作者/总编辑 朱虞夫
责任编辑：胡丽莉
翻译：吕峰
（三）转移
1、特警队里
8月13日， 郑刚终于来了。遣送站的人进来通知我带好东西，走。我不知道去哪里。我神情恍惚，浑身虚脱，院子里的阳光使我一阵眩晕睁不开眼，高一脚低一脚随那人到大楼前的警车旁，郑刚一声不吭，脸上挂着讪讪的笑，从头到脚打量我一番，我们彼此保持沉默。上了车，走了。警车过了江，向着杭城北面驶去，在一条冷僻的小巷里停下，因为离开萧山时，监舍里的人把我的所有日常生活用品都要去了，一旦关进里面，生活会非常不便，于是我摸出口袋里的几十元钱要郑刚为我买一些诸如牙膏、牙刷之类的物品，郑刚拒绝了，说：“你上去，他们会给你买的。” 这是我最后一次看到郑刚。后来，我入狱后他多次去我爱人单位骚扰、威胁、恐吓我爱人，没收了海外朋友补助我家用的款项，并到处散布侮辱我爱人的流言。为此，毛庆祥爱人胡晓玲指责了他并要他出示证据，他卑怯地抵赖了。作为一名政治特务，他在对民主党和法轮功的镇压中起了别人无法替代的作用，并由此而官运亨通，飞黄腾达。这是后话了。
这是杭州市下城区公安特警队队部，四楼用铁栏杆围起来，作为关押经济诈骗犯 “监视居住”的地方。靠东两间再用栏杆隔离，一间是警察值班室，一间是“禁闭室”——我关押的监室。在里面已经关着一个叫徐百加的朝晖街道河西村委会干部，他兼有监视我的责任，但他人很不错，也很信任我。当我习惯性地在墙壁上找“文化”，看到祝正明刻写的“专制必败，民主必胜”的字样，问他原先关的人的情况时，他简单地告诉我祝已经由原来的单位取保候审了，并非常紧张地告诫我，千万别让警察知道他对我说的事。
祝正明（左）与朱虞夫（右）合影
正是凑巧，我关押的两个地方都是祝正明关过的，我从他留下的字迹看到了他的决心和勇气，我从心里为他祈祷，愿他自由。祝是一个少年神童，具有极强的独立思考能力，熟稔地掌握精博的民主理论，宽容大度身体力行，待人也极为厚道。1998年，大陆中国民主党之组党活动杭州首议，各地响应，势成燎原，在很大程度上得益于祝氏的淡泊心态。当时，祝将新党起名为“中国民主党”并在后面接上“浙江筹委会”字样，意在“浙江搭台，大家唱戏”，摒弃了以往屡见不鲜的“占山为王”做派。但是，祝并不是一个“ 玩政治 ”的人，记得当年王有才、王东海、林辉等人去浙江民政厅为中国民主党申请注册，有关方面官僚颟顸地说要“研究研究”拖延时日，我决心燃一把促进之火，拿起《中国民主党成立宣言》到街路上去散发，被抓进公安局，祝正明竟极其痛苦和内疚，自责不已。如此性情中人与我颇为相似，优柔如我等者竟试水政治，岂有不遭灭顶之理。但是，倘若我们对如此并不美好的现实视若无睹，似乎又无法承受来自良心的压力。我很关切祝，早过了婚嫁年龄的他依然过着单身生活，他美丽贤淑的女朋友很可能因为祝的不幸入狱而终身无所托付。想到这些，我对自己将面对的苦难看得更淡然了。
2、满足愿望
8月30日，预审处来了几个人提审，有个叫陈伟星的问我，“ 你认不认识许光？” 我说不认识。他狡黠地一笑，似乎我在骗他。（事后我才想起，他指的是徐光，只是他在杭州话里夹了普通话，让我听糊涂了。杭州话“徐”的发音是QU。）然后，陈伟星说：“关于你的案子，有人说你已经淡出民运，可是我春节在火车站值班时，从一个民工身上搜出了你的中国民主党名片，我问那人是从哪里来的，那人说是你在湖滨亲自给他的，我问那人你的长相，那人说的很像，所以，我认为你没有淡出。”当时我看着他那副得意的样子心里暗暗好笑，他以为他是谁，可以轻轻松松地为中国政府背上沉重的人权包袱。其实，我从来没去湖滨发名片，我的名片都是王荣清去发的，那时他说他的名片发完了，拿我的用用。可是我面对着狂妄的陈，不想辩白，以免助长了他的邪气，不知以后到了民主社会，该陈是否也会有这副神气来承担自己今日的作为。看到我一脸的不屑，旁边那个姓许的咬着牙（也许他生相如此）冷冷地说：“朱虞夫，这次我们满足你的愿望，让你坐牢。”我微微一笑说：“谢谢，我愿意。”陈伟星怏怏地说：“好了，开着空调，不要浪费共产党的钱了，到此结束吧。” 我马上说：“共产党哪来钱，这是纳税人的钱。” 我的话似乎刺激了陈，他立刻反诘：“ 纳税人？你纳了多少税？”狂妄的人往往是无知的，纳税人的概念怎能以纳税的多少来区别呢？隐藏在公权力后面，他们的内心其实很虚弱。
隔壁警察值班室的空调冷凝水积储在我们监室里，每天我和徐抬到厕所去倒掉，终于在9月12日晚上倒水时，腰部闪了一下，当时没什么，没想到13日早上竟起不了床，稍稍一动便痛得直冒冷汗。徐见状通知了隔壁的值班警察，没有结果，我只能俯着身子，两手扶着膝盖，挪步上厕所。徐托别人为我换了一副床棚，因为原来那副已经软绵绵地凹陷下去，绝对有害我的脊柱腰椎。
9月15日，办案的政保警察来了。一个年轻警察（蒋晓敏）说：“今天我们带你去看病。你把你的东西都带走吧。”接着就上来背起我的上半身艰难地向外挪动，因为我当时体重达180斤，真是难为他了。我的腰疼得锥心，下了楼衣服都湿透了。他们把我塞进车，汽车向一个方向开了一程，那个年轻警察又对我说：“我们先去办点事，很快的，然后再去医院好不？”我说：“好吧。”（2007年，这个叫蒋晓敏的人还记得我的重量，但是他当时为何要一骗再骗，可见此人心术不正。他由于在镇压中国民主党的过程中立下的汗马功劳，被他的主子升为处长了，以后只要唆使手下就行了。）于是汽车立即调头向西北方向开去。沉默一会后，坐在前排一个戴墨镜的对我说：“你害了你的子女，你看方XX比你聪明，他退出民运，他儿子就能在省检察院工作，多少好？！”我微笑了一下。一会儿，汽车到了杭州市看守所，他们将我背进一个提审室就走了，又是陈伟星来接收。看到我被人背进来的样子，陈揶揄说：“你那副样子别人不知道还以为是被人打的。”接着陈拿出一张逮捕证让我签字，上面的日期是9月13日，一算时间，正是我腰痛的那天，难道这是一种灾难感应吗？当然，我并不认为这是灾难，对我来说，求仁得仁，得其所哉。我犹如收到了一份民运资格认证书，怀着喜悦签上了自己的名字。恐怕那几位看不到我苍白的脸，哆嗦的手，喘喘其栗，有些失望吧。
（四）杭州看守所
1、“狱”字写法
做了一份笔录后，陈就叫看守所里的劳动犯（被判刑一年以下的短期犯人）将我背到监室去。送我来的汽车已经开走，车上的物品也不知去向，所谓的“看病”也成了画饼。阴暗潮湿的五区三室里被关押的人都在制作一串串的圣诞节彩灯，运往纽约普鲁克林的集装箱等着装货（监室外走廊上的纸板包装箱印着纽约普鲁克林的英语字样），为赶工期，每天的任务排得满满当当。背我进监室后，那人便走了。笼板上堆满电线和塑料灯珠，每个人面前都叠得高高的，踩脚之处也没有。笼头说，你就躺在那地上吧。虽然是水泥地，但是擦得很干净，躺了一会，笼头又叫人拿几块纸板垫在我的身下。
笼头许华，美髯长须，因为每次提审都保持沉默，有关方面得不到口供，已经在这里关了二年多。平时他言语不多，倒是他身边的一个“破脚骨”活跃得很，以至于我一度分不清谁是笼头。随后的日子里，我发现许很有幽默感，记得有一天，一个瘦老头警察来查卫生，站在走廊的铁栏杆外，向我们监室里问：“卫生有没有搞过？”大家屏气息声，无人回答。那人又更大声地重新问了一遍，我心想这样不回答问话是不礼貌的，就答：“已经搞过了。”没想到那人一听我的回话竟破口大骂起来。骂了一阵悻悻然走了。他走后，许笼头问我：“看你戴着眼镜，好象是有文化的样子，我问你，监狱的狱字怎么写？”我就告诉他怎么个写法。他接着说：“狱字这边一个反犬，不是人，那边一个犬，是狗，中间一个言字是讲话，畜生和狗怎么对话？他的话我们都听不懂，就你懂？！”我不禁莞尔。
五区一室和二室是死囚牢，二室有一个死囚手脚被牢牢地铐在一块木板上，常常在不经意间大声叫骂。检察院来提审，就由他们监房的人抬到对面放风的地方。我心里总有一种怪怪的感觉，一天，隔壁放风时，二室的笼头站在我们三室的门前与许华聊天，说起他们进来后打过交道的各色死刑犯。我凑上去讲我感觉那个死囚似乎有点脑子不正常，那笼头不屑地朝我瞟一眼，怪我多事。没多久，那死囚搬走了，因为确实有精神病。我事后想，那笼头每天和那死囚相处，应该看得出那人有病，但是，在笼子里关久了，人变得冷漠，根本就不在乎别人的生死。
2、“上上课 ！”
