"Gateway to heaven"
- Tianamen Square
"Ouch, je je I'm telling mamma!" I yelled in agony, rubbing the
imprint her book left on my head.
"No you're not, she won't believe you; I'm older," snickered my
sister, and with that she ran up the crowded walkway; which in the morning hour,
looked much like a stampede of bulls. As I walked toward school, I listened to
the distinctive chatter of my fellow civilians, smelled the exhaust fume filled
air and listened to the bells and whistles of another pristine day. This was
Beijing, China on another busy workday, no time to talk, money is to be made,
there is always somewhere to go and some place to be. It seems that this is the
ideology of all Chinese; as I looked ahead, all I can see is a sea of black hair
moving from side to side, up and down, in unison, everyone trying desperately
not to drown. I tread toward the edge of the curb and am taken into a world of
raging machine's, streetcars, bicycles, and automobiles, racing down the street
carrying even more people to some important place. I see a void in the racetrack
and take a chance to run across the street to school.
I am in my last year at Mao Tse-Dung Middle School, it is full of long
maintained rivalries between its top students, all of us are supposed to be the
best, we are to make our families proud in any way possible and build a
prosperous future; because our parents and previous ancestors worked so hard so
that we could have this exclusive chance.
I have always been an exceptional student, always attending the after school
classes and always being at the top of my class in all the major subject
categories. After the examination, when my fellow students and I had swarmed the
student standings list, I always would read my name in the top three; endlessly
hearing criticism from my competitors.
"Mei Ling, first in Maths, second in Science and first in technological
studies, it is because of her guanxi!"
Amused, I would simply reply, "Haha, my guanxi had nothing to do with my
success, maybe you should all try studying; maybe one day I might have some real
competition!" Guanxi is something that I definitely have, my father is a
senior member of the Chinese Communist Party, and he more or less can 'make
things happen’ for my sister and I. Next year, because of this, she was going
to study in the United States, she does not have to go through all of the
unnecessary obstacles that the government makes all university students go
through; sometimes living with six per dorm room. She does not have to spend 5
years slaving away at a substandard job provided by the government, whose main
emphasis of which is on the working class and how much money they can make for
the economy to lift China into the Modern Western World.
"Mei Ling, what are you doing?" yelled my best ‘pong yo’
I looked up in shock; I hadn’t realized that I was standing in front of my
locker staring at it all this time. "Umm, nothing" I answered in a
daze.
"Well anyway, did you hear about Hu Yao bang?"
"What about him?"
"You mean, you don’t know?"
"No, just tell me!"
"Well, he died of a heart attack today."
I froze: this man was one of my sister’s hero’s, he was an actual
respectable Chinese dignitary, and he understood China’s need for change. I
stumbled and replied, "Oh really? It must be all over the news, Ching Ching,
I will probably hear about it later."
With that, I slouched away looking like a wilted plant in the desert on a hot
summer day. Class seemed to have dragged on for hours and hours, each teacher's
lecture droned on and on and I could not concentrate. I felt as though I were a
rice farmer, counting every grain of rice I had harvested. I could only think
about what my sister would do. She is the wild one of my family, the more
‘American one.’ She dresses in their fashions, she talks in their ways and
she even listens to their music. She is a free spirit, if anything. She has her
own opinions and she chooses to voice them, she is not a normal Chinese.
She disobeys nearly all of our father’s wishes, she does not seem to care that
Father has the last word for everything, and everything is his decision. We,
mamma, je je and I must do everything in our power to please him because this is
the way it is. In all Chinese families, the father or the man is the most
powerful figure, he is everything to the family; everyone else, especially
females, are there to serve him, we are there to perform his wishes and to
complete his commands. Women are meant to be more of a convenience than a
burden. I can remember a time when je je was 15 and I was 11, Baba told her she
couldn’t go to a local play put on by a local drama group because one of the
members was "against the CCP" and Baba would not have his daughter
seeing such a biased made mockery of so-called ‘artwork.’
