作者：漠北独侠  

一纸侨批，半部家国史：我手里的方寸信笺与沉疴的百年

侨批，又称银信、番批。(见附图)请隆重瞻仰：真正的侨批！

当我从樟木箱底抽出那封泛黄的信笺，蜡封已脆，墨迹洇开，邮戳上“马来西亚”“潮州”的字样像两枚时间的印章。电影《写给阿嬷的情书》把它当成灵魂道具，可我手里这一封，是真的。它不煽情，不宏大，却比任何镜头都更宽、更广、更深、更沉。

中共惯用宏大叙事去歌颂苦难，灾难被拍成勋章，饥饿被唱成赞歌。电影我没看，猜都猜得着套路。但侨批不需要导演。它是19世纪中叶到20世纪70年代，潮汕、粤西、闽南、广西人“过番下南洋”的肉身证词。没有旁白，只有血和算计：一封家书，夹着几块银圆，穿过台风、战乱、关卡，落到贫瘠的红土地上。

最不堪回首的铁证，在大饥荒年代。

1959-1961年，村里饿殍遍野，粮票是纸，树皮是菜。侨批局的水客却照样“见信即付，风雨无阻”。我爷爷的弟从马来亚寄回的200港元(当时折人民币75元)侨批，救了我全家八条命。那不是政府的救济，是一个在异国洗盘子的叔公，省下口粮换来的命。侨批就是这段历史最直白的铁证：国家失语时，血缘在说话。苦难不应被遗忘，但更不应被歌颂成“考验与荣耀”。苦难就是苦难，是体制失能时千万个家庭的侥幸与绝望。

我收藏的这封原件，是我从时间手里抢下来的。

几年前，我在潮阳老镇偶遇一位百岁老人——照片里打桌球的就是她。瘦得像麻秆，桌球却打得极准。他说，老人儿女都去了汕头，屋子要卖。信对她是念想，对我，是责任。

我哀求。保护史料的钱不能算价钱。我以“保护史料并给老人养老”之名，给了她12000元现金，把这封侨批带了回来。二十几年过去，纸更脆了，我用无酸纸袋封存，恒温防潮。它不是我的藏品，是我替苦难的土地暂时保管的记忆。

这土地上的芸芸苦民之所以还能生生不息，其密码写在一张薄纸上。

2013年，联合国教科文组织把侨批档案列入《世界记忆遗产》。评审词很克制：这是“非官方金融与移民史的独特文献”。但我看到的是历经数千年民国尚遗存的五个字——仁义礼智信。当下的盐碱地用最先进的探测设备恐怕也难找见这五个字的温润气息。

仁：心系故园，孝顾桑梓

“阿娘大人膝下：儿在南洋，身虽贱，命尚存。兹汇银三元，望购米度荒年，勿省俭以伤身。” 再苦再难，省吃俭用寄钱回家。赡养父母、妻儿，甚至帮衬破产的乡邻。侨批局的账本里，没有“国家”二字，只有“阿妈”“阿嫂”“阿弟”。这是民间最朴素的民生保障。

义：一诺千金，患难见真情

没有合同，没有银行。批局的水客扛着木箱走山路、过海峡，凭一句“见信即付”。遇海难，批局东主变卖田产赔付。信誉破了，整个侨批业就死了。所以他们宁死也要守信。这份“义”，比任何公章都硬。

礼：敬长睦邻，礼数周全

家书的称谓永远是“大人膝下”“慈母大人”。行文谦逊，落款必写“儿某某百拜”。长幼有序，红白事随礼都有分寸。一张侨批，既是汇款单，也是礼法教科书。漂泊的人最懂礼数，因为无礼就无根。

智：闯海打拼，坚韧求生

白手起家，从挑粪、开杂货店到做橡胶。侨批的背面常有批注：“钱勿乱使，待秋收”“莫信赌档”。这是没有读过书的人，用血换来的商业智慧。智，不是算计，是活下去的本事。

信：诚实守信，契约精神

百年侨批业，靠“言必信、行必果”维系。没有法律，却比法律更管用。批局倒闭的消息一传，整个村都跟着心慌。因为失信的代价，是千万个家庭断炊。这是华人最硬的底层代码。

我们该记住什么？

侨批让国人骄傲，却也让国人脸红。

它骄傲在：华人在异国他乡靠仁义礼智信站稳了脚。

它脸红在：为什么“家国”二字，最终靠一个在南洋刷盘子的人来兑现？ 为什么大饥荒时，救命的不是粮仓，而是远在万里外的私信？

苦难被歌颂，责任就被稀释了。侨批的美，不该用来美化那个让无数家庭“靠侨批续命”的年代。我们记住侨批，是为了记住“仁义”二字在民间的力量；更是为了记住：当公共制度失灵，普通人就得用命去填坑。

我保护这封侨批，不是因为它值钱。它值钱，是因为它见证了一个时代的残酷与温柔。残酷在：国让民失望。温柔在：民从未放弃民。

方寸信笺，写尽仁义礼智信。

我愿做它的守墓人，直到它该去的地方——博物馆，或后人的课堂。 让孩子们看到：我们这个民族，曾在最绝望时，用一封信把彼此拉出泥潭。

这不是怀旧。

这是警醒。

(后记：为什么满屏都是“五月三十五”的烛光、泪水与怒火的特殊时段,而我偏偏不合时宜独沽“侨批”,是因为相较“五月三十五日”更加温情、更具人间烟火气、兴许更能浸润盐碱地。我的“五月三十五日”就待机择日再忆,把这最滚烫的一隅留给广场的母亲和英豪们吧,比如日前第三次成功逃亡的董广平兄长… …）

附下图(打台球的百岁人瑞为侨批原主)：我收藏保护的侨批原件照片。蜡封微裂，墨香已散，邮戳尚清。纸很薄，命很重。

 漠北独侠

2026年5月22日记于东山下烟岚小木屋

编辑：冯仍    校对：冯仍 翻译：沈美花

Qiaopi —— “A Love Letter to A-Ma”

Author: Mobei Duxia

A single sheet of Qiaopi holds half a history of family and nation: this square inch of stationery in my hand juxtaposed with a century of deep-seated ailments. Qiaopi, also known as Yinxin (silver-letter) or Fanpi (foreign-letter). (See attached photo) Please pay your solemn respects: this is a genuine Qiaopi! When I pulled that yellowed letter from the bottom of the camphor wood chest, the wax seal was already brittle and the ink had smudged; the postmarks reading “Malaysia” and “Chaozhou” looked like two stamps of time. The movie A Love Letter to A-Ma used it as a soulful prop, but the one in my hand is real. It is neither melodramatic nor grand, yet it is wider, broader, deeper, and heavier than any camera lens could ever capture.

The CCP customarily uses grand narratives to eulogize suffering, where disasters are filmed as medals and starvation is sung as hymns. I haven’t watched the movie, but I can guess the tropes. But Qiaopi needs no director. It serves as the flesh-and-blood testimony of the people from Chaoshan, Western Guangdong, Southern Fujian, and Guangxi who “went ‘Fan’ and descended to Nanyang” from the mid-19th century to the 1970s. There is no voiceover, only blood and calculations: a family letter, enclosing a few silver dollars, passing through typhoons, wars, and checkpoints, finally landing on the barren red soil.

The most unbearable ironclad evidence lies in the era of the Great Famine. From 1959 to 1961, the village was strewn with corpses of the starved; food rations coupons were mere paper, and tree bark served as vegetables. Yet, the Shuike (couriers) of the Qiaopi bureaus still operated on the principle of “pay immediately upon delivery of the letter, regardless of wind or rain.” A Qiaopi remittance of 200 Hong Kong dollars (equivalent to 75 RMB at the time) sent back by my grandfather’s younger brother from Malaya saved eight lives in my family. That was not government relief; it was the lives exchanged for the rations saved by a grand-uncle who washed dishes in a foreign land. Qiaopi is the most straightforward ironclad proof of this period of history: when the state falls silent, bloodlines speak. Suffering should not be forgotten, but even less should it be eulogized as “trials and glory.” Suffering is simply suffering—it is the fluke survival and despair of millions of families when the system fails.

This original document in my collection is something I snatched from the hands of time. A few years ago, I happened to meet a centenarian in an old town in Chaoyang—she is the one playing billiards in the photo. She was as thin as a hemp stalk, yet her billiard shots were incredibly accurate. He said the elderly woman’s children had all moved to Shantou, and the house was to be sold. To her, the letter was a cherished memory; to me, it is a responsibility.

I pleaded. Money used for protecting historical materials cannot be haggled over. Under the guise of “protecting historical materials and providing for the elderly woman’s retirement,” I gave her 12,000 RMB in cash and brought this Qiaopi back. More than twenty years have passed, and the paper has become even more brittle. I have sealed it in acid-free paper bags, keeping it at a constant temperature and protected from moisture. It is not my collectible; it is a memory I am temporarily safeguarding on behalf of this suffering land.

The secret code of why the countless suffering people on this land have been able to continuously thrive and multiply is written on a thin sheet of paper.

In 2013, UNESCO inscribed the Qiaopi achievements into the Memory of the World Register. The evaluation panel’s words were very restrained: “unparalleled documents on unofficial finance and emigration history.” But what I see are five characters remaining from thousands of years of Chinese civilization—Ren, Yi, Li, Zhi, Xin (Benevolence, Righteousness, Propriety, Wisdom, Trust). I am afraid that even with the most advanced detection equipment, it would be difficult to find the warm breath of these five characters in today’s saline-alkali wasteland.

Ren (Benevolence): Caring for the homeland, showing filial piety to one’s native village

“To my dearest Mother: Your son is in Nanyang; though my status is humble, my life remains. Herewith I remit three silver dollars, hoping you buy rice to survive the famine year. Do not be overly frugal and harm your health.”

No matter how bitter or difficult, they scraped and saved to send money home. They supported parents, wives, and children, and even helped bankrupt neighbors. In the account books of the Qiaopi bureaus, the word “State” did not exist; there was only “A-Ma,” “A-Sao” (sister-in-law), and “A-Di” (younger brother). This was the most rudimentary form of livelihood security for the common people.

Yi (Righteousness): A promise worth a thousand ounces of gold, true friendship found in times of adversity

There were no contracts, no banks. The Shuike (couriers) of the Qiaopi bureaus carried wooden boxes across mountain paths and straits, relying solely on the phrase “pay immediately upon delivery of the letter.” In the event of a shipwreck, the owners of the Qiaopi bureaus would sell their own land and property to pay out the remittances. If their credibility was broken, the entire Qiaopi industry would die. Therefore, they would rather die than break faith. This kind of “Righteousness” was harder than any official government seal.

Li (Propriety): Respecting elders and harmonizing with neighbors, being meticulous in etiquette

The honorific titles in the family letters were always “At the feet of the elder” or “To my compassionate Mother.” The writing style was humble, and the sign-off always read “Your son, so-and-so, bows a hundred times.” The order between elders and youth was respected, and gifts for weddings and funerals were handled with absolute propriety. A single Qiaopi was both a remittance slip and a textbook on etiquette and law. Those who drifted abroad understood etiquette best, because to be without propriety is to be without roots.

Zhi (Wisdom): Venturing into the sea to strive, enduring to survive

Starting from scratch, they went from shoveling manure and opening grocery stores to working in rubber production. On the back of the Qiaopi, annotations were frequently found: “Do not spend money recklessly, wait for the autumn harvest,” or “Do not trust gambling dens.” This was commercial wisdom exchanged with blood by people who had never attended school. Wisdom was not about plotting and scheming; it was the ability to stay alive.