某天晚上，看守所一个姓任的副所长值班，他醉醺醺地来到栏杆前，对我进行“教育”：“你为啥要反对共产党？共产党是老子，你是儿子，儿子反对老子就要拷。你看共产党又给我们加工资了，我们人民拥护他。”我说：“我也是人民，我反对他做得不对的地方是为了他更好，我难道不是人民吗？”他说：“你不是人民。”我说：“人民的概念不能抽象的肯定，具体的否定。多少年来人民这个词被你们僭用了，失去了它的本意。”他勃然大怒，说：“老子要拷你一顿。”停了一停他又说：“老子现在不来拷你，等你走的时候离开看守所我来门口拷你。”然后他点着我周围的人说：“你们明朝给他上上课！”走了。
许笼头对我说：“他要我们给你上上课的意思就是要我们拷你一顿。我们做啥要拷你呢。”他完全不象要动手的样子，而且他的话也断绝了其他噬血者的机会，旁边有个别想练练拳脚解闷的人只能作罢了。有了解任某的人说，该人本是滨江公安分局局长，是专业拳击运动员，因酒后将在押嫌犯打伤，造成严重后果，降级来这里的。如果没有以前的教训，今天我就惨了。隔壁监室的楼X强后来与我同在浙江省第六监狱服刑，说起当时的事，他说，他们那天都为我捏了一把汗，这家伙喝醉酒乱来的。
任某的号召若干天后还是产生了恶果，有一个萧山人姓李的私盐贩子（该人将数吨工业盐——亚硝酸钠假冒食盐销售，亚硝酸钠主要用于建筑施工、染料制造和作防锈剂。当人体内摄入0.3—0.5克亚硝酸钠可引起急性中毒，3克即可致人于死地。人体一旦中毒会出现头晕、恶心呕吐、呼吸困难等症状，严重时发生昏迷、甚至呼吸循环衰歇而危及生命，国家严禁用工业盐制作食品。但是，该李却通过关系，重罪轻判，只象征性的判了一年刑，每次看守叫出去，回来总能摸出几包香烟来。）该李在许笼头调走后被看守指定当这个监室的笼头，没几天就打得我象一只“熊猫”，那已经是12月14日，省高级法院12月10日驳回裁定后的事了，看守——一个患口吃的警察陈一刚来调查原因，姓李的说他打我是因为我“说反动话，说共产党要垮台。”这个陈一刚结结巴巴地说：“革、、、命者抛头颅、洒、、、热血都不怕，这点伤算什么。”说完就转身走了，事情也就不了了之了。我2007年被蒋晓敏构陷入狱，在浙江省第二监狱遇到许华。许华说，陈一刚后来准备要提升做看守所副所长了，但是，他被一名经济犯收买，为经济犯通风报信，东窗事发，坏了官运降了极。其实，在当时陈一刚的贪贿就已经显露端倪了。
3、人心诡谲
看守所的生活比以前好多了，每个月能去放风场放一次风，在石墙圈内沐浴着瑟瑟秋阳，当年草草铺就的地面已经严重风化，植物根系的力量使地面拱起开裂。残缺的墓石和水泥块的宽宽缝隙里，堆积起杜仲枯焦的落叶。我想起我度过的青年时代，就在这一道桃源岭的那边，在杭州植物园我曾工作、生活过十八年。我曾多少回放弃美丽大自然的风花雪月，利用一切空闲时间去图书馆埋头书海。多少回在山风的呼啸中我彻夜难眠，想着中国过去的荣耀，想着一个多世纪的灾难，想着明天的出路。就在岭那边的雷殿山顶，一九七八——七九年积雪和寒风相伴的小屋里，我抄写出一篇又一篇争取自由、民主、人权的大字报。发出郁积已久的人的呼声。而今天，“问人生到此凄凉否？”“昔年种柳，依依江南，今看摇落，凄怆江潭。树犹如此，人何以堪。”易朽的是我们的肉体，不朽的是人类的进步事业，投身民运是我生命的升华。要想收获，必先播种。我深信以暴力、恐惧、欺骗维持的“稳定”不会是真正的稳定，“此树婆娑，生意尽矣。”
在阴暗、潮湿的监牢内，弥漫着一片阴郁的氛围，甚至空气也显得诡谲。人一旦降格为“犯”，更何况身陷险境，一种极端的求生本能，使人平时掩盖在那里的人性的负面情感浮现了出来。互相猜忌，处心积虑要出人头地，显得比别人优越，吹牛扯谎，就象走夜路吹口哨壮胆。欺压别人以补偿自己被强权损害的自尊心，打击别人以求得心理的平衡。每次来了新人，他们就要来个下马威，制造种种恶作剧摧毁他人残剩的一点尊严，我知道这些人的卑劣做派就是警察暴力的衍生品，越起劲、越热衷的往往是那些被警察侮辱和损害最严重的人。记得鲁迅先生曾有这样的说法：“弱者受辱拔刀向更弱者，强者受辱拔刀向更强者。”阿Q被赵四太爷打了以后，就到小尼姑那里出气。稍没廉耻心的人便吮痔舐痈，胁肩谄笑。格言说：“谁进到了狼群里，就要学狼叫，否则就会被狼吃掉。”也许，有时候是在不知不觉之间接受那么一种被动人格，倘若如此，当局就达到了“改造”的目的。我小心翼翼地防范着。
4、败象毕露
看守在我关进去以前已经关照笼头，不要给我“做规矩”，也不要让我看到给别人“做规矩”的场景。监室里先后进来几个“职务犯”——捕前担任一定职务并利用职务贪贿而被查处者——一个姓周，某局局长，处级干部，曾聆听过鲍彤老师的演讲；一个姓朱，资深中医，某“民主党派”主委。年龄、教养和文化程度的相近使我们自然互相成为聊天对象。
他们的谈锋甚健，对于现实也有自己独立的见解，当然以前在官场，他们是披着一层保护色，也会随着大伙喊：“啊，皇帝的新装多么地漂亮啊！”所谓“人之将死，其言也善：鸟之将亡，其鸣也哀。”河北贪枭李真刑前袒露心声，正是他看到苏、东、波的骤变，料想共产制度将不久人世，看到当年的廉吏在政体更迭后的悲凉处境，才产生及时捞上一把的念头。就象瞿秋白《多余的话》一样，我相信李真说的是实话。现实的危象、败象已经是世人皆知了，透过前腐后继表象的是明白人越来越多。连“最低纲领”和“最高纲领”都如雾里看花，变得面目全非了，还有多少人怀着坚贞的信仰呢？在平时调子唱得高高的人，往往怀有不可告人的目的，因为老百姓都知道“十官十个贪，不贪事难办，不怕贪得多，只要站对线”。
同时，我也知道了，当局在镇压、迫害中国民主党的同时，害怕唤醒八个“民主党派”的政党政治意识，害怕他们不愿再屈辱地成为附庸，还专门发文件给他们洗脑，并责令他们提高警惕，严防中国民主党人参加到他们的组织中去，打破垄断局面，与当局分庭抗礼。
5、做规矩
长时间的关押，单调枯燥的日子，以及对于未来命运的不确定，使人的心理压力重到无法承受的程度。更何况那些生性凶残的恶徒，平时就嗜血成瘾，以伤害别人为乐。他们以充任管理员“耳目”为代价，换来管理员有意无意的纵容。我曾多次听说有因为恃强欺弱檫枪走火致死人命的事情发生。受害者往往是外省籍因偷盗而被抓的年轻人。
好不容易熬过了一段时间，有人忍不住又做起“规矩”来。时值隆冬，来了新犯首先要“搞卫生”——脱光衣服，向身上泼冷水。根据年龄大小，一岁泼一勺，直冻得人三魂荡荡，六魄悠悠。然后是“开飞机”让新犯面向墙壁弯下身去，弯到后颈贴住墙壁，两臂张开，一个恶棍在他身后揪住他耳朵向左向右扯，嘴里还念念有词，大意是飞机到了哪里，到那里干什么等等问题，如回答得不令他满意，就拳打脚踢，打累了再换“节目”。第三个“节目”——“炒鸡蛋”那简直是十分残忍了，恶棍扯起新犯的睾丸，绷紧后用另一只手的中指狠狠弹去，新犯刹那间脸色发白，冷汗直冒，疼得勾起身子倒下去。这些是常见的保留节目，另外还有即兴发挥，如自打耳光，角斗娱乐等。最热衷，乐此不疲的是那个私盐贩子。我从本能憎恶这种行为，虽不能出面制止，但我的脸无法掩饰那份反感，朱医生也与我深有同感。这显然引起私盐贩的不悦，没多久私盐贩借故与朱医生吵了一架，我劝慰朱医生时表明了对私盐贩的不屑，就此与私盐贩子结下了梁子。
朱医生是异地羁押来杭州看守所的，因为在医院基建工程施工中接受了包工头5万元贿赂，包工头试图偷工减料，书生气十足的他不敢苟且，执意督促包工头注意工程质量，被包工头告发。一段时间关下来，他渐渐心里有了底：“共产党的官拿几十万、几百万、几千万的都那么多，都没有查处，我没有徇私枉法，是因为不敢危及工程质量被包工头反诬的，有关部门是不是因为我的民主党派身份好欺负所以抓住我不放？”这一招还挺灵，没几天就放了他。
(五）判决
1、最后陈述
9月23日，检察院送来了《起诉书》。整个就是共产党的蛮横腔调，五十年来一以贯之的做派。根据这种惯用程式，我们的刑期早就内定了，只不过再走一下假程序骗骗人罢了。面对长期徒刑，我知道时间是构成生命的材料，所谓“人生七十古来稀”，我失去的是自己生命的七分之一，在这征歌逐舞，醉生梦死的，极其追求感官物欲享乐的时代，我很傻。我被许多周围的人讥讽嘲笑，我值得为他们牺牲自己吗，正当我苦思冥想，百思不解，突然心里一亮，“岂有堂堂中国空无人”，我为之奋斗是为了创造五千年文明的列祖列宗，是为了生生不息的子孙后代。至少不能在若干年后被他们指着脊梁骨责备——“你们怎么能容忍这样的生活”。如今我至少可以坦然地说：“我曾经为她努力过，我曾经为她抗争过，我曾经为她牺牲过。”毕竟我所努力争取的是人类的进步事业而不是相反，我抗争的是时代的逆流而不是相反。曾经在读《论语》时有一段使我深有感触的话：“夫子怃然曰。鸟兽不可与同群。吾非斯人之徒与而谁与。天下有道。丘不与易也。”乌云聚积在我的头顶，我将被捆绑在高加索山上，经受凌辱和被鹰鹫啄食肝脏的痛苦，此刻我对那句普普通通的成语“心甘情愿”有了深刻的理解——我的内心是甜滋滋的。
