The Practitioner — My Road to Democracy (Part I)
作者：朱虞夫
简短说明
为了促使中国社会早日完成从传统政治向现代政治的转化, 为了使中国不再游离于国际主流社会之外而遭人侧目；为了作为联合国常任理事国的中国政府能遵守联合国各项人权公约以相符其名, 遵循国际准则以利于人民福祉, 我和我的朋友们 ——王有才、王东海、祝正明、吴义龙、毛庆祥、徐光等人——在一九九八年六月筹建中国民主党浙江筹委会, 希望通过和平、理性、非暴力的方式, 按照国际惯例以及中国宪法条文所赋予的结社自由、言论自由原则, 议论政治, 探讨国是, 以行使公民的基本权利。
我们的本意是为了冲破党禁、报禁——此乃现代民主社会两大基本指标——改革党天下的不正常现象, 建设公民社会，以期澄清吏治、肃靖贪贿, 提高国人的安全指数，改善国人的生态环境，使社会从根本上和谐稳定；改革随着经济发展而日见其拙的上层建筑, 这符合中华民族的长久利益。
我们的行为理应受到现代民主社会任何一个政府的保护。然而, 由于冷战思维的惯性, 我们被以“颠覆罪”判处重刑, 本人以“秘书长”身份获刑七年。在关押七年零八十八天后获释, 且不论“依法判决”的法理基础如何, 更为荒唐的是, 我有幸遇到了一连串怪事, 与当局缤纷迷眼的所谓“进步”,“法制”,“和谐”的宣传是如此的格格不入。由此亦见当今体制弊端之严重, 亦显政治改革之必要和迫切。劫后余生, 我在此将自己被捕后所遭遇的种种政治迫害及“改造”花絮告诉大家, 使大家对二十一世纪中国的政治生态和政治犯的生存状况有一个清晰认识。
一、别家抛稚
（一）被捕
1、6月19日
1999年6月19日是个平静的周末。但是，这一天也如我许多个双休日一样的忙碌。自从祝正明、吴义龙数月前相继被抓失踪，风声兀地紧张，我曾从网上看到过一则消息：当局将在“六、四”纪念日后镇压中国民主党。为使自己入狱后的家人有一个较好的生活环境，我在离家数百米的地方买了房子，抓紧装修，这天与妻子约好下午出去买窗帘和沙发。昨天是端午节，单位里要我写有关综合治理的报告，中午隔壁办公室的几位同事来我办公室邀我一起喝端午酒，我的思路一直在构思着报告内容。一早起来，将12岁的女儿送去美术培训班，圈内的朋友王某约我在这天将《在野党》第九期审定完稿, 我决定先将单位的公事给办了，再编撰《在野党》。但是，没想到这天朋友络绎不绝，下午, 我刚送走一位绍兴来的新朋友，就有一个过往甚疏的朋友造访，(也许是巧合, 1998年7月10日, 该人也曾为王前驱) , 正谈话间，一群政保警察突然闯进我家。
虽然自从5月8日中国驻南斯拉夫大使馆被炸后就有“将镇压民主党人及民运人士”的传说, 虽然当局在“六、四”前夕大动干戈, 将我们大多数民运人士严密控制起来(我由单位——杭州上城区房管局——领导带上车, 去浙南驶了一圈), 期间已经风声鹤唳, 刀光剑影。 虽然我自王有才被判刑后已经受到政保警察的警告(王被判后, 上城区公安分局政保科长张建华和郑刚特地来到我单位对我说, 我已经内定刑期十年, 再不歇手随时可抓) , 虽然我已经很坦然地准备面临迫害, 政保警察的到来仍使我感到突兀。警察到来时, 所有民主党的资料都摊放在桌子上, 以至抄家时损失惨重。奇怪的是，政保科郑刚一定要我将对面的房门打开，那是我妻子大哥的住宅，我因为装修房子曾经借用过几天，而且只有圈内的个别人知道，我立即就想到了那个大家一直都十分怀疑的人。最终因为我坚称自己没有钥匙，郑刚也无可奈何地放弃了，但是那个人在背后的可耻行为却由此而坐实了，正所谓“认清毒物，如获良药”。我事后曾想，郑刚的做法太轻率了，就这样将耳目暴露给我们，再一想，那些东西他们本来就是当狗用的，只不过他们自己“反把羞耻当光荣”而已。
一群便衣警察前后拥着我向楼下走去， 一个便衣手持DV在拍摄，看来是要向上面交帐的，异乎寻常地慎重。到了楼下，不相识的邻居们围了上来，大家一脸的疑惑，怕是以为我做了什么伤天害理的事吧！于是我大声地向他们喊：“我没有偷，没有抢，我是中国民主党，为了自由人权，为了社会进步——”，旁边一个年轻的便衣（若干年后，我才知道这个人名字叫做蒋晓敏，2009年他还恬不知耻地宣称他抓了十五个中国民主党。）猛地推我一把，厉声喝道：“你有趣，你是中国民主党！”，一大批警车远远地停在离我家百米开外的地方，四周围满了街坊，便衣匆匆将我塞进一辆小车绝尘而去。
郑刚将作客的妻舅和那位来得“巧”的朋友也带去望江派出所, 在严厉审查我妻舅的身份证件后，只是装模作样的问了那人几句话就将他放了, 那人既没有身份证件而且报了一个我从未听到过的名字。(在我被捕后, 那人却数次慰问我家人, 出狱后, 妻子要我向那人致谢, 说不管怎样, 不能对他人的善意没有回报。不幸, 他已于半年前病故。世途凶险, 唯愿上帝佑他在天之灵)张建华和郑刚作了简单讯问后, 拖到晚上9点多, 便拿出一份《监视居住决定书》要我签字, 然后由郑刚开车, 直接送去萧山遣送站。
2、我心坦然
警车在黑黢黢的路上飞驰, 驶过钱江三桥, 驶过萧山市区, 向诸暨方向行进。在车上我的记忆里顽强地浮现出一幕前几天的场景：6月3日晚近8时，闸口派出所控制我整个下午，得到指示放我走后，我回家途中路过望江派出所， 强烈的责任感驱使我进去看看其他被羁押的本党同仁， 我看到在楼上的会议室里数名公安围着厉坝根在做笔录，下楼时碰到张建华和其他几个公安。
张叫住我：“朱虞夫, 你来干啥?”