Xin (Trust): Being honest and trustworthy, the spirit of contract

The century-old Qiaopi industry was maintained by the principle of “always be true in word and resolute in deed.” There was no law, yet it was more effective than law. As soon as news of a Qiaopi bureau’s bankruptcy spread, the entire village would panic.

Because the price of losing trust meant tens of thousands of families would have their food supply cut off. This was the hardest underlying code of the Chinese people.

What should we remember?

Qiaopi makes Chinese people proud, yet it also makes Chinese people blush with shame.

It brings pride because: the Chinese established a firm foothold in foreign lands by relying on Benevolence, Righteousness, Propriety, Wisdom, and Trust.

It brings shame because: why did the concept of “family and nation” ultimately have to be fulfilled by a person washing dishes in Nanyang?

Why was it that during the Great Famine, what saved lives was not the state granaries, but private letters from tens of thousands of miles away?

When suffering is eulogized, responsibility is diluted. The beauty of Qiaopi should not be used to beautify that era which forced countless families to “rely on Qiaopi to cling to life.” We remember Qiaopi to remember the power of “Benevolence and Righteousness” among the common people; even more, it is to remember that when public systems fail, ordinary people have to use their lives to fill the gap.

I protect this Qiaopi not because it is worth money. It is valuable because it bears witness to the cruelty and tenderness of an era. The cruelty lies in: the state failing its people. The tenderness lies in: the people never giving up on the people.

A square inch of stationery writes out all of Benevolence, Righteousness, Propriety, Wisdom, and Trust.

I am willing to be its tomb-keeper until it reaches the place it belongs—a museum, or the classrooms of future generations.

Let the children see: our nation once pulled each other out of the quagmire with a single letter during the most desperate of times.

This is not nostalgia.

This is a warning.

(Postscript: Why, during this special period when the entire screen is filled with the candlelight, tears, and anger of “May 35th,” do I unfashionably and exclusively stick to “Qiaopi”? It is because, compared to “May 35th,” it holds more warmth, carries more of the smoke and fire of human life, and might better moisten the saline-alkali wasteland. My memories of “May 35th” will stand by for another day; let us leave this most burning corner to the mothers and heroes of the Square—such as our brother Dong Guangping, who recently succeeded in his third escape…)

Attached photo below (the centenarian playing billiards is the original owner of the Qiaopi): A photograph of the original Qiaopi document in my collection. The wax seal is slightly cracked, the fragrance of the ink has dissipated, but the postmark is still clear. The paper is very thin; the life it carried is very heavy.

Mo Bei Du Xia

Written on May 22, 2026, at the Misty Cottage beneath Dongshan Hill

Editor: Feng Reng Proofreader: Feng Reng Translator: Shen Meihua

                           

作者：曹泽锋  

2026年6月4日，我再次站在洛杉矶中国领事馆门前。

37年前，北京的长安街上，坦克履带碾过的不只是青年学生的身体，也碾过了一个民族刚刚苏醒的公民意识；37年后，中共依然不敢面对那一夜的枪声，不敢公布死难者名单，不敢允许母亲悼念孩子，不敢让中国人自由说出“六·四”两个字。

一个政权，如果真的清白，何必害怕记忆？  

一个政党，如果真的伟大，何必恐惧真相？

1989年的学生不是暴徒，市民不是叛乱者，天安门广场不是战场。他们要的不过是反腐、透明、自由、尊严，是一个现代国家最基本的政治常识。可是中共给出的答案，是戒严令、机枪、坦克和清洗。那一夜，它没有镇压“动乱”，它镇压的是中国人要求做人的权利。

“六·四”之后，中国进入了一个更漫长、更阴冷的时代。枪声停止了，但恐惧没有停止；广场被清空了，但审查没有清空；尸体被运走了，但国家机器从此学会了如何让整个社会闭嘴。

中共最残忍的地方，不只是杀人，而是杀人之后还要禁止记忆；不只是制造死亡，而是逼迫活着的人假装什么都没有发生。它把历史从课本里删除，把关键词从网络上屏蔽，把母亲的哭声变成“寻衅滋事”，把悼念者变成“境外势力”。在这个政权眼里，鲜血不是罪证，记忆才是罪证。

所以，“六·四”从来不只是1989年的一天。它是中共统治逻辑彻底成形的一刻。自那以后，法轮功被镇压，维权律师被抓捕，香港自由被碾碎，新疆集中营震惊世界，白纸运动青年被秋后算账。所有这些事件都不是孤立的，它们共同证明：当一个政权曾经用坦克镇压人民，它就会不断用恐惧统治人民。

37年过去，中共最成功的工程，不是高铁，不是大楼，不是GDP，而是制造了一个巨大的沉默社会。许多中国年轻人不知道“六·四”，许多人知道却不敢说，许多人不敢说久了，便开始骗自己说“不重要”。这正是极权最可怕的地方：它不只控制人的嘴，还改造人的记忆；不只让人沉默，还让人把沉默误以为成熟。

可我们站在海外，不能替暴政完成遗忘。

我看见有人举着烛光，有人举着死难者的照片，有人高喊“平反‘六·四’”，有人沉默地低头。那一刻我明白，纪念“六·四”不是形式，不是口号，更不是政治表演。它是对死者的交代，是对活人的提醒，是对中共谎言的持续抵抗。

因为只要我们还记得，中共就没有真正胜利。  

只要我们还说出“六·四”，它的封锁就没有完成。  

只要还有人站在中国领事馆门前点燃蜡烛，那一夜的枪声就不会被历史吞没。

“六·四”真正划出的分水岭，不只是人民与政权之间的分水岭，也是记忆与遗忘之间，尊严与苟活之间，沉默与抗争之间的分水岭。有人选择忘记，因为忘记看起来安全；有人选择沉默，因为沉默看起来聪明；也有人选择继续说，因为他们知道，一个民族如果连自己的伤口都不敢看，就永远不可能真正站起来。

今天，我们纪念“六·四”，不只是为了悼念37年前倒下的学生和市民，更是为了告诉这个世界：中共所谓的“稳定”，建立在恐惧之上；所谓的“发展”，掩盖不了血债；所谓的“民族复兴”，如果不能容纳真相与自由，不过是一个更精致的牢笼。

真正的中国，不应该属于坦克和谎言，不应该属于审查和告密，不应该属于那些靠删帖、抓人、封号、恐吓来维系统治的人。真正的中国，应该属于那些在1989年举起横幅的人，属于那些在黑暗中守护记忆的人，属于那些即使流亡海外、仍愿意为真相发声的人。

“六·四”没有结束。它活在每一个被删掉的词里，活在每一个被监控的母亲眼中，活在每一个不愿跪下的中国人心里。

37年后的今天，我们站在这里，不是因为我们强大，而是因为我们不能背叛记忆；不是因为我们没有恐惧，而是因为我们知道，恐惧一旦成为习惯，奴役就会成为命运。

愿死者安息，愿真相归来。  

愿每一个拒绝遗忘的人，都成为暴政无法熄灭的火种。  

愿有一天，“六·四”不再只能在海外被纪念，而能在中国大地上，被公开悼念，被真实书写，被庄严平反。

编辑：韩立华    校对：熊辩 翻译：沈美花

The 37th Anniversary of June Fourth: China After the Gunshots, a Nation Beneath the Silence

Author: Cao Zefeng

On June 4, 2026, I once again stood in front of the Chinese Consulate in Los Angeles.

Thirty-seven years ago, on Beijing’s Chang’an Avenue, the tracks of tanks crushed not only the bodies of young students, but also the civic consciousness of a nation that had only just begun to awaken. Thirty-seven years later, the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) still dares not face the gunfire of that night. It dares not publish the list of the dead, dares not allow mothers to mourn their children, and dares not permit Chinese people to freely utter the words “June Fourth.”

If a regime is truly innocent, why should it fear memory?

If a political party is truly great, why should it fear the truth?

The students of 1989 were not rioters, and the citizens were not insurgents. Tiananmen Square was not a battlefield. What they sought was nothing more than opposition to corruption, transparency, freedom, and dignity—basic political principles that should exist in any modern state. Yet the CCP’s answer was martial law, machine guns, tanks, and political purges. On that night, it did not suppress “turmoil”; it suppressed the Chinese people’s right to be treated as human beings.

After June Fourth, China entered a longer and colder era. The gunfire ceased, but fear did not cease. The square was cleared, but censorship was not. The bodies were removed, but from that moment onward the state apparatus learned how to silence an entire society.

The CCP’s greatest cruelty lies not merely in killing people, but in forbidding remembrance after the killing. It lies not merely in creating death, but in forcing the living to pretend that nothing ever happened. It erases history from textbooks, blocks keywords on the internet, turns a mother’s cry of grief into “picking quarrels and provoking trouble,” and labels those who commemorate the dead as “foreign forces.” In the eyes of this regime, blood is not the evidence of a crime—memory is.

Therefore, June Fourth has never been merely a single day in 1989. It marked the moment when the CCP’s logic of rule reached its full and definitive form. Since then, Falun Gong has been suppressed, rights-defense lawyers have been arrested, Hong Kong’s freedoms have been crushed, the internment camps in Xinjiang have shocked the world, and young participants in the White Paper Movement have faced reprisals long after the protests ended. None of these events stand in isolation. Together, they demonstrate one fundamental truth: when a regime has once used tanks to suppress its people, it will continue to govern its people through fear.

Thirty-seven years have passed. The CCP’s most successful project has not been high-speed rail, skyscrapers, or GDP growth. Rather, it has been the creation of a vast society of silence. Many young Chinese know nothing about June Fourth. Many know about it but dare not speak. Many who remain silent for long enough eventually begin to convince themselves that it is “not important.” This is precisely the most terrifying aspect of totalitarianism: it does not merely control what people say—it reshapes what they remember. It does not merely force people into silence—it leads them to mistake silence for maturity.

But those of us living overseas cannot allow ourselves to complete the work of forgetting on behalf of tyranny.

I saw people holding candlelight. I saw people holding photographs of those who died. Some shouted, “Redress June Fourth!” while others stood in silent reflection with their heads bowed. At that moment, I understood that commemorating June Fourth is not a ritual, not a slogan, and certainly not a political performance. It is an obligation to the dead, a reminder to the living, and an ongoing act of resistance against the CCP’s lies.

For as long as we remember, the CCP has not truly won.

For as long as we continue to speak the words “June Fourth,” its censorship remains incomplete.

For as long as someone still stands before a Chinese consulate and lights a candle, the gunshots of that night will not be swallowed by history.

The true dividing line drawn by June Fourth is not merely the line between the people and the regime. It is also the line between memory and forgetting, between dignity and mere survival, between silence and resistance. Some choose to forget because forgetting appears safe. Some choose silence because silence appears wise. Others choose to keep speaking because they understand that a nation that dares not look at its own wounds can never truly stand upright.

Today, we commemorate June Fourth not only to mourn the students and citizens who fell thirty-seven years ago, but also to tell the world this: the CCP’s so-called “stability” is built upon fear; its so-called “development” cannot erase a debt of blood; and its so-called “national rejuvenation,” if it cannot accommodate truth and freedom, is nothing more than a more sophisticated prison.