因为写《辩护辞》需要，我向看守借来了纸笔，看守只给二张纸（害怕我写其他文字材料），我写了《在法庭的最后陈述》：——
各位尊敬的检察官、法官、女士们、先生们：
我是一个普通的中国公民，在具有“最真实民主的国家”发表自己的政治见解，探讨政治改革的道路，冀以促进是社会进步，遏止社会腐败，保持社会稳定，这种行为任何一个心智健全的人都不会认为是犯罪。
因为言论，因为一个公民行使了自己的基本政治权利就被扣上“颠覆国家政权”的罪名，这种做法恰恰显示了某些人对“国家政权”缺乏自信，显示了某些人肆意侮弄“国家政权”的权威。在现代政治迅速为人类所普遍接受的二十世纪末，“文革”式的冷战意识依然这么强烈，不能不说是当代中国的悲哀。
中国的历次宪法无论怎么修改，都明显地标有“结社自由”、“言论自由”条款，特别是1998年上半年中国政府明确表示将签署联合国《公民权利和政治权利国际公约》，并于1998年10月5日在联合国总部郑重签署，这表明了中国政府认同《公约》并遵守国际义务奉行《公约》。多党制作为现代政治的标志，已为越来越多的国家和地区所采用，全世界没有一个国家是被“多党制”所颠覆的。那些垮台的政权往往是因为当权者保守、僵化，逆历史潮流而动。是因为他们的滥用权力和腐败。王有才等人在这种政治气候下提出成立中国民主党浙江筹委会，并向浙江省民政厅公开提请注册，我认为是公民理应享有的政治权利。特别是当他们的注册被省民政厅有关工作人员告知以“研究研究”达数天后，我个人以为我国的民主政治已经大大地进了一步，于是在6月30日散发了《中国民主党成立宣言》，7月10日因为这原因被“监视居住”。令人不可思议的是，在8月底公安政保部门几次三番找我“解除监视居住”，并将已经逮捕的王有才释放回家。在我被解除监视居住时，承诺了不再向社会上从事街头政治，这项承诺保持至今。12月17日王有才被判刑，公安部门多次对我讲，王有才是因为接受海外捐款而判刑。更令人费解的是《在野党》自第一期出刊后，就寄发、递送给各级政府和公安部门，却从未有人出面阻止过。基于这种默许，我也在第八、第九两期各投稿一篇。时至今日，在出刊多达九期之后，某些人却摘用其中的只字片言，断章取义、对号入座罗织成罪。这种做法实在有悖于“依法治国”的宣传，不由使人想起“反右”时的“引蛇出洞”策略。假若以上行为真的属于“颠覆国家政权”，某些人能如此麻木、听任，有法不依吗？如今的指控只能被认为是“欲加之罪，何患无辞”了，这种指控经受不了事实的推敲，经受不住历史的考证。如此天大的罪名具有如此的随意性，这不能不认为是对法律的嘲弄。更何况我们仅仅为了探索民主政治的道路，根本没有“颠覆国家政权”的本意。中国政府在国际事务中反对强权政治，难道这不是双重标准吗？作为探讨，作为筹备，我们的行为没有造成任何直接或间接的后果，何来颠覆之罪呢？
大家记忆犹新，在以往几十年的左倾思潮影响下，有关部门“制造”了大量的政治犯、良心犯，大量的冤、错、假案为世人所诟，这些随着历史的发展而不断平反、改正，对我国的国际形象和社会发展带来严重的负面影响，这种做法还要继续吗？
人类社会即将进入二十一世纪，环顾世界发展趋势，生活在信息社会的各位也一定会有自己的认识。中国社会在二十年的经济改革中取得了长足的进步，中共十五大根据形势发展提出了政治改革的方针。无庸讳言，当前中国社会腐败现象严重，权力机制缺乏制衡和约束，某些人的法制观念淡薄，滥用权力又激化着社会矛盾，我和我的朋友正是基于这种思虑，探讨着政治改革的新路。和平、理性、公开是我们的基本宗旨，我本人也多次重申：提倡“对话”，反对“对抗”；提倡“推动”、“推进”社会改革，反对“推翻”。提倡理论探讨，反对街头政治。我一直是这样奉行的。在物欲横流的今天，我追求一种理想，这种理想已在许多国家和地区成为现实，那里的人民生存质量大大提高，为什么中国人民就不能享受民主政治这个人类共同的财富呢？
你们可以根据某些人的需要，草率地指控、判决我有罪。这也许是我个人遭遇的不幸，但是我更认为这是我们社会的不幸，它表明了我国在人权问题上的严重倒退，意味着几十年的“失误”和“人治”在继续重演。我为我多难的祖国感到悲哀，为我对他的牺牲和奉献感到欢欣，她的进步是需要赤子之血浇沃的。为了我的理想，我将付出我的自由和尊严，甚至付出我的生命。这正应了鲁迅先生的那句话：“中国多暗箭，挺身而出的勇士容易丧命。”但是我相信，我们在书写历史，为此，我无怨无悔！
在这里我可以自信地预言：
根据人类进步法则根据国际主流社会准则根据历史发展的必然趋势根据人民的自由选择民主政治一定会在不久后到来，在那样的时刻，独立、公正、理性的人民法庭必定会告知我：——宣告无罪！谢谢各位！
朱虞夫
1999年10月25日
2、《起诉书》
日期是在开庭那天填的。市检察院的张哲峰送来《告知书》后没几天，看守所又将我提出去，就在那阴阳交界线附近的传达室门口，长着一张病恹恹瘦长脸的穿便衣的中年人将《起诉书》交给了我，印象最难忘的是他带着非常不屑的口吻说：“你可以将书面《辩护辞》写好交给我们，你们这种人，一上法庭就长篇大论没完没了。”后来从判决书上知道这人名叫傅樟绚，这次判决将使他成为一个历史人物。不久，那些当时在这个肮脏的政治判决中为既得利益集团“立功”的人，都受到了主子的赏赐：张哲峰升为淳安县检察院院长，傅樟绚升为余杭县法院院长。（回家后我到处找那份《起诉书》，遍寻不得，却赫然翻出了一份《扣押清单》上面列着 “ 境外资助款贰千叁佰元整、杭州市人民检察院起诉书壹份 ”。共产党难道真的不要脸到了丧心病狂的地步吗，我坐牢以后的资助款显然不是 “ 活动经费 ” 而是朋友给我家属的生活补助，连自己的《起诉书》都见不得人，作为违禁品处理的政府，在这地球上不会有第二个了 。他们也知道这《起诉书》的内容是如此地肮脏吧。
没有半点家人的消息，按理，我们的案件没有什么秘密，一切都是公开的：公开的言论，公开的文章，公开的申请注册。但是有关方面却特别紧张，如临大敌，我写给妻子索要日常生活用品的信（按看守所统一格式填写）一封也没有寄出。在极度匮乏的日子里，10月中旬，寒露过后的三、四天，收到了家里送来的衣物。我从送物单上看到妻子大哥的签名。从签名看来，妻子的家人能理解我的选择。看守所，这是令人何等屈辱，何等尴尬的地方，身为地质工程师的他几曾来到过这种地方。想象得到那些颐指气使，神气活现的狱吏，在“犯属”面前的傲慢。
妻子有四个哥哥，自小对这唯一的小妹宠爱有加。自然家庭中平时也充满宽容和温情，当年妻子决定与我携手人生，虽然岳母了解到我曾参加民主墙“反革命”活动，甚为女儿前程担忧，希望几个哥哥出面阻止，但他们对妹妹的选择表示了理解和尊重。如今，担忧成为现实。在中国目前的政治生态中，历史上一系列政治受难者的悲惨遭遇历历在目，多少个家庭悲剧断肠泣血。一个弱女子单独抚养12岁的女儿，更将在漫长的岁月里承受政治的、经济的、环境的压力，她承受得了吗？我忧心如焚。（事后知道，妻子所在医院的药剂科整个科室因为我的判刑而被扣除了全年奖金，妻子的压力可想而知）我对自己的人生选择以及遭遇的苦难无怨无悔，但是妻子没有理由为我受累。环顾周围，在争取人类进步的充满血与火的荆棘路上有的是独行者。记得1989年我因“参与动乱”被收容审查近一个月，刚满一岁的女儿竟认不出回家的我，妻子面对严酷的现实，也曾忧虑地对我说过：“你既然要走这条路，是不该有家庭和孩子的啊！”如今，妻舅送来了衣物，也带给了我一个强烈的信息：妻子决心与我共同面对苦难。
3、《 满江红》
走廊灯将格栅的影子投射进昏暗的监房，横斜的黑影象一只只黑手紧紧地攥攫着大家的心，显得几分诡谲，几分可怖。在这深秋的夜晚，淅淅沥沥的山雨敲打着每一个人的耳膜，正是上心事的时刻啊。早过了熄灯时间，我知道，此刻无人入睡。有的人面临着招与不招的难题，有的人权衡着判多判少的结局，而我的思绪跨越时空任意驰骋：这样的氛围文天祥经历过，张苍水遭遇过，更有戊戌先贤身受过。这里正是孕育天地正气的所在啊。岳飞、秋瑾、徐锡麟，西湖这方热土难道会永久被戾厉之气所笼罩吗，“我善养吾浩然之气”，西湖山水正气长存。渐渐我默诵起文天祥的《正气歌》打下《狱中感怀（满江红）》腹稿：
杂然流形， 凭谁赋、 浩歌正气。 五千年， 衮衮圣贤， 一脉相袭： 文山头颅苍水血， 戊戌肝胆昆仑裂。 赴大义、 岂肯惜残年， 惴惴栗。
青史在， 当思齐。 德不孤， 躯何惜。 最难堪、 愧对娇妻弱子。 为国弃家非我愿， 萧萧挥手十年期。 待归时、 看拂面暖风， 新政立。
