A HEART FOR FREEDOM
THE REMARKABLE JOURNEY OF A YOUNG DISSIDENT, HER DARING ESCAPE, AND HER QUEST TO FREE CHINA'S DAUGHTERS
By CHAI LING
TYNDALE HOUSE PUBLISHERS, INC.
Copyright © 2011
Chai Ling
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4143-6246-5
Contents
Preface.............................................................ix
Prelude.............................................................xi
1. Growing Up in the City of Sunshine...............................3
2. Child of the Tiger Dad...........................................9
3. "Make Me an Extraordinary Child!"................................17
4. Tough Love at Home...............................................25
5. Peking University................................................35
6. The Cost of Love.................................................43
7. A Dream and a Nightmare..........................................51
8. Feng the Revolutionary...........................................59
9. Resolutions......................................................69
10. Night at Xinhua Gate............................................79
11. Searching for Feng..............................................89
12. The Funeral for Hu Yaobang......................................93
13. Dawn of New Beginnings..........................................101
14. The Dong Luan Verdict...........................................111
15. Secret Meeting..................................................119
16. Hunger Strike...................................................129
17. Solidarity......................................................139
18. The Great Wave..................................................145
19. Martial Law.....................................................153
20. Defending Tiananmen Square......................................161
21. Last Will and Testament.........................................173
22. The Last Stand..................................................183
23. On the Run......................................................197
24. China's Most Wanted.............................................207
25. Escape to Hong Kong.............................................215
26. The Meaning of Freedom..........................................223
27. The New World...................................................231
28. Life After Tiananmen............................................241
29. American Dream..................................................249
30. Culture Shock...................................................257
31. True Love.......................................................265
32. Wrestling with the Past.........................................275
33. Finding Freedom.................................................285
34. All Girls Allowed...............................................295
35. Sacred Spaces...................................................305
36. Overcoming Darkness (Moving into the Light).....................315
37. The Face of Jesus...............................................325
Notes...............................................................333
Acknowledgments.....................................................335
Chapter One
GROWING UP IN THE CITY
OF SUNSHINE
I went to Beijing for the first time when I was seventeen—a young
girl on the threshold of life. So much would happen during the short
span of time between that ride, in 1983, and the one I would take out
of Beijing in June 1989 that decades could well have passed since the
morning I traveled through the Chinese countryside to begin my university
studies.
On the bus from Rizhao, my father sat beside me in great spirits. He
didn't say much, but every so often he let out a sigh to show me how
happy he was that his firstborn child was on her way to Peking University—
or Beida, as we fondly call our school—the most prestigious
institute of higher learning in all of China. He was relieved, because he
knew things could have turned out differently. For a father who valued
Chinese tradition, I—his firstborn, but not a son—was once a big disappointment.
Still, as a young girl determined to overcome her "gender
deficiency," I had brought home the prize, which gave my father a profound
sense of pride and contentment.
"Ling Ling," he said as we settled in for the seven-hour trip from
our village in Shandong Province, "you are leaving your home now. You
know, I also was seventeen when I left home to join the army."
Like most Chinese names, my father's name, Chai Jingjin, which
literally means "Going to Beijing," embodied a cherished family wish.
My grandfather had fervently hoped his son would grow up, leave the
countryside, and go to the capital city to find a better life in serving
the emperor, perhaps as a scholar. Dad never got to seek his fortune in
Beijing, but he did leave the countryside to pursue a career as an army
doctor.
Now he and I were headed for Beijing on a crowded bus, which
bucked and jolted along a winding road through the Eastern Mountains
on its way from our seaside village to the vast interior of the Chinese
heartland. A perilous abyss yawned below us on one side, and the sun
seemed to scorch the sheer rock walls rising sharply above us on the
other. Every so often, we'd pass a pitiful collection of little straw huts
shaded by a lone tree. I saw rags set out to dry on the hot rocks and
small children scampering about in open-slit shorts that exposed their
tiny backsides as they shouted and chased their goats in a haze of dust.
On a far mountain ridge, a man with a bare, dark-brown torso moved
in and out of view as he toiled behind an ox and plow, swaying in perfect
rhythm under the broiling sun.
Along the roadside, women and children would stop whatever they
were doing and stand motionless, their mouths agape and faces blank,
staring at the bus and its passengers as we drove past them into a distance
they couldn't reach and a future they could not even imagine. I
was deeply saddened by the sight of these people on the mountainside,
trapped in the suffering landscape with no way to make life better and
no hope for the future of their children.
It reminded me of the time when I was five years old and was left
in the foster care of a peasant family while my parents were sent on a
military mission. I lived with these people in their mud-brick hut, with
its central platform that served as a place to eat meals, sit during the
day, and sleep at night. I remember the smell of smoke coming into the
room when the bed was warmed by burning hay on winter nights. Now
I was leaving behind these villages filled with helpless poverty, illiteracy,
and boredom, but my heart ached for them. I felt they were a part of
me—the earthy, hardy places where I came from and the roots that gave
me the foundation and strength in my life.
"Bye, now," I said silently as my view of the people faded behind the
bus. "I am going away to learn, but I will be back someday when I am
older and stronger. I will help you, bring you hope, freedom, and more.
Someday!"
* * *
The sight of those poor peasants reminded me of my dear grandma—
and thinking of her made my heart ache even more. Grandma, who had
come to live with us and who had raised me, was the stable parenting
figure in my early years when Mom and Dad were constantly sent on
military missions. Her face had many wrinkles, and her tiny body had
withered with age, but hidden within her small frame was the heart
of a hardworking, enduring, tireless woman. The veins that stood out
like blue ropes on the backs of her hands were a testimony to her years
of manual labor in the fields, in every season and right up to the last
hour each time she gave birth. She had married Grandpa at a young age
and gave birth to seven surviving children, often returning to the fields
within days of delivery.
