作者：朱虞夫 编辑：鲁慧文 责任编辑：罗志飞
新生儿的涉世初期
申请的第二天，王有才被国保抓去审问了八个小时，将他放回家后，就失去了自由——门口有一个便衣小警察坐着监视他（这个蒋姓小警察从此与中国民主党结下了不解之缘，在与此起彼伏的浙江民运的缠斗中屡立战功、一路迁升）。与王有才当时一起热血沸腾的战友们，在知道王有才被控制后，嗅出了危险的气息，纷纷隐退自保，也没有人继续中国民主党的作为，王有才济世经国的谋划没人能继承并发扬光大——当年王有才有个同学在浙江省委组织部工作，他搞到了全省处级干部名录交给王有才一份，王有才印刷了《公民权利与政治权利国际公约》准备与《中国民主党成立宣言》一起寄送给那些干部，王有才想通过体制内的改革推进中国社会的民主化。但是此时此刻他身边没有人，他只能自己动手装函邮寄。因为王有才秀才一个，没有多少危险性，加之当时当局还顾忌中美之间的蜜月关系，尚未打算严厉镇压，看守的小国保坐不住了就去附近逛逛街，时不时有人溜进王有才家去看他，小国保看到了也并未严加阻止，有人找来对王有才说，参加你们的民主党有什么好处呢，能拿钱还是能当官啊？王有才被弄得苦笑不得。这个蒋姓小国保也趁着没人，向王有才提出想加入中国民主党，王有才同意并吸收了他。蒋国保对当时的形势也看不懂，以为中国民主党真有可能成立，他近水楼台先打一个眼，脚踩两只船。
王有才根据中共的需要被抓，随着国际社会的关注放：他被抓了，没有影响中国民主党的发展；他被放了，也没有机会参与民主党里的各种事务。当局抓他判他实在是政治需要，完全是一个冤案。是我害了他。在他最后一次被捕前，我们在岳庙对面的茶室晤面，当我伸出手与王有才握手时，他将手缩了回去，他对我完全违背他构想的，将民主党的发展诉之于街头政治的做法十分愠怒。现在回想起来，我很对不起他，我给他造成了严重的困扰。11月下旬，法院审理王有才案，后面旁听席上坐满了便衣国保，上城区国保大队长张建华回来，随口就对我说：“王有才说是你朱虞夫害了他。”我当时认为是张挑拨离间的话，没有在意，现在想想，确实如此。
在王有才被控制在家的日子里，我已经根据王炳章、王希哲的指点招兵买马在拉人搭班子了，我还带王荣清去看王有才，事后王有才可能听说了王荣清不可靠，更对我有了看法。当时我还动员另外几位民主墙旧友加入，他们说，你既然把王荣清弄进来了，我们就不来了。我感觉他们是害怕风险的托词，后来王荣清去世不在了，也没见他们加入。
王荣清倒是干劲十足，在草创阶段做了很多工作，我也有证据他一直与国保暗通情款，递送了许多情报给警方，那是他给自己留的后路，按理在第一次大抓捕中，他应该在列，偏偏他没抓，后来在他生命的最后几年，当我们都被抓后，他还是惹恼了警方被抓被判了。无论如何，因为民主党是主张公开、理性的，王提供的情报价值也不大（严正学先生强烈反感被王出卖另作别论），所以我在他被抓后，为他保外就医，向他离婚的前妻和弟弟做劝解并发起募捐，大力帮助他。
申请注册后的第四天，6月29日下午，家里来了一个年轻人，自我介绍叫“祝正明”，简单聊了一会就约我晚上七点去武林广场东南角的电信大楼。见他长相敦厚，举止儒雅，我当即答应了。
我依约按时到了，却久久没见祝正明到来，我耐着性子足足等了他快一个小时（我至今也不知道，他为什么让我等那么久），他终于来了，骑着一辆简易摩托车，没有跨下车，叫我跟着他走。我骑着自己的摩托车跟在他后面，大约骑了一公里，在一个大工地（似乎是后来的杭州市政府工地）边的绿化带停了下来。他让我等一下，自己向树丛后走去，黝黑的树丛后半个身子闪了一下，祝问那人：“带来了没有？”那人回：“带来了。”祝说：“你去拿出来。”那人又隐入暗处，拿出厚厚一沓纸，身子晃动的幅度很大，待到近前才发现此人腿有残疾。他们一起走向我的摩托车，我也有点被他们那紧张兮兮的神情所感染，不管是什么东西，先收起来再说。
我打开后备箱，看清是《中国民主党成立宣言》，他们放进去，我关好箱子锁上。这时大家的情绪逐渐缓和下来，祝把我和此人作了介绍。由此我知道这个人名叫吴义龙，吴问我：“老朱，这些东西你拿去做什么用？”我心里一凉，想，我可没有向你们要啊，你们感到放那里不安全才交给我的。祝说，老朱你要保管好啊。我说，这还保管什么保管啊，就上街去散发呗。吴又问我，你和谁一起去散发？我说，没有人和我一起去，我就自己去。我知道这是风险很大的事情，哪怕没有人与我一起去散发，有个人远远地看着也好，至少在我被抓走后可以通风报信。没想到吴义龙耸耸鼻子，推推眼镜，呵呵笑了二声就不作声了。我隐隐感到其人品不敢恭维。（多年后，我问起王有才的这二位老部下，王有才说，吴义龙是在中国民主党定谳后，他被抓前不久来的，他不了解这个人。）
1998年6月30日，星期二，上午我把单位里的事全部集中处理了。午饭后骑小摩托车准备上街散发《宣言》，心里默念着“壮士行，何畏！”“虽千万人，吾行矣！”毕竟还是有点胆气不足。准备在途径采荷路的时候，邀王荣清一起去，就让他远远地看着我，我不至于失踪。
就在离王荣清那里几百米远的叉路口，我看到有不少人来来往往，就停了车，拿出《宣言》散发。发掉了手上的传单，正准备离开，有个便衣拦住我说“你不要走！”我明白自己落到了警察手里，立即拿起路边摊上的电话给王东海打了电话，谢天谢地，王东海第一时间接了电话，我告诉他，我在街路上散发《中国民主党成立宣言》，被便衣警察抓住了，请他转告我太太姜杭莉，晚饭不要等我了，免得她着急。