我说：“我路过进来看看。”
“你都看到了噢! 我想想你身体嘎差, 搞啥个革命, 你向我表个态, 退出中国民主党, 我保证你一天牢都不用坐。”——数小时前，我在闸口派出所曾因低血糖晕厥, 看来张已知道了, 张更在1998年7月 “监视居住”释放我时因为我的高血脂症而送过我一盒苦丁茶。 可是, 楼上刚才看到的一幕强烈地刺激着我, 当我可敬的弟兄们正在受着迫害的时刻, 我却可耻地退却保身, 这将使我的灵魂终生不得安宁。于是在短暂的沉默后, 我断然地表示了拒绝。“我为什么要退出, 结社自由是我们的权利, 你们要抓就抓好了! 你们吃得消抓, 我就吃得消坐(牢)! ‘六、四’总有一天要平反, 民主政治总有一天要来临!”， 旁边有一个年轻高大的警察见我在张面前厉言怒色, 出于巴结领导的心态要上前来打我, 被张拦住了。
车内一片死寂, 开车的郑刚和押送我的警察一声不吭, 空气显得有些紧张, “终于来了!”，我的面容凛然, 我的思绪翻腾, 我想到耄耋之年的母亲, 一生含辛茹苦, 在风烛残年时竟还要承受骨肉分离之苦；想到相濡以沫近二十年的妻子, 面对两个未成年孩子的教育和生活, 日后的生活将是何等的艰辛；想到在共产党的政治高压下我的子女和弟妹们将会遭遇的株连；我能质疑和否定自己的选择吗? ! ，二十年前, 当局镇压“民主墙”运动时, 杭州公安局政保科陈勇到植物园来要求我退出民运, 想到早年守寡的母亲单独抚养六个孩子, 作为长子的我是唯一参加工作的, 面对着未成年的弟妹, 我非常困难地作了退却的选择。作为当时杭州主要民刊—— “四/五”月刊的负责人, 我的怯懦使我陷于长期的痛悔, 战友毛庆祥慷慨赴狱, 当时他蜜月甫度；沈建民的判刑，永远改变了他的一生。此时此刻，雪洗以往耻辱的时刻到了。记得陈独秀有句名言：社会进步要通过两个地方，一是监狱，二是研究室。于是我的心更加坦然了。
（二）萧山遣送站
1、“爱心之家”
车在临近戴山时向右拐进一个依山的院子, 走进一幢横亘的四层楼, 过来一个肥肥白白的年轻人(后来知道这人叫邢罡), 他说他已等候多时了, 在与郑刚办完交接手续后, 将我带往后面一排铁栏围封的房子前。在昏暗的灯下, 邢罡开锁带我走过四间牢房, 又再次开锁打开一扇走廊门, 里面是二间牢房, 在“哐啷”一声抽开铁栓后, 邢罡将我一把推进铁门里去，铁门又“哐啷”一声锁上。
扑鼻一股霉臭味，黑乎乎的笼板上躺着两个人：一个年轻的是河南人，入赘在萧山做女婿，开车撞死了萧山市长的亲戚，扣在这里等待家里付款赔偿；一个年长的是湖南人，儿子开车撞死人逃跑了，被抓来做人质。他俩都是由萧山公安交警抓来羁押的。年轻人说这里原来就是萧山看守所，新看守所造好以后，这里就成了遣送站。几天后年轻人让家里付了赔款就放了。随后的日子里我和年长的聊起天来，他姓周，湖南邵阳人，当兵参加过成昆铁路建设，是老中共党员，已经在这里关了很久, 虚弱不堪。中国的遣送站在孙志刚事件后因为其臭名昭著, 引起公愤而被整顿, 孙志刚以其生命为代价废除了一部恶法，但是，在当时除了少数被不幸欺凌的弱势群体, 外界很少知道黑幕后面那些令人发指的罪行。
——记得当初我在房管局任房政监察员, 穿着制服戴着大盖帽, 所在的闸口派出所民警因为被扣分, 与我们单位头头商量，要我们晚上帮他去建筑工地查暂住证以作补偿，（我们的那身行头对民工很有威慑力，半夜三更呼啦啦出现那么多的大盖帽，还不把那些民工吓得半死。）。半夜那些拿不出暂住证的民工和家属被一批又一批地送往遣送站, 我一直不知道遣送站和补分之间的关系。更以为遣送站是报纸上所称的“充满爱心的温暖之家”。
——记得故乡东阳有亲戚来我家, 因为吃晚饭时间还早, 就出去逛街, 没承想一去不回, 半个月后从家里打电话来, 说是那天被从街上糊里糊涂地抓去了遣送站。
我对遣送站的印象依然不很真切，直到亲自在那里度过许多日日夜夜, 才看清了中国人生活在一个怎样暴虐的制度之下，善良可怜的社会底层民众是如何无望地任人宰割。半夜, 经常被哐锒锒的金属撞击声惊醒, 警笛呜呜, 警灯闪烁, 全副武装的警察押着惊惶的人群来了, 把他们塞进满满当当的囚室又走了。
我隔壁是女囚室, 女人叫, 孩子, 一片混乱。更惨绝人寰的是, 有一天, 公安抓进一个身怀六甲的孕妇来, 大家刚静下来入睡, 突然从大门外传来急切的喊声, 然后那孕妇也悲切切地喊起来, 原来她丈夫闻讯赶来救妻子, 想进的进不来, 想出的出不去。里面外面凄厉的哭喊声此起彼伏, 在荒寂的夜空回荡，令人恻然，令人揪心。
2、掳人勒索
7月中旬某天清早，公安又拉来一大群人，男男女女塞满囚室，就没人管了，只有一个姓朱的老头到吃饭时间挨室将饭送进去，人太多，碗不够，就把前面人吃过的碗拿来直接盛后面人的饭。我只听到最外面囚室里有人在喊：“我有肝炎的，我有乙肝的！”， 老头听到了就骂：“获痕莫憋个些，叫吼个叫，呐道是住宾馆哈，呐是坐甘牢呀！（萧山土话：骂人，叫什么叫，你以为是住宾馆吗？你是坐牢呀！）”。
下午四点多，又一个囚室骚动起来，我听到有人在喊：“放我出去，我要上夜班！”， 趁着他喊话的空隙，我问了那人喊话原因。那是个叫陈春峰（音）的义乌人，在义乌一个化工厂工作，因为弟弟考中专没录取而出走，其父亲要他出来找人。早上他乘车来到萧山，到最热闹的国际广场转转，不巧，一群警察将人群围起来查证件，他没带身份证而被关进了遣送站。他是利用工休时间出来的，要回厂上夜班， 本以为进来说清楚就可以回家了，没想到一关进来就没人管了。眼看要误了工作，才急起来。
时值炎夏，遣送站的人躲进空调房间不愿出来，我叫他用力踢铁门，里面的人听到响动会出来的。果然，不一会儿，楼上的人恶狠狠地下来了。听了陈春峰的陈述，那人狠巴巴地说：“呐凑拉早啬否喔？（萧山土话，你为什么早点不讲）”，开门放了他。
没几天我就明白了，那人为何如此狠巴巴了，他放走的是一笔钞票。
共产党历来严格控制人口流动，虽然改革开放了，可是他们却有许许多多的恶法继续欺压老百姓， 外地人到一个城市需要有身份证、暂住证、务工证、计划生育证等等等等，其中不乏为了榨取老百姓金钱而私设的土政策。公安局把人抓来，因为都是些没有任何违法行为的人，就由遣散站关押，对于遣送站是一个极好的创收机会，利用公权力谋取部门利益，是一大帮官员发财之道。遣送站关押条件极其恶劣。被关押者痛苦不堪，就会千方百计寻亲访友，遣送站每天上午让被关押者打电话，通知被关押者亲友拿钱来赎人（这是一种多巧妙的寻租方法），“管理”手续费每人一百元，每天的伙食费十元，吃的伙食极差，我在那里关了五十一天，每天早餐酱菜稀饭，其他就只是干菜冬瓜和干菜豆芽。 姓朱的老头偶尔从管理员的饭桌上捡点扔掉的肥肉放进我的碗里，我只能将这被污染的食物送给别人吃。
自我被判刑后，1999年11月18日，遣送站开出了一千六百五十元的“收款收据”，注明日期是自1999年6月19日至8月14日，共55天。 且不论我是6月19日午夜送去那里，8月13日离开那里，更荒唐的是萧山遣送站竟开出每天20元的“代管费”, 扣我钱的单据不经我签字认可, 由公安拿去我单位报销，单位头头屁股不干净, 害怕公安的淫威, 不惜牺牲我的利益 。年底我妻子去单位取我最后三个月的工资，单位将这张“收款收据”折抵了我的工资交给我妻子。这是一件难得的证据，见证中国政府职能部门之卑污龌龊，公安与他们狼狈为奸。
3、财源滚滚
遣送站财源滚滚，大楼和囚室之间的院子晚上出租做停车场，每天早上十几辆“东风”柴油载重车发动预热，浓烟灌满监室，无处可避，令我窒息。监室后围墙内的空间出租做钣金车间，铁件敲打声阵阵入耳，头涨欲裂。更为可怕的是三伏苦夏，竟将监室里的水龙头拆了（也许是为了节约成本吧），外面常常“忘了”供应开水，这对于患有严重高脂血症的我不啻于死亡威胁。 于是我口渴难忍时敲门要求供水，那个叫邢罡的来了，提着电警棍，到门口一下将电警棍捅进来，我一闪避开了，于是他就开骂：“获痕莫憋个些，我拜痕切就拜痕切，否拜痕切就否拜痕切，痕吵吼个吵！（萧山土话，骂人，我给你吃就给你吃，不给你吃就不给你吃，你吵什么吵）”。
