采访人：张致君 录音：常坤 资料整理：张致君/林小龙 编辑：张致君 翻译：彭小梅
视频接通的那一刻，映入眼帘的是南方永恒的灰白天空——潮湿、沉闷，像随时会落下雨，却又一直憋着。我坐在一个普通得不能再普通的出租屋里：一张桌子，一壶凉掉的茶。谢文飞在电话另一端左右环视了一下，看了看身边路过的人对我说：屋子里讲话不方便，我在外面和你通话。
谢文飞比我想象得瘦。皮肤有点黑，脸颊有些凹，眼下轻微浮肿。说话声音不大，但每一句都像是从一个很深、很暗的地方被捞起来的。我先按惯例问一些很“日常”的问题——睡得好不好，吃得正不正常。他回答习惯先停一停，再开口，好像在确认自己说出的每个字，都不是随便丢出来的。
他笑了笑，把头稍微侧过去：“睡得不好是常态了。身体非常糟糕，精神也在崩溃的边缘，整个人像被掏空了一样。”
我问：“出狱以后一直这样？”
他点头：“经常是这样，我给自己限定了一个时间，把状态尽可能调整回来。还没完全达到自己设想的“恢复水平”，但总算从谷底爬上来一点”。
“我愿意陪他一起坐牢”
我问他：“最早，是从什么时候开始关注公共议题的？是什么让你从一个普通打工者，走上街头？”
他想了几秒，视线掠过去，像是在从一条漫长而混乱的记忆隧道里，摸索一个起点。
“我从小就是嫉恶如仇的性格，十六岁出来打工，期间也遇到很多不公的事情。”他说。
2013 年，他在网上看到中国民主党安徽党员张林的女儿“张安妮”事件，刘卫国律师在琥珀小学门口点着蜡烛，手里拿着文件，在街上宣读《国际人权公约》。这一幕非常打动他。当时的谢文飞还在工厂上班，没有机会到现场。但是从此以后他知道了在这个国家里还有可以播种希望的人，这是他所向往的。一直到7月16日，许志永因为关注教育平权、呼吁官员公开财产、组织公民讨论会的公民运动被关进看守所。他说“我当时看到网上有很多人在为许志永呼吁，但我想要去所有的公共场所为他呐喊。”那天他手机屏幕的光晃得眼睛发酸，他一口气敲了好几篇微博。“我当时发了一系列微博，大意就是：‘许志永是为了13亿人的自由失去了自己的自由。如果13亿人没有几个人敢站出来，这个民族是没有希望的。我愿意陪他一起坐牢’。”他说这段时没有夸张，没有激昂，只是平静。“我当时觉得总得有人说点什么。 我把手机号公开发出去了。”
刚开始很长时间，没有人联系他。 “大概都觉得我很可疑，”他笑，“后来很多人告诉我，当时觉得我是出来钓鱼的。直到后来，一个又一个人联系他 “到了广州之后，我才意识到：原来这个国家还有这么一群人。以前都以为自己是孤独的。”那几年，他陆续接触到更多在街头举牌、散传单、呼吁权利的人。
“街头，是最能让普通人看到现实的地方。”他说这句话时，语气很笃定。“你站在那里，就是在告诉别人：‘我不是屏幕上的头像，我是真人在这里，我公开的表达我的诉求。’ 那种冲击力，通过网络传播到全世界，感染更多人。街头运动的大家相互配合，没有在任何的人的指示和指导下进行”。
有时候，他们在公园举牌，也有人好奇地停下来，有人远远看看，又很快走开。当周围的人一个个被抓、被判刑，他说，“有的人被关押被失踪突然就失联了。 旁观，也是逃避。如果因为害怕你什么都不做，那就跟默认这个体制没区别。”之后一年多，他们在广州、佛山等地做了无数街头行动：
在江边呼吁释放良心犯；在市政府附近举牌，要求官员公开财产；在公园门口纪念被遗忘的死者；在车站、地铁口，向匆匆赶路的人递上一张写有主张公民权利，呼吁建立民主中国的小卡片。
“每一次出门，都要做好随时消失的准备。”他说这句话很慢。“在这种环境下，你不可能每次都能平安到家。但站在街头那一刻，我反而更踏实——因为至少那一分钟，我知道自己在做什么。这是我内心里抑制不住的冲动。”
有人误以为他是语文老师，或者某种“知识分子”。“很多人说我写文章像文化人，”他笑了一下，“其实我初中都没毕业。我写东西，不是为了当作家，而是一个普通人对社会最基本的追问。”
“工厂里的那些年，可能就是把那些问题一点一点憋在心里，后来，一旦有了说出来、写出来的机会，就再也装不回去了。”