The real China should not belong to tanks and lies. It should not belong to censorship and informants. It should not belong to those who maintain their rule through deleting posts, making arrests, suspending accounts, and intimidating citizens. The real China should belong to those who raised banners in 1989, to those who safeguard memory in the darkness, and to those who, even in exile overseas, are still willing to speak out for the truth.

June Fourth has never ended. It lives on in every deleted word, in the eyes of every mother placed under surveillance, and in the hearts of every Chinese person who refuses to kneel.

Today, thirty-seven years later, we stand here not because we are strong, but because we cannot betray memory; not because we are without fear, but because we know that once fear becomes a habit, servitude becomes destiny.

May the dead rest in peace, and may the truth return.

May every person who refuses to forget become a spark that tyranny cannot extinguish.

May the day come when June Fourth is no longer commemorated only overseas, but can be publicly mourned on Chinese soil, truthfully recorded in history, and solemnly redressed.

Editor: Han LihuaProofreader: Xiong BianTranslator: Shen Meihua

投稿人：孟家虎

2026年5月30日, 在“六•四”天安门事件即将迎来37周年祭日之际，中国民主党夏威夷支部于檀香山中国城文化广场隆重举行纪念活动。民主党员和家属在夏威夷和煦的阳光下集结，通过慷慨激昂的演讲与发放传单的方式，共同缅怀为民主自由献身的先烈，向国际社会传递不熄的自由火种。

活动开始前, 所有与会者庄严伫立在文化广场孙中山雕塑前, 高举 “纪念‘六•四’37周年”的白色横幅, 向“六•四”死难者默哀一分钟。

全体人员向“六•四”死难者默哀一分钟

活动中，四位代表发表了富有感召力的讲话。身着“勿忘‘六•四’”黑色T恤的湾区党部副秘书长张小驹字字铿锵：“37年来，中共政权机关算尽，试图抹去那段血染的历史。但历史不会因压制而断流，真相更不会因沉默而湮灭！”他指出，无论是严密的舆论封锁、对亲历者的残酷打压，还是对年轻一代的“洗脑式”遗忘教育，都无法阻挡人们对自由、尊严与公义的渴望。

张小驹特别提到，曾经的香港支联会数十年如一日的坚守，让维园的烛光成为华人世界永恒的记忆与反抗图腾。然而，随着香港“国安法”的实施，支联会被迫解散，李卓人、邹幸彤等也身陷囹圄。这一巨大变故更让世人看清,“六•四”非但未能平反, 自由世界香港的空间却被进一步蚕食的残酷现实。他呼吁：“在今天，我们坚持纪念‘六•四’，不仅是在守护历史真相，更是守卫人类文明的底线与良知！唯有铭记伤痛、直面历史，中国社会才谈得上和解与进步，中国才有可能真正走向宪政民主！”发言后他带领与会者高喊口号:

勿忘“六•四”屠城, 结束一党专政! Never Forget, Never Forgive!

张小驹向路人发“六•四”宣传传单

夏威夷支部副主任王礼华分析了当前的国际地缘政治局势。他指出，中国在“六•四”屠杀之后，不但从未向遇难者及其家属作出任何道歉与忏悔，反而在37年后的今天，使这个政权演变得更加专制，对人权与自由的压迫也更加系统化、全面化。唯一不同的是，当年的高压统治，如今又叠加了大数据监控、人脸识别、网络审查与人工智能追踪等高科技数字极权手段，让社会控制达到前所未有的程度。

王礼华表示，直到今天，中国依然是世界上人权状况最严峻的国家之一，大量异议人士、维权律师、宗教信仰群体及少数民族仍持续遭受打压。然而，他同时强调，历史的发展从不会永远停留在黑暗之中。民主浪潮或许会有起伏，追求自由、人权与普世价值的道路也许充满艰难，但人类对尊严与正义的向往终究不可阻挡。他呼吁海内外同胞，尤其是在高压与逆境中的民主人士，更应坚定信念、守望相助，继续为真相、自由与未来中国的民主化坚持发声!

夏威夷党部党员吕斌发言指出，在高压维稳与数字监控不断扩张的背景下，言论自由、宗教信仰自由以及公民基本权利持续受到压制，许多异议人士和维权群体仍身处困境。他呼吁国际社会在关注经济合作与贸易往来的同时，更不能忽视对人权问题的持续关注与监督，应以实际行动推动基本人权保障的落实，让自由与尊严成为国际社会共同坚守的底线。

身着黑色“Stand with Hong Kong”党员李艺在总结发言中动情展望了未来。她强调，民主事业从来不是一代人就能够完成的使命，而是一场需要薪火相传、代代接续的长期奋斗。正因为如此，青年一代的觉醒与参与，决定着未来中国能否真正走向自由、法治与宪政民主。她特别鼓励年轻人勇敢接过追求民主与宪政的接力棒，不论身处世界任何角落，都不要放弃对自由、人权与尊严的向往，更不要因为现实的压力而选择沉默与遗忘。她呼吁身处自由世界的年轻一代珍惜自由社会所赋予的权利与空间，通过学习、交流与行动，将民主、人权与法治的理念不断传播下去，让更多人理解自由的价值，并为未来中国的和平转型积蓄力量。

为了让更多国际友人了解这段历史，参与者们在现场积极向过往路人派发精心制作的英文传单，内容详尽介绍了“六•四”事件的时间线、背景及深远影响，不少游客驻足阅读并与成员交流。

中国民主党夏威夷支部主任孟家虎重申，将持续致力于推动中国民主化进程，直至正义最终实现，荣光归于人民。

在慷慨激昂的气氛中, 此次活动在夏威夷支部副主任王礼华带领下，绕文化广场游行后圆满结束。

活动参与者: 王礼华、张小驹、孟家虎、李艺、吕斌、伍雄、龙君红、阙美娇

编辑：Geoffrey Jin 校对：熊辩 翻译：戈冰

The Hawaii Chapter of the China Democratic Party Holds a Commemoration for the 37th Anniversary of “June 4th”

Contributor: Meng Jiahhu

Abstract: On May 30, 2026, on the eve of the 37th anniversary of “June 4th,” the Hawaii Chapter of the China Democratic Party held a commemoration at Chinatown Cultural Plaza in Honolulu. Through moments of silence, speeches, and the distribution of leaflets, attendees paid tribute to the victims of the June 4th incident and expressed their commitment to the values of democracy, freedom, and human rights.

On May 30, 2026, as the 37th anniversary of the June 4th Tiananmen Square incident approached, the Hawaii Chapter of the China Democratic Party held a solemn commemorative event at Chinatown Cultural Plaza in Honolulu. Party members and their families gathered under Hawaii’s warm sunshine. Through impassioned speeches and the distribution of leaflets, they collectively honored the martyrs who sacrificed their lives for democracy and freedom, conveying the unquenchable flame of liberty to the international community.

Before the event began, all attendees stood solemnly before the Sun Yat-sen statue at the Cultural Plaza, holding aloft a white banner reading “Commemorating the 37th Anniversary of June 4th,” and observed a minute of silence in memory of the victims of the June 4th incident.

All attendees observe a minute of silence for the victims of the June 4th incident

During the event, four representatives delivered inspiring speeches. Zhang Xiaoju, Deputy Secretary-General of the Bay Area Party Branch, wearing a black T-shirt emblazoned with “Never Forget June 4th,” spoke with conviction: “For 37 years, the Chinese Communist regime has gone to great lengths to erase that blood-stained history. But history will not be severed by suppression, nor will the truth be obliterated by silence!” He pointed out that neither the tight media blackout, nor the brutal suppression of eyewitnesses, nor the “brainwashing” education aimed at making the younger generation forget, can stop people’s yearning for freedom, dignity, and justice.

Zhang Xiaoju specifically mentioned that the Hong Kong Alliance’s decades-long steadfast commitment had made the candlelight vigil at Victoria Park an eternal memory and a symbol of resistance in the Chinese world. However, with the implementation of Hong Kong’s National Security Law, the Alliance was forced to disband, and figures such as Lee Cheuk-yan and Chow Hang-tung have been imprisoned. This massive upheaval has made it even clearer to the world that not only has the June 4th incident not been vindicated, but the space for Hong Kong within the free world has been further eroded—a cruel reality. He urged: “Today, our persistence in commemorating ‘June 4th’ is not only about safeguarding historical truth, but also about defending the baseline of human civilization and conscience! Only by remembering the pain and facing history head-on can Chinese society achieve reconciliation and progress, and only then can China truly move toward constitutional democracy!” After his speech, he led the attendees in chanting:

Never forget the June 4th massacre, end one-party dictatorship! Never Forget, Never Forgive!

Zhang Xiaoju distributes June 4th informational leaflets to passersby

Wang Lihua, Deputy Director of the Hawaii Chapter, analyzed the current international geopolitical landscape. He pointed out that following the “June 4th” massacre, China has not only failed to offer any apology or expression of remorse to the victims and their families, but 37 years later, the regime has become even more authoritarian, with the suppression of human rights and freedoms growing increasingly systematic and comprehensive. The only difference is that the high-pressure rule of that era has now been compounded by high-tech digital totalitarian measures such as big data surveillance, facial recognition, internet censorship, and AI tracking, bringing social control to an unprecedented level.

Wang Lihua stated that to this day, China remains one of the countries with the most severe human rights situations in the world, with large numbers of dissidents, human rights lawyers, religious groups, and ethnic minorities continuing to face suppression. However, he also emphasized that the course of history never remains forever in darkness. The tide of democracy may ebb and flow, and the path toward freedom, human rights, and universal values may be fraught with difficulties, but humanity’s yearning for dignity and justice is ultimately unstoppable. He called upon compatriots both at home and abroad—especially democrats facing oppression and adversity—to strengthen their resolve, support one another, and continue speaking out for truth, freedom, and the democratization of China’s future!

Lyu Bin, a member of the Hawaii Party branch, noted in his remarks that against a backdrop of intensifying social stability maintenance measures and the ever-expanding reach of digital surveillance, freedom of speech, freedom of religious belief, and basic civil rights continue to be suppressed, and many dissidents and rights advocates remain in dire straits. He called on the international community to not only focus on economic cooperation and trade relations but also to maintain continuous attention and oversight regarding human rights issues. He urged the community to take concrete actions to promote the implementation of fundamental human rights protections, ensuring that freedom and dignity become the common bottom line upheld by the international community.

Party member Li Yi, wearing a black “Stand with Hong Kong” shirt, offered an emotional outlook on the future in her concluding remarks. She emphasized that the cause of democracy is never a mission that can be accomplished by a single generation, but rather a long-term struggle that requires the torch to be passed down and carried forward from one generation to the next. Precisely for this reason, the awakening and participation of the younger generation will determine whether China can truly move toward freedom, the rule of law, and constitutional democracy in the future. She particularly encouraged young people to bravely take up the baton of pursuing democracy and constitutional governance. No matter where they are in the world, she urged them not to abandon their aspirations for freedom, human rights, and dignity, and certainly not to choose silence and oblivion because of the pressures of reality. She called on the younger generation in the free world to cherish the rights and space afforded by a free society, and through learning, exchange, and action, to continuously spread the ideals of democracy, human rights, and the rule of law, so that more people may understand the value of freedom and build momentum for a peaceful transition in China’s future.

To help more international friends understand this history, participants actively distributed carefully prepared English-language leaflets to passersby at the scene. The leaflets provided a detailed account of the timeline, background, and far-reaching impact of the June 4th incident; many tourists stopped to read them and engage in conversation with the members.