4、律师
10月23日，我再一次被带出监房，在审讯室坐定才知道面前的是妻子为我请的律师。当时的法律不允许律师为我们作无罪辩护。记得1998年王有才被捕，我曾为他延请律师，根据王有才的意见，律师必须为他作无罪辩护，那位律师是我旧雨，青年意气，叱咤冲阵。二十年过去，他只能向我数说苦衷：“我们的律师证是司法部门发的，吊销了我的不去说他，我那事务所的许多人都会没饭吃。”当时还有几位外地律师也赶来杭州想为王有才辩护，一听说要求做无罪辩护，当即打了退堂鼓，要了几千元路费回家。
我表示，不能作无罪辩护就算了，律师马上说：这是你爱人的一片心愿。这句话打中了我的软肋，我无法拒绝妻子的安排。事后我才知道律师在还没有得到我的同意时，已经在10月18日向我妻子收取了２８００元律师费，以后又拖了五天，这一天来看守所取得我的委托，已经离开庭审理只有二天了。真不知道他们是怎么进行律师调查，还有什么时间准备辩护词。我们社会正义的维护者在哪里？我们民族的道德良心在哪里？只要是金钱，舍得向孤儿寡母下手，舍得乘人之危。（出狱后，毛庆祥太太胡晓玲告诉我，他们请的律师行为更加恶劣，相比较还是我妻子请的律师好得多了。）一个早就明白的事实，在我碰上时却使我迷糊了：不是共谋，怎能分得一羹食。
当然，我也可怜他们，这一群被强权所阉割的人。在带回监舍的路上，那个看守陈一刚嘴角略带几分嘲讽地说，哪个律师能把你们辩成无罪，他一定能成为中国最有名的律师，我看你们这点钱还是省省了吧。（事后看来他的这种说法是有善意的，他在看守所工作多年，明白最高上层的决定，我们这种案子无非是走走假程序而已，不愿别人趁火打劫，不忍看我雪上加霜。）
回监后，同监关押涉嫌介绍卖淫嫖娼的郑山龙问了我律师的情况，惊讶地说，那人前几年一直跟他在南昌混，什么时候成了律师了。后来，在看守所，在监狱，只要提起律师，没有人不令切齿痛恨的。那些贫苦的贼盗，人被抓，家里无债，一请律师，债台高筑，直落得人财两空。海外朋友同情我的困境，赠我妻子二千元律师费，上城区公安分局政保科郑刚闻讯，立即向我妻子威逼搜刮而去，（有一个未经证实的说法是，掠夺来的钱经办人可以拿到回扣60-80%，所以郑刚在办案时，对搜寻钞票最卖力，当初将我丢在萧山遣送站不闻不问也就事出有因了。）其卑污如出一辙。
5、徐光
10月24日晚上，看守来通知明天开庭，监房里的人都忙着为我张罗出庭准备穿的衣服。可是，已找不到家里带来的外衣。甚至当时带进来的书籍也统统没有了，这应该是劳动班的杰作，我前几天都看到那个戴眼镜的“劳动班”手上拿着我那本厚厚的《周作人散文集》。找来看守问询，看守也不追查，叫人去找了一件死刑犯的遗留外衣，算是我明天出庭穿的“正装”。笼头许华对我很关切，送我一瓶矿泉水，以备我答辩累了口渴时喝，其实，在法庭上话语权都被“公诉人”和“法官”垄断了，哪容我们置喙，这是后话了。
1999年10月25日，象历史上所有的“人民法庭”和宗教裁判所一样，一个以暴力夺权执政的政党对另一个力量悬殊的在野政党的镇压正式上演。看守所显然作为一次重要的政治任务来配合完成，早上七点多，看守就将我提出笼去。在那阴阳交界处快拐弯时，突然要我停下，然后，匆匆赶到前面去办了一件什么事，凭我的感觉，看守要把前面的什么人藏起来，不让我看见他，也不让他看见我。接着把我带到传达室边的空房子里，要我面墙蹲下，虽然我的腰病在笼板上爬来爬去有所减轻，但是还不可能弯曲蹲下，更不可能为我堂堂正正争取基本人权而受到迫害，再屈服于犯罪集团的淫威。我叫那人取一只凳子来，那人命令我不准看来看去，就找了一只椅子回来让我坐下。我眼不能“观六路”，耳却听着“八方”。渐渐地，断断续续的信息使我感觉到，被看守藏着掖着的可能是徐光，不久后果然证实。
被捕前，我见过徐光两次。第一次他带着年轻美丽的妻子，怀抱着婴儿来我家，他夫妻身上还带着浓浓的学生味。我深知在目前中国政治迫害之残忍，我们民主党决不同于“驱赤子于血刃之下”的共产党，我为他们的命运担忧。我想起殷夫、柔石、胡也频—，满怀自由、民主理想的热血青年，为卑劣的政治阴谋所牺牲。但愿这样的悲剧不会在这对可爱的小夫妻之间发生。我想到了自己的责任，应该在尽可能的情况下保护他们。第二次见面就在我被捕的前一天，已经是黑云压城城欲摧的时刻，徐光带来了他写的《抓不完的民主党人》一文。慷慨淋漓，义正辞严，我从他的文章中看到了他决死的信念，“不自由，毋宁死”，那是民族脊梁的傲骨，那是“岂有堂堂中国空无人”的气概。让我百思不得其解的是，徐光，一个并没有正式加入中国民主党的热血青年最终被判了五年重刑，而比他历史久，名气大，抛头露面活动频繁的人却安然无恙。可见当局也决不是弱智，他们明白谁是自己真正要防范的对手。我出狱后得悉，遭受严重政治迫害的徐光终于经历了婚变，同样的危机也曾出现在我身上，可见，当局要摧残的不仅是我们的肉体，更欲摧残我们的心灵。
6、母亲
看守所的院子里调来了许多辆警车，经一阵忙乱，我、毛庆祥、徐光分乘三辆囚车（因为起诉书上我是第二被告，吴义龙关押在省看守所，我就排在了前面），由一辆“呜呜”叫着，狼奔豕突夺路而去的警车开道，向着城河下杭州市中级人民法院驶去。根据惯例，今天，我们的所有朋友都被关进公安局，直到审理结束。少年宫广场靠近中院的地方站着许多闻讯而来的市民，囚车拐弯减速时，我看到张建华（当时上城区公安分局政保科长）穿着便衣，夹着皮包，在雪松树下驱赶着围观人群，被赶开的人又聚在马路对面不肯散去。城河下路口离法院还有数百米的地方已经封锁了，一辆清洁车被堵在外面，清洁工人正在向警察请求着什么，我们的车队风驰电掣般经过。
突然，我看到了母亲，颤颤巍地站在法院门口张望着，妹妹小砚紧紧地搀扶着母亲，囚车猛地减速右拐，滚滚气浪夹着灰尘向母亲身上扑去，吹乱了母亲一头白发。一种莫名的情绪从深心奔腾而出，我禁不住大喊一声：“娘！”两旁的警察一下子紧张起来，往中间夹紧我，一面喊着：“不要叫！不要叫！”
囚车一直开向里院才停下，我下车环顾周围，已经看不到母亲，几个法警急匆匆将我向里面推去，里面似乎是一排附属建筑，靠外侧是用铁栅栏围起的羁押处。我们三个人分别羁押在里外间，以防我们见面。吴义龙从省看守所押来，在经过我面前时，我对他说：“吴义龙，光荣的时刻已来临。”这是《马赛曲》中的一句词，吴义龙显然听懂了，扬起头朝我粲然一笑。在铁笼外有腋下夹包的便衣得意地来回走动着，看我们的眼神，似乎象看着战利品，或者更象是看着一沓沓的奖金钞票，从那里我看到了委琐。
从我所站的角度向里面望去，走廊左侧，小审判厅对面的一只小房间里有人调试着监控设备，似乎有官员模样的人在坐镇。有一个年轻法警趁人不备，悄悄走到我身边，说他对中国民主党很想了解，我是不是可以告诉他有关网站。遗憾的是我已经被抓多时，无法给出答复。
现场明显有一种作秀的感觉，大批的法警一面聊着天，一面调整着皮带装束，嘴里在嘟囔着：今天特别一本正经，这样要求那样要求的，这种装束好久没上身了。
Practitioner — My Road to Democracy (II)
Author/Editor-in-Chief: Zhu YufuResponsible Editor: Hu LiliTranslation: Lyu Feng
(3) Transfer
1. In the SWAT Unit
On August 13, Zheng Gang finally arrived. The people from the detention center came in and told me to pack up and go. I didn’t know where I was being taken. My mind was dazed, my body utterly exhausted, and the sunlight in the courtyard made me so dizzy that I could hardly open my eyes. Stumbling, I followed the man to the police car in front of the building. Zheng Gang remained silent, a sheepish smile on his face, sizing me up from head to toe. We kept our silence. We got in the car and left.
