作者：毛一炜
编辑：张宇 责任编辑：张娜 校对：王滨 翻译：刘芳

最近我在油管刷到王志安频道更新的一段历史影像——徐勤先庭审的视频，画面来自 1990 年 3 月 17 日。三十多年过去，这段庭审影像第一次完整公开。视频中，徐勤先面对军事法庭，神情沉稳，语气平静地说：“我不同意使用武力。”没有激烈的抗议，也没有刻意的姿态，只有一种令人无法忽视的坚定。那一刻，他的平静本身就像一种沉默的力量，让人心头一紧。

1989年六月的北京，街头的学生和市民手无寸铁，却被共产党和军队以暴力镇压。徐勤先是当时的第 38 集团军军长，拒绝带兵入京镇压学生，甚至拒绝在调兵令上签字。这个决定意味着他直接违抗上级命令，也意味着承受无法预料的惩罚。最终，他被秘密军事法庭判处五年有期徒刑。庭审中，他没有求情，也没有辩解，只有冷静、沉着的神态。那份安静的坚持，比任何激烈的抗争更让人动容。

影像里，庭审室的光线昏暗，徐勤先坐在法庭上，眼神清澈却带着沉重的分量。旁边的审判官面无表情，周围的环境压抑而沉默。每一个微小的动作，都仿佛在诉说着当年的紧张和恐惧。他的选择，是军人的职业底线，也是良知的底线。三十多年被封锁的历史，在这段影像里重见天日，让人切实感受到那个时代的复杂和残酷。

看到这段视频，我的思绪回到了初三那年。那一年，我第一次学会“翻墙”，第一次看到了关于六四事件的影像。屏幕上，一个大学生映入眼帘，戴着眼镜，头上绑着红色头带。他的眼神坚定，骑着自行车奔向天安门广场。他说：“去游行，去天安门广场“。记者问他为什么 他回答“I think It’s my duty”。”短短一句话，却让我第一次理解责任感和勇气。画面中的他，不只是一个学生，更像是历史的一部分——一个时代里敢于站出来的人。

徐勤先的庭审和那个大学生的画面在我心中交织。一个在军中核心选择遵从良知，一个在街头选择挺身而出。时间、身份、环境不同，但他们的行为本质相通：在关键时刻，他们拒绝背弃自己的判断，拒绝让良知沉默。看着这些影像，我感到一阵寒意，也感到敬意。那份在压迫面前依然坚守的勇气，比任何言语都更有力量，也提醒我：历史不会因为沉默而消失，真相终会揭开。

而曾经用枪口镇压学生、用谎言掩盖真相的共产党，其统治必将终结。血与恐惧无法永远压制人心，谎言无法永远掩盖历史。迟早有一天，真相将冲破封锁，暴政会被彻底推翻，党权必将下台。人民的记忆和良知才是永远的裁判，历史不会忘记，也不会宽恕。

Refusing to Yield: Xu Qinxian and the Struggle of June Fourth

Author: Mao Yiwei
Editor: Zhang Yu Executive Editor: Zhang Na Proofreader: Wang Bin Translator: Liu Fang

Abstract: Inspired by the newly released footage of Xu Qinxian’s trial, the author reflects that history never disappears, and truth can never be buried.

Recently, I came across a historical video on Wang Zhi’an’s YouTube channel—footage of Xu Qinxian’s military trial, recorded on March 17, 1990. More than thirty years later, this is the first time the full trial has been made public. In the video, Xu Qinxian faces the military court with a calm expression and a steady voice: “I do not agree to the use of force.” No fiery protest, no dramatic posturing—only an unshakeable firmness. In that moment, his composure itself was a form of silent strength, tightening the chest of anyone who watched.

In June 1989, students and citizens stood unarmed on the streets of Beijing, yet they were crushed by the violence of the Communist Party and the military. Xu Qinxian, then commander of the 38th Army, refused to lead his troops into Beijing to suppress the students and even refused to sign the mobilization order. This decision meant directly defying his superiors and facing unpredictable consequences. In the end, he was sentenced to five years in prison by a secret military court. During the trial, he neither pleaded nor defended himself. His demeanor remained cool and composed. That quiet, unwavering stance spoke louder than any outcry.。

In the footage, the courtroom appears dim, and Xu Qinxian sits before the judges with clear eyes that carry a heavy gravity. The presiding officers look expressionless. The entire room feels oppressive and still. Every small movement seems to whisper the tension and fear of that time. His choice represented the boundary of a soldier’s duty—and the boundary of conscience. After more than three decades of censorship, history resurfaced through this footage, allowing us to truly feel the complexity and brutality of that era.

As I watched the video, my thoughts drifted back to my third year of middle school. That was the year I first learned how to “climb over the firewall,” and the year I first saw images of the June Fourth crackdown. On the screen, I saw a university student wearing glasses and a red headband. His eyes were resolute as he rode his bicycle toward Tiananmen Square. He said he was going there to join the demonstration. A reporter asked why. He replied, “I think it’s my duty.” Just a few words, yet they taught me, for the first time, the meaning of responsibility and courage. He was not only a student—he was part of history, one of those who dared to stand up in that era.

The image of Xu Qinxian’s trial and the image of that student merge in my mind. One was inside the core of the military, choosing to follow conscience. The other was in the streets, choosing to step forward. Their times, identities, and environments were different, but the essence of their actions was the same: in a decisive moment, they refused to betray their judgment and refused to let their conscience fall silent. Watching these scenes, I felt a chill, but also deep respect. The courage to hold on in the face of oppression is more powerful than any words—and it reminds us that history does not disappear because of silence, nor does truth fade with time.

And as for the Communist Party that once turned its guns on students and buried truth under lies—its rule will inevitably come to an end. Blood and fear cannot suppress the human heart forever, and lies cannot cover history forever. One day, truth will break through the blockade, tyranny will be shattered, and the Party’s authority will fall. The memory and conscience of the people are the only eternal judges. History will not forget—and it will not forgive.