管理员个个像“大款”，遣送站里配着警车、警棍，还有一个穿警服的满脸横肉的矮胖子，不时开锁带几个人出去打扫卫生，冲洗警车。更甚者，有一天晚上，一个十五六岁的小胖子人模狗样地混在公安警察中驱赶着惊惶的人群，骂骂咧咧地大声呵斥着，那付狐假虎威的神气煞有介事。我想不出这人到底是什么角色，事后听说是遣送站长许新兴的儿子， 这小子闲得无聊也来享受一下行使“公权力”的愉悦。
民政部门的遣送站，竟行使着公安的权力。这个所谓的“人民共和国”的子民任人践踏，何来“共和”呢？！，给我留下更强烈印象的是，某一天晚上我隔壁监舍抓进来一批“流莺”，第二天，监舍走廊前面的窗口有几个男人拥挤着向女监探头探脑张望。 监舍里有女人在喊：“大哥，大哥，我（名）叫XXX，你把我带出去吧，我出去跟你走！”， 果然，那人去付了钱，一会儿邢罡拿来钥匙开锁放了她，她挽起那人的手臂走了。若说平时遣送站干的是绑架勒索勾当，那么，此时充当的是鸨母皮条客角色。
堂堂政府职能部门利欲熏心竟赚着这么肮脏的钱， 还厚颜无耻地说是“人民”政府，真不知是如何“三个代表”的。官匪一家，遣送站和嫖客各得其所，牺牲的只是弱女子。榨得出油水的，遣送站让她们打电话约人来赎出去，约不来人赎身，遣送站就睁眼闭眼以这么一种方式处理了。那些冠冕堂皇的所谓“治安”理由在这里荡然无存，专制独裁是社会腐败的根源所在！
1999年6月27日是个星期天，清晨天还未亮透，我就听到隔壁传出低低的声音：“呐做吼个桑意？（萧山土话，你们做什么生意）”，原来那个姓朱的老色鬼见关那里的三个年轻女子有几分姿色， 清早开锁进去“搞卫生”了。女子惊惶地说：“隔壁的人醒了，（会）听见的。”，老头说：“伊悃咂咚，听否咂构。（萧山土话，他睡着那里，听不见的）”， 我对老头这种卑劣的行为十分反感，故意大声说：“啊！又是一个好天。”，老头眼见被我坏了好事，嘴里骂骂咧咧地走了。几天后，她们被赎出去了。七月初，郑刚来提审我，回监舍后，同舍的人告诉我，刚才那几个女子来看过我并送我一袋食品，以表示对我当初救难的谢意，但是被老头拿去了。
4、王希哲
我反复地咀嚼着郑刚的那几句话， 他在提审时对我说：“朱虞夫，你以前说我们是工具，你自己才是牺牲品，你是中美政治斗争的牺牲品。”，通过他的话，我明白了，当局决心趁着北约误炸南斯拉夫中国使馆之机，打丫头，骂小姐，清理门户了。严峻的现实已经不容人乐观了，我不再存有幻想。
值得一提的是郑刚在提审时突然说：“你们好象对王希哲都很服帖。（服帖，杭州话，意为佩服、敬重）”， 从他的话里我听出了这是我与毛庆祥、李锡安、王荣清等人的共同看法。
说实话，在我的青少年时代就向往着民主政治，对封建专制怀有切齿痛恨。小学时，在邻居庄某家曾借阅许多民国时期印刷的宣扬自由、平等、博爱的书籍，1971年6月1日参加工作，在隶属杭州园林管理局的杭州植物园做学徒， 那正是最向往知识，求知若渴的年龄，我的好朋友胡雪良君偶尔说起，杭州解放路丰乐桥边的杭州图书馆阅览室里有不少好书， 我便寻去。那是基督教思澄堂改制的阅览室，借书卡一证难求，小说类图书难觅踪影，我在失望之余，上楼去索引抽屉查阅《哲学、社会科学》类书籍，不料竟如山阴道上，目不暇接：我看到了伏尔泰、卢梭、狄德罗、孟德斯鸠等法国启蒙运动思想家的大量著作。1975年朋友姜锦坤君拿来一册油印的《论社会主义的民主与法制》（俗称《李一哲大字报》）封面标着“供批判用”字样，我一展读竟不能释手，字里行间那些反封建、反专制的呐喊深深地震撼着我。姜君说有很多朋友都想看这篇文章，不如我们将它再重刻一版， 印几十份，大家分分吧，于是我们刻印装订一直忙到天亮，这是我最初对王希哲先生产生仰慕之情的来由，后来，王希哲先生来过杭州，可是我当时已经淡出民运，非常遗憾地失之交臂。当时毛庆祥给我看过王希哲先生的《春寒》，我得以一睹丰采。不久他在公安的迫害下流亡出国，听说他与许多民运“贵族”不同，在海外仍过着苦行僧般的日子，孤独地、疲惫地、顽强地跋涉着。1998年6月25日中国民主党浙江筹委会成立，王希哲先生与连胜德、徐文立先生立即声援支持。特别是在王有才被捕后，王希哲先生更是倾力相助， 我记得各地民主党同仁在来电时都不约而同地向我表示对王希哲先生的服膺之情。 我认为当时王希哲先生已经成为国内各地民主党事实上的指导者和领导人， 我曾经对王希哲先生谈起请他担纲的事，王希哲先生婉拒了。当时我们几个七九民运朋友曾讨论过正式做出决定的问题，所以对某些人的“收编”（收编不成又收买遣散）未表示赞成。 最后我们都遭到镇压，此事便不再提起。德谟克里特说过：“人是一个小世界。”，我相信，王希哲先生性格率直任性，完全有可能做出一些无伤大雅的糗事来，但是瑕不掩玉。我和我的朋友们过去、现在、将来都会对他在当时那么艰难的危急时刻所作的大量努力怀着深深的敬意。
5、脱逃机会监舍里阴暗潮湿，几床破旧不堪的棉被千人裹过，万人盖过，就是不曾洗过，腐臭肮脏。其他监舍的人羁押三五天、七八天就走了，而我是长期关押，更何况郑刚说，现在他们要去忙法轮功的事，暂时不会来管我（他说，监视居住有六个月期限，慢慢来不要紧）。天一暗，蚊子铺天盖地，我将被子里的棉絮拿出来，用被套将浑身裹住，只露出鼻子，就象当年鲁迅在仙台时一样。
某一天，我上蹲坑时发现坑边墙脚的石灰有些异样，用手一摸，发现那是用搓细的棉絮嵌进去的，拉开棉絮条，一块块的砖头都可以卸下来，露出一个正可以钻出一个人的洞来。望出去，钣金车间靠墙处堆满杂物，爬上墙，跳出去就是外面了。一时间，我突然有一种逃出去的冲动。
但是，我很快冷静了下来——记得中国民主党组党之初，王东海曾问我对组党的看法，我说，综观世界潮流，开放党禁是迟早的事，这是摆在面前的一道绕不过去的坎子。 邓小平一直都提出要搞政治体制改革，但是当时许多老一代保守人物都在，他也许处处受掣，邓对于复杂的事总是绕着走的，就象中日钓鱼岛，要让后代去解决，说是后代人更有智慧。目前，上面受掣于既得利益集团的惯性，能拖一天算一天，主要是老百姓没有提出要求，所谓有什么样的人民就有什么样的政府。台湾开放党禁、走向民主的路也不平凡，你要冲击党禁肯定要被抓坐牢，但是，如果老百姓不怕坐牢了，大家都认识到结社自由是自己固有的权利，当局再抓人就会天怒人怨，再搞威权主义就没有市场了，那时社会就进了一大步，民主社会就来到了。同时，虽然我们去坐牢，我们的付出和牺牲，也让老百姓明白中国民主党是个能够担负起政治责任的现代政党，能够取得老百姓的信任和支持，被抓被判本身就是共产党在为我们做广告。
我深深地知道，我何德何能，以我卑微之躯何以改变现实，古往今来，社会变革的根本力量来自于旧营垒的内部。我作为一名政治受难者，以自己的苦难去唤醒人类的良心，唤醒旧营垒内那些能人的良知，那么，我的受刑就是一种行为艺术，他促使人们去思索，去解答，去矫正现实的悖论。我求仁得仁，为何要逃避。当后代人评判这段历史，指着我们的脊骨责问“你们怎么能容忍那样的现实？”时，我问心无愧，因为我曾努力过，我曾付出过，我曾牺牲过。在一个民主社会，我们的这种行为理应受到政府的保护，而在当代中国，我却成了一个“罪犯”，这是人类的不幸，是中国的悲哀，是政府的耻辱。再则，多少年来，民运内部总有人有意无意地散布着这个那个是“共特”的流言蜚语，如果来自对方阵营，手法很拙劣，很容易被人识破，因为民主政治是人类命中注定要得到的，不可能谁想出卖就可以出卖，就象春天不能被出卖，太阳不能被出卖一样。稍有头脑的人都知道，邓小平讲过这个政权“垮掉只是一夜之间的事”，谁会为这么个不确定的未来赌上人格和尊严呢？！，但是，眼前的这种流言具有强烈的杀伤力， 内耗着民运有限的资源，削弱了个别人的锐气。是的，自 “民主墙”以来的二十余年来我进进退退，确实没有坐过牢，八九年“参与动乱”我虽被“收容审查”二十七天，回来后，被当时的单位江干区房管局撤消了工会工作委员会负责人的职务，去管传达室，但毕竟不是严格意义上的“坐牢”。 如今， 我至少可以通过“资格认证”，成为一个“民运分子”了。更何况，母亲向来教育我们要“男有刚强，女有烈性”，我的临难脱逃，会成为她老人家的耻辱。于是，我打消了逃避的念头，怕自己某天抗不住诱惑，干脆告诉朱老头，让他叫人来将洞补好。
6、监视居住