The police car crossed the river and drove north toward Hangzhou. It stopped in a secluded alley. Since, upon leaving Xiaoshan, the people in the cell had taken away all my daily necessities, I knew life would be very inconvenient once locked up again. I pulled out the few dozen yuan I had in my pocket and asked Zheng Gang to buy me some things like toothpaste and a toothbrush. He refused, saying: “Go on up. They’ll buy them for you.” That was the last time I saw Zheng Gang.
Later, after I was imprisoned, he repeatedly harassed, threatened, and intimidated my wife at her workplace. He confiscated the financial assistance that overseas friends had sent to support my family, and spread malicious rumors to slander my wife. For this, Mao Qingxiang’s wife, Hu Xiaoling, confronted him and demanded evidence. He cowardly denied it. As a political secret agent, Zheng played an irreplaceable role in the suppression of the Democratic Party and Falun Gong, and from this he gained official favor, rising quickly in power and status. But that is another story.
This was the headquarters of the Public Security SWAT Unit in Xiacheng District, Hangzhou. The fourth floor was enclosed with iron bars, used as a place to hold economic fraud suspects under “residential surveillance.” Two rooms on the east side were further separated by railings: one served as the police duty office, the other as the “confinement room”—the cell where I was detained.
Inside was already a man named Xu Baijia, a cadre from the Hexi Village Committee in Chaohui Street. He was also tasked with keeping an eye on me, but he turned out to be quite decent and trustworthy. Out of habit, I searched the walls for traces of “culture” and found the words carved by Zhu Zhengming: “Tyranny must fail, democracy must prevail.” When I asked Xu about the previous detainee, he simply told me that Zhu had been released on bail by his work unit, and then, looking very nervous, warned me sternly not to let the police know he had said such a thing.
Zhu Zhengming (left) and Zhu Yufu (right) in a photo together
It was pure coincidence that the two places where I was detained were both places where Zhu Zhengming had once been held. From the handwriting he left behind, I saw his resolve and courage. I prayed for him from the bottom of my heart—may he be free. Zhu was a child prodigy, with a powerful capacity for independent thought. He had a firm and nuanced grasp of democratic theory, practiced tolerance in deed, and treated others with great decency. In 1998, when the first meeting in Hangzhou discussed forming the China Democracy Party (CDP) on the mainland, responses came from all over, and the movement looked poised to spread like wildfire—an outcome owed in no small part to Zhu’s unassuming, detached mindset. At the time, Zhu named the new party “China Democracy Party” and added ‘Zhejiang Preparatory Committee’ after it, intending that ‘Zhejiang builds the stage so everyone can perform,’ thus rejecting the all-too-common habit of staking out one’s own turf as a petty warlord. But Zhu was not someone who “played politics.” I remember that when Wang Youcai, Wang Donghai, Lin Hui, and others went to the Zhejiang Department of Civil Affairs to apply to register the CDP, the relevant authorities stalled, saying they needed to “study it.” I resolved to light a fire under things: I took the Declaration on the Founding of the China Democracy Party to the street to distribute—and was arrested and taken to the Public Security Bureau. Zhu felt immense pain and guilt about this, blaming himself. In temperament, he and I are quite similar. For the likes of us, hesitant and soft-hearted as we are, to test the waters of politics—how could we not risk being drowned? And yet, if we were to turn a blind eye to such an imperfect reality, we could not bear the pressure of conscience. I worried about Zhu. Though long past the usual age for marriage, he was still living alone; his beautiful and virtuous girlfriend might, because of Zhu’s misfortune and imprisonment, never find a reliable partner for life. Thinking of this, I faced my own coming hardships with greater calm.
2. A Wish GrantedOn August 30, several people from the preliminary investigation section came to interrogate me. One of them, named Chen Weixing, asked: “Do you know Xu Guang?” I said I did not. He gave a sly smile, as if he thought I was lying. (Only later did I realize he meant Xu Guang; he had mixed some standard Mandarin into his Hangzhou dialect, which confused me—the Hangzhou pronunciation of “Xu” sounds like qu.) Then Chen said: “Regarding your case, some people say you’ve faded out of the democracy movement. But during Spring Festival, when I was on duty at the train station, we found your China Democracy Party business card on a migrant worker. I asked where he got it, and he said you personally gave it to him at Hubin. I asked what you looked like, and his description matched. So I believe you have not faded out.” Seeing his self-satisfied expression, I laughed to myself: who did he think he was, that he could so easily saddle the Chinese government with a heavy human-rights burden? In fact, I never handed out cards at Hubin. It was Wang Rongqing who handed out my cards—he said he’d run out of his own and would use mine. But faced with the arrogant Chen, I chose not to explain, lest I fuel his swagger. I wondered whether, in a future democratic society, someone like Chen would still be so cocksure in owning the consequences of his deeds today. Seeing my look of disdain, another man surnamed Xu clenched his teeth (perhaps that was just his face) and said coldly: “Zhu Yufu, this time we’ll grant your wish and send you to prison.” I smiled slightly and said, “Thank you—I’m willing.” Chen said glumly, “All right then—turn off the air-conditioning. Don’t waste the Communist Party’s money. We’re done here.” I immediately replied: “What money of the Communist Party? That’s taxpayers’ money.” My words seemed to provoke Chen. He shot back: “Taxpayers? How much tax have you paid?” The arrogant are often the ignorant; how can the concept of a taxpayer be distinguished by how much tax one pays? Sheltered behind public power, their hearts are in fact quite weak.
The condensate from the air conditioner in the police duty room next door collected in our cell. Every day Xu and I carried it to the toilet to dump it. On the night of September 12, while carrying the water, I felt a sudden twinge in my lower back. It seemed minor at the time, but the next morning, the 13th, I couldn’t get out of bed; even the slightest movement sent me into a cold sweat from the pain. Xu notified the duty officer next door, to no avail. I could only hunch over, hands on my knees, and shuffle to the toilet. Xu asked someone to replace my bed board because the old one had sunk into a soft dip—certainly harmful to my spine and lumbar vertebrae.
On September 15, the political-security police handling the case arrived. A young officer (Jiang Xiaomin) said, “We’re taking you to see a doctor today. Bring all your things.” He then hoisted up my torso and, with difficulty, moved me toward the door. I weighed 180 jin at the time—no small task for him. The stabbing back pain left my clothes soaked with sweat by the time we got downstairs. They stuffed me into the car. After we’d driven a while in one direction, the young officer said, “We have to take care of something first—won’t take long—then we’ll go to the hospital, okay?” I said, “Fine.” (In 2007, this same Jiang Xiaomin still remembered my weight—but why did he keep lying back then? It showed his crooked intent. Because of his “great service” in suppressing the China Democracy Party, his masters promoted him to section chief, so later he needed only to order subordinates around.) The car immediately turned and drove northwest. After a silence, the man in sunglasses in the front seat said to me: “You’ve harmed your children. Look at so-and-so—smarter than you. He quit the democracy movement, and now his son can work at the provincial procuratorate. Isn’t that much better?!” I smiled faintly. After a while, the car arrived at the Hangzhou Municipal Detention Center. They carried me into an interrogation room and left. Chen Weixing came again to take custody. Seeing me carried in, Chen jeered: “Anyone who didn’t know better would think you’d been beaten.” He then produced an arrest warrant for me to sign. The date on it was September 13—counting the time, exactly the day my back gave out. Was this some ill omen? Of course, I did not see it as a disaster. For me, it was getting what I had sought. It was as if I’d received a certificate of qualification in the democracy movement, and I signed my name with a kind of joy. Those few men, unable to see my pale face, trembling hands, and labored breathing, were perhaps a little disappointed.
(4) Hangzhou Detention Center1. How to Write “Prison”After taking down a statement, Chen told a labor prisoner (inmates serving short sentences of up to a year) to carry me to the cell. The car that had brought me was gone, and the items on it had vanished as well; the promised “medical visit” had turned into an empty pledge. In the dark, damp Room 3 of Block 5, everyone was assembling strings of Christmas lights. A container bound for Brooklyn, New York, was waiting to be loaded (the cardboard boxes in the corridor bore English words indicating Brooklyn, New York). To meet the deadline, daily quotas were jam-packed. After carrying me in, the labor prisoner left. The sleeping platform was piled with electrical wires and plastic bulbs, each person had their stacks piled high in front of them, and there was hardly a place to set one’s feet. The cell boss (笼头) said, “Just lie there on the floor.” Though it was concrete, it had been wiped very clean. After I lay there a while, the boss told someone to bring a few pieces of cardboard to put under me.
The boss, Xu Hua, had a long, fine beard. Because he kept silent at every interrogation and the authorities got nothing from him, he had already been held there for over two years. He seldom spoke, while a “broken-leg” sidekick near him was so lively that for a time I couldn’t tell who the boss was. In the days that followed, I found Xu to have a sense of humor. I remember one day, an elderly, gaunt policeman came to inspect sanitation. Standing outside the iron bars in the corridor, he called into our cell: “Have you cleaned up?” Everyone held their breath and said nothing. He repeated the question even louder. Thinking it rude not to answer, I said, “Yes, we’ve cleaned.” Unexpectedly, he exploded into curses, then stomped off in a huff. After he left, Boss Xu asked me, “You wear glasses—you look educated. Tell me: how do you write the character for ‘prison’ (狱)?” I told him how it’s written. He continued, “On this side there’s a ‘dog radical’ (犭), not a ‘person.’ On the other side there’s also ‘dog’ (犬). In the middle is ‘speech’ (言). How do beasts and dogs converse? We can’t understand what he says—but you can?” I couldn’t help but smile.