On my way home back into the jungle of the streets of Beijing, the sounds I
heard earlier in the day were still there to accompany me on my adventure. The
signs of mourning were already apparent with store owners burning
‘heaven’s’ bank notes and other necessities the dead may need in their
afterlife, the smell of incense welcomed me as I explored the different
preparations. They say that if a person is not "prepared for and cared for
in their burial, they will haunt the living that were supposed to take care of
them." My guess is that no one wants to be haunted by Hu Yao bang, so this
is why they are mourning so openly. As I continued my stroll through the somber
atmosphere, I begin to notice all the different ways people mourn, the Buddhist,
the Confucius, the Taoist all of them paid their respects to Hu Yao bang; I
could imagine that the parades would begin soon, these mourning for Hu Yao
bang’s life. I recalled his background, Hu Yao bang came from a family that
had a strong commitment to the CCP, he joined the Red army, and by 19 he was a
full CCP member. He took apprenticeship under Deng Xiao ping, China’s leader
at that time, Hu Yao bang was one of the front contender’s for the Red Army's
leadership, but because of his support for the students protesting for a better
educational system and increased democracy he was condemned and spent most of
his latter life reading, practicing calligraphy, and taking long walks.
I almost walked past my flat; it looked different today, less cheerful. We were
lucky to live in a building with more class than many others; no rats, and we
had wood floors instead of concrete. Walking on the path towards the gray
concrete door, I remembered the night when I was in the hallway and je je was
sneaking into the house from one of her ‘study groups,’ she pulled me
outside and made me sit with her on the large concrete steps that lead to the
door.
This is when she said something that I didn’t know the meaning of at the time,
in a hesitant matter she said, "No matter what anyone tells you, I am your
je je and I will always be." I thought she was crazy, maybe the bitter cold
of that February night had gotten to her, or maybe it was fumes vacating the
local tannery that we stared at from across the street. This night was the first
time I had noticed the sparkle in her eyes, while she lectured me on how I
should not be like her. At that moment she was no longer just my sister but she
was almost like a Shinto goddess to me, a higher being; she was not part of old
China’s ways as Baba said. She did not believe in our traditions, she was a
girl, in China with her own political views, a complete oxymoron in these days.
Je je was the perfect representation of a new democratic China, one with
increased rights for all, freedom of expression and as je je would say with a
grin ‘American boys!’ My sister has a massive influence on my life, her
kindred spirit brings color to my black and white life, I admire and love her; I
sometimes feel as though I am the older sister, obligated to give her advice on
what’s right and wrong and being required to cover for her when she doesn’t
take my advice; which was usually a good part of the time. Though I can talk the
world of my je je, she does have her faults, the biggest one being that she is
an active member of the underground movement at Bei Da. This is her biggest
secret, the one could break our family, and so it is essential for me to keep
this one from my Mamma and Baba. She attends all of the democracy rallies; she
listens to the crowd's voice and hears the cries of her fellow classmates
calling for China’s reformation into a democratic society. The students yearn
for a society in which they have a voice, an opinion and better living
conditions and additional support from the government for when they are thrust
into the cruel hands of the working world, a world that does not reward
intelligence with better wages and praise, but spits down upon them as if they
are no better than mafia members laundering money stolen from their loved ones.
"Mei Ling, chin ai de, why are you sitting here wasting your time?"
I looked up from the front steps of the flat into my mother’s tired eyes,
"Umm mamma, I’m just thinking"
"Ai yah, you sound like Jing Yee, just ‘thinking’ about nonsense all
the time, where is your je je anyway?"
"Uhhh, she is probably still at school, her study group meets
tonight." Another lie for my je je,
"Heh, she studies too much, always at school, never at home." Hissed
mamma while she pushed past me into the house. I rose to my feet like a crane
carrying cars to be crunched in a junkyard and followed her inside.
Welcomed by the overwhelming scent of tiger balm probably wafting into the
hallway from the local herb sorcerer, Dr. Wei. I greeted him with the usual
greeting.
"Wan an."
He nodded his head, and then went back to his "medical research,"
which entailed knocking on our door at 2 o’clock in the morning demanding to
borrow our wok to mix his ginseng concoction. I giggled at the thought while I
passed the mad scientist's lair into the wonderful aura of Szechwan style food.