数十天非人的关押，用朱老头的话来说，关在那里“比彘（猪）还不如”，时逢炎夏酷暑，没有水，没有电扇，没有放风，没有阳光，不能搞个人卫生，胡须满面，依山而建的废弃看守所笼板已经被白蚁蛀空朽烂了，破败的洞窟下塞满历年关押者丢弃的垃圾。霉菌大举肆虐，皮肤、阴囊严重湿症，瘙痒、蜕皮（此时已为我日后的严重腰椎病埋下隐患），苦不堪言。这就是共产党的“监视居住”，这样完全被剥夺了人身自由的日子竟不能折算刑期。
这样的事情发生在“人权入宪”、“历史上人权最好的时期”，特具讽刺意义。不过换一个角度，这也是真话，共产党五十多年来枪毙了多少象我们一样的“罪犯”，甚至许多无辜者，这年头我们能活着就已经不错了。
坚强的意志在支撑着我，我明白能使自己增强免疫力的只有良好的心态了，我顽强地调节好自己的情绪，放开嗓子高唱歌曲，这一招还真行， 几嗓子下来，神清气爽。遣送站有一个姓陈的科长进来检查，揶揄我说：“嗬！满腔的热血已经沸腾。”，1999年的夏天似乎特别热，单独关押的日子里我一点也没有寂寞的感觉，还常常涌起缕缕的灵感，写下许多首诗，让隔壁放出去的人带进纸笔来，抄给他们。底稿我一直带在身边，后来关押在杭州看守所被武警“抄笼子”抄走了。
八月初，姓陈的科长避暑度假回来，看到我七分象鬼、三分象人的样子，惊讶地说：“你怎么还在这里， 我们早就打电话给你们公安， 怎么还不来带你走？”，这一次他对我的态度明显比以前好多了，也许是度假地的优美风情与眼前现实的强烈反差所带来的震撼，使他的良心有所触动吧。
当我单独监禁时，我仔细地考察监狱文化——辨认着刻画在墙上的文字图案，自己也在墙上刻下一个一个的“正”字，每字五天，顺便推算日期， 那天我竟然从门廊边上发现了“中国民主党”字样，从字迹上看，是祝正明写的，于是我知道他也曾在这里度过一段非人的生活。 听知情人说前几年还长年累月关过外省的政治犯，我想那些受难者为什么不将自己的非人遭遇写出来，昭告世人，让今后的恶人作恶时有所顾忌。
编辑：罗志飞 责任编辑：鲁慧文 翻译：鲁慧文
The Practitioner — My Road to Democracy (Part I)
Author: Zhu Yufu
A Brief Explanation
In order to promote the early transformation of Chinese society from traditional politics to modern politics, to prevent China from remaining outside the international mainstream community and attracting unwanted scrutiny, and to ensure that the Chinese government—as a permanent member of the United Nations—abides by all UN human rights conventions in name and in practice, follows international norms, and benefits the people’s welfare, my friends—Wang Youcai, Wang Donghai, Zhu Zhengming, Wu Yilong, Mao Qingxiang, Xu Guang—and I, in June 1998, initiated the preparations to establish the Zhejiang Preparatory Committee of the China Democracy Party. We hoped to, through peaceful, rational, and non-violent means, in accordance with international practice and the principles of freedom of association and freedom of speech enshrined in China’s Constitution, discuss politics, deliberate on national affairs, and exercise the basic rights of citizens.
Our original intention was to break through the ban on political parties and the ban on newspapers—two basic indicators of a modern democratic society—to reform the abnormal phenomenon of “party rule over the state,” and to build a civil society, with the aim of purifying officialdom, curbing corruption, improving the safety index of the Chinese people, improving the ecological environment, and enabling society to be fundamentally harmonious and stable. We sought to reform the superstructure that had become increasingly flawed alongside economic development—something that accords with the long-term interests of the Chinese nation.
Our actions should, by all rights, have been protected by any government in a modern democratic society. However, due to the inertia of Cold War thinking, we were sentenced to heavy prison terms for “subversion.” I, in my capacity as “Secretary-General,” was sentenced to seven years. After being detained for seven years and eighty-eight days, I was released. Regardless of the legal basis for this so-called “lawful judgment,” what was even more absurd was that I was met with a series of bizarre events, entirely at odds with the dazzling propaganda of so-called “progress,” “rule of law,” and “harmony” promoted by the authorities. This only demonstrated the severity of the flaws in the current system and the necessity and urgency of political reform. Having survived, I now recount the political persecution and “reform” episodes I experienced after my arrest, so that people can have a clear understanding of the political ecology in 21st-century China and the living conditions of political prisoners.