那个便衣警察将我带到离事发处约七八百米的凯旋派出所，向分局作了汇报，对我作了询问。我知道这个警察名叫王政红，他作了简单的笔录，也没有刻意为难我，将我置于一边，不管我了。会议室里一堆年轻警察在津津有味地看着世界杯足球赛，傍晚的时候，外面进来几个年轻警察，围着我聊天，居然与我聊起“民主”“人权”等议题来。这几个警察显得很有文化，如其中一个警察说“仓廪足而知荣辱”，中国目前还穷，不合适搞民主，等到经济发展了，老百姓素质提高了，搞民主就水到渠成了。另一个警察说，你们的本意也许是好的，但是中国太大了，万一社会上乱起来，受害的就是老百姓。
我说，邓小平说，没有政治制度的改革，一切经济改革都不会成功。经济改革与政治改革是两条腿走路，是互相促进、相辅相成的关系。如今经济改革已经二十年了，政治改革一动不动，如果要继续促进社会进步，保障经济改革的成果，政治改革势在必行。大家都知道，我国的政治体制是为消灭私有制、消灭资本主义而设置的，这是一种畸形现象，经济改革不能只是权宜之计，必须有制度保障。当年邓小平搞改革开放阻力重重，遇到那些头脑僵化、老资格的大人物竭力反对，以至于形成今天这么一个畸形局面，现在他们都不在了，新领导人应该有智慧、有担当，将政治体制改革提到日程上来。你们所担忧的情况，其实很容易解决，像当年经济改革一样，可以选一个或几个“政治特区”搞试点，让一部分人先“民主”起来。
十年后的2007年，我第二次入狱，在浙江省第二监狱遇到了被判死缓的当年杭州市江干区公安分局局长吴伟虎，他告诉我，那天，他听说有人在街头公开散发成立中国民主党的传单，感到很奇怪，这年头大家都在忙着赚钱发财，是不是遇到精神病了，他一面向上面汇报，一面从分局挑选几个大学文化的警察来考察我。结果害我舌战群儒、口干舌燥。
那边王东海接到我的电话后，立马通知了王有才，王有才匆匆赶来商量对策。王有才显然很紧张，我成了组建民主党后被抓的第一个人，宅心仁厚的他觉得自己难辞其咎。王东海要把我被抓的消息发给香港《中国人权民运信息中心》的卢四清，王有才说不要发，怕刺激当局会更加重对我的迫害。王东海还是坚持要发。说来也巧，卢四清发了新闻稿的后的第二天，1998年7月1日，正是收回香港的一周年，香港的好多报纸、电台、电视都转发了我上街散发组党传单被抓的消息，我无意中成为香港赤祸的“吹哨人”。
王有才觉得应该把我被抓的消息告诉我妻子，就与王东海一起去了我的家。他们将我被抓走的消息告诉我妻子后，我妻子十分平静。其实她1989年“64”后就经历过这样的事，况且那次被抓的动静要大很多：当时江干区政保科长张宝裕以我“参与动乱”的罪名接连抄了我的家、岳父家、妹妹家、妻舅家和我母亲家。“收容审查”27天，并抄没了二封信，一封民主墙时期北京《民主论坛》寄来的信，一封我老朋友徐正濂在1989年6月4日寄给我的信（他写信时还没有得到屠城的消息），最后放人了事。但是，我回单位后，房管局党委书记郑鸣庆还是以我“参与动乱”为名，撤掉了我工会负责人的职务，下放到基层南星房管站做物业管理员。（十年后，郑鸣庆也因为贪贿被判刑十一年。）
王有才怀着忐忑不安的心情上门，他想象的哭闹、找他要人的场面没有出现，他心存疑惑，对王东海说：“朱虞夫要么是他们（警方）的人，要么是个非常勇敢的民运人士。”
A Newborn Enters the World
The day after the application was submitted, Wang Youcai was taken in for interrogation by state security for eight hours. Though they let him go home afterward, he effectively lost his freedom—a plainclothes officer was stationed at his door to monitor him. This young officer, surnamed Jiang, would go on to become deeply entangled with the CDP, making a name for himself in the regime’s ongoing struggle with the democracy movement in Zhejiang, climbing the ranks along the way.
After learning that Wang Youcai had been placed under surveillance, many of his once-passionate comrades sensed the danger and quickly retreated to protect themselves. None continued the China Democracy Party’s efforts. Wang’s grand vision for reform and governance had no successor to carry it forward. At the time, Wang had a former classmate working in the Zhejiang