Mrs. Wing, for as long as I can remember, has always been trying to fatten me
& je je up by making us elaborate ten course banquets with delicious
bean-curd based dishes, fish oozing with the wonderful spices tickling our
tongues and noses with anticipation of the culinary anomalies to come and
deserts with sweet rice and fortified coconut. I shivered with glee at the
thought.
"Wan an, Mrs. Wong, your cooking smells very good," I smiled, hoping
for something to take.
"Ai, Mei Ling, nee how, you want some biscuits? I bake them just for you
and Jing yee."
"No no, it’s okay," I said in the usual Chinese manner of total
refusal unless of course the other party absolutely insists.
"Ai yah, Mei Ling, I have too many anyway!" she shoved the cookie tray
into my chest and gently pushed me ahead.
"Shea shea ne" I answered with a huge smile on my face for I had
gotten what I wanted.
I finally reached our flat, the largest one on the floor, and in the building. I
wiped my shoes on the carpet and took them off, leaving them outside the door.
Mamma is very superstitious, she and many other Chinese believe that if the
shoes are inside the house and left at the door, this "vicious act"
would bring bad luck to the family. We also keep a bat gua, which resembles an
octagon with a mirror in the center, nailed to the top of the front door to keep
bad spirits away from us.
When you turn the knob on our door and push it open, you walk straight into an
atmosphere of peace and unity. Mamma is also very devoted to Feng Shui, which is
the practice of the proper placement of objects in their surroundings so that
"chi" can flow, allowing prosperity and knowledge reign supreme.
"Mei ling, don’t you forget to bai sin a goong" nagged mamma from
the kitchen
"Okay, I will" and with that I took 3 steps left to a goong’s alter
and bowed 3 times, showing my utter respect for him. A goong died before I was
even born, he was a dormant member of the CCP, so my father had no respect for
him, but since my father is the oldest of his 8 brothers, he’s responsible for
keeping the altar. Baba is a typical Chinese father, never happy with anything,
not even his own children. He rules over our family with an iron fist, as I said
before he is the last word on everything, even the décor of the house. The
walls are covered with banners with ‘good luck’ messages written in lucky
Chinese red, we also have an overwhelming amount of tapestries made by some of
China’s most famous artists. The furniture in our living room is so precious
that it is not meant to be used; strange that our furniture is not meant to be
sat on, but is only meant to sit, collecting dust and being admired. It
doesn’t matter anyway, the wood backing is too hard and the seat cushions are
like rocks, it is old Mao furniture.
I dropped my book bag to the ground beside my favorite tapestry of the Great
Wall of China; it shows the full extension of China’s most renowned
architectural wonder. I continued down the narrow hallway past Mamma fidgeting
with a can, and turned left to the room that was je je’s and mine. There is a
definite division between our living spaces, almost like a country at war with
itself. My side is sterile, bland and has everything in order; meanwhile, Jing
Yee’s side is a wonderful mass of great disorder, her clothes all over the
floor, her posters of American superstars and rock stars overlap one another on
the wall, and her mattress is not made. I do not think it ever has been, and
worst of all, there is a 2-day-old glass of soybean milk decaying at her
bedside. I sigh and sit on my mattress to begin my studies.
"Chi tse, is the dinner ready yet? I am hungry!" bellowed my father
from the front door.
"Yes, Mei Ling come and set the table, it is time to eat!" came my
mother from the kitchen.
"Where is Jing Yee, is she of with Bai boy again?"
"Hey, don’t say that! Mei-Ling says she is with her study group."
And then came a slam at the door that changed my life.
"Mei Mei, Come here we need to talk!" my sister's high-pitched voice
echoed through the kitchen.
I instantly ran to our room, our usual meeting place for talks. She closed the
door and stood against it. She had that twinkle in her eyes and she smiled with
anticipation.
"Guess what I have for you?"
I guessed, "A dog?"
"No!" she threw a pillow at me "Look!" and she thrust a book
at me, I read the title and I dropped it to the floor in astonishment. "Je
je, this book is not allowed!"
She had a grin on her face "shhhhh, that’s why we have to hide it before
Baba finds out and blows up!"