As with many traditional Chinese women, the years of hard labor
and subsistence living left Grandma with a strong set of values and traditions.
Because Grandpa had died of starvation during the three-year
famine in the late 1950s, Grandma was extremely careful not to waste
food. She never started a meal when we did, but would wait for us to
finish and then eat our leftovers. She got up early every morning, at
five o'clock when my parents did their calisthenics, and began to make
breakfast, wash clothes, and straighten up the house. She often went tottering
about on her bound feet to gather twigs and leaves for kindling.
On bone-chilling winter mornings, we would see her form rising and
falling in the gray mist; and when she returned with an armful of sticks,
her silvery-gray hair, which normally was combed neatly and coiled up
into a bun, was blown down all over her forehead. My dad, a young officer
with great potential and always concerned with appearances, forbade
Grandma to go out, lest one of his army comrades see her and wonder
why an officer of his rank had his mother out gathering sticks. But
Grandma would say, "I'm no good anymore anyway. What's wrong with
helping you save a little money on kindling so I'm not just freeloading
all the time?"
When Dad still strictly forbade her, my siblings and I inherited
Grandma's job. We quickly learned that she believed in Master Chan's
saying: "If you don't work, you don't eat." Though Grandma was illiterate
and uncultured, the virtue of hard work was deeply rooted in her
life—and now in mine.
Hard times did not keep Grandma from having a big heart full of
mercy and kindness to people and creatures in worse situations than
hers. One time I bought a number of little chicks, and Grandma helped
me raise them. One of the chicks was crippled and could not completely
stand up. A neighbor suggested we make a nice chicken soup, but
Grandma felt a special compassion for the poor chick and always gave
her more food and care because of her illness. Later the chick grew into
a hen and laid many eggs. Grandma always said that hen worked extra
hard to thank her owners for showing mercy and kindness.
When I told Grandma I was going to Peking University, her ancient,
wrinkled face lit up with joy. In that moment, all the years of toil and
strife fell away, and she was transformed into a young girl again, radiant,
with a glimpse of sparkle in her eyes. I couldn't remember ever seeing
her so happy. She beamed and laughed and showed her missing teeth.
All her long-buried memories rushed up, vivid and beautiful, and burst
out in a flurry of words.
"In the old days," she began, "when a student passed the exam and
made the emperor's list, the imperial palace sent a messenger by horseback
to the village to deliver the news to the family. Can you imagine?
The whole village came out to celebrate. They banged drums and performed
dragon dances. That was a lot of fun, I can tell you. If the student
happened to make the number one list, he won a chance to marry
the emperor's daughter and live in a palace in Beijing. Sometimes he'd
bring his bride back home to visit the village and see his parents. Then
the whole road would be strewn with flowers and brightly colored paper,
and soon a team of horses, palace guards, flags, carriages, and sedan
chairs—each one carried by eight people—would arrive. It was the
greatest honor a son could possibly bring to his family."
Grandma went on and on, as if she had just returned from a voyage
to another century—the century before 1911, when the last emperor in
a series of dynasties was abolished. In Grandma's generation, those stories
had been kept alive through folk music and plays, but my parents'
generation and mine—those who grew up in the "new society"—never
saw such a thing.
"That's why we named your father 'Going to Beijing,'" Grandma
said. "It's too bad that when your father was growing up, China was in
a different time. They didn't have those exams anymore, or that kind of
fun. But now my granddaughter is going to Beijing!" She clapped her
aged, weatherworn hands. "At last, somehow, that Chai family wish has
come true. How wonderful is that?"
Usually when Grandma got going on all the good things she missed
about the "old society," as the Communists called it, my dad would tell
her to stop talking. He worried someone would overhear what she said
and report that our family didn't like the "new society"—a crime that
could lead to death or a life sentence in a forced labor camp. This time,
though, I guess she touched a soft spot in Dad's heart. Instead of stopping
her, he joined in with his own rhapsody.
"Today's exam is no less competitive than in the old days," he said.
"It may even be harder. Only fifty spots for this university are permitted
for our province, with millions of bright kids competing."
Dad and Grandma were grinning, and my mother beamed with joy
as well. She could clearly recall the day she passed the exams and entered
medical school. She remembered what joy she'd brought to her mother
and what pride she'd given her family. I couldn't tell whether Grandma
heard what my father had said, but this much was clear: The whole family
was overjoyed that a family dream had finally come true after three
generations. As it sank in, the realization that I was going to Beijing had
a different meaning for everyone, but the whole family agreed that a
bright future awaited me, and they acknowledged the luster and glory I
had brought to the family. I loved the idea that I had done something to
give my mother and grandmother such joy. What made me even happier
was the thought that, by leaving, I would get out from beneath my
father's thumb.
I love my father, but I was intimidated by him when I was growing
up. Our relationship became better when I started doing well in school,
but less than a year before my acceptance at Beida, he and I got into
a major conflict when I told him I didn't plan to join the Communist
Youth League. I felt so hurt by his reaction that I did not speak to him
for some time. I decided to skip a class in order to test for university.
Surprisingly, he later went to talk to the school principal, who agreed to
establish an accelerated program for a few students, and some of us went
on to college.
My dad saw college as the next step on a set pathway to success
within Chinese society. I saw it as the gateway to freedom and happiness.
Though focused on different destinies, we agreed on one thing:
Beida was the culmination of the fairy-tale dreams of three generations
of Chais.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from A HEART FOR FREEDOM
by CHAI LING
Copyright © 2011 by Chai Ling.
Excerpted by permission of TYNDALE HOUSE PUBLISHERS, INC.. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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