate and endearing, the same friend who had bought us a bowl of steaming dumplings to eat after my hunger strike speech, would think of leaving and in the process try to persuade me to take the students out as well. Those who chose to stay on the Square nurtured resentments against those who left—calling them cowards and traitors who had been bought out by the government. As I gazed at Bai Meng, I could not believe that he, too, had lost hope and changed his mind.

By the end of the day, I was completely exhausted. I had endured a seven-hour meeting of the Capital Joint Conference, Li Lu’s tongue-lashing, a grueling press conference, and the resignation of yet another close friend. That night I wasn’t sure where Feng had gone to rest. When my bodyguard asked for time off because his girlfriend had come to visit him, I realized I had no place to sleep. In despair, I went to our supply division, where mountains of new tents had recently arrived from Hong Kong. However, the young student in charge insisted on equality and would not allow me to be the first to set up one of the tents, even though, as commander in chief, I had gotten the tents flown in in the first place. After some negotiation by my bodyguard, Ma Bin, the student agreed to let me sleep in one of the large enclosures housing the bags of tents that had not yet been set up. I fell asleep amid a pile of unused resources.