Rooms 1 and 2 of Block 5 were death-row cells. In Room 2, one condemned man’s hands and feet were shackled tightly to a wooden board, and he would suddenly erupt into curses. When the procuratorate came to interrogate, they would have cellmates carry him to the exercise yard opposite. I always felt something was off. One day, during yard time, the boss from Room 2 stood at our door chatting with Xu Hua about various death-row inmates they’d encountered. I said I felt that condemned man seemed mentally unsound. The boss gave me a dismissive look, blaming me for meddling. Not long after, the condemned man was moved—because he did in fact have a mental illness. I later thought: the Room 2 boss lived with him daily and should have noticed, but long confinement breeds indifference; they simply didn’t care whether others lived or died.
2. “Teach Him a Lesson!”One night, a deputy director of the detention center surnamed Ren was on duty. Drunk, he came to the bars to “educate” me: “Why do you oppose the Communist Party? The Party is the father; you are the son. If a son opposes the father, he gets a beating. Look, the Party has even given us a raise—we the people support it.” I said, “I am also one of the people. When I oppose what it does wrong, it’s so it can do better. Am I not part of the people?” He said, “You are not the people.” I said, “You can’t affirm ‘the people’ in the abstract and then deny it in the concrete. For many years you’ve usurped the term ‘people’ and emptied it of its true meaning.” He flew into a rage: “I’ll beat you up.” After a pause he added, “I won’t beat you now. I’ll wait at the gate and beat you when you leave the detention center.” Then he pointed around me and said to the others: “Tomorrow you lot teach him a lesson!” and left.
Boss Xu said, “What he means by ‘teach you a lesson’ is for us to beat you up. Why would we do that?” He showed no intention of lifting a finger, and his words also cut off opportunities for the blood-thirsty. A few who wanted to practice their moves to relieve boredom could only give up. Those who knew Ren said he used to be chief of the Binjiang Public Security Sub-Bureau and a professional boxer. For beating a detainee while drunk and causing serious consequences, he’d been demoted here. Had there been no prior incident like that, I would have been in trouble that day. Lou X— from the neighboring cell later served time with me in Zhejiang No. 6 Prison. He said they had all been holding their breath for me that day—this guy goes wild when he’s drunk.
Ren’s call eventually had consequences. A private salt trafficker surnamed Li from Xiaoshan (he had sold several tons of industrial salt—sodium nitrite—counterfeited as table salt. Sodium nitrite is mainly used in construction, dye production, and as a rust inhibitor. Ingestion of 0.3–0.5 g can cause acute poisoning, and 3 g can be fatal. Once poisoned, people suffer dizziness, nausea, vomiting, and difficulty breathing; severe cases can lead to coma or cardiorespiratory failure and death. The state strictly prohibits using industrial salt in food. But Li used his connections to get a light sentence—symbolically one year. Each time he was called out by guards, he came back with a few packs of cigarettes.) After Xu was transferred, Li was appointed boss of our cell. Within days he beat me so badly I looked like a “panda.” That was already December 14, after the Zhejiang High Court rejected a ruling on December 10. A guard with a stutter named Chen Yigang came to investigate. Li said he beat me because I “said reactionary things—said the Communist Party would collapse.” Chen stammered, “Re…vo…lutionaries aren’t afraid of losing their heads and shedding…blood, so what’s this little injury?” Then he turned and left, and nothing more was done. When I was framed and imprisoned again in 2007 and sent to Zhejiang No. 2 Prison, I ran into Xu Hua. Xu said that later on Chen Yigang was about to be promoted to deputy director of the detention center, but he took bribes from an economic criminal, tipped him off, and when it came to light, his career tanked. In fact, the signs of Chen’s corruption were already visible back then.
3. The Devious Human HeartLife in the detention center was better than before. Once a month we could go to the exercise yard, to bathe in the thin autumn sun within those stone walls. The hastily laid ground from years ago had badly weathered; plant roots had pushed it up and cracked it. In the wide gaps among broken grave markers and chunks of concrete, dried leaves of Eucommia had piled up. I thought of my youth—just over the ridge of Taoyuanling. I had worked and lived for eighteen years in the Hangzhou Botanical Garden. How many times had I forgone nature’s charms to bury myself in books at the library in every spare moment? How many nights had I lain awake in the howling mountain winds, thinking of China’s past glory, of a century of disaster, and of tomorrow’s way out? On the top of Leidian Mountain, in a little hut amid snow and wind in 1978–79, I hand-copied big-character posters, one after another, calling for freedom, democracy, and human rights—giving voice to long-repressed human longing. And now, “Shall a life such as this be counted desolate?” “Once I planted willows in fair Jiangnan; now I watch them wither by a bleak river.” Our bodies are perishable; the cause of human progress is not. Devoting myself to the democracy movement is the sublimation of my life. If one hopes to reap, one must first sow. I am convinced that “stability” maintained by violence, fear, and deceit cannot be true stability: “This tree sways and droops; the life in it is all but spent.”
In the dark, damp cell, a gloomy atmosphere hung thick—even the air felt treacherous. Once a person is reduced to a “criminal,” especially in danger, an extreme instinct for survival draws out the negative side of human nature usually kept under wraps: mutual suspicion; scheming to stand out and feel superior; boasting and lying as if whistling in the dark to bolster courage; bullying others to compensate for the humiliation done by power; striking at others to regain psychological balance. Each time a newcomer arrived, they would give him a harsh “initiation,” staging pranks to destroy what little dignity he had left. I knew this base behavior was a by-product of police violence—the more zealous usually those most abused and humiliated by the police. I recall Mr. Lu Xun’s observation: “When the weak are humiliated, they draw the knife against someone weaker; when the strong are humiliated, they draw the knife against someone stronger.” After Ah Q was beaten by Master Zhao, he went to vent on the little nun. Those with little shame to begin with would flatter and fawn. As the proverb goes, “Whoever enters a pack of wolves must learn to howl, or he will be eaten.” Sometimes, perhaps, one unconsciously absorbs a passive, deformed personality—and if so, the authorities have achieved their goal of “reform.” I was careful and on guard.
4. Decay Laid BareBefore I was brought in, the guards had already told the boss not to subject me to an “initiation” (做规矩), and also not to let me see others being put through it. Several “official crimes” (职务犯)—people who had held positions and used them to take bribes—were brought to our cell: one surnamed Zhou, a bureau chief at the division rank, who had once listened to a lecture by Bao Tong; another surnamed Zhu, a veteran traditional Chinese medicine doctor and a chair of a so-called “democratic party.” Similar age, education, and background made us natural conversation partners.
They spoke deftly and had independent views on current realities. Of course, as officials they had worn protective coloration and shouted with the chorus: “Ah, how splendid the Emperor’s new clothes!” As the saying goes, “At the point of death, words are kind; as a bird nears its end, its call is sad.” Before his execution, the Hebei graft-lord Li Zhen bared his heart. Seeing the sudden changes in the Soviet Union, Eastern Europe, and Poland, he reckoned the Communist system wouldn’t last, and witnessing the bleak fate of “honest officials” after regime change, he thought to grab what he could while he could. Like Qu Qiubai’s Superfluous Words, I believe Li Zhen told the truth. Signs of crisis and decay were plain to all; the procession of the corrupt only revealed that more and more people understood. Even the “minimum program” and “maximum program” had become hazy and unrecognizable. How many still held true faith? Those who sang the highest notes in normal times often had unspeakable aims, for ordinary people say: “Ten officials, ten are corrupt; without corruption nothing gets done. We don’t fear how much you take, as long as you stand on our side.”
I also learned that while cracking down on and persecuting the CDP, the authorities feared awakening the political consciousness of the eight “democratic parties,” feared they might refuse to remain vassals. They even issued special documents to brainwash them, ordering them to be on guard and strictly prevent CDP members from joining their organizations, lest the monopoly be broken and the authorities face a rival at court.
5. “Initiation”Long detention, monotonous days, and uncertainty about one’s fate piled up unbearable psychological pressure. Some naturally cruel thugs were blood-addicted, taking pleasure in harming others. In exchange for serving as the guards’ “eyes and ears,” they enjoyed tacit indulgence. I heard more than once of incidents where bullying the weak escalated and someone was killed. The victims were often young migrant thieves from other provinces.
After a spell of uneasy peace, someone couldn’t resist and resumed “initiation.” In deep winter, when a newcomer arrived, the first task was “hygiene”—strip naked and have cold water poured over you. According to your age, you got one ladle per year, chilling you to the bone. Next came “flying an airplane”: the newcomer faced the wall and bent over until the back of his neck touched it, arms spread. A thug behind him would yank his ears left and right while chanting questions like where the plane had arrived and what it was doing there; if the answers displeased him, he would rain down kicks and punches. When tired, they switched to the next “program.” The third—“frying eggs”—was downright vicious: the thug grabbed the newcomer’s testicles, stretched them tight, and snapped them hard with the middle finger of his other hand. The newcomer would turn white in an instant, break out in a cold sweat, double over in pain, and collapse. These were the standard routines; there were also improvisations like slapping oneself and gladiator “entertainment.” The private salt trafficker was the most zealous and tireless. Instinctively I loathed such behavior; though I could not step in to stop it, my face could not hide my disgust. Dr. Zhu felt the same. This plainly irked the salt trafficker. Before long, he picked a quarrel with Dr. Zhu. When I comforted the doctor, I showed my contempt for the trafficker and thus made an enemy of him.