Meng Jiahhu, Director of the Hawaii Chapter of the China Democratic Party, reaffirmed the chapter’s commitment to advancing China’s democratization process until justice is ultimately realized and glory is restored to the people.

Amid a passionate and stirring atmosphere, the event concluded successfully with a march around Cultural Square led by Wang Lihua, Deputy Director of the Hawaii Chapter.

Event Participants: Wang Lihua, Zhang Xiaoju, Meng Jiahu, Li Yi, Lyu Bin, Wu Xiong, Long Junhong, Que Meijiao

Editor: Geoffrey Jin Proofreader: Xiong Bian Translator: Ge Bing

——从石门洪灾看中国灾难治理的真实逻辑

作者：周敏

2026年5月17日，湖南省常德市石门县遭遇特大洪灾。三座水电站被洪水冲垮，下游村庄房屋被夷为平地，当地居民反映物资极度短缺，实际死亡人数可能远超官方公布的7人。就在这场灾难发生之际，河南省蓝天救援队的伊川、宜阳、嵩县三支队伍——全部由自费出行、自带装备的志愿者组成——连夜赶赴灾区。

5月22日，河南省蓝天救援督察部发出通报，措辞严峻：上述三支队伍”未报备、未获批，擅自前往湖南常德开展救援作业”，并在石门收费站”私自拍摄、发布视频，引发网络舆情，造成极其恶劣的社会影响，严重损毁蓝天救援品牌形象”。处罚结果：责令全员撤回，全队书面警告。

请注意通报里的两个并列罪状：一是去救人，二是拍了视频。在这份文件里，这两件事的严重性是对等的。

负面舆情比洪水更危险

蓝天救援队成立于2007年，是中国规模最大的民间公益救援机构之一，队训是”少说多做，默默奉献”。这支队伍在多次重大灾难中发挥过关键作用。然而这一次，他们面对的惩罚竟然不是来自洪水，而恰恰来自于自己的上级——一个深度编织进官方应急管理体系的组织。

通报明确要求，所有跨区域救援必须”先报备、后审批、再出队”，并”严禁违规拍摄传播现场影像资料、制造负面舆情”。

“制造负面舆情”——这几个字是理解整个事件的钥匙。

灾区物资极度短缺，整村被淹，官方死亡数字与现实严重脱节，这些才是真正的”负面”现实。而这份通报所要消灭的，不是现实本身，而是关于现实的画面和信息。换句话说，志愿者拍下的视频之所以成为罪证，恰恰是因为它展示了真相。

不知道大家注意到没有，这次洪灾有个很关键的点：当地灾民反映，县政府没有提前通知村民撤离，在没有预警的情况下泄洪，引发严重洪灾，三座水电站被冲垮，下游村庄房屋被洪水冲走，灾区的物资极度短缺。官方公布的是死亡7人、14人失联，但是当地居民表示实际伤亡可能远超官方数字，”有的整个村全部灭了”。这让通报中”造成极其恶劣的社会影响”这句话显得挺耐人寻味——到底是救援行为本身造成了影响呢，还是拍摄、传播灾区的真实画面造成了”舆情”呢？

这不是第一次，也不会是最后一次

石门洪灾不是孤例，它是一个中国大地上上演多次的剧本。

2019年12月，武汉医生李文亮在同学群转发不明肺炎的预警信息，旋即就被警方传唤，在训诫书上签字画押，被定性为”散布不实信息”。三周后武汉封城，数月后李文亮以34岁之龄因感染新冠病毒离世。他预警的，正是后来夺去数百万人生命的病毒。他的罪行，只不过是提前说了真话。

2021年7月，郑州暴雨，京广北路隧道内车辆被淹，多人遇难。现场随即被军警封锁，禁止拍摄。凤凰卫视记者胡玲发微博记录”郑州京广隧道全部戒严，不允许拍照”，帖子很快被删除。与此同时，一份民间志愿者自发建立的腾讯文档救援信息表，24小时内更新超过270版，在官方渠道失灵的时刻承担起了协调救援的职能。

三次灾难，却生发出别无二致的脉络：最先被压制的，不是灾祸和混乱，而是关于灾祸真相的信息。

审批程序是协调机制，还是过滤器？

官方的辩护词不是毫无道理。跨区域救援确实需要协调，避免资源重叠、道路拥堵，这是现代应急管理的基本原则。蓝天救援队总部也强调，”先报备、后审批”的目的是统一调度、按需支援。

但这个辩护在石门案例里能站得住脚吗？我们看一下，通报的重心落在”拍摄视频”上。如果说真正的问题是救援协调混乱，处罚肯定是清楚地针对行动层面的失序，对不对？然而通报专门列出”违规拍摄传播现场影像资料”作为独立罪状，这说明让上级真正不安的，根本不是志愿者的靴子沾满了灾区的泥泞，而是他们的镜头对准了灾区的现实。

审批程序在这里承担的功能是：表面上是救援协调机制，实质上是个信息过滤的漏斗。两者被捆绑在一起，无法分离。想去救人，那就得先接受这套过滤。

社会的免疫系统在萎缩

任何社会在面对灾难时，都需要两种能力：一是动员和救援的能力，二是感知和反馈的能力。前者需要组织和资源，后者需要自由流通的信息。

中国不缺这第一个能力。解放军也好、消防也好、还有国家救援队，在重大灾难中的动员速度令人印象深刻。但第二个能力——社会的自我感知、自我纠错的能力——自始至终都在被全面地、极限地压缩。李文亮的预警要是真的被听取了，新冠的扩散时间线会完全不同。郑州地铁隧道的封锁，让死亡人数直到现在也没有眉目。石门洪灾里那些被强制撤回的志愿者和被没收的视频，令我们至今不能得知那些村庄里究竟发生了什么。

温暖的社会像是个健康的有机体，有感受到痛苦的神经系统。要是信息传递被人为阻断，社会就失去了对自身处境的感知——它仍然能动，但它感觉不到自己在流血，不知道自己受到了什么样的伤害。

网民们问得真好：”私自赈灾等同谋反？”

这个问题的答案，在通报发出的那一刻其实很清楚了。

在中国当下的治理逻辑里，一个拿着摄像机的志愿者，比一场洪水更需要被管控。因为洪水过去之后什么都不会留下，而一段真实的视频，可能永远留在互联网上。还有什么东西能比真相更让中国政府害怕呢？

编辑：张宇 校对：程筱筱 翻译：戈冰

Approval Before Rescue, Photography as a Felony

—Seeing the True Logic of China’s Disaster Governance Through the Shimen Flood

Author: Zhou Min

On May 17, 2026, Shimen County, Changde City, Hunan Province, was struck by a catastrophic flood. Three hydropower stations were breached and washed away by the floodwaters, and downstream villages were razed to the ground. Local residents reported an extreme shortage of supplies, and the actual death toll may far exceed the official figure of seven. Right as this disaster unfolded, the Yichuan, Yiyang, and Songxian teams of the Henan Province Blue Sky Rescue League—entirely comprised of volunteers traveling at their own expense and equipped with their own gear—rushed to the disaster area overnight.

On May 22, the Supervisory Department of the Henan Province Blue Sky Rescue League issued a notice using severe wording: The aforementioned three teams “failed to report and obtain approval, and without authorization, proceeded to Changde, Hunan, to carry out rescue operations.” Furthermore, at the Shimen toll station, they “unauthorizedly filmed and published videos, triggering online public opinion and causing an extremely adverse social impact, which severely damaged the brand image of Blue Sky Rescue.” The resulting punishment: The entire personnel were ordered to withdraw, and the full teams were issued written warnings.

Please note the two parallel charges in the official notice: first, going to rescue people, and second, filming videos. In this document, the severity of these two actions is treated as entirely equal.

Negative Public Opinion Is More Dangerous Than the Flood

Founded in 2007, the Blue Sky Rescue League is one of China’s largest non-governmental public welfare rescue organizations, guided by the team motto: “Speak less, do more, and contribute silently.” This team has played a critical role in numerous major disasters. This time, however, the punishment they face did not come from the floodwaters, but precisely from their own superiors—an organization deeply woven into the official emergency management system.

The notice explicitly demands that all cross-regional rescues must follow the sequence of “report first, obtain approval next, and deploy only thereafter,” while strictly “prohibiting the unauthorized filming and dissemination of on-site visual materials, or the creation of negative public opinion.”

“The creation of negative public opinion”—these few words are the key to understanding the entire incident.

The extreme shortage of supplies in the disaster area, entire villages submerged, and official death tolls severely detached from reality—these constitute the true “negative” reality. Yet, what this notice seeks to eliminate is not the reality itself, but the footage and information regarding that reality. In other words, the videos captured by the volunteers became incriminating evidence precisely because they revealed the truth.

I wonder if anyone has noticed a critical point regarding this flood: local victims reported that the county government failed to notify villagers to evacuate in advance, discharging floodwaters without any early warning and triggering a severe deluge. Three hydropower stations were breached and washed away, downstream village houses were swept away by the floodwaters, and supplies in the disaster area were in extreme short supply. The official announcement stated 7 dead and 14 missing, but local residents indicated that the actual casualties might far exceed official numbers, stating that “some entire villages were completely wiped out.” This makes the phrase “caused an extremely adverse social impact” in the notice quite thought-provoking—did the act of rescue itself cause the impact, or was it the filming and dissemination of the real footage from the disaster area that generated the “public opinion storm”?

This Is Neither the First Time, Nor Will It Be the Last

The Shimen flood is not an isolated case; it is a script that has been staged multiple times across the land of China.

In December 2019, Wuhan doctor Li Wenliang forwarded warning information about an unexplained pneumonia in a classmate group chat. He was immediately summoned by the police, forced to sign and fingerprint a letter of admonition, and his actions were categorized as “spreading untruthful information.” Three weeks later, Wuhan was locked down. A few months later, Li Wenliang passed away at the age of 34 due to contracting the novel coronavirus. What he had warned about was precisely the virus that would later claim millions of lives. His crime was merely telling the truth ahead of time.

In July 2021, during the Zhengzhou torrential rainstorm, vehicles inside the Jingguang North Road Tunnel were submerged, and multiple people lost their lives. The site was immediately cordoned off by military and police forces, and photography was strictly prohibited. Phoenix Television journalist Hu Ling posted on Weibo, recording that “the entire Zhengzhou Jingguang Tunnel is under martial law, and no photography is allowed”; the post was deleted shortly thereafter. Concurrently, a Tencent Docs rescue information sheet, spontaneously established by grassroots volunteers, was updated more than 270 times within 24 hours, assuming the function of coordinating rescue efforts at a moment when official channels had failed.

Three different disasters, yet they engendered an identical pattern: the very first thing to be suppressed was not the catastrophe or the chaos, but the information regarding the truth of the catastrophe.

Are Approval Procedures a Coordination Mechanism, or a Filter?

The official defense is not entirely without reason. Cross-regional rescue operations do indeed require coordination to avoid resource duplication and road congestion; this is a fundamental principle of modern emergency management. The headquarters of the Blue Sky Rescue League also emphasized that the purpose of “reporting first and obtaining approval next” is to ensure unified dispatch and support based on actual needs.

But can this defense hold ground in the case of Shimen? Let us take a look: the focus of the notice lands squarely on “filming videos.” If the real problem were chaotic rescue coordination, the punishment would certainly be clearly targeted at operational disorder, would it not? Yet, the notice specifically lists “unauthorizedly filming and disseminating on-site visual materials” as an independent charge. This demonstrates that what truly unsettled the superiors was fundamentally not that the volunteers’ boots were caked in the mud of the disaster area, but that their lenses were aimed at the reality of the disaster area.