Provincial Party Committee’s Organization Department, who secretly handed him a directory of all provincial-level cadres. Wang printed copies of the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights and planned to mail them, along with the CDP Founding Declaration, to these officials. His hope was to promote democratic reform from within the system.
But now, he was alone. With no one to help, Wang personally stuffed and mailed the documents himself. Being a bookish intellectual, he wasn’t seen as particularly dangerous. Moreover, since China was still in a “honeymoon” period with the U.S., the authorities hadn’t yet moved toward a full crackdown. The plainclothes officer assigned to watch him often wandered off, bored, leaving room for visitors to drop by Wang’s home. Even when seen, the guard rarely interfered. One visitor even asked, “What’s in it for me if I join your party? Do I get money or a government post?” Wang could only smile wryly.
The officer, surnamed Jiang, eventually asked to join the CDP himself. Wang agreed and admitted him. Officer Jiang likely misunderstood the political climate, thinking the CDP might truly be established. He tried to hedge his bets, keeping one foot in each camp.
Wang Youcai was arrested, not because of immediate necessity, but because the Chinese Communist Party needed a scapegoat. When international pressure rose, he was released. But whether he was in prison or out, he had no opportunity to participate in party affairs. His arrest and sentencing were purely political—a wrongful case. And I was the one who caused it.
Before his final arrest, we met in a teahouse across from Yue Temple. When I extended my hand, he pulled his back. He was deeply upset that I had taken the CDP in a direction opposite to his vision—onto the streets. In hindsight, I truly feel I wronged him and caused him great trouble.
In late November, during Wang’s trial, the gallery was filled with plainclothes security agents. Afterward, Zhang Jianhua, head of the National Security Unit in Shangcheng District, casually remarked to me, “Wang Youcai said it was you, Zhu Yufu, who ruined him.” I dismissed it as an attempt to drive a wedge between us. But now, thinking back—it was probably true.