I. Cast Out by Others
(1) Arrest
1. June 19
June 19, 1999, was a quiet weekend. Yet, like many of my weekends, it was busy. Since Zhu Zhengming and Wu Yilong had been arrested and disappeared months earlier, the political climate had become tense. I had read online that the authorities planned to crack down on the China Democracy Party after the June Fourth anniversary. In order to ensure my family would have a better living environment if I went to prison, I had bought an apartment a few hundred meters from my home and was rushing to finish renovations. That day, my wife and I had agreed to go shopping for curtains and a sofa in the afternoon.
The day before had been the Dragon Boat Festival, and my workplace had asked me to write a report on comprehensive governance. At noon, colleagues from a neighboring office invited me to drink festival wine with them. My mind was still occupied with ideas for the report. Early in the morning, I took my 12-year-old daughter to her art class. A friend, Wang, had arranged to finalize the 9th issue of The Opposition Party magazine that day. I decided to finish my office work first, then edit the magazine.
Unexpectedly, visitors kept coming that day. In the afternoon, just after I saw off a new friend from Shaoxing, an acquaintance I seldom saw dropped by. (Coincidentally—or not—in 1998, this same person had once brought Wang Qianqu over on July 10. ) As we were talking, a group of political security police suddenly burst into my home.
Although there had been rumors since the bombing of the Chinese Embassy in Yugoslavia on May 8 that the authorities would suppress democracy activists, and although before June Fourth the authorities had already made sweeping moves—strictly controlling most democracy activists (myself included, being driven around southern Zhejiang by leaders from my office in Hangzhou’s Shangcheng District Housing Administration Bureau)—I was still taken aback by the sudden arrival of the political security police. Especially since all the China Democracy Party materials were laid out on the table, the loss from the search was severe.
Oddly, political security officer Zheng Gang insisted I open the door to the apartment opposite, which belonged to my wife’s elder brother. I had borrowed it briefly during the renovation, and only a few in our circle knew about it. I immediately suspected the person we had long suspected as an informant. I claimed I didn’t have the key, and Zheng, unable to press further, gave up. This only confirmed our suspicions about that person.
The plainclothes officers escorted me downstairs, one holding a DV camcorder to record the scene—likely to report to superiors. Neighbors gathered, puzzled, perhaps thinking I had committed some heinous crime. I shouted loudly, “I haven’t stolen, I haven’t robbed—I am a member of the China Democracy Party! For freedom and human rights, for social progress—” A young plainclothes officer (years later I learned his name was Jiang Xiaomin, who in 2009 shamelessly boasted about arresting 15 CDP members) pushed me and barked, “You’re something else! You’re China Democracy Party!” Several police cars waited a hundred meters away. The plainclothes officers shoved me into a car and sped away.
