作者：熊 辩
编辑：赵杰 责任编辑：罗志飞 翻译：吕峰
对于数年前那场突如其来的新冠肺炎疫情，你的记忆是什么？封城、口罩、“大白”穿梭忙碌的身影，随处可见的花圈、火葬场的滚滚浓烟、不绝于耳的哀嚎恸哭？的确，彼时的武汉像被死神张开的黑翼笼罩着，熟悉的街巷空荡如荒原，医院成了最拥挤、最令人绝望的地方：走廊里堆满病床与氧气瓶，呻吟声与呼吸机的嘶哑混合交织。有人晕倒在挂号窗前，有人在病房门口痛哭，求一张床位，却换来“已满”的冰冷回应。更令人心碎的是，120急救电话一直未能接通，“市长热线”始终占线，许多病人等不到确诊，等不到救治，在家中孤独倒下，人命成了数字，真相成了禁忌。恐惧之外，还有愤怒与压抑：一位疫情的“吹哨人”试图说出真相，却被训诫警告；一群穿着防护服的“白大褂”满大街抓捕突破疫情封控外出的市民；一本反映武汉真实疫情的“方方日记”被中共封杀；组组唱好不唱衰的新闻报道试图粉饰太平，蒙蔽一双双探求真相的眼睛。封城、封路、封楼，“封”嘴，人们被隔绝的不只是空间，还有人与人之间的信任与温情。
我，熊辩，一名土生土长的武汉人。身处“风暴眼”，以上固然是疫情的印记，但回想起切身经历，它留给我的更多是无法愈合的伤疤，是刻骨铭心的殇痛……
2022年10月下旬的一天，已有6个多月身孕的妻子突感腹痛难忍，彼时正值第二波新冠肺炎疫情在武汉局部爆发，武汉实行部分小区封锁，普通市民的出行受到中共严格封控，被迫囚禁于家中。我随即与小区值班保安、民警沟通外出事宜，同时拨打120急救电话，但沟通无效，医院急救电话一直占线，妻子的情况紧急容不得半点迟疑，看到她痛苦的表情我再也无法忍受，不得已强行拆除戒严板以便尽快将妻子送往医院，也因此举与值班保安、民警发生了激烈口角冲突，随即被两名警察带上警车，上车后被带上手铐前往武汉市公安局江岸分局后湖派出所审讯室。在审讯室，警察说我犯了寻衅滋事罪，我据理力争，两名警察将我带至一没有监控的小房间，对我进行轮番讯问，扇了我几耳光并朝我的腹部踹了几脚，强行让我签字画押承认所犯罪行，我仍不肯签字，几小时后，警察便把我带入一地段偏远的看守所。看守所阴暗潮湿，每天仅提供极少量、伴有一股馊味的两餐餐食，对我反映的因餐食变质导致严重腹泻症状，看守所警察毫不理会。他们对我的伤害远不止于此。进看守所第一天，警察再次让我承认所犯的“寻衅滋事罪”，我矢口否认，两名警察二话不说便用枕头垫在我的胸口处，用警棍击打我的胸口。在经历了精神和肉体的双重折磨并交纳了1000元的罚金后，11月12日，我收到可以离开看守所的通告，并被告知：1年内不得离开武汉市，随时接听警察电话并配合做好警察一切需求性工作，否则将随时再次拘捕我。自10月26日被带入审讯室至11月12日恢复自由身的17天里，我遭受了辖区派出所警察的盘问、辱骂、殴打等非人道的精神和肉体的伤害，是我有生之年最黑暗、最无助的17天，是我为人的尊严被碾压得粉碎的17天。
而11月12日回到家后得到的消息更让我崩溃：因医院刻板遵守患者需持48小时内核酸阴性结果入院要求，且并未给予孕妇这一特殊群体特别照顾及便利，妻子未得到及时治疗，在等待做核酸的过程中出现大出血症状，6个多月的胎儿永远离开了我们！这之后很长一段时间里，妻子伴有严重失眠，时常喃喃自语，出现明显的抑郁症状。而我后期的上访维权之路也是异常坎坷：先后打“市长热线”电话，去武汉市信访局反映遭遇，均不了了之。更令人不可理喻的是，正当上访维权不承想被警察盯上，在我从信访局回来后不到一周时间被再次带入后湖派出所审讯室。从一大早八点不到一直呆至凌晨两三点钟，近20个小时里我滴水未进，被多名警察轮番盘问上访原因、目的，严词对我进行威胁、辱骂，辱骂之词不堪入耳，直至被强行签订了不再上访的相关协议才回家。
如今再次回望此次疫情，悲恸、愤懑的情绪在心头翻涌：普通民众因中共封控收入中断、生活不便，甚至失去生命，此绝非天灾，而是人祸，是中共对信息的封锁，对百姓生命的漠视，对真相的敌视酿成了无数家庭的悲剧和社会创伤。我的经历是一面镜子，折射中共的统治从来不是为民，而是为权。它以维稳之名压制自由，将党性凌驾于人性之上。新冠肺炎疫情是中共冷血体制本质的一次深刻彰显，只是冰山一角。真正的灾难不是病毒，而是人民被剥夺的知情权、表达权和生存的尊严。
历史不会原谅冷漠，人民不该永远被奴役。希望同胞们能真正觉醒，拒绝沉默、拒绝屈服，抚平伤疤同心前行，让民主、人权之光照耀大洋彼岸的家国，唯此，灾难深重的国家和人民才有可期待的光明未来！
疫之殇，不会忘！不能忘！！！
The Scars of the Pandemic
By Xiong BianEdited by Zhao Jie | Executive Editor: Luo Zhifei| Translator: Lyu Feng
Abstract:I am Xiong Bian, a native of Wuhan. Having lived through the eye of the storm, the COVID-19 pandemic left more than just fleeting memories on me—it carved deep, unhealable scars into my soul. The pain is etched into my being. It is a wound that refuses to fade.