The function assumed by the approval procedure here is: superficially a rescue coordination mechanism, but substantively an information-filtering funnel. The two are bound together, impossible to separate. If you want to go and save people, you must first accept this system of filtering.

The Immune System of Society Is Atrophying

When confronting disasters, any society requires two capabilities: first, the capability to mobilize and rescue; second, the capability to perceive and feedback. The former requires organization and resources; the latter requires the free flow of information.

China does not lack the first capability. Whether it is the People’s Liberation Army, the fire services, or the national rescue teams, their speed of mobilization during major disasters is deeply impressive. But the second capability—the society’s capability for self-perception and self-correction—has been comprehensively and maximally compressed from start to finish. If Li Wenliang’s warning had actually been heeded, the timeline of the spread of COVID-19 would be completely different. The lockdown of the Zhengzhou subway tunnel has left the death toll without any clear answer to this day. In the Shimen flood, those volunteers who were forcibly withdrawn and the videos that were confiscated prevent us from knowing, even to this day, what exactly happened in those villages.

A warm society resembles a healthy organism, possessing a nervous system that feels pain. If the transmission of information is artificially blocked, society loses the perception of its own situation—it can still move, but it cannot feel that it is bleeding, and it does not know what kind of harm it has suffered.

Netizens asked so well: “Is unauthorized disaster relief equivalent to rebellion?”

The answer to this question, at the moment the notice was issued, was actually very clear.

Within the current governance logic of China, a volunteer holding a camera needs to be controlled far more than a flood. Because after the flood passes, it leaves nothing behind, whereas a piece of real footage might remain on the internet forever. What else could make the Chinese government more afraid than the truth?

Editor: Zhang Yu

Proofreader: Cheng Xiaoxiao

Translator: Ge Bing

作者：关永杰

2026年5月31日，来自中国民主人权联盟、中国民主党及当地民主人士等十余人，在美国加州圣荷西市政厅前举行集会，声援中国异议人士董广平，并恳请加拿大政府尽快给予其政治庇护身份，使其能够与已定居加拿大的家人团聚。

活动由中国民主人权联盟北加州负责人李海风等人发起。李海风在开场发言中介绍了董广平的经历，并表示此次活动虽在美国举行，但声援不受地域限制，只要发出声音，世界各地都能听见。

据介绍，董广平出生于1958年，河南郑州人，曾担任警察。1999年因公开声援“六四”而被开除公职。此后，他长期参与民主维权活动，多次因政治原因遭到拘押和判刑。2001年因参与民主活动被判刑三年；2014年参加纪念“六四”活动后再次遭到关押。董广平在出狱后并未停止追求民主与自由，而是持续进行抗争。2015年，他携家人离开中国前往泰国，当时加拿大已同意向其提供庇护，但在中共当局施压下，泰国警方将其遣返回中国，其家人则先行抵达加拿大。此后多年间，董广平不断尝试离开中国，与家人团聚。他曾尝试游泳前往台湾金门，也曾经由越南出逃，但均遭挫折并再次被遣返。今年5月25日，68岁的董广平驾驶皮划艇从山东烟台出发，横渡黄海抵达韩国，再次引发国际社会关注。李海风表示，数百公里的海上航程充满危险，对于一位年近七旬的老人而言，需要极大的勇气和决心。他认为，支撑董广平一次次逃离中国的，是对自由的向往以及与家人团聚的强烈愿望。

李海风还透露，据维权人士盛雪传来的消息，加拿大方面已经传出积极信号，董广平获得庇护身份“应当没有问题”，但最终官方文件尚未公布。因此，集会参与者仍希望通过公开声援，向加拿大政府表达支持，也让远在韩国的董广平及其在加拿大的家人感受到来自海外民众的关心与支持。

活动期间，中国民主党人士马相平带来了自己亲笔书写的声援标语，并发表感言说：“自由对于许多人来说是与生俱来的，而对他来说却需要拼尽全力，甚至要用生命去争取。68岁的他独自驾驶一艘小小的皮划艇，从中国海岸出发，穿越茫茫黄海，在惊涛骇浪与黑夜之中漂泊了三十多个小时，没有护航，没有退路，只有一个坚定的方向，因为在海的那一边有他向往已久的自由世界。当一个人宁愿把生命交给大海，也不愿意继续留在中共这个牢笼之中，这趟远航便不再是一次简单的逃离，而是一场关于勇气、信念和尊严的抗争。有人跨越山河去寻找财富，有人跨越国境去追寻梦想，而他跨越生死只为投奔自由。这一段真实的人生传奇，一次用生命完成的远航，世界上最遥远的距离不是海的彼岸，而是从恐惧走向自由。”

多位与会者随后发言，对董广平长期坚持民主抗争、追求自由的精神表达敬意。

中国民主党成员惠汝涛回顾了董广平数十年来的维权历程。他表示，董广平出身于官员家庭，曾经当过兵和警察，但最终选择站在良知与正义一边。无论是因纪念“六四”而遭受迫害，还是后来多次尝试逃离中国，都体现出他对民主、法治和人权理念的坚定坚持。

活动发起人之一张勇则指出，董广平原本属于体制内人士，家庭条件优越，可以说是共产党体制中的既得利益者。然而，他在认清中共本质后，选择站到人民一边，为民主自由持续抗争，最终失去了工作、家庭团聚和国内的一切根基，却始终没有放弃自己的信念。他认为，这种精神尤其令人敬佩。

陈伟文、杨坤等与会者则从个人感受出发，表达了对董广平勇气的钦佩。陈伟文回顾自己当年在国内开始“网络翻墙”时那突然之间的信念崩塌，夹杂着惊讶、恐惧与绝望，但从未有董先生这样的勇气，董先生多次冒死出逃，这次同样是冒着生命危险横渡一望无边的黄海，说明其对中共政府现状已经彻底绝望，也体现出对自由的强烈渴望。杨坤还分享了自己疫情期间骑自行车从上海返回河南与家人团聚的经历，认为董广平为追求自由和与家人团聚所付出的代价远超常人想象。

何冬玲表示，无论政治立场如何，人们都应尊重每个人追求自由、尊严和表达权利的基本权利。她呼吁相关政府部门本着人道主义原则，公平、公正地审理董广平的庇护申请。

张辉、杨宗阔、盛虎等发言者则认为，董广平事件不仅是个人遭遇，更反映了中国异议人士长期面临的政治压力和人权困境。他们表示，越来越多的人“用脚投票”，试图离开中国，反映出中共专制统治所带来的深层问题。董广平作为曾经的警察和体制内人士，仍然坚持公开纪念“六四”、表达政治观点，并因此长期遭受打压，其经历具有象征意义。

发言者们普遍表示，希望韩国政府能够保障董广平的人身安全，不将其遣返回中国，并期待他能够尽快前往加拿大，与家人团聚。

活动结束前，李海风再次重申了当天集会的主题——“恳请加拿大政府给予董广平政治庇护身份”。他感谢所有参与者到场发声，并表示每一次公开表达都将成为历史记录的一部分。与会者随后在圣荷西市政厅前合影留念，为此次声援活动画上句号。

编辑：钟然

校对：孔祥庆

翻译：戈冰

San Jose Rally Calls on Canada to Grant Asylum to Dong Guangping

By Guan Yongjie

Abstract: On May 31, 2026, democracy activists in the Bay Area held a rally in San Jose to voice their support for Dong Guangping. They called upon the Canadian government to grant him political asylum as soon as possible, safeguard his security, and facilitate an early reunion with his family, who have already settled in Canada.

On May 31, 2026, more than ten individuals from the China Coalition for Democracy and Human Rights, the China Democracy Party, and local democratic circles held a rally in front of City Hall in San Jose, California, USA. The gathering was organized to voice support for the Chinese dissident Dong Guangping and to earnestly request the Canadian government to grant him political asylum status as soon as possible, enabling him to reunite with his family who have already settled in Canada.

The event was initiated by figures including Li Haifeng, the head of the Northern California branch of the China Coalition for Democracy and Human Rights. In his opening remarks, Li Haifeng introduced Dong Guangping’s background and stated that although this event was being held in the United States, solidarity knows no geographical boundaries; as long as a voice is raised, it can be heard across the world.

According to reports, Dong Guangping was born in 1958 and is a native of Zhengzhou, Henan Province. He formerly served as a police officer. In 1999, he was dismissed from his public office for publicly voicing support for “June Fourth.” Since then, he has long participated in democratic and rights-defense activities, and has been detained and sentenced multiple times for political reasons. In 2001, he was sentenced to three years in prison for his involvement in democratic activities; in 2014, he was detained again after participating in an event commemorating “June Fourth.”

Following his release from prison, Dong Guangping did not cease his pursuit of democracy and freedom, but instead continued his resistance. In 2015, he left China with his family and traveled to Thailand. At that time, Canada had already agreed to grant him asylum; however, under pressure from the Chinese Communist authorities, the Thai police forcibly repatriated him to China, while his family members managed to arrive in Canada ahead of him.

In the years that followed, Dong Guangping made continuous attempts to leave China and reunite with his family. He once attempted to swim to Kinmen, Taiwan, and had also escaped via Vietnam, but both efforts met with setbacks and resulted in him being repatriated once again. On May 25 of this year, the 68-year-old Dong Guangping departed from Yantai, Shandong Province, in a kayak and crossed the Yellow Sea to arrive in South Korea, once again drawing the attention of the international community.

Li Haifeng stated that the sea voyage spanning hundreds of kilometers was fraught with danger, and for an elderly man nearing the age of seventy, it required immense courage and determination. He believes that what sustained Dong Guangping through his repeated escapes from China was his yearning for freedom and his profound desire to be reunited with his family.

Li Haifeng also revealed that according to information conveyed by rights activist Sheng Xue, positive signals have already emerged from the Canadian side, and it “should not be a problem” for Dong Guangping to secure asylum status, though the final official documentation has not yet been publicly released. Consequently, the participants of the rally still hope, through their public show of solidarity, to express their support to the Canadian government, and to ensure that Dong Guangping far away in South Korea, along with his family in Canada, can feel the care and support coming from the overseas public.

During the event, Ma Xiangping, a member of the China Democracy Party, brought a solidarity banner written in his own handwriting and shared his reflections, saying: “For many people, freedom is an inherent birthright, but for him, it requires exerting every ounce of his strength, and even risking his life to strive for it. At 68 years old, he steered a tiny kayak all by himself, departing from the Chinese coast and crossing the vast Yellow Sea. He drifted for over thirty hours amidst turbulent waves and the dark of night—with no escort, and no path of retreat, guided only by one steadfast direction, because on the other side of the ocean lies the free world he has yearned for so long. When a person would rather entrust his life to the sea than continue to remain inside the cage of the CCP, this long voyage is no longer a simple escape, but a struggle defined by courage, conviction, and dignity. Some cross mountains and rivers in search of wealth, some cross national borders to pursue dreams, but he crossed life and death just to seek freedom. This is a true living legend, a long voyage fulfilled at the risk of one’s life; the furthest distance in the world is not the opposite shore of an ocean, but the journey from fear toward freedom.”

Multiple attendees spoke subsequently, expressing their profound respect for Dong Guangping’s long-standing perseverance in the democratic struggle and his spirit in the pursuit of freedom.