131专案
“我早就做好了被抓捕的准备”谢文飞平静地说，“和我同案的王默被抓后，身边的朋友就劝我得低调行事，如果运动的人都被抓进去就无人在外声援。我知道或早晚都要被抓，我不能停止对正义的守护。”
警察虽对外说是“429”抓捕的谢文飞，但是早就在1月28日准备好了材料，18本卷宗。“我进去的第一周，他们就给我看了我的2本卷宗，立的是131专案，说是他们掌握的材料显示，许志永来郴州找我，我和他一起去了趟长沙，这一个事情就是一件专案。”而谢文飞的回答是，他和许志永素未谋面，即使同坐一辆出租车去长沙，也不知道旁边那位戴着口罩和帽子的人就是许博士。一个星期后当局就决定完全以谢文飞的推特言论给他定罪。
“判刑判了两次，派出所是家常便饭。2013年10月第一次进看守所，10个小时就被戴上了手铐脚镣，然后持续半个月带“背背枷”和脚镣。2014年10月，我也是进去不到10个小时就戴上了戒具，然后就是‘穿针铐’。”
铁环和0.18 平方米的铁笼子
我们谈到他多次被捕，其中聊到了在里面的酷刑。谢文飞停顿一刻长舒一口气：“到现在我的状态也不是那么稳定，既然聊到了，就简单说一下”。他低头想了几秒，说：“穿针铐，他们把我四肢都固定在一个直径只有十公分左右的铁环上，四肢被迫并拢，不是躺，也不是坐，你整个人是被‘钉’在那里。”那种姿势，人不是完全悬空，但也不存在所谓的“支撑点”。所有重量都集中在关节和骨头上，每一分每一秒都在提醒你——你是在遭受酷刑的。
“二十多个小时，不给喝水，不让上厕所。实在憋不住，就让你对着桶解决。”他停顿了一下，像是在斟酌用词。“这是羞辱，不只是肉体折磨，是要让你觉得自己已经不是人。”二十多个小时后，双脚仍然要固定在同一个位置，持续了5天，接着又是持续10天的“8字镣”——一双脚被铁镣成“8”字铐在一起。这是我第3次进看守所。”
“他们这样虐待您，是要从您这里获取消息，还是让您认罪还是单纯的取乐？”
谢文飞说警察知道这样的方式不会让他认罪，只是想让他屈服。第一天，看守所的牢头狱霸就在警察默许下对他群殴，看守所再利用“打架”的名义惩罚他。“你只要写个认错保证书，我们就放了你”，我坚决不写。后来在郴州监狱，我还被关进过 0.18 平方米和0.7平方米、3米多高的铁笼子。
我在脑海里试图想象 0.18 平方米——那是一个成年人无法转身，也伸不开腿的空间。
“我在铁笼子里被持续关了半个月。”衣服湿透、再干、再湿透。空气里像是蒸着铁锈和汗水。“那一瞬间，你知道你已经不是‘人’了，你只是他们关押的物理对象。”谢文飞说。“我甚至觉得我不能活着走出监狱。”
疼痛，会留下影子。
“所谓自由，不过是思想苟且、灵魂麻木、行动有限”
我念给他听他写的一句：“世人以为的自由，只不过是思想上的苟且，灵魂的麻木，加上行动上的有限自由罢了。”
他听完，轻轻点头。“大多数人觉得自己自由，是因为他们不去想、不去碰那些不舒服的地方，”他说，“只要不去触碰那些禁区，在自己的小圈子里转，就会以为，这就是正常生活。”
我问：“那你想要的自由是什么？”
他想了想，说：“能自由的坚持公义”，他说这几个字的时候，特别慢。 “我没有选择在恐惧里闭嘴。如果连最基本的说话都不敢，那活着对我来说就没什么意义了。”
只要事实摆在那里，只要有人出来说真话，只要有足够多的痛苦被看见，就会有人愿意承担一点代价，一点责任。
总会有人在这些坚持里得到启发。
给年轻一代：保持思考，就是在反抗
我问他：“你会对现在的年轻人说什么？”
他沉默了几秒，似乎是在字斟句酌，“别以为沉默能换来安全。”他说，“公共表达不是英雄主义，而是义务。”
他说“白纸运动”让他看到一些希望——那些深夜举着白纸、在街头默默站立的年轻人，让他知道：这个社会的麻木不是绝对的。“但我也明白，真正准备好长期承受代价的人，还是极少数。”他对年轻人说的不是“去上街”，而是：“请保持独立思考。”
“当你觉得哪里不对劲时，那不是你想多了——而是你还活着。”