What do you remember from the sudden outbreak of COVID-19 years ago?
Lockdowns, masks, hazmat-suited “Big White(White Terror Enforcers)” rushing through empty streets, wreaths lying quietly at building entrances, crematoriums spewing black smoke into the sky, and the constant wailing of the bereaved?
Indeed, Wuhan at that time felt suffocated under the shadow of death. Streets once bustling with life stood as deserted wastelands. Hospitals, once sanctuaries of healing, became the most crowded and hopeless places on earth—corridors packed with patients and oxygen tanks, the air filled with groans and the mechanical rasp of ventilators. People collapsed in front of registration windows. Some wept at the gates of overflowing wards, begging for a bed only to be met with the cold, indifferent response: “Full.” More heartbreaking still: the emergency line 120 never connected, the mayor’s hotline was always busy, and many perished undiagnosed and untreated—alone in their homes, their deaths reduced to nameless numbers, the truth buried under silence.
There was not only fear, but also unbearable rage and suffocating repression:
A doctor who tried to sound the alarm was silenced and reprimanded;Medical workers in hazmat suits patrolled the streets, arresting citizens who defied lockdown to seek help;A diary documenting Wuhan’s truth, the Fang Fang Diary, was banned;The media was ordered to sing praises, not sorrows, to paint a false picture of peace for a world already veiled in despair.It wasn’t just roads and buildings that were sealed off—it was our voices, our trust, and our humanity.
I am Xiong Bian, a son of Wuhan. These events are seared into me not just as memories of a plague, but as a trauma—deep, festering, unforgettable.
In late October 2022, my pregnant wife—over six months along—suddenly suffered severe abdominal pain. At that time, Wuhan was once again partially locked down due to a localized resurgence of the virus. Residents were forcibly confined to their homes. I desperately contacted security personnel and local police to seek permission to take my wife to the hospital. I also dialed 120 repeatedly—but no one answered. With time slipping through our fingers, her agony unbearable, I made the painful decision to tear down the lockdown barricades myself.
That desperate act led to a fierce altercation with the guards and police. Moments later, I was handcuffed and thrown into a police vehicle, taken to the Houhu Police Station under Jiang’an Branch of the Wuhan Public Security Bureau.
Inside the interrogation room, I was accused of “picking quarrels and provoking trouble.” I protested, but was soon dragged into a small, surveillance-free room, where two officers took turns slapping my face and kicking my abdomen, forcing me to sign a confession. I refused. Hours later, I was transferred to a remote detention center.
The detention center was damp, dark, and cruel. I was given barely edible food that reeked of rot. When I fell violently ill with diarrhea, my cries for medical help were met with silence. On my first day, I was once again forced to confess. I refused. Officers pinned a pillow to my chest and beat me with batons.
For 17 days—from October 26 to November 12—I was isolated, insulted, beaten, humiliated, and dehumanized. I was fined 1,000 RMB and, upon release, warned that I must not leave Wuhan for one year, must answer police calls at any time, and must cooperate with whatever the police demanded—or face re-arrest at their whim.
Those 17 days were the darkest of my life. I was crushed, broken—my dignity shattered.
But the cruelty did not end there.When I returned home on November 12, I was met with unbearable news:Because the hospital rigidly required a 48-hour negative COVID test for admission—even for pregnant women—and refused to provide any emergency accommodation or consideration, my wife was left untreated.While waiting for a test, she began bleeding heavily.Our child—over six months along—was lost forever.
After that day, my wife descended into sleeplessness, depression, and incoherent murmurs.
My efforts to seek justice only brought more persecution.I called the mayor’s hotline.I went to the Wuhan Municipal Petition Bureau.No response. No answers. No hope.
Instead, not long after returning from the petition office, I was again dragged into an interrogation room—this time for nearly 20 hours, without a drop of water. A rotating group of officers cursed me, threatened me, humiliated me, and finally forced me to sign a pledge not to appeal again.
Looking back on this tragedy, the grief and fury still burn within me.Ordinary people lost jobs, lost freedom, lost loved ones, lost their lives—not due to the virus alone, but because of man-made disaster.This was not a natural catastrophe.
It was the result of a regime that hid the truth, that scorned human life, that feared transparency more than disease.
My story is not an isolated one. It is a mirror—one that reflects the heartless nature of the Chinese Communist regime.It rules not for the people, but for control.It maintains “stability” by crushing voices.It elevates party loyalty over basic humanity.
The COVID-19 pandemic did not just expose a public health crisis—it laid bare the callous, authoritarian machinery of a system that thrives on fear, silence, and submission.This was only the tip of the iceberg.
The true catastrophe is not the virus.It is the loss of dignity, of the right to know, the right to speak, the right to live freely.History will not forgive indifference.And the people should not live forever in chains.
Let us awaken. Let us not be silent. Let us not surrender.May the light of democracy and human rights one day reach our wounded homeland.Only then can there be hope for a brighter future.Only then can the scars begin to heal.
The scars of the pandemic—must never be forgotten.And must never be forgiven.