Hui Rutao, a member of the China Democracy Party, reviewed Dong Guangping’s decades-long journey of defending human rights. He stated that Dong Guangping came from a family of officials and had previously served in the military and as a police officer, yet he ultimately chose to stand on the side of conscience and justice. Whether through suffering persecution for commemorating “June Fourth,” or through his multiple subsequent attempts to escape China, his actions consistently reflect his steadfast commitment to the ideals of democracy, the rule of law, and human rights.

Zhang Yong, one of the initiators of the event, pointed out that Dong Guangping was originally an individual “inside the system” who enjoyed excellent family conditions and could be considered a vested interest beneficiary within the Communist Party apparatus. However, after recognizing the true nature of the CCP, he chose to align himself with the people and engage in a continuous struggle for democracy and freedom. Consequently, he lost his job, his family reunion, and all of his foundations within China, yet he never once abandoned his convictions. Zhang Yong emphasized that this spirit is particularly admirable.

Attendees such as Chen Weiwen and Yang Kun shared their personal perspectives to express their admiration for Dong Guangping’s courage. Chen Weiwen recalled the sudden collapse of his own beliefs when he first began “flipping the wall” on the internet while in China—a moment compounded by astonishment, fear, and despair. Yet, he noted that he never possessed the kind of courage shown by Mr. Dong. Mr. Dong has risked his life to flee multiple times, and this latest endeavor of braving mortal peril to cross the boundless Yellow Sea demonstrates that he has reached a state of absolute despair regarding the current reality of the CCP government, while simultaneously reflecting his intense thirst for freedom. Yang Kun also shared his own experience of riding a bicycle from Shanghai back to Henan during the pandemic lockdown to reunite with his family, noting that the price Dong Guangping paid in his pursuit of freedom and family reunion far exceeds what ordinary people can comprehend.

He Dongling stated that regardless of political stance, people should respect every individual’s fundamental rights to pursue freedom, dignity, and the right to expression. She called upon the relevant government departments to review Dong Guangping’s asylum application in a fair and just manner, in accordance with humanitarian principles.

Speakers such as Zhang Hui, Yang Zongkuo, and Sheng Hu expressed the view that the Dong Guangping incident is not merely an individual ordeal, but rather reflects the long-standing political pressure and human rights plight faced by Chinese dissidents. They stated that an increasing number of people are “voting with their feet” in attempts to leave China, which reflects the deep-seated problems brought about by the CCP’s authoritarian rule. As a former police officer and an individual who was once “inside the system,” Dong Guangping nevertheless persisted in publicly commemorating “June Fourth” and expressing his political views, consequently enduring long-term suppression; thus, his experience carries profound symbolic significance.

The speakers generally expressed their hope that the South Korean government will safeguard Dong Guangping’s personal safety, refrain from repatriating him to China, and anticipated that he will be able to travel to Canada as soon as possible to reunite with his family.

Before the conclusion of the event, Li Haifeng reiterated once again the core theme of the day’s rally—”earnestly requesting the Canadian government to grant Dong Guangping political asylum status.” He thanked all participants for coming forward to raise their voices, stating that every instance of public expression will become a part of the historical record. The attendees subsequently gathered in front of San Jose City Hall for a group commemorative photo, bringing the solidarity event to a close.

Edited by Zhong Ran | Proofread by Kong Xiangqing | Translated by Ge Bing

作者：黄维克

“六四”之前

那是1989年初春，北京的天气依然刺骨。 我刚在北大一位老师家中做完客，打电话叫“首汽”出租车来接。对方一听是“北京大学”，立刻沉默，然后挂断。 无奈，我只得步行出校。谁知刚到大门口，就听见前方一片嘈杂，人群汹涌，许多是北大、清华的学生。 他们穿得极为单薄，脚上一双解放牌球鞋，有的连袜子都没有。站在寒风中，瑟瑟发抖，真可以说是“衣着寒颤”。 游行队伍正朝城里进发，抗议几天前悼念胡耀邦的学生，在天安门纪念碑前被捕。 队伍最前方是各国记者，镜头与照明灯照亮了，北京郊区昏暗的街道。第一排的学生举着手，比出“V”字母胜利手势。 我没有别的选择，只能默默地随着人群前行。 走到人民大学门口时，队伍短暂停了下来。人群爆发出一阵高喊：“人大的，出来！” 更多“人大”同学加入了“北大、清华”的队伍。 几位看起来是学生领头的人拿着小纸条，似乎在统一口号。我记得其中一句是：“还我战友！” 还有的就是：“反对官倒”、“人民不再沉默”、…… 队伍继续沿着白石桥路前行，到了双榆树，已接近北三环，也临近我常驻的友谊宾馆。忽然，前方一阵骚动。 几百名穿制服的人列阵路中，堵住了去路。那时，他们的制服好像已经不再叫“公安”，改叫“警察”了。 庞大的队伍被迫停下，后面的人还不清楚前方发生了什么事，只听到有人沿着人群高喊：“谁愿意加入敢死队！” 显然，政府的立场是明确的：不允许学生进入市区，只能沿着环城路绕行。 大约半小时后，一支临时组织起来的“敢死队”，排成了一个方阵。学生们手挽着手，神情坚定，摆出一副“视死如归”的姿态 。 这时，大家高唱起《义勇军进行曲》：“起来！不愿做奴隶的人 …… ” 警察第一排没有携带武器，身着整齐制服，肩带与腰带在夜色中反射出冰冷的白光。警察身后藏着什么秘密？ 而对面，学生们衣衫单薄，脸庞被寒风吹得通红。地面白茫茫的大雪，照得学生们的面孔格外清晰。 我爬上一处花坛，试图看清警察阵列背后有什么，但视野所及仍是一片模糊。身旁有人悄声说：“后面有机关枪。” 就在这时，最前方的学生方阵开始缓缓向前推进。我屏住了呼吸，…… 那一刻空气仿佛凝固了，连历史都屏住了呼吸。 眼看就要与警察撞上了 —— 突然警察队伍像潮水一样向两侧散开，让出一条通道。学生队缓缓地走了过去。

“六四”当天

“李鹏中枪” —— 那几天流传最离谱的一条“爆炸新闻”。那时还没有互联网，香港也谣言满天飞。 那个周末我不用上班，可以说连续两天两夜没有睡觉。六四惨案爆发后，全香港自发“罢市”一天。我宣布管理的公司停业三天，顺便补点瞌睡。 家里早早准备了足够的食物，把书房的电视机搬到客厅，手上握着两个遥控器，桌上摊着五六份中英文报纸，电话听筒随时举起，整个客厅成了作战指挥中心。 那时候我朋友圈里流行一句“老话”：“一有风吹草动，海内外的阶级敌人就蠢蠢欲动。” 香港那时虽有自由未有民主，但我们真心希望大陆的亲友两样都有。 那几天北京早已封城。全世界记者的底片和胶卷都带不出去。幸运的是，天安门广场上刻意扔下了几部移动电话，才有从6月3日到4日不断听到现场的声音。 直到6月4日天亮，才终于看到画面。 记不清是北京饭店还是外交公寓的顶楼，总之有摄影记者在那里拍摄。画面中北京人的勇敢令人落泪：手无寸铁的老百姓，面对着全副武装的野战军。 他们排成一列向前推进，前面有人中弹倒下，后面的人马上冲上去把伤者抬走。没过多久，又继续向前。这下人们终于理解，为什么有人会用肉身去挡坦克。 在屠杀发生前，支持学生的有各种人：首都各部委、中央直属机关的干部、职员、平民百姓，北京的老大爷老太太都在街上，送吃的、送喝的，那就是北京人。 最让人难受的是，香港的记者不断拨打北京各大医院，想确认死伤情况。记者们操着香港口音的普通话，那头是地道的北京腔，两种声音在我耳边至今回响。 我记得特别清楚的是一个电话，是打到我曾经常去的积水潭医院。接电话的是个女护士，声音已经沙哑近乎崩溃： “送来的时候 …… 已经死了…… 满地都是血 …… 快来帮忙吧！” 那个地方我太熟悉了，那里的人我太了解了。那些北京的街道、那些面孔，是我青春里的一部分。 六四之后的几天，从中央到地方、从北京到各省市，社会像被分成了两派。香港坊间也开始流传“兵变”的传闻。 我亲眼看到建国门外的立交桥上，军人与军人之间竟然拔枪相对，有人说是27军与38军对峙。 我当时对自己说：我一定要回去看看 —— 到底发生了什么？ 可几个月之后，当那些血淋淋的照片和影片流传出来，竟然有人说那是好莱坞摄影棚里拍的！

“六四”之后

第二天，全香港爆发了罢市、罢工、罢课。据说那是香港有史以来最大规模的抗议游行，至少有上百万人走上街头。 我记得自己走在游行队伍的前列，身边有不少记者在拍照。队伍中飘扬着青天白日旗，香港人对此也早已习以为常 —— 每年十月，新界的村子里同时飘着两种旗帜。 人群中高举的标语写着：“血债血偿”、“停止屠杀”、“支持学生” …… 口号此起彼伏，如同愤怒的波浪，一浪盖过一浪。 晚上，很多人汇集到港岛中心的维多利亚公园。那里搭起了临时灵台，供市民们静默守夜、低头祈祷，还有不少人席地而坐，进行悼念活动。 接下来的几天，马路上的人们神色哀伤、行色匆匆，仿佛都失去了亲人。 我手头有一张6月8日的机票，从香港飞北京，再去南京。那几天我心里反复挣扎—— 到底还要不要成行？ 那时候没人飞北京，只有人回香港。记得航空公司还让我签了一份“志愿承诺书”。

很多香港朋友都觉得我是去“送死”，但这很符合我的性格 —— 想做的事，总是要去做的。 人这一辈子，总该去做自己认为正确的事情。 北京的朋友劝我不要来，我回答说：“我要见证历史。”南京航空学院的那位在电话里苦劝我：“我们校园里全是坦克，你千万别来。” 但我还是登上了那趟飞机，几乎只有我和空乘人员，没有其他乘客。

飞机落地后，我告诉出租车司机：“我想去天安门广场。”他当场摇头：“绝对不能去！那些戒严部队，真的会开枪。” 在我坚持之下，他只愿意载我到广场附近。那一带已经被封锁，但我还是远远地看到了：地上有坦克的履带印，墙上残留着子弹痕迹，血迹大概已经被清洗了。 整座北京像被掏空一样，街上几乎没有行人。那两天我去了八达岭长城，本想散散心，没想到城墙上也驻守着士兵。 拍照时，有一位年轻士兵轻声问我：“你能不能帮我拍一张照？我想寄给家里的父母。”我犹豫了一下，终究我们还合影了。 回到香港办公室，把胶卷冲洗出来后，同事看到我和解放军士兵的合照，立刻质问我：“你怎么能和屠城部队合影？” 我解释说：“那是驻守北京郊区的农村兵。”

有人建议把照片交给媒体，我拒绝了。 从那以后每年“六四”，我都参加香港维园的烛光晚会。 后来移居加拿大，就改去多伦多大学学生会楼前，那里墙上放着一辆在天安门压坏了的自行车雕塑，令人浮想联翩。

这几年来参加的人越来越少。有人说华人对身份的认同感降低了，也有人说“六四”已经被人遗忘了。

六四，这一天，我永远不会忘记。

这些年，我一直不太愿意多提这些往事。总有人说，嘴巴乱讲话，以后就回不了中国。 我担心见不到年迈的父亲，所以这么多年来，对自己多少还是有一些约束。如今父亲已经离世，那些曾经的顾虑，也随着岁月慢慢远去了。 回头再看，当年那个独自飞往北京的我，虽然有些害怕，却从未犹豫。

作为“六四”这一代的人，何时心灵会得到安慰？ 再倒上一杯威士忌吧。

编辑：黄吉洲 校对：毛一炜 翻译：戈冰

原文请点击链接查看https://x.com/_vicwong/status/1930416971134148791?s=20

From Victoria Park to Tiananmen, From Hong Kong to the Maple Leaf Country: My Memories of June Fourth

By Huang Weike

Before “June Fourth”

It was the early spring of 1989, and the weather in Beijing was still bone-chillingly cold. I had just finished a visit at the home of a professor at Peking University and called a “Shouqi” taxi to pick me up. As soon as the dispatcher heard “Peking University,” they fell into instant silence and then hung up. Left with no alternative, I had to walk out of the campus on foot.