While Wang was under house arrest, I had already begun recruiting and organizing under the guidance of Wang Bingzhang and Wang Xizhe. I even took Wang Rongqing to visit Wang Youcai. Wang may have later heard that Wang Rongqing was unreliable, which further soured his view of me. I also tried to recruit several other Democracy Wall veterans, but they declined, saying, “If you brought in Wang Rongqing, we’re out.” I figured that was just a convenient excuse to avoid risk. Years later, after Wang Rongqing passed away, they still never joined.
To his credit, Wang Rongqing was enthusiastic in the early stages and contributed significantly. I also have evidence that he kept in contact with the secret police and passed them information—a way to hedge his bets. Logically, he should have been caught in the first wave of arrests, but he wasn’t. Only in his final years, when most of us had already been detained, did he provoke the police enough to be arrested and sentenced. In any case, since the CDP advocated openness and rational discourse, the intelligence he offered held limited value (though Mr. Yan Zhengxue, who was deeply betrayed by Wang, saw it differently). When Wang was detained, I helped him apply for medical parole, spoke with his ex-wife and brother to secure their support, and launched a fundraising campaign on his behalf.
On June 29, the fourth day after the registration application, a young man came to my house in the afternoon.
He introduced himself as Zhu Zhengming. After a short chat, he invited me to meet at 7 p.m. at the southeast corner of Wulin Square near the telecom building. He appeared kind and scholarly, so I agreed.
I arrived on time but waited nearly an hour. To this day, I don’t know why he made me wait so long. Finally, he showed up riding a small motorbike. Without dismounting, he motioned for me to follow. I got on my own bike and trailed him for about a kilometer to a large construction site—possibly where the new Hangzhou municipal government building now stands. He stopped by a landscaped strip and told me to wait. Then he disappeared into a thicket. I saw a dark figure briefly flash behind the trees. Zhu asked the person, “Did you bring it?” The man replied, “Yes.” Zhu said, “Go get it.” The figure vanished into the dark again, returning with a thick stack of papers. His body moved awkwardly—I soon realized he had a leg disability.
They approached my motorbike together. I could sense their tension and became nervous myself. Whatever it was, I figured I’d better take it first and ask questions later. I opened the storage box, and they placed the stack inside. It was the Founding Declaration of the China Democracy Party. I locked the box, and everyone seemed to relax a bit.
Zhu then formally introduced the man to me—his name was Wu Yilong. Wu asked, “Old Zhu, what are you going to do with those?” I felt a chill. I hadn’t asked for any of this. They clearly felt it wasn’t safe to hold onto themselves. Zhu said, “Take good care of them, Old Zhu.” I replied, “There’s nothing to keep. I’m going to distribute them on the street.”
Wu asked, “Who’s going with you?” I said, “No one. I’ll go alone.” I knew how risky this was—even if no one handed out leaflets with me, it would’ve been helpful to have someone watching from a distance in case I got arrested. But Wu just twitched his nose, adjusted his glasses, chuckled quietly, and said nothing more. I began to doubt his character. (Years later, I asked Wang Youcai about these two men. He told me that Wu Yilong had only joined shortly before Wang was arrested, and he didn’t know much about him.)
On Tuesday, June 30, 1998, I cleared all my work at the office in the morning. After lunch, I got on my small motorbike, ready to hit the streets with the Declaration. In my mind, I recited words of courage: “A warrior’s path—what is there to fear?” and “Though a thousand stand in my way, I go forth!”
Still, I couldn’t shake a lingering sense of fear.
As I was heading down Caihe Road, I planned to stop by Wang Rongqing’s place and ask him to keep a distant watch over me—at least to ensure that if I disappeared, someone would know.
Just a few hundred meters from his place, at a fork in the road bustling with passersby, I stopped my motorbike, pulled out the Declaration, and began handing it out. After I had distributed all the leaflets and was preparing to leave, a plainclothes officer blocked my path and said, “Don’t go!” I instantly understood I had fallen into police hands.