We hid it under her mattress and went to dinner giggling. The atmosphere at
dinner was quiet and uneasy like usual, Baba’s eyebrows were locked in great
concentration
"So, Hu Yao bang is dead now, what do you think Baba?" hissed Jing
Yee, for she knew Baba detested Hu Yao bang and everything he stood for.
Baba looked up from his rice bowl "what are you talking about you silly
child?"
"Your best friend, Baba, your total opposite, a man of truth, justice and
unity."
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing, what was she doing? Was she trying to
get herself killed? I had never ever heard anyone disrespect Baba like that.
"Jing Yee, you watch your tongue," my father said without even looking
up.
"Why do I always need to watch my tongue? Why can’t I ever say what I
want to say?"
"Chi tse deal with your daughter please."
"No, you always make Mamma do your dirty work! I just asked you a question
about a man that I respect and who you once knew. You cannot even answer
me?"
Baba paused, and then rose to his feet "Do you want to know what I think? I
think you are becoming more American every day! You have no respect for me and
your hero is a useless man with no convictions!" Lectured my father; I
thought his eyes were going to pop out.
Je je stood up to say "you are nothing but a Communist set in the Old
Country's way!" she got up from the table and stormed off to our room. I
sat, stunned, what had just happened? Later in my life I found out that Baba and
je je were having many conflicts of interest. Almost on a daily basis, this one
was the last one, the last time I would ever see my whole family together. I ran
to my room, to find my sister throwing clothes into a pillowcase.
"J e je, what are you doing?" I knew exactly what she was doing.
"I am leaving for a little while." She said Cooley
"Where are you going?"
She paused, and looked hesitant than said "I am going underground with the
movement, there is going to be a protest tonight."
My eyes welled up with tears, "No, je je don’t go, don’t leave me!
It’s too dangerous, Baba didn’t mean it!" I pleaded, but she only half
smiled and said, "Remember what I told you, and remember why I am doing
this," she walked out of my room, and out of my life.
I could not sleep that night, I didn’t know what my je je was talking about
all; I knew that the underground movement was made of primarily of young
students calling for a change in China’s education system. Who knew what all
these young adults were going to do, I didn’t care, and all I wanted was for
my je je to be safe.
The next day I woke up in a daze, the house was calm like just after a storm.
Mamma kept to her sewing while Baba went about on his way, reading his paper and
drinking cha. I said nothing to them and I walked out of the flat and started on
my way to school. I began to think of about a way I could contact my sister,
just to keep in touch; so I’d know she was okay. I contemplated which one of
je je’s friends would know her location for the whole day while my teachers
lectured us. The talk of the school today was the students of Ren Da and Bei Da
and their protest at Tiananmen Square. It was all over the news "Today, at
Tiananmen Square, thousands of students peacefully protest China’s education
system and call for the reformation of China’s government as they chant ‘the
internationale.’ " Other stations, such as the one run by the CCP
reported "Today at Tiananmen square, reckless students protest Chinese
officials and demand for change." Two different views, who knew what was
going on, all I wanted to know was Jing Yee’s status, was she was alive or
dead?
On my way home, as I walked I passed by Mr. Lee’s fish market and it dawned on
me, Jing Yee’s bai friend worked for Mr. Lee! I quickly ran inside and saw him
cutting away at the fish. My nose was not use to the smell of raw fish and Jeff
could tell, "Smell like roses don’t they Mei Ling?"
I smiled before I came out and said, "Where is Jing Yee? She ran away from
home yesterday."
Jeff looked up and then looked back down, saying, "Well, you know where she
is don’t you?"
I definitely knew, but wanted confirmation "Is she at … is she at
Tiananmen?"
"Yes, she is, and she is being so stubborn." He stopped cutting, then
motioned me to the side of the counter "I’m so worried about her, she is
hunger striking and, I have heard rumors that the government will not tolerate
this protest."
My heart broke, why was she doing this, I still could not understand. I touched
Jeff on the shoulder "Don’t worry, she will be fine I am sure, can you
just tell her that I love her and just keep me updated on her."