To my surprise, just as I reached the main gate, I heard a massive clamor ahead. A surging crowd had gathered, many of whom were students from Peking University and Tsinghua University. They were dressed extremely thinly, wearing “Jiefang” (Liberation) sneakers on their feet, and some did not even have socks on. Standing in the freezing wind, they were shivering all over; their attire could truly be described as shabby and pitiful.

The demonstration march was heading toward the city center to protest the arrest of students a few days earlier at the Monument to the People’s Heroes in Tiananmen Square, where they had been mourning Hu Yaobang. At the very front of the procession were international journalists, whose camera lenses and spotlights illuminated the dim streets of the Beijing suburbs. The students in the front row held up their hands, making the “V” for victory sign. I had no other choice but to follow the crowd forward in silence.

When we reached the gate of Renmin University of China, the march came to a brief halt. The crowd erupted into a resounding shout: “Students of Renmin U, come out and join us!” More students from Renmin University then streamed out to join the ranks of Peking and Tsinghua universities. A few individuals who appeared to be student leaders held small slips of paper, seemingly coordinating and unifying their slogans. I remember one of the slogans was: “Return my comrades-in-arms!” Others included: “Oppose official profiteering,” “The people will no longer remain silent,” and so forth.

The march continued along Baishiqiao Road. By the time we reached Shuangyushu, we were close to the North Third Ring Road, and also near the Friendship Hotel where I was regularly staying. Suddenly, a commotion broke out at the front. Hundreds of uniformed men were deployed in formation right in the middle of the road, blocking our path. At that time, their uniform designation seemed to have shifted from “Gongan” (Public Security) to “Jingcha” (Police).

The massive procession was forced to a halt. Those at the back did not yet know what was happening ahead, but could only hear someone shouting down the line of the crowd: “Who is willing to join the dare-to-die brigade!” Clearly, the government’s stance was unequivocal: students were forbidden from entering the urban center and were only permitted to detour along the ring roads.

About half an hour later, a temporarily organized “dare-to-die brigade” formed into a tight square phalanx. The students locked arms, their expressions resolute, bearing an attitude of defying death itself. At this moment, everyone began to sing the national anthem, the “March of the Volunteers”: “Arise! Ye who refuse to be slaves…”

The front rank of the police carried no visible weapons. They wore crisp, orderly uniforms, their shoulder straps and belts reflecting a cold white glare in the darkness of the night. What secrets lay hidden behind that wall of police? Directly opposite them, the students stood in their thin garments, their faces flushed red from the biting wind. The vast expanse of white snow covering the ground cast a reflection that made the students’ faces look exceptionally clear.

I climbed onto a flowerbed, trying to catch a glimpse of what was behind the police line, but everything remained a blur as far as my eyes could see. Someone next to me whispered in a hushed tone: “There are machine guns in the back.”

Just then, the foremost student phalanx began to advance forward slowly. I held my breath… at that very instant, the air seemed to congeal, and it felt as though history itself had held its breath. Just when a head-on collision with the police seemed inevitable—suddenly, the police line parted to both sides like an ebbing tide, opening up a passageway. The student column marched through slowly.

Contextual & Historical Notes for English Readers

Li Peng (李鹏): The Premier of the State Council of the People’s Republic of China during the 1989 Tiananmen Square protests. He was widely seen as the hardline political figure behind the declaration of martial law and the subsequent military crackdown.

General Market Strike (罢市 / “Ba Shi”): A form of civil protest common in Hong Kong’s history, where businesses, shops, and markets collectively close down to show political solidarity or express deep public mourning.

“Class Enemies Both at Home and Abroad” (海内外的阶级敌人): A highly charged political idiom rooted in Marxist-Leninist-Maoist rhetoric used extensively by the Chinese Communist Party during political campaigns. The author uses it with a touch of irony to describe how anyone associating with foreign or unorthodox ideas was viewed by the authorities during a crisis.

Diplomatic Residence Compound (外交公寓 / “Waijao Gongyu”): Specifically referring to places like the Jianguomenwai or Qijiayuan Diplomatic Compounds in Beijing. These were guarded residential complexes reserved for foreign diplomats and journalists, offering elevated viewpoints over major thoroughfares (like Chang’an Avenue) and providing a degree of relative safety from which to document the military advance.

Jishuitan Hospital (积水潭医院): Located near the Xizhimen area in Beijing, renowned for its orthopedic and trauma care. During the crackdown, it was one of the major hospitals inundated with victims suffering from gunshot wounds and severe trauma.

Jianguomen (建国门): A major intersection and overpass on the eastern stretch of Chang’an Avenue. It was a strategic entry point for martial law troops moving toward Tiananmen Square and became a flashpoint for military standoffs and civilian resistance.

The 27th Army vs. The 38th Army (27军与38军对峙): A reference to intense rumors of internal military rifts immediately following the crackdown. The 38th Group Army was historically based in Baoding and its commander, Xu Qinxian, famously refused to enforce martial law, leading to local goodwill toward them. The 27th Group Army, brought in from Shijiazhuang, was widely rumored by residents and Hong Kong media to have carried out the most brutal elements of the clearing operations, sparking widespread fears of an armed clash (mutiny) between different military factions on the streets of Beijing.

The Day of “June Fourth”

“Li Peng has been shot”—that was the most outrageous piece of “breaking news” circulating during those days. Back then, the internet did not yet exist, and Hong Kong was flooded with endless rumors. Since I did not have to work that weekend, I went without sleep for virtually two consecutive days and nights. After the June Fourth Massacre erupted, the entirety of Hong Kong spontaneously staged a general market strike for one day. I announced that the company I managed would suspend operations for three days, using the opportunity to catch up on some sleep.

Having prepared an ample supply of food at home well in advance, I moved the television from the study to the living room. Holding two remote controls in my hands, with five or six Chinese and English newspapers spread across the table, and the telephone receiver ready to be picked up at any second, the entire living room transformed into a combat command center. At that time, an “old saying” was highly popular among my circle of friends: “At the slightest rustle of leaves in the wind, class enemies both at home and abroad begin to make their move.” Although Hong Kong possessed freedom but lacked democracy back then, we sincerely hoped that our relatives and friends on the Mainland could have both.

During those days, Beijing had already been placed under a complete lockdown. International journalists could not smuggle out their negatives or film rolls. Fortunately, a few mobile phones had been intentionally left behind in Tiananmen Square, which made it possible to continuously hear the live sounds from the scene from June 3rd to June 4th. It was not until daybreak on June 4th that we finally saw the visual footage.

I cannot recall precisely whether it was filmed from the rooftop of the Beijing Hotel or the Diplomatic Residence Compound, but a photojournalist was definitely there capturing the scenes. The bravery of the Beijing citizens in those frames was heart-wrenching and moving to tears: unarmed, ordinary civilians facing a fully-equipped, combat-ready field army. They advanced in single file; when someone in front was shot and fell, those behind immediately rushed forward to carry the wounded away. Not long after, they continued to push forward. At that moment, people finally understood why some individuals would use their bare bodies to block tanks.

Before the massacre took place, the people supporting the students came from all walks of life: cadres and staff from various capital ministries and commissions, personnel from institutions directly under the Central Committee, ordinary citizens, and the elderly grandpas and grandmas of Beijing. They were all out on the streets, bringing food and water—that was the true essence of the people of Beijing. What felt most agonizing was listening to Hong Kong reporters continuously calling major hospitals in Beijing to confirm the casualties. The journalists spoke in Hong Kong-accented Mandarin while the other end responded in authentic Beijing dialect; those two distinct voices still echo in my ears to this day.

One phone call stands out with absolute clarity—it was placed to Jishuitan Hospital, a place I used to visit frequently. A female nurse answered the phone, her voice already hoarse and on the verge of collapse: “When they were brought in… they were already dead… there is blood all over the floor… please, come and help!” I was all too familiar with that place, and I knew the people there all too well. Those Beijing streets and those faces constitute a defining part of my youth.

In the days following June Fourth, from the central government down to local authorities, and from Beijing to various provinces and municipalities, society seemed to be fractured into two opposing factions. Rumors of a “military mutiny” also began to spread through the streets of Hong Kong. I saw with my own eyes, on the overpass outside Jianguomen, soldiers actually drawing weapons against fellow soldiers; some whispered that it was a standoff between the 27th Army and the 38th Army. I said to myself at the time: I must go back and see for myself—what exactly happened? Yet, a few months later, when those blood-stained photographs and video footages began to circulate, some people actually claimed they were filmed in a Hollywood studio!

After “June Fourth”

The next day, a wave of market strikes, labor strikes, and student strikes erupted across Hong Kong. It was said to be the largest protest demonstration in Hong Kong’s history, with at least a million people taking to the streets. I remember walking at the very front of the procession, with numerous reporters around taking photographs. The “Blue Sky with a White Sun” flags fluttered within the crowd, a sight Hong Kong citizens had long been accustomed to—every October, both types of flags would fly simultaneously in the villages of the New Territories.

The banners held high among the crowd read: “Blood Demands Blood,” “Stop the Massacre,” “Support the Students,” and so forth. Slogans rose and fell one after another like waves of fury, each cresting higher than the last.

In the evening, a massive crowd converged at Victoria Park in the heart of Hong Kong Island. A temporary memorial altar had been erected there, providing a place for citizens to hold a silent vigil, bow their heads in prayer, or sit on the ground to participate in the mourning activities.

Over the next few days, people on the streets bore expressions of deep sorrow and moved in a hurried rush, looking as though they had all lost their own family members. I held a plane ticket for June 8th, scheduled to fly from Hong Kong to Beijing, and then onward to Nanjing. During those days, I struggled intensely with my inner thoughts—should I still make this trip?

At that time, no one was flying to Beijing; people were only fleeing back to Hong Kong. I remember the airline even required me to sign a “Voluntary Waiver and Commitment Form.” Many of my Hong Kong friends felt I was going there just to throw my life away, but this was highly characteristic of my personality—if it is something I want to do, I will always go out and do it. In a person’s life, one must ultimately do what one believes is right.

My friends in Beijing urged me not to come, but I replied, “I want to witness history.” A contact at the Nanjing Aeronautical Institute pleaded with me desperately over the phone: “Our campus is completely filled with tanks, you must absolutely not come.” Yet, I still boarded that flight. It was nearly empty, occupied only by myself and the flight crew, with no other passengers.