Dr. Zhu had been detained in another locality and transferred to the Hangzhou Detention Center. In a hospital construction project, he accepted a 50,000-yuan bribe from a contractor. The contractor tried to cut corners; bookish and conscientious, Dr. Zhu refused to acquiesce and insisted on quality, whereupon the contractor informed on him. After some time in custody, he gradually found his footing and said: “So many Party officials taking hundreds of thousands, millions, tens of millions—most are never investigated. I didn’t pervert the law; I refused to endanger project quality and was framed by a contractor. Are the authorities targeting me because, as a member of a ‘democratic party,’ I’m an easy mark, so they won’t let me go?” The gambit worked; within days he was released.
(5) The Verdict1. Final StatementOn September 23, the procuratorate delivered the Indictment. It was the same bullying tone the Communist Party had maintained for fifty years. By this standard template, our sentences had long been pre-set; what remained was to go through sham procedures to fool people. Facing a long term, I knew time is the fabric of life. “Of three score and ten years, few live to see them,” as the saying goes: I would lose a seventh of my life. In an age of revelry, hedonism, and sensual indulgence, I seemed a fool. Many around me mocked and sneered. Was it worth sacrificing myself for them? As I wrestled with the question, a light went on in my heart: “Could it be that grand China has no men?” What I fought for was the five-thousand-year civilization of our ancestors and the unending generations of our descendants. At the very least, I did not want to be condemned by them years hence: “How could you tolerate such a life?” Now I can at least say calmly: “I strove for her; I fought for her; I sacrificed for her.” After all, I labored for human progress, not its opposite; I resisted the counter-current of the age, not its flow. A passage in the Analects once moved me deeply: “The Master sighed: ‘Birds and beasts cannot be part of my company. If not with my fellow men, then with whom? Should the Way prevail in the world, I would not need to change it.’” Dark clouds gathered above me; I would be bound to the Caucasus and suffer the eagle’s beak in my liver. At this moment, I understood the commonplace phrase “willingly and gladly” in all its depth—my heart was sweet.
Because I needed to write a Defense Plea, I borrowed paper and pen from the guards. They gave me only two sheets (afraid I would write other materials). I wrote My Final Statement in Court:—
Esteemed procurators, judges, ladies, and gentlemen:I am an ordinary Chinese citizen. In a country that claims to have “the truest democracy,” I expressed my political views and explored paths of political reform, hoping thereby to promote social progress, curb corruption, and maintain social stability—no person of sound mind would consider this a crime.Because of speech—because a citizen exercised basic political rights—I have been charged with “subverting state power.” Such actions precisely reveal a lack of confidence in “state power” on the part of certain people and show their wanton mockery of its authority. At the end of the twentieth century, when modern politics is being widely accepted by humanity, it is a tragedy for contemporary China that a Cultural-Revolution-style Cold War mentality remains so strong.Every version of China’s Constitution, no matter the amendments, explicitly contains the clauses “freedom of association” and “freedom of speech.” In particular, in the first half of 1998 the Chinese government clearly stated it would sign the U.N. International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, and on October 5, 1998, formally signed it at U.N. headquarters. This signifies China’s recognition of and commitment to the Covenant and its international obligations. Multiparty politics, the hallmark of modern governance, has been adopted by more and more countries and regions. No state has ever been “overthrown by multiparty democracy.” Regimes fall because rulers grow conservative and ossified, moving against the tide of history, and because of their abuse of power and corruption. In such a political climate, when Wang Youcai and others proposed forming the CDP Zhejiang Preparatory Committee and openly filed for registration with the Zhejiang Department of Civil Affairs, I believed they were exercising the political rights citizens ought to enjoy.When, after days of being told the application required “study,” I personally felt our democratic politics had taken a great step forward. On June 30, I therefore distributed the CDP founding declaration; on July 10, I was placed under “residential surveillance” for this. In late August, the political-security police repeatedly sought to “lift” the surveillance and even released Wang Youcai, who had been arrested. When my surveillance was lifted, I promised not to engage again in street politics; I have kept that promise to this day. On December 17, Wang was sentenced; the police repeatedly told me it was for accepting overseas funds.Still more puzzling: from the first issue of At the Opposition onward, copies were mailed or delivered to government and public-security organs at all levels, and no one intervened. Based on this tacit tolerance, I contributed one article each to issues 8 and 9. Yet today, after nine issues, certain people have plucked out a few words, wrenched them out of context, and matched them to charges. This runs counter to the vaunted “rule of law” and calls to mind the Anti-Rightist “lure the snake from its hole” tactic. If the above truly amounted to “subversion of state power,” how could the authorities have been so numb, failing to enforce the law? Today’s accusations are nothing more than “if we wish to condemn, any pretext will do”—they cannot withstand facts or the verdict of history. Such a grave charge wielded so arbitrarily can only be seen as a mockery of law. Moreover, our aim was only to explore a path to democratic politics; we had no intent to “subvert.” China opposes power politics internationally—why the double standard at home? As explorations and preparations, our actions had no direct or indirect consequences—whence the crime of subversion?In living memory, under decades of leftist influence, the authorities “manufactured” large numbers of political and conscience prisoners. Countless unjust, false, and wrong cases have been condemned by the world and later redressed as history has moved on—badly damaging China’s international image and social development. Is this to continue?Humanity is about to enter the twenty-first century. Surveying global trends, those living in the information age must have their own understanding. China has made great strides in twenty years of economic reform. The 15th Party Congress proposed political reform in keeping with the times. It is undeniable that today corruption is severe, power lacks checks and balances, legal consciousness is weak among some, and abuses of power exacerbate social conflict. It is precisely out of such concerns that my friends and I are exploring new paths of political reform. Peace, reason, and openness are our basic principles. I have repeatedly stressed: we advocate dialogue, not confrontation; we advocate pushing forward social reform, not overthrowing; we advocate theoretical inquiry, not street politics. This is how I have always conducted myself. In today’s materialistic age, I pursue an ideal—an ideal already realized in many countries and regions, where people’s quality of life has greatly improved. Why should the Chinese people not enjoy democracy, this common treasure of humankind?You can, to suit certain people’s needs, hastily indict and convict me. This may be my personal misfortune, but I believe it is our society’s misfortune; it signals a serious regression in human rights and the repetition of decades of “errors” and “rule by man.” I grieve for my long-suffering motherland, and I rejoice for my sacrifices for her. Her progress requires the blood of her children. For my ideals, I will give my freedom and dignity, even my life. As Lu Xun said: “China is full of hidden arrows; those who step forward easily lose their lives.” Yet I believe we are writing history—for this, I have no regrets!Here I make a confident prediction:In accord with the law of human progress;In line with the norms of the international mainstream;In keeping with the inevitable course of history;In obedience to the free choice of the people—Democratic politics will arrive before long. At that moment, an independent, impartial, and rational people’s court will tell me: —Acquitted!Thank you all.Zhu YufuOctober 25, 1999
2. The IndictmentThe date was filled in on the day of trial. A few days after Zhang Zhefeng of the municipal procuratorate delivered the Notice of Rights, the detention center took me out again. At the doorway of the guardroom—right on the boundary between yin and yang—a middle-aged plainclothesman with a sickly, gaunt face handed me the Indictment. What I remember most was his scornful tone: “You can write your written Defense Plea and give it to us. People like you, once in court, go on and on with endless speeches.” Later I learned from the judgment that his name was Fu Zhangxuan. This verdict would make him a historical figure. Before long, those who had “rendered meritorious service” for the vested-interest group in this filthy political judgment were all rewarded by their masters: Zhang became chief procurator of Chun’an County; Fu became president of the Yuhang County Court. (After I returned home I searched everywhere for that Indictment but could not find it. Instead I turned up a Seizure List that itemized “Overseas assistance funds of 2,300 yuan; one copy of the Hangzhou People’s Procuratorate Indictment.” Has the Party truly lost all shame? The support funds I received after imprisonment were clearly not “operating expenses” but living assistance from friends to my family. To treat even my own Indictment as contraband—there can be no second government like this on earth. They knew how filthy its contents were.)
There was not a word from my family. In principle, there was nothing secret about our case: our speech was public; our articles were public; our application for registration was public. Yet the authorities were especially tense, as if facing a mortal enemy. Not a single of my letters to my wife requesting daily necessities (filled out per the detention center’s standard form) was mailed. In days of extreme want, three or four days after the “Cold Dew” solar term in mid-October, I finally received clothing from home. On the delivery slip I saw my wife’s elder brother’s signature. From that signature, I could tell her family understood my choice. What a place of humiliation and awkwardness a detention center is! As a geological engineer, how often had he come to such a place? One can imagine the arrogance of the warders, so high-handed before “prisoners’ relatives.”
My wife has four elder brothers and was doted on as the only little sister. The household was naturally full of tolerance and warmth. When she decided to join her life with mine, though my mother-in-law knew I had taken part in “counterrevolutionary” Democracy Wall activities and worried for her daughter’s future, hoping her sons would stop her, they chose to understand and respect her choice. Now, their worst fears had come true. In China’s current political ecology, the tragic fates of past political victims are vivid; how many families sobbed their hearts out. Could a delicate woman raise a twelve-year-old daughter alone—and shoulder, over long years, political, economic, and social pressures? I was anxious beyond words. (I later learned that the entire pharmacy department at my wife’s hospital had its annual bonuses docked because of my sentence; her pressure can be imagined.) I have no regrets for my life choice or the hardships I suffered—but my wife had no obligation to suffer for me. Looking around, the road to human progress, paved with blood and fire, has many solitary walkers. In 1989, when I was “detained for investigation” for nearly a month for “participating in turmoil,” my one-year-old daughter did not recognize me when I returned home. Facing such harsh reality, my wife once said, worried: “If you choose this road, you shouldn’t have a family or a child!” Now, my brother-in-law brought clothing—and a strong message: my wife had resolved to face hardship with me.
