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·雁阵惊寒──祭父亲
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·达兰萨拉不是故乡
·专访达赖喇嘛——1999
·西方首脑会见达赖喇嘛高峰期----加拿大总理哈珀又迈一大步
·达赖访加 华人争议
·红色的海洋 黑色的悲哀
·RED SEA, BLACK GRIEF
·藏人地震捐款为何被拒----且看中国驻多伦多总领事馆如何讲政治
·西藏真相
·寻找共同点——日内瓦汉藏会议:背景及缘起
·慈悲与尊重是汉藏关系的前途——温哥华汉藏论坛评述
·用了解、理解来化解误解——北美华文媒体访问达兰萨拉
·搭起漢藏民族相互瞭解的橋樑——谈多伦多汉藏论坛
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·關注西藏命運,華人自我救贖
·透过藏人自焚的火焰(图)
·3. 10 請華人發出正義的呼聲
·暴政有期 大爱无疆
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·西藏之痛 中國之恥 文明之殤
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中共国家恐怖主义
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·中共与国家恐怖主义(一)
·中共与国家恐怖主义(二)
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·中共与国家恐怖主义(四)
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朱小华案独家报道
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·THE ZHU XIAOHUA CASE: A WINDOW INTO CHINESE HARDBALL POLITICS
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·朱小华案系列报道(二)朱小华庭上抗辩,推翻所有指控
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政评和时评
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·新年感言
·我们是来自同一个国家么?
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Tiananmen, 25 Years Later: What I Saw

Tiananmen, 25 Years Later: What I Saw
   
   http://pencanada.ca/blog/remembering-tiananmen-25-years-later/
   
   

   By Sheng Xue
   
   Tiananmen, 25 Years Later: What I Saw

   
   June 4, 2014 marks the 25th anniversary of the Tiananmen Square Massacre in Beijing. In the spring of 1989, protests had been mounting against the governing Chinese Communist Party’s corruption and restrictions on free speech. At its peak, the movement drew nearly a million students, labourers, and civilians for peaceful protests in Tiananmen Square. On June 4, 1989, the government authorized the military to open fire on unarmed civilians to suppress the protests. The government said 200-300 people were killed but the China Red Cross places the death toll between 2,000-3,0000.
   
   Sheng Xue, a PEN Canada Writer-in-Exile and a member of the International Chinese PEN Centre, recalls what it was like to be on the ground when the massacre unfolded. In this piece, originally published in May 1990 and translated by J. Fon. in May 2014, Xue chronicles the events leading up to June 4th and their immediate aftermath.
   
   Tiananmen, 25 Years Later: What I Saw

   
   Remembering Tiananmen 25 years later
   
   Sheng Xue
   
   June 3, 1989
   
   After being stuck in a crowd on Chang’an Avenue for hours, we learned that the army had used tear gas to disperse a crowd in Liu Bu Kou – close by, near the centre of the city. Even in the heat and humidity, I felt a chill down my spine. We heard that many had been injured.
   
   When the army marched on the town, I couldn’t help noticing the irony. The Chinese Communist Party had founded the People’s Republic here, 40 years earlier, but instead of goosestepping in uniform, they’d entered Beijing quietly, disguised as peasants, weapons hidden in their bags. Now they were pulling ordinary citizens from the streets as they moved behind enemy lines – just as they had done before.
   
   TV and radio announcements kept warning us: “Stay off the streets while the soldiers enforce Martial law in Tiananmen Square. The People’s Liberation Army will use all necessary means to overcome obstacles.” The army did not look like they were here just to “clear up” Tiananmen Square. They were bloodthirsty, spreading fear to every corner of the square. I was distraught, unsure about what to do next.
   
   
   A long night of violence
   
   A friend appeared, her pale face streaked with tears. “They did it. They’re doing it,” she cried. I ran to the window and saw the troops rolling in to Tiananmen Square. Without a second thought, I went out into the streets.
   
   A crowd separated four soldiers from the ranks. Inexplicably, the troops ignored the lost soldiers – as if they were meant to be left behind. The crowd circled the soldiers and knocked them down. I rushed forward shouting: “Stop! They are the same as you and I. Stop! Tell them the truth.” I could hardly hear my own voice. A youth picked up a spiked club that one of them had dropped. I looked back to see the four soldiers beaten and bleeding. Another tragedy of Chinese killing each other. It took all my strength to run to Tiananmen Square.
   