"I will Mei Ling, I’ll tell her."
After that day, I visited Jeff often at the fish market and talked about je je
and how she was doing. "She’s doing fine." I’d always hear. Just
another one of the protestors showing the officials that they could not be
pushed around.
On the news and in the newspapers the stories were constantly conflicting, some
said that the students’ demands for change were too unrealistic and others
said the government was listening and were going to comply with the student’s
wishes. The only reliable source of information for me was Jeff, we went on for
months and months, I started to write je je letters. She would write me back
with information on how things were going. She said the effort was becoming
larger, and more people were joining. More and more progress was being made,
until the day it happened; the day of the massacre. It was June 4th 1989, 2 days
after my birthday, one of China’s darkest days in history.
The Chinese Communist Party was getting fed up with the protestors. Most of them
pledged allegiance to the cause for further democracy and freedom and were
willing to die for it. At 9 am, a warm breeze swept through Tiananmen Square,
hundred’s of thousands of protestors awaited their demise, but they would not
go without a fight. Deng Xiao Ping was finally fed up and ordered a full
military attack on all of the protestors, the students were brutally beaten to
death, shot beyond submission and were ran over by tanks. The whole world was
watching as China crushed its children. It would not be until one week after the
massacre that I would find out about Jing Yee. It was hot that day and the smell
of the fish was intoxicating, but I would go through anything to find out about
the well being of my sister. As I walked into the store I could tell by Jeff’s
red swollen eyes that the outlook was not good. As my heart ruptured into
pieces, my eyes began to stream out tears of anger against the government; I
walked slowly to Jeff and sat down beside him on a stack of rice bags and cried
and cried. I did not want to stay too long and I wanted to be alone in my state
of sadness. When I left, Jeff told me, "Look under Jing Yee’s
mattress"
When I got home, I went straight to the kitchen and told my parents the news.
Mamma went into loud bawls of agony and shed tears of love for her lost
daughter. As for Baba, he kept a stiff upper lip and put on his typical Chinese
father exterior, continuing to read his paper; according to him, he only had one
daughter.
I locked myself into my room for days crying and contemplating how I would go on
with my life. One night as I slept, I remembered what Jeff had told me and I
shot up out of my bed. I went to my je je’s dusty side of the room. I looked
under her mattress and found the book that she gave to me the day that she
walked out of my life. I picked it up, it was a book of poetry and Je je had
marked one in particular and left a note, I read "Bye now my mei mei, I am
gone and you are probably wondering why, read these and you will find the key to
our country's pain." I sat on her bed and opened up the marked poem and
read it
The Internationale
Arise ye workers from your slumbers
Arise ye prisoners of want
For reason in revolt now thunders
And at last ends the age of cant.
Away with all your superstitions
Servile masses arise, arise
We'll change henceforth the old tradition
And spurn the dust to win the prize.
So comrades, come rally
And the last fight let us face
The Internationale unites the human race.
So comrades, come rally
And the last fight let us face
The Internationale unites the human race.
No more deluded by reaction
On tyrants only we'll make war
The soldiers too will take strike action
They'll break ranks and fight no more
And if those cannibals keep trying
To sacrifice us to their pride
They soon shall hear the bullets flying
We'll shoot the generals on our own side.
No saviour from on high delivers
No faith have we in prince or peer
Our own right hand the chains must shiver
Chains of hatred, greed and fear
E'er the thieves will out with their booty
And give to all a happier lot.
Each at the forge must do their duty
And we'll strike while the iron is hot.
I cried, this is what they were fighting for; they were fighting so that we
could have a future, so that we would be able to read beautiful literature such
as this and have a voice in our own destinies.
Works Consulted
Nixon, Bob. Tiananmen Square. British Colombia: Douglas & McIntyre Ltd,
1989.
"The Internationale" [http://www.anu.edu.au/polsci/marx/int/internationale.html],
April 2000.
"Tiananmen Square Facts" [http://kizuna.cwru.edu/asia110/projects/Qing/what.html],
April 2000.
"Tiananmen Square Site" [http://www.schoolpapers.com/china2345/tsquare.html],
April 2000.
Essay written by frolix