他承认，有时候，「活着并保持清醒」，本身就是一种沉重的负担。但如果人人都选择把眼睛关上，这个社会就只剩下官方允许你看到的那一块小天地。
“我以前以为自己是孤独的人。后来才发现，如果没有前面的人启蒙，我不会走上街头；如果没有现在和未来的人，这条路就会断掉。你可以不去承担我这样程度的代价，”他说，“但至少不要嘲笑那些承担代价的人。如果你做不到站出来，至少在内心，不要替压迫者鼓掌。”
采访结束的时候，天已经暗下来，窗外的灰白变成了介于蓝和黑之间的颜色，路灯一盏一盏亮起。而谢文飞所在的城市却没有把他脸侧映得清楚，雾蒙蒙一片，叫人看不真切。
我准备告别，最后问他：“在监狱里这么久，是否曾经接受到海外民运对您的帮助？而对于一直在中国抗争者，海外如何做能最大程度帮助到这些人呢？”
他沉思了一下“公开的声援是很有用的”他说，“只是过程中外界不知道的事不要主动曝光出来。技术、资金方面的支持也非常有必要。”
“在您坐牢这期间，海外的哪个动作对您有了帮助”
“我在越秀区看守所受酷刑的半个月时间中，我的律师王勋和谢阳会见我之后，曝光了我受的酷刑，外界对我的公开关注后，他们就把我转到了广州第一看守所，在那边的2年时间，就没有对我有过任何惩罚了。”
“您自己在监狱里的抗争经验，对还在国内的年轻觉醒者有什么经验吗？”
“每个人的性格、抗争理念和承受程度不一样。我关在湖南的4年半里，一开始就被明确告知：绝对不会让我见到任何一个人权律师，没有律师就没有消息传递出去。我很清楚，我作为一个草根抗争者，够不上大多数人权机构的关注，我知道在里面只能靠自己。我会很清楚的给看管我的警察阐述我的立场，有一定的效果。”
谢文飞说之后的日子里，他还会继续写下去——写看守所里的夜晚，写监狱里的铁笼，写街头短暂的光，写那些被打断、被抹去、被迫终止的生命轨迹。
他说，他并不指望自己能改变什么庞然大物。一个人的力量改变不了这个体制，但这个体制，也不能改变他的坚持。
至少，在这个被不断删改和封存的时代，他还在说话。只要还有人愿意听，他就还没有彻底被关进沉默的监狱里。
记者语：
谢文飞出狱一周年后，陆续又发布了很多文章记录自己的心路历程。在《要不要活下去》中写到自己在出狱后持续受到的当局骚扰，让他一度瞬间想到了死亡，但坚守的信仰支撑他活了下去。我无法想象现在的他处境之艰难，内心之煎熬，但让更多的人关注到他，或许也是黑暗中的一丝温暖的烛火。这世界上又有什么英雄呢，都是像他一样挺身而出的凡人，在那一片土地上，燃烧着自己。
Xie Wenfei: Iron Cages, Nightmares, and the Price of Freedom
Interviewer: Zhang Zhijun Recording: Chang Kun
Materials Compiled: Zhang Zhijun / Lin Xiaolong Editor: Zhang Zhijun Translator: Xiaomei Peng
The moment the video call connected, what came into view was the eternally gray-white sky of the South—humid, heavy, as if it might rain any moment yet endlessly holding back. I was sitting in a room that couldn’t be more ordinary: a table and a pot of cold tea. On the other end of the line, Xie Wenfei glanced around and looked at people passing by. He said to me: “It’s inconvenient to talk inside. I’ll talk to you from outside.”