3. “Man Jiang Hong”The corridor lights cast the latticework of bars into the dim cell, slanting shadows like black hands clutching everyone’s heart, lending a touch of eeriness and dread. In the late autumn night, the fine mountain rain drummed on every ear—it was the hour for heavy thoughts. Long past lights-out, I knew no one slept. Some wrestled with whether to confess; others weighed heavier versus lighter sentences. My thoughts roamed freely across time and space: Wen Tianxiang had known this atmosphere; Zhang Cangshui had suffered it; the Six Gentlemen of 1898 had lived it. This, precisely, is where the “righteous qi” of the world gestates. Yue Fei, Qiu Jin, Xu Xilin—would this land around West Lake forever be shrouded in baleful air? “I tend well my vast, vital breath”—amid West Lake’s hills and waters, righteousness endures. Gradually I silently recited Wen Tianxiang’s “Song of Righteousness” and drafted in my head Feelings in Prison (to the tune “Man Jiang Hong”):
Miscellanies take form—Who will set downThis song of righteous breath?
Five thousand years—The procession of sages—One unbroken thread.
Wenshan’s head, Cangshui’s blood;The 1898 martyrs—livers and guts sundered like Kunlun.
For the greater good,Who would cling to a few remaining years,Trembling?
The chronicle endures—Let us strive to match it.Virtue is not left lonely—Why spare the flesh?
Hardest to bear—My shame toward my gentle wife and tender child.For country I never wished to leave my home,Yet I wave farewell, counting ten long years.
When I return,Let the warm wind brush my face—New governance stands.
4. LawyerOn October 23, I was taken out again. Seated in the interrogation room, I realized the person before me was the lawyer my wife had hired. At the time, the law did not allow lawyers to plead “not guilty” for us. I remember when Wang Youcai was arrested in 1998, I sought a lawyer for him. At Wang’s insistence, the lawyer had to argue not guilty. That lawyer was an old acquaintance—youthful in spirit, bold in battle. Twenty years later, he could only tell me his difficulties: “Our licenses are issued by the justice department. If they revoke mine, never mind me—many in my firm will have no income.” Several lawyers from other places had come wanting to defend Wang. When they heard the demand for a not-guilty plea, they beat a retreat and asked several thousand yuan in travel expenses before going home.
I said if he couldn’t argue not guilty, forget it. The lawyer immediately replied: “This is your wife’s heartfelt wish.” The words struck my soft spot; I could not refuse her arrangement. Only later did I learn that before obtaining my consent, on October 18 he had already taken 2,800 yuan in fees from my wife, and only after five more days—now just two days before trial—did he come to the detention center to get my authorization. How were they supposed to investigate or prepare a defense? Where are the guardians of justice in our society? Where is our nation’s moral conscience? For money, they could prey on a lone mother and child, taking advantage of others’ peril. (After my release, Hu Xiaoling, Mao Qingxiang’s wife, told me their lawyer behaved even worse; by comparison, mine was “better.”) A truth I had long known somehow hazed over when it touched me: without collusion, how does one get a share of the spoils?
I also pitied them—a group castrated by power. On the way back to the cell, guard Chen Yigang, with a trace of irony at the corner of his mouth, said: “Any lawyer who can get you people acquitted would become the most famous lawyer in China. I think you’d better save your money.” (In hindsight, there was kindness in that. He had long worked there and knew the decisions from on high. Our cases were mere formalities; he didn’t want others to profit from our misfortune, nor to see me suffer insult on top of injury.)
After my return, a fellow detainee, Zheng Shanlong, held for organizing prostitution, asked about the lawyer and was surprised: that man had been “hanging around Nanchang” with him a few years earlier—when did he become a lawyer? Later, in both the detention center and the prison, mention of lawyers drew universal gnashing of teeth. Poor petty thieves, once arrested, had no debts at home; hire a lawyer and they were mired in debt, losing both freedom and money. Overseas friends, sympathetic to my plight, gave my wife 2,000 yuan for legal fees. Zheng Gang of the political-security section at the Shangcheng Sub-Bureau heard of it and immediately coerced it out of her (there was an unverified claim that of seized cash, the handler could pocket 60–80% in kickbacks, which explains why Zheng worked so hard to hunt for money—and why he abandoned me at the Xiaoshan repatriation station). The squalor was all of a piece.
5. Xu GuangOn the evening of October 24, the guards notified me that the trial would be the next day. My cellmates busied themselves finding clothes for me to wear in court. But we couldn’t find the outerwear from home; even the books I’d brought were gone. Likely the labor squad’s doing—I had seen a bespectacled “labor squad” member carrying my thick Essays of Zhou Zuoren days before. I asked the guards; they didn’t investigate, but found me a coat left behind by a death-row inmate—my “formalwear” for court. Boss Xu cared for me and gave me a bottle of mineral water in case I got thirsty while responding—but in court the right to speak is monopolized by the “prosecutor” and the “judge”; there would be little chance for my voice.
On October 25, 1999, as with all “people’s courts” and inquisitions in history, a ruling party that had seized power by violence put on a show of suppressing a vastly weaker opposition party. The detention center treated this as a major political task. In the early morning, a guard took me out. Near the bend at that border of yin and yang, they suddenly told me to stop, hurried ahead to do something, and, from my sense of it, hid someone in front so that I would not see him nor he me. Then they took me to an empty room by the guardroom and told me to squat facing the wall. Though my back had improved somewhat from crawling on the plank, I could not squat. Still less would I, having stood tall for basic human rights and suffered persecution, bow to a criminal clique. I told the man to fetch a stool. He ordered me not to look around, found a chair, and had me sit. My eyes could not “watch all six directions,” but my ears “listened in all eight.” Bit by bit, from stray bits of talk, I suspected the person they had hidden was Xu Guang—and soon it was confirmed.
Before my arrest, I had met Xu Guang twice. The first time, he brought his young, lovely wife and an infant to my home. The two of them still had the strong air of students. Knowing how cruel political persecution was in China, we in the CDP had no wish to “drive the young into the blades,” as the CCP had. I worried for their fate. I thought of Yin Fu, Rou Shi, Hu Yepin…young men brimming with ideals of freedom and democracy, sacrificed to vile political plots. May such tragedy not befall this dear young couple. I thought of my responsibility—to protect them as far as possible. The second meeting was the day before my arrest, at a moment when black clouds pressed down upon the city. Xu brought an article he had written, “You Can’t Arrest Them All.” It was impassioned and righteous; in it I saw his readiness to die—“Give me liberty or give me death!”—the proud spine of our nation, the spirit of “Shall grand China be without men?” What I could never understand is that Xu, a hot-blooded youth who had never formally joined the CDP, was sentenced to five years, while those with longer histories and bigger names, who showed up everywhere, remained unscathed. The authorities were no fools; they knew who their true adversaries were. After my release I learned that Xu, after severe political persecution, finally went through a divorce. A similar crisis had threatened my own family. Clearly, the authorities aimed not only to break our bodies, but also to crush our spirits.
6. MotherMany police vehicles were marshaled in the detention center courtyard. After a flurry of activity, Mao Qingxiang, Xu Guang, and I were loaded into three prison vans (since I was listed as the second defendant on the indictment and Wu Yilong was held at the provincial detention center, I was placed near the front). A police car with sirens blaring cleaved the way as we sped toward the Hangzhou Intermediate People’s Court along Chenghezia. By custom, all our friends were locked in police stations that day until proceedings ended. On the square by the Children’s Palace near the court, many citizens had gathered after hearing the news. As the vans turned and slowed, I saw Zhang Jianhua (then head of the political-security section of the Shangcheng Sub-Bureau) in plainclothes with a briefcase, driving people away under the cedars. Those driven off clustered on the other side of the street, unwilling to disperse. The road was blocked several hundred meters from the court; a street-cleaning truck was kept outside, its workers pleading with the police. Our convoy roared through.
Suddenly, I saw my mother—standing unsteadily at the court gate, peering about. My younger sister, Xiaoyan, held her firmly. The van braked hard and turned right; a blast of dusty air swirled over my mother, ruffling her white hair. A nameless emotion surged up from deep within me, and I couldn’t help shouting: “Mother!” The police on either side tensed up at once, squeezing me in and shouting, “Don’t shout! Don’t shout!”
The van drove into the inner courtyard before stopping. I got out and looked around—my mother was nowhere to be seen. Several bailiffs hurriedly pushed me inside. It seemed like a row of annexes; on the outer side was a caged holding area. The three of us were held in separate inner and outer rooms to prevent us from meeting. As Wu Yilong was brought in from the provincial detention center and passed by me, I said, “Wu Yilong—the glorious moment has arrived.” It’s a line from La Marseillaise. He clearly understood and flashed me a bright smile. Outside the iron cage, plainclothesmen with briefcases paced proudly. The way they looked at us was as at trophies—or rather as stacks of bonus cash. In their gaze I saw pettiness.
From where I stood, I could see into a small room opposite a small courtroom, where someone was adjusting monitoring equipment; a person who looked like an official seemed to be overseeing things. A young bailiff, seizing a moment when no one was looking, quietly came over and said he wanted to learn about the CDP—could I give him the website? Regrettably, I had been under arrest for some time and could not answer.
The scene had an obvious air of pageantry. A large number of bailiffs chatted while adjusting their belts and gear, muttering: today, we have to be especially prim—this required, that required—these getups haven’t been worn in ages.