   Tiananmen, 25 Years Later: What I Saw

   
   Beijing, China, June 4, 1989: On Chang’an Avenue, a small crowd confronts the People’s Liberation Army (PLA) in Tiananmen Square after the army stormed the square and the surrounding area the night before. Photograph by ALAN CHIN
   
   
   The streets were silent. A month before they’d crackled with noise but now they were cold, deeply sad places. They had witnessed too much wrath, misery and despair.
   
   Passing the entrance to the Municipal Bureau of Public Security, I came across a heavily armed riot police blockade. They pushed through the crowd, swinging their clubs, but whenever they broke up the crowd, we regrouped. The violence escalated. We dug up bricks from the pavement and cracked them into small chunks to throw at the so-called “guards of social interest and people’s benefits,” and “defenders of human justice and reputation.” The crowd shouted: “Rascal government, bandit troops, and police accomplices. Students are innocent.” Our voices were broken, our hands wounded, our hearts were filled with sorrow.
   
   Our people are combative, always jostling each other. We have fought amongst ourselves for thousands of years… When will these sacrifices serve as a memorial for the country’s current tragedy?
   
   Aren’t the Chinese a cursed nation – killing their fellow countrymen? Or has God chosen us to take on the burden of human suffering?
   
   The police moved in waves, charging at the crowd and beating them down savagely with clubs before retreating into the building. Injured protestors streamed out of Tiananmen Square. I watched tears run down the dark, wrinkled face of one man. “Son of a bitch! Chinese communists devoid of gratitude,” he spat. He pushed a cart, with a young body on top of it, soaked in blood. The crowd filled bottles with gasoline, to make Molotov cocktails. Chunks of stone flew from both sides of the pavement as the Molotov cocktails etched fiery arcs in the night. In the distance, you could hear sarcastic chants clearly: “The enemy advances, we retreat. The enemy pauses, we make trouble. The enemy tires, we attack.” Mao had used these lines to rouse his “proletarian revolutionaries” to guerrilla warfare. Now the melody was strong and the meaning was even greater. The “offenders” and the “defenders” could not beat each other. I was forced to surrender whatever remaining delusions I harboured about government emancipation. It hurt to let them go.
   
   Tiananmen, 25 Years Later: What I Saw

   
   People swarm to Tiananmen Square in Beijing on April 5, 1976. Photo by Wang Wenlan
   
   
   I still wonder if what we did was brave. I honestly can’t say. Our people are combative, always jostling each other. We have fought amongst ourselves for thousands of years – no more so than during the last half century. During a ten-year period of the Cultural Revolution, hundreds and thousands of people were killed, sacrificing themselves for a common cause. In the April 5th Movement of 1976, it took all night to wash the blood stains from Tiananmen Square. When will these sacrifices serve as a memorial for the country’s current tragedy?
   
   “Gunfire, gunfire!”
   
   The sound of gunfire woke me at 3:30 in the morning. It was directed towards Tiananmen Square. People were confused and asked why firecrackers were being set off so late at night. Someone ran over yelling “Gunfire, gunfire!” In fact, the army had been moving in from the west, shooting at protesters since midnight. The death toll kept rising as they marched along the streets. When they reached the intersection of Xidan Road, a man in his 30s pushed through the crowd, stood in the middle of the street and confronted the parade of military vehicles. “You’ll have to roll over my body before you can harm the students in Tiananmen Square” he shouted. Quietly, a soldier raised his machine gun and drilled the young man’s body with bullets. He fell.
   
   I saw a 14-year-old girl running in the street. She was scared and frightened, and stopped to stand in a shadow in front of a store. She didn’t even realize that the People’s Liberation’s Army – once so sacred in her eyes – had shot her. A bullet sliced her skull open. Her eyes stretched wide open and had never closed. On June 6, I returned to the spot where she’d died to find only a bloodstain remaining. Threads of black hair mingled with brain tissue in the shopfront glass shattered by stray bullets; the hair stirred in the smoky breeze. My companion picked up a small piece of skull bone. Less than two metres away, a man in his 40s had been shot to death. Bystanders told me that 200-300 people had been killed at this intersection alone.
   
   At bloody dawn
   
   Shortly after 5 in the morning, I turned to walk toward Tiananmen Square. I thought of all the students who would be sick, weak, hungry and exhausted as I approached there. I will never forget the walk.
   
   I met a group of China Red Cross staff. Their white garments were stained with blood. They carried several unconscious bodies. Tears ran down their cheeks. One man held a square tile uprooted from Tiananmen Square. It was coated with blood. He stared into space blankly. I couldn’t suppress my own tears. These white angels had never been to a battlefield; they had been attacked because of a peaceful petition. How could they have deserved this?

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