Xie Wenfei was thinner than I expected. His skin was a bit dark, his cheeks slightly sunken, with mild swelling under the eyes. His voice was not loud, but every sentence sounded as if it had been pulled up from somewhere very deep and very dark. I began with the usual, “everyday” questions—sleep, appetite. He always paused before answering, as though making sure every word he spoke was not casually thrown out.
He smiled a little and tilted his head slightly: “Sleeping badly is the norm. My health is very poor, and my mental state is on the verge of collapse. I feel completely hollowed out.”
I asked, “Has it been like this since you were released?”
He nodded: “Often like this. I set a time frame for myself to adjust as much as possible. I haven’t fully reached the ‘recovery level’ I imagined, but at least I’ve climbed up a bit from the bottom.”
“I was willing to go to prison with him.”
I asked him: “When did you first begin paying attention to public issues? What made you, an ordinary migrant worker, step onto the streets?”
He thought for a few seconds, his gaze drifting, as if searching for a starting point in a long and chaotic tunnel of memories.
“I’ve hated injustice since I was a kid. I started working at sixteen and saw a lot of unfair things.”
In 2013, he saw online the incident involving Zhang Lin, a China Democracy Party member in Anhui, and his daughter, “Zhang Anni.” Lawyer Liu Weiguo lit candles outside Hupo Elementary School, holding documents and reading the International Covenant on Human Rights on the street. That scene deeply moved him. At that time, Xie Wenfei was still working in a factory and could not go to the site. But from then on, he knew there were still people in this country who could plant seeds of hope—something he longed for. Then on July 16, Xu Zhiyong was detained for his involvement in the New Citizen Movement—advocating education equality, calling for officials to disclose their assets, and organizing public discussions. “I saw many people online calling for support for Xu Zhiyong,” he said, “but I wanted to go to every public place and shout for him.” The light from his phone screen made his eyes sore as he typed post after post. “I posted a series of Weibo messages. The general idea was: ‘Xu Zhiyong lost his freedom for the freedom of 1.3 billion people. If among 1.3 billion people only a few dares to stand up, this nation has no hope. I am willing to go to prison with him.’” He said this calmly, without exaggeration or dramatic tone. “I just felt someone needed to say something. I even published my phone number.”
At first, no one contacted him. “Probably everyone thought I was suspicious,” he laughed. “Later many people told me they thought I was fishing for information.”Eventually, one person after another reached out. “When I got to Guangzhou, I realized—there really is such a group of people in this country. Before that, I always thought I was alone.” In the following years, he met more people who held signs in the streets, handed out flyers, and called for rights. “The streets are where ordinary people can see reality most clearly,” he said with certainty. “When you stand there, you’re telling others: I am not just an avatar on a screen—I am a real person here, expressing my demands publicly. That kind of impact spreads through the internet, reaching the world, inspiring more people. Street actions were coordinated among everyone, without instructions from anyone.”