Zheng Gang also took my visiting brother-in-law and the conveniently-timed “friend” to the Wangjiang Police Station. After a perfunctory check of my brother-in-law’s ID, they asked the “friend” a few token questions and released him—even though he had no ID and gave a name I had never heard. After my arrest, that person visited my family several times to offer “comfort.” Upon my release, my wife asked me to thank him, saying one should not fail to repay kindness. Sadly, he had died six months earlier.
Later that night, around 9 PM, after a brief interrogation, Zhang Jianhua and Zheng Gang produced a “Residential Surveillance Decision” for me to sign, then Zheng drove me straight to the Xiaoshan Detention & Deportation Center.
2. My Heart Was Calm
The police car sped into the dark night, crossing the Qianjiang Third Bridge and through Xiaoshan toward Zhuji. My mind flashed back to June 3: I had been detained the entire afternoon at Zhakou Police Station, then released. On the way home, I passed Wangjiang Police Station, and a strong sense of duty made me check in on other detained party members. I saw several police surrounding Li Bagen upstairs, taking his statement. As I was leaving, I encountered Zhang Jianhua and others.
Zhang said, “Zhu Yufu, what are you doing here?”
I replied, “Just passing by to take a look.”
He said, “You’ve seen it, huh! I think your health is poor—why bother with revolution? If you promise to quit the China Democracy Party, I guarantee you won’t spend a single day in jail.”
Earlier that day I had fainted from low blood sugar, so clearly Zhang knew my condition—he had even brought me herbal tea once when I was released in 1998. But seeing my comrades persecuted upstairs, I could not shamefully retreat. After a brief silence, I refused outright: “Why should I quit? Freedom of association is our right. If you want to arrest me, arrest me! If you can stand to keep arresting, I can stand to keep going to prison! June Fourth will be vindicated one day; democracy will come one day!”
The car fell silent. I thought of my elderly mother, my wife of nearly 20 years, my children’s future under political repression. Could I doubt my choice? Years earlier, during the crackdown on the “Democracy Wall” movement, I had retreated out of concern for my family—a choice I regretted deeply. This time, the chance to wash away that shame had come. As Chen Duxiu once said, “Social progress goes through two places: prison and the research room.” My heart grew calmer.
(2) Xiaoshan Deportation Center
1. The “Home of Love”
The car turned into a courtyard by a hill, leading to a four-story building. A plump young man named Xing Gang greeted us, took custody, and led me to a row of barred cells. The stench was overwhelming. Two men lay inside: a young man from Henan who had killed a relative of the Xiaoshan mayor in a traffic accident, and an older man from Hunan whose son had fled after causing a fatal accident—he was being held as a hostage.
The young man was soon released after his family paid compensation. The older man, surnamed Zhou, had been held for a long time, frail and sickly. China’s detention-and-repatriation centers had been infamous—so much so that after the Sun Zhigang incident, they were “reformed.” But few knew the crimes behind the walls.
I remembered when I worked as a housing inspector, police had asked us to check construction workers’ temporary residence permits to make up for demerit points. Workers without permits were sent to the deportation center in batches. The newspapers called these places “warm homes full of love.”
I also recalled a relative from Dongyang who vanished while strolling the streets in Hangzhou, only to call home two weeks later from a deportation center.
I had never truly understood these places—until I lived in one. Only then did I see how ordinary Chinese people lived under such a brutal system, powerless against arbitrary abuse. In the middle of the night, I would be awakened by the metallic clang of bars, sirens, flashing lights, and the sight of armed police herding frightened people into packed cells before leaving. My cell was next to the women’s cellblock. The sounds of women crying, children wailing, and general chaos were constant. One night was especially heart-wrenching: the police brought in a heavily pregnant woman. Just as everyone had settled down to sleep, a desperate shout came from outside the main gate, and the pregnant woman inside began calling out in anguish. It turned out her husband had rushed over to rescue her, but couldn’t get in, and she couldn’t get out. The cries and sobs from inside and outside echoed through the desolate night air—piercing, sorrowful, and gut-wrenching.
2. Kidnapping for Ransom
One morning in mid-July, the police brought in a large group of men and women, cramming the cells full, and then left without tending to them. Only an old man surnamed Zhu came by at mealtimes to hand out food. When bowls ran out, he would take a bowl someone had already eaten from and use it to serve food to the next person. I heard someone in the outer cell shouting, “I have hepatitis! I have Hepatitis B!” The old man heard him and cursed, “Huo hen mo bie ge xie, jiao hou ge jiao, na dao shi zhu binguan ha, na shi zuo gan lao ya!” (Xiaoshan dialect, meaning: “What are you yelling for? You think this is a hotel? This is jail!”).
Around 4 p.m., another cell started making a commotion. I heard someone yelling, “Let me out, I have to work the night shift!” In a pause between his shouts, I asked why he was yelling. It turned out he was a man named Chen Chunfeng (phonetic) from Yiwu, working at a chemical factory there. His younger brother had run away from home after not getting into a vocational school, and their father had told him to go out and look for him. That morning, he had taken a bus to Xiaoshan, wandered into the bustling International Plaza, and unfortunately ran into a police sweep checking IDs. Since he had no ID on him, he was thrown into the detention and repatriation center. He thought he could explain and be released quickly, but no one paid any attention after he was locked up. Seeing he might miss work, he became desperate.
It was the height of summer, and the staff stayed in air-conditioned rooms, unwilling to come out. I told him to kick the iron door loudly—someone would come if they heard the noise. Sure enough, soon a man from upstairs came down, scowling, and after hearing Chen’s explanation said harshly, “Na cou la zao se fou wo?” (Xiaoshan dialect: “Why didn’t you say so earlier?”), and then released him.
A few days later I understood why the man had been so surly—he had just lost a payday.
The CCP has always strictly controlled population movement. Even after “reform and opening up,” there remain countless malicious laws to oppress ordinary people. Outsiders arriving in a city must have an ID card, temporary residence permit, work permit, family planning certificate, and so on—including many arbitrary “local policies” created to extract money from the people.
When police detained people with no actual offenses, they would put them in the detention and repatriation center, which became a lucrative source of income. They exploited public authority for departmental gain, enriching officials. Conditions in the center were extremely poor, and detainees suffered greatly, prompting them to contact relatives and friends by any means. Each morning, detainees were allowed to call their families to bring money to ransom them out—a very “clever” method of rent-seeking. The “management” fee was 100 yuan per person, plus 10 yuan per day for food, which was abysmal in quality. I spent 51 days there; breakfast was pickles and thin porridge, other meals were dried vegetables with winter melon or bean sprouts.
Occasionally, old Zhu would fish a scrap of fatty meat from the staff table’s leftovers into my bowl. I would give this contaminated food to someone else.