Without hesitation, I picked up a public phone at a nearby vendor stall and called Wang Donghai. Thankfully, he answered right away. I told him, “I’ve been detained while distributing the Declaration of the China Democracy Party. Please tell my wife, Jiang Hangli, not to wait for me for dinner. I don’t want her to worry.”
The plainclothes officer escorted me roughly 700–800 meters to Kaixuan Police Station, where he reported the incident and conducted an initial interrogation. I later learned that this officer’s name was Wang Zhenghong. He made a brief report but didn’t give me a hard time—he set me aside and ignored me.
Inside the station, a group of young officers were watching the World Cup with great enthusiasm. Toward evening, several others came in, gathered around me, and unexpectedly began discussing topics like “democracy” and “human rights.” These officers appeared to be relatively well-educated. One of them quoted the old saying, “When the granaries are full, people know honor and shame,” and argued that since China was still poor, it wasn’t yet the right time for democracy. Once the economy improved and the populace became more educated, democracy would come naturally. Another officer chimed in, “Your intentions might be good, but China is too big. If society descends into chaos, it’s the people who will suffer.”
I replied, “Deng Xiaoping once said, ‘Without reforming the political system, economic reform will never succeed.’ Political and economic reforms are like two legs—only when both move together can we progress. It’s been 20 years since economic reforms began, but the political system hasn’t budged. If we want continued social progress and to safeguard economic gains, political reform is absolutely essential.
“Our current political system was designed to eliminate private ownership and capitalism—that’s an aberration. Economic reform cannot be a temporary workaround; it must be backed by institutional change. Back when Deng pushed for reform, he faced fierce opposition from conservative elders. That resistance has led to the current distorted reality. But those people are gone now. The new generation of leaders should have the wisdom and courage to bring political reform to the agenda. And the risks you fear? They’re not insurmountable. Just like economic reform started in special zones, we can create ‘political special zones’ where democracy is trialed by a few first.”
Ten years later, in 2007, during my second imprisonment, I met Wu Weihu, then serving a suspended death sentence. He had been the police chief of Jianggan District in Hangzhou back in 1998. He told me, “When I heard someone was openly handing out flyers for a new political party, I was stunned. Everyone was focused on making money—was he mentally ill or something?” He immediately reported it and sent over a team of educated officers to “evaluate” me. That led to my grueling day of defending democracy, arguing until my mouth was dry and my voice hoarse.
On the other end, when Wang Donghai received my call, he immediately notified Wang Youcai. Wang rushed over, clearly shaken. I had become the first person arrested since the founding of the China Democracy Party, and his kind-hearted nature made him feel responsible.
Wang Donghai suggested notifying Lu Siqing of the Hong Kong-based Information Center for Human Rights and Democracy. But Wang Youcai opposed it, fearing it would provoke the authorities into harsher treatment. Still, Wang Donghai insisted on sending the news.
As it happened, the day after Lu Siqing issued a press release—July 1, 1998—marked the first anniversary of Hong Kong’s return to China. Multiple Hong Kong newspapers, TV channels, and radio stations picked up the story. Without intending to, I had become the “whistleblower” for China’s growing suppression in Hong Kong.
Wang Youcai felt it was necessary to inform my wife of my arrest. He and Wang Donghai went together to my home. Upon hearing the news, my wife remained remarkably calm. After all, she had already been through this kind of thing following the 1989 Tiananmen crackdown, and that time had been far more dramatic. Back then, Zhang Baoyu, head of political security in Jianggan District, raided our home and those of my in-laws, siblings, and even my mother. I was detained for 27 days under “shelter and investigation,” and two letters were confiscated—one from Democracy Forum in Beijing and another from my old friend Xu Zhenglian, sent on June 4, 1989 (before he knew of the massacre). In the end, I was released, but when I returned to work, the Party Secretary of the Housing Bureau, Zheng Mingqing, dismissed me from my post as union leader, demoting me to a property manager in a lower office.
(Ten years later, Zheng Mingqing himself was sentenced to 11 years for corruption.)
Wang Youcai had been bracing himself for tears, shouting, or blame from my wife—but none of that came. Surprised, he turned to Wang Donghai and said, “Zhu Yufu must either be working with the authorities—or he’s one of the bravest activists we’ve got.”