Sometimes they held signs in parks; sometimes pedestrians paused in curiosity; sometimes people glanced from afar then walked away. When people around him began being detained or disappeared without a trace, he said: “Some were arrested, some simply vanished. Watching from the sidelines is also a kind of escape. If fear makes you do nothing, then you’re no different from accepting the system. “For more than a year, they carried out countless street actions in Guangzhou, Foshan, and other cities: calling for the release of prisoners of conscience by the riverbank；holding signs near city hall demanding officials disclose assets；commemorating forgotten victims at park gates；handing out small cards advocating civic rights and calling for a democratic China at train stations and subway exits.
“Every time I went out, I prepared myself for disappearing at any moment,” he said slowly. “In this environment, you can’t expect to return home safely every time. But when I stood on the street, I felt steadier—because at least for that minute, I knew what I was doing. It was an urge I couldn’t suppress.”
Some mistook him for a Chinese teacher or some kind of “intellectual.”“People say I write like an intellectual,” he smiled. “But I didn’t even finish middle school. I write not to be a writer, but because an ordinary person must ask basic questions about society.”
“The years in the factory—maybe that’s when all those questions built up. Once I had a chance to say them or write them out, I could never bottle them up again.”
The 131 Case
“I had long prepared myself for being arrested,” Xie Wenfei said calmly. “After Wang Mo—the co-defendant in my case—was arrested, friends told me to keep a low profile. If every activist is arrested, no one will remain outside to support others. I knew sooner or later I would be taken. But I could not stop defending justice. “Police publicly claimed he was arrested as part of the “429 crackdown,” but materials had already been prepared on January 28—eighteen volumes of files. “In my first week inside, they showed me two volumes of my file. It was registered as the ‘131 case.’ They claimed evidence showed Xu Zhiyong came to Chenzhou to find me, and we went to Changsha together. That alone was filed as a special case. “Xie replied that he had never met Xu Zhiyong before; even if they had shared a taxi, he had no idea the masked and hatted passenger beside him was Dr. Xu. A week later, authorities decided to convict him entirely based on his Twitter posts.
“I was sentenced twice. Being taken to the police station was routine. The first time I entered the detention center in October 2013, I was shackled within ten hours, then strapped into the ‘back-back shackle’ and leg irons for half a month. In October 2014, again within ten hours, I was restrained and then put in the ‘needle-threading shackles.’”
Iron Rings and the 0.18-Square-Meter Iron Cage
We talked about his arrests, including torture. Xie paused, exhaled deeply: “My state is still unstable. Since you asked, I will say it briefly”. He lowered his head for a few seconds. “‘Needle-threading shackles’ means they fixed all four of my limbs to an iron ring about ten centimeters in diameter. Your limbs are forced together. You’re not lying, not sitting—you’re pinned there.” In that posture, one is not fully suspended yet has no point of support. All weight is borne on joints and bones. Every moment reminds you—- you’re being tortured.
“More than twenty hours. No water, no toilet. If you can’t hold it, you go in a bucket.”He paused again, choosing his words. “This is humiliation. Not just bodily torture—it’s meant to make you feel you’re no longer a human being.” After more than twenty hours, his feet remained fixed in place for five days, followed by ten more days of “figure-eight shackles”—legs locked together in the shape of an 8. “That was my third time in the detention center.”
“Did they do this to get information from you, force a confession, or simply for pleasure?” I asked.
Xie said the police knew such methods would not force a confession—they simply wanted him to succumb. On the first day, with police approval, cell bullies beat him. The detention center then punished him under the pretext of “fighting.” “They told me: ‘Write a statement admitting wrongdoing, and we’ll release you.’ I refused.” Later in Chenzhou Prison, he was locked in iron cages of 0.18 square meters and 0.7 square meters, each over three meters high.
I tried to imagine 0.18 square meters—space where an adult cannot turn or extend legs.
“I was kept in the cage for half a month. Clothes soaked, dried, soaked again.The air smelled of rust and sweat.” “In that moment, you know you’re no longer ‘a person.’ You are merely an object they detain,” he said. “I even thought I wouldn’t leave alive.”