After I was sentenced, on November 18, 1999, the center issued a “receipt” for 1,650 yuan, stating it covered June 19 to August 14 (55 days). Never mind that I was brought there after midnight on June 19 and left on August 13—more absurd was that Xiaoshan’s center charged 20 yuan a day in “care fees.” Without my consent or signature, the police took the bill to my workplace for reimbursement. Fearing the police’s power, my superiors sacrificed my interests to protect themselves. At year’s end, when my wife went to collect my last three months’ wages, the workplace deducted the receipt amount from my pay and gave her the balance. This rare piece of evidence proves the sordid collusion between government agencies and the police.
3. A Lucrative Business
The detention center was a money machine. At night, the courtyard between the main building and the cells was rented out as a parking lot. Every morning, a dozen Dongfeng diesel trucks would start up, filling the cells with exhaust fumes and leaving nowhere to hide. Behind the cellblock, space was rented to a sheet-metal workshop, whose hammering made our heads throb.
Worse still, in the scorching summer, they removed the water taps from inside the cells—perhaps to save money. They often “forgot” to provide boiled water, which for me, with severe hyperlipidemia, was a life-threatening deprivation. When I knocked on the door to request water, Xing Gang came with an electric baton, shoved it through the doorway, and tried to jab me. When I dodged, he cursed in Xiaoshan dialect: “Huo hen mo bie ge xie, wo bai hen qie jiu bai hen qie, fou bai hen qie jiu fou bai hen qie, hen chao hou ge chao!” (“I’ll give you food if I want, if I don’t want to, I won’t—what are you yelling for?”).
The administrators acted like “big shots,” with police cars, batons, and even a short, fat, thuggish man in uniform who sometimes unlocked the door to take a few detainees out to wash police cars. More absurd was the sight one night of a 15- or 16-year-old fat boy swaggering among the police, barking orders and cursing at the terrified detainees—later I learned he was the son of the center’s director, Xu Xinxing, amusing himself with a taste of “public authority.”
Although the detention center was under the civil affairs department, it wielded police powers. What “republic” is this, when the so-called citizens of the “People’s Republic” are trampled at will?
One night, they brought in a group of sex workers to the women’s cell. The next day, a few men gathered at the corridor window to peek inside. A woman inside called out, “Big brother, big brother, my name is [name], take me out with you!” Sure enough, the man paid money, and Xing Gang opened the cell to release her, and she left on his arm. If the usual business was kidnapping and extortion, here they were also playing the role of pimps and madams.
The government agencies, driven by greed, were making this filthy money while still shamelessly calling themselves the “people’s government.” It was nothing more than the collusion of officials and criminals, with the detention center and the johns both benefiting—at the expense of vulnerable women. Those who could be ransomed were allowed to call for someone to fetch them; those who couldn’t were quietly “handled” in this manner. Any pretense of “public security” was utterly hollow—authoritarian dictatorship is the root of social corruption.
On Sunday morning, June 27, 1999, before dawn, I overheard old Zhu in the women’s cell next door asking, “Na zuo hou ge sang yi?” (Xiaoshan dialect: “What business are you in?”). Seeing that the three young women inside were somewhat attractive, he had unlocked the cell to “do cleaning.” The women protested in alarm, “The people next door are awake, they’ll hear us.” Zhu replied, “Yi kun za dong, ting fou za gou.” (Xiaoshan dialect: “He’s asleep over there, he can’t hear.”) Disgusted by his vile behavior, I deliberately said loudly, “Ah! Another beautiful day.” Seeing his fun spoiled, he cursed under his breath and left. A few days later, those women were ransomed.
In early July, Zheng Gang came to interrogate me. After returning to the cell, my cellmates told me the women had come to visit me and brought a bag of food to thank me for helping them that day—but old Zhu had taken it.
4. Wang Xizhe
I kept mulling over something Zheng Gang had said during interrogation: “Zhu Yufu, you used to say we are tools, but you’re the real sacrifice—you’re a victim of the political struggle between China and the United States.” From this, I understood the authorities had decided to use the NATO bombing of the Chinese Embassy in Yugoslavia as a pretext to “punish the maid, scold the mistress”—in other words, to settle internal scores. The grim reality left no room for optimism; I no longer had any illusions.
Zheng also remarked, “You all seem to respect Wang Xizhe quite a lot,” from which I gathered this was a shared view among myself, Mao Qingxiang, Li Xian, Wang Rongqing, and others.
In my youth, I had yearned for democracy and hated feudal despotism. In primary school, I borrowed many Republican-era books promoting liberty, equality, and fraternity from a neighbor. In 1971, at age 17, I began working at the Hangzhou Botanical Garden. A friend, Hu Xueliang, told me that the Hangzhou Library reading room had many good books. I went and discovered upstairs a treasure trove of works by Voltaire, Rousseau, Diderot, Montesquieu, and other Enlightenment thinkers.
In 1975, my friend Jiang Jinkun brought me a mimeographed copy of On Socialist Democracy and the Legal System (known as the “Li Yizhe Big-Character Poster”), marked “For Criticism Only.” I was captivated by its anti-feudal, anti-despotism rhetoric. Jiang suggested we reprint it for others to read, so we spent the night printing and binding copies. This was my first reason for admiring Mr. Wang Xizhe.
Later, Wang visited Hangzhou, but by then I had withdrawn from activism and regrettably missed meeting him. Mao Qingxiang once showed me Wang’s Spring Chill, giving me a glimpse of his style. Later, persecuted by the police, Wang went into exile abroad. I heard that, unlike some “movement aristocrats,” he lived like an ascetic—lonely, weary, yet steadfast. In June 1998, when the Zhejiang Preparatory Committee of the China Democracy Party was founded, Wang, along with Lian Shengde and Xu Wenli, immediately voiced support. After Wang Youcai’s arrest, Wang Xizhe gave even greater help. I recall that when fellow CDP members called from around the country, they all expressed deep respect for him.
I believe that at the time, Wang Xizhe had already become the de facto guide and leader of CDP members nationwide. I once discussed inviting him to take the lead role, but he declined. We 1979 Democracy Movement friends even considered making it official, but did not support others’ attempts to “incorporate” (or, failing that, buy off and disperse) the party. In the end, we were all suppressed, and the matter was dropped. As Democritus said, “Man is a little world.” I believe that with his candid and willful personality, Wang might do some harmless foolish things—but these flaws do not overshadow his merits. My friends and I, past, present, and future, will always hold deep respect for the great efforts he made during those difficult and perilous times.