Pain leaves shadows.
“What people call freedom is just compromised thought, numb souls, and limited action.”
I read him a line he once wrote: “What people believe is freedom is merely compromised thought, a numbed soul, and limited freedom of action.”
He nodded gently. “Most people think they are free because they avoid thinking about unpleasant things,” he said. “As long as they don’t touch the forbidden zones, they think their little circle is normal life.”
I asked: “Then what kind of freedom do you want?”
He thought for a moment. “To freely uphold justice,” he said slowly. “I chose not to be silent in fear. If I can’t even speak the most basic truth, then living has no meaning for me.”
“As long as facts exist, as long as someone tells the truth, as long as enough pain is seen—someone will be willing to bear a little cost, a little responsibility.”And someone will be inspired.
To the Young Generation: To Keep Thinking Is to Resist
I asked: “What would you say to the young people now?” He was silent for a few seconds. “Don’t think silence will bring safety,” he said. “Public expression is not heroism—it is a duty.”
He said the “White Paper Movement” brought him some hope—those young people standing silently at night with blank papers showed that numbness is not absolute.“But I also know that very few are ready for long-term consequences.” His message to the young is not “go to the streets,” but: “Please keep independent thinking.”
“When you feel something is wrong, it’s not that you’re overthinking—it’s proof that you’re still alive.”
He admitted that sometimes “to live and remain conscious” is a heavy burden.But if everyone closes their eyes, society is left only with what the authorities allow you to see.
“I once thought I was alone. Later I realized—without the people who came before, I would never have gone to the streets; without those now and in the future, this path will break. You don’t have to pay the kind of price I paid,” he said, “but at least don’t mock those who do. If you cannot stand up, at least don’t applaud the oppressor in your heart.”
At the End of the Interview
By the time the interview ended, the sky had darkened. The gray had turned into a color between blue and black. Streetlights lit one by one. But the city where Xie Wenfei stood did not illuminate his face clearly—just a foggy blur.
Before we said goodbye, I asked: “During your long imprisonment, did you receive support from the overseas pro-democracy movement? And for those still resisting inside China, how can people overseas help most effectively?”
He thought. “Public support is very useful,” he said. “But outsiders shouldn’t expose things that activists themselves haven’t made public. Technical and financial support is also very necessary.”
“What action from overseas helped you the most during your imprisonment?”
“During the half month I was tortured in the Yuexiu District Detention Center, my lawyers Wang Xun and Xie Yang met me and exposed the torture. After international attention, they transferred me to the No.1 Guangzhou Detention Center. During the two years there, they didn’t punish me at all.”
“What experience from resisting inside prison can help young people still in China?”
“Everyone has different personalities, beliefs, and limits. In my four and a half years in Hunan, they told me at the start: I would never meet a human rights lawyer. No lawyer means no information gets out. I knew as a grassroots activist, I wasn’t important enough for most human rights organizations. I knew I had to rely on myself. I clearly expressed my stance to the guards, and it had some effect.”
Xie Wenfei said that in the days ahead, he will continue to write—about the nights in the detention center, the iron cages in prison, the brief moments of light on the streets,and the trajectories of lives interrupted, erased, or forcibly ended.
He said he does not expect to change anything enormous. One person cannot change the system. But the system cannot change his persistence either.
At the very least, in an era of constant deletion and silence, he is still speaking.As long as someone is willing to listen, he has not been locked into a prison of silence.
Reporter’s Note
One year after his release, Xie Wenfei continued to publish articles describing his emotional journey. In “To Live or Not to Live,” he wrote about the harassment he endured after release, which made him momentarily think of death. But the faith he held onto kept him alive. I cannot imagine how difficult his situation is today, nor the torment inside him. But allowing more people to pay attention to him may be a small candle of warmth in the darkness. What heroes are there in this world? They are all ordinary people like him, who step forward and burn themselves on that piece of land.