5. An Opportunity to Escape
The cell was dark and damp, with filthy, rotting quilts that thousands had used over the years without ever being washed. Others were held only a few days, but I was a long-term detainee. Zheng Gang had said they were now busy dealing with Falun Gong and wouldn’t bother with me for the time being (he said residential surveillance could last six months, so “no rush”).
At night, the mosquitoes were so thick I had to pull the cotton from inside my quilt, wrap myself tightly in the cover, and leave only my nose exposed—just as Lu Xun had done in Sendai.
One day, while squatting over the toilet, I noticed something odd at the base of the wall. Touching it, I found it was packed with shredded cotton. Pulling it out, I discovered that the bricks could be removed, revealing a hole just large enough for a person to crawl through. Outside, the wall bordered the sheet-metal workshop’s yard, piled with debris. Climbing over would mean freedom. For a moment, I was seized with the impulse to escape. However, I quickly calmed down—
I recalled that at the founding of the China Democracy Party, Wang Donghai once asked me my thoughts on forming the party. I said that, looking at the global trend, lifting the ban on political parties was only a matter of time—an unavoidable hurdle right in front of us. Deng Xiaoping had always talked about political reform, but at the time there were still many old-generation conservatives around him, and he was perhaps constrained at every turn. Deng tended to skirt around complex matters—just like with the Diaoyu Islands issue between China and Japan, saying it should be left for future generations to resolve, as they would be wiser.
At present, the top is constrained by the inertia of vested interest groups, dragging things out as long as possible; the main reason is that ordinary people have not demanded change. As the saying goes, “What kind of people there are, is what kind of government there will be.” Taiwan’s road to lifting the ban on political parties and moving toward democracy was also not an easy one. If you challenge the party ban, you will certainly be arrested and imprisoned. But if the people are no longer afraid of prison, if everyone comes to realize that freedom of association is their inherent right, then when the authorities arrest people again, it will provoke popular outrage, and authoritarianism will have no market. At that point, society will have taken a great step forward, and democracy will have arrived.
At the same time, although we go to prison, our contributions and sacrifices will help the people understand that the China Democracy Party is a modern political party capable of assuming political responsibility, winning the trust and support of the people. Being arrested and sentenced is, in itself, the Communist Party doing advertising for us.
I knew full well: who am I, with my humble body, to change reality? Throughout history, the fundamental force for social change has come from within the old camp. As a political victim, by using my own suffering to awaken human conscience, to awaken the moral awareness of capable people inside the old camp, my punishment thus becomes a form of performance art—it prompts people to think, to seek answers, to correct the contradictions of reality. I have sought benevolence and attained it; why should I run away?
When future generations judge this period of history, and point to our spines and ask, “How could you tolerate such a reality?” I can have no shame, for I have tried, I have given, I have sacrificed. In a democratic society, our actions should be protected by the government. Yet in today’s China, I have become a “criminal.” This is humanity’s misfortune, China’s sorrow, and the government’s disgrace.
Furthermore, for so many years, there have always been those within the democracy movement who, intentionally or unintentionally, spread rumors that this or that person is a “CCP agent.” If such rumors come from the other side, they are clumsy and easy to detect—because democratic politics is humanity’s destined future, it cannot be “sold out” by anyone, just as spring cannot be sold out, and the sun cannot be sold out. Anyone with sense knows Deng Xiaoping once said this regime “could collapse overnight”—who would gamble their character and dignity for such an uncertain future?!
However, the rumors we face now have a powerful destructive force, consuming the democracy movement’s limited resources and dampening the spirit of certain individuals. Yes, since the “Democracy Wall” over twenty years ago, I have moved in and out, and indeed have never served a prison term. In 1989, during the “participation in turmoil,” I was “detained for investigation” for twenty-seven days, and afterward, the Jianggan District Housing Administration Bureau—my work unit at the time—removed me from my position as head of the Workers’ Union Committee and sent me to manage the mail room. But that was not, strictly speaking, prison. Now, at least, I can obtain “certification” to be a bona fide “democracy activist.” Moreover, my mother always taught us that “men must have strength of character, women must have a steadfast spirit.” My fleeing in the face of danger would be her disgrace. So I dismissed the thought of escape. Fearing that I might one day not resist the temptation, I simply told Old Zhu to get someone to patch up the hole.
6. Residential Surveillance
After dozens of days of inhuman detention, in Old Zhu’s words, being locked up there was “worse than being a pig.” In the sweltering summer heat, there was no water, no fan, no outdoor time, no sunlight, no personal hygiene; my face was covered with beard. The abandoned detention center, built against a hillside, had cell planks hollowed out and rotted by termites; beneath the crumbling holes were years’ worth of garbage discarded by detainees. Mold spread rampantly. My skin and scrotum developed severe damp rashes, itching, peeling—this laid the foundation for my serious lumbar disease later on. Life was unbearable.
This was the CCP’s so-called “residential surveillance”—yet days completely deprived of personal freedom could not be counted toward the prison term.
That such things happened during the so-called “enshrinement of human rights in the constitution” and “the best period for human rights in history” was particularly ironic. Yet in another sense, it was also true: in the past fifty-odd years, the Communist Party has executed countless “criminals” like us, even many innocents—so in this era, being able to survive is already considered fortunate.
A strong will was sustaining me. I understood that only a good mindset could boost my immunity. I stubbornly regulated my emotions, belting out songs at the top of my lungs. This trick really worked—after a few verses, I felt refreshed. One day, a section chief surnamed Chen came in to inspect and teased me, “Well! Your blood is boiling.”
The summer of 1999 seemed especially hot. Yet during those days of solitary confinement, I never felt lonely. Inspiration often welled up in me, and I wrote many poems. I had people being released from next door bring in pen and paper so I could copy them down. I always kept the drafts with me—until they were seized by armed police during a “cell search” at the Hangzhou Detention Center.
In early August, Section Chief Chen returned from a summer vacation and, seeing me looking seventy percent ghost, thirty percent human, exclaimed in surprise, “You’re still here? We already called your police long ago—why haven’t they come to take you?” This time, his attitude toward me was noticeably better than before—perhaps the stark contrast between the beauty of his vacation spot and the grim reality before him had stirred his conscience.
While in solitary confinement, I studied prison culture carefully—recognizing the words and drawings carved into the walls, and carving my own tally marks (“正” characters), each representing five days, to keep track of the dates. One day I discovered the words “China Democracy Party” near the corridor; judging from the handwriting, it was written by Zhu Zhengming. Then I knew he had also endured this inhuman life here.
I heard from those in the know that in previous years, political prisoners from other provinces had also been detained here for long periods. I wondered why those victims had not written about their inhuman ordeals to tell the world—so that future evildoers might think twice before committing their crimes.
Editor: Luo Zhifei Executive Editor: Lu Huiwen Translation: Lu Huiwen