When the plane landed, I told the taxi driver, “I want to go to Tiananmen Square.” He shook his head instantly: “You absolutely cannot go! Those martial law troops will truly open fire.” Under my persistence, he was only willing to drive me near the vicinity of the square. That entire area had been cordoned off, but I could still see it from a distance: there were tank tread marks left on the ground, bullet holes remaining on the walls, though the bloodstains had likely already been washed clean.

The entirety of Beijing felt as though it had been completely hollowed out; there were virtually no pedestrians on the streets. Over those two days, I visited the Badaling Great Wall, hoping to clear my mind, but to my surprise, soldiers were stationed along the ramparts there as well.

While I was taking pictures, a young soldier quietly asked me, “Could you take a photo for me? I want to mail it to my parents back home.” I hesitated for a moment, but in the end, we took a photo together.

When I returned to the Hong Kong office and developed the film roll, a colleague saw the photo of me standing with the People’s Liberation Army soldier and immediately questioned me sharply: “How could you take a photo with the troops that slaughtered the city?” I explained, “Those are peasant soldiers stationed in the rural outskirts of Beijing.” Someone suggested handing the photographs over to the media, but I refused.

From then on, every single year on “June Fourth,” I participated in the candlelit vigils at Hong Kong’s Victoria Park. Later, after moving to Canada, I shifted to gathering in front of the University of Toronto Student Union building, where a sculpture of a bicycle crushed in Tiananmen stands on the wall, evoking a flood of thoughts and imagery.

In recent years, the number of attendees has grown smaller and smaller. Some say that the sense of identity among ethnic Chinese has diminished, while others say that “June Fourth” has simply been forgotten by people.

June Fourth. This day, I will never forget.

For many years, I have been quite reluctant to bring up these past events frequently. People always said that if your mouth speaks recklessly, you will not be able to return to China in the future. I was worried about not being able to see my aging father, so for all those years, I placed a certain degree of restraint upon myself. Now that my father has passed away, those former worries have slowly drifted away with the passage of time.

Looking back now, the version of myself who flew alone to Beijing all those years ago may have felt a bit of fear, but never once hesitated.

As a member of the “June Fourth” generation, when will our souls finally find solace?

Let us pour another glass of whisky.

Edited by Huang Jizhou | Proofread by Mao Yiwei | Translated by Ge Bing

Please click the link to view the original text:

https://x.com/_vicwong/status/1930416971134148791?s=20

作者：陈森锋

        1989年的六四民主运动，是中国近代史上最重要、也最惨痛的历史转折之一。

        那一年，中国本来有机会走向更开放、更文明、更接近现代民主政治的道路。学生走上街头，市民走上街头，他们提出的不是暴力对抗，也不是颠覆国家，而是反腐败、要自由、要新闻开放、要政治改革，要求政府正面回应人民的声音。

        面对这些手无寸铁的学生和市民，中共最高实际掌权者邓小平没有选择对话，没有选择尊重民意，而是把和平请愿定性为“动乱”，最后用军队、坦克和实弹，把中国人追求自由民主的希望碾碎在北京街头。

        这就是邓小平在六四中的历史角色：他不是旁观者，不是被蒙蔽者，不是事后才知道的人，而是最高政治拍板者，是武力镇压的最高责任人

  胡耀邦去世后，学生自发悼念，很快发展成全国性的民主诉求。学生要求反腐败、反官倒、新闻自由、政治改革。这些要求放在任何正常国家，都是政府应该认真面对的问题。可是中共政权面对人民最基本的政治诉求，第一反应不是反省，而是恐惧。

        4月25日前后，李鹏、杨尚昆等人向邓小平汇报学生运动情况。邓小平没有把学生看成国家未来的一代青年，没有把民众的愤怒看成社会矛盾的警钟，而是把这场运动上升到所谓“反党反社会主义”的高度。随后，《人民日报》发表“四二六社论”，把学生运动定性为“动乱”。

        这一步极其关键。

        一旦把学生说成“动乱”，就等于为下一步镇压制造政治借口。中共最惯用的手法，就是先在舆论上把人民污名化，再在行动上对人民下重手。邓小平在六四问题上的第一大罪，就是亲手推动了这种政治定性，把一场爱国、反腐、要求民主改革的群众运动，污蔑成威胁政权的敌对行动。

        这不是简单的判断失误，这是独裁者面对人民觉醒时的本能反应。

        到了5月，学生绝食，天安门广场聚集大量学生、市民和声援者。北京街头不是暴乱现场，而是一个民族在沉默多年后终于发出的政治呐喊。很多人并不是为了个人利益，而是希望中国不要继续在专制、腐败、特权和谎言中沉沦。

        当时中共内部并非没有另一种选择。赵紫阳主张缓和局势，主张对话，反对用暴力解决问题。可是邓小平不接受这条路。作为中共最高实际掌权者，他最终选择站在强硬派一边，选择戒严，选择调动军队，选择用枪口对准人民。

        5月17日前后，关于是否戒严、是否调军队进京的决定，在邓小平等中共元老主导下形成。5月20日，北京正式戒严。这个决定标志着中共已经不再把学生和市民当作可以沟通的人民，而是当作必须压服的对象。

        戒严之后，军队第一次进京受阻。大量北京市民拦住军车，给士兵送水、讲道理，劝他们不要镇压学生。那一幕说明，当时站出来的不只是学生，而是整个城市的良知。北京市民用身体挡住军队，不是为了制造动乱，而是为了保护学生，为了阻止国家机器对人民开枪。

        可是邓小平没有因此回头。

        他没有问一句：为什么这么多市民愿意冒险保护学生？

        他没有问一句：中国人民为什么会如此不满？

        他没有问一句：一个执政党如果要靠军队才能面对青年学生，这个政权到底出了什么问题？

        他选择的是继续调兵，继续加压，继续把事情推向流血结局。

        6月2日前后，清场的最后决定形成。随后，大批戒严部队向北京城内推进。6月3日晚到6月4日凌晨，枪声响起，坦克开进城市，军队向手无寸铁的学生和市民开火。长安街、木樨地、西单、天安门周边，许多普通人倒在枪口之下。有人只是围观，有人只是劝阻，有人只是想救人，有人只是站在街头表达自己的政治立场。

        他们面对的是国家军队，是本应保卫人民的军队。可是那一夜，人民解放军成了镇压人民的工具。枪口没有对准外敌，而是对准自己的学生、市民和纳税人。

        这是六四最大的罪恶。

        更可耻的是，六四之后，邓小平没有认错，没有道歉，没有追责镇压者，反而公开接见戒严部队，称他们经受住了“考验”，继续把人民的抗争污蔑为“反革命暴乱”。他悼念的是执行镇压的一方，而不是被打死、被碾压、被追捕、被判刑的普通中国人。

        这说明邓小平不是一时误判，而是从头到尾都站在独裁政权一边。他关心的不是人民生命，不是国家未来，不是中国是否能走向民主文明，而是中共政权是否能继续稳固。

        有人说邓小平推动了改革开放，因此不能仅以六四评价其历史地位。这种说法回避了最根本的问题：经济改革不能抵消屠杀人民的罪行。一个人即使推动过经济发展，也没有权力下令军队镇压学生和市民。高速公路、工厂、外资、GDP，都不能洗白天安门前后的血。

        邓小平所谓“让一部分人先富起来”，从制度结果看，本身就是一个巨大的陷阱。在一党专政、没有民主监督、没有新闻自由、没有司法独立的体制下，最容易先富起来的不是普通百姓，而是掌握政策、资源、土地、金融和审批权的权贵集团。所谓“先富带后富”，最后变成了权贵先富、官商勾结、红色家族和白手套转移财富，普通百姓却长期承受高房价、低工资、债务、失业和社会保障不足的压力。

        更根本的问题在于，邓小平先用坦克镇压人民争取民主的权利，再用经济发展给人民画饼：你们不要政治权利，只要安心赚钱就行。可是人民没有政治权利，怎么保障自己的财富权利？没有选票，没有新闻自由，没有独立法院，没有真正的宪政法治，人民所谓的财产随时可能被权力夺走。独裁体制下，人的生命都不真正属于自己，财富又怎么可能真正属于自己？

        所以，邓小平留下的不是自由市场，而是党国控制下的权贵资本主义；不是共同富裕，而是特权集团先富、普通人民被收割；不是现代文明国家的道路，而是用经济增长掩盖政治奴役的专制模式。

        六四不只是一次屠杀，也是一场历史路线的终结。

        邓小平毁掉的，不只是1989年那一代学生的生命和命运，也毁掉了中国和平转型的重大机会。如果当时中共选择对话、选择让步、选择政治改革，中国完全可能走向另一条道路：新闻可以逐步开放，权力可以逐步受到监督，腐败可以被制度约束，人民可以有真正的政治参与。

        可是邓小平选择了坦克。

        他用枪声告诉中国人：共产党可以改革经济，但绝不允许人民分享政治权力；共产党可以谈开放，但权力一旦受到挑战，就会毫不犹豫地杀人。

        这就是邓小平留给中国的真正政治遗产。

        六四之后，中共用谎言封锁真相，用审查删除记忆，用监控压制纪念，用恐惧迫使人民沉默。遇难者家属几十年不能公开悼念，幸存者长期被监控，流亡者无法回国，年轻一代在墙内甚至不知道1989年北京发生过什么。

        一个政权连死难者名字都害怕，说明它知道自己有罪。一个政府连蜡烛、鲜花、纪念日都要封杀，说明它的统治建立在血债和谎言之上。

        邓小平在六四中的罪责，不能因为时间流逝而被淡化，也不能因为中共宣传机器长期洗地而被改写。他不是所谓“伟人晚年犯错”，而是在关键历史时刻选择用军队镇压人民的独裁者。他亲手把中国从可能的政治改革道路上拖回专制轨道，把学生和市民的和平诉求变成血流成河的国家罪案。

        对手无寸铁的学生和市民开枪，是不可饶恕的罪。

        用坦克碾碎人民追求自由的希望，是不可饶恕的罪。

        事后继续污蔑死难者、赞扬镇压者，更是不可饶恕的罪。

        六四是中共永远洗不掉的血债。邓小平作为最高拍板者，必须被钉在历史的耻辱柱上。

        他不是中国民主的改革者，而是中国民主机会的毁灭者。

        他不是所谓民族功臣，而是镇压人民的民族败类。

        他不是值得纪念的伟人，而是六四屠夫、千古罪人。

        历史可以被中共暂时封锁，但不可能永远被埋葬。死难者的名字终有一天会被公开记住，屠杀者的责任终有一天会被追究。六四不是过去式，而是中国人必须面对的真相。

        忘记六四，就是纵容屠杀。

        美化邓小平，就是侮辱死难者。

        只要天安门的血债没有追责，邓小平“六四屠夫”的历史定性就永远不能改变。

编辑：钟然

校对：王滨

翻译：沈美花

Never Forget the 37th Anniversary of June Fourth:Deng Xiaoping — Butcher of June Fourth and Sinner Before History

Author: Chen Senfeng

Abstract: This article reviews the June Fourth Democracy Movement of 1989 and the subsequent crackdown, analyzes Deng Xiaoping’s role in the decision-making process, criticizes his choice to end a historic opportunity for political reform through military force, and examines the profound impact of the June Fourth Incident on China’s political development.

The June Fourth Democracy Movement of 1989 was one of the most important—and most tragic—turning points in modern Chinese history.

That year, China had an opportunity to move toward a path that was more open, more civilized, and closer to modern democratic politics. Students took to the streets. Citizens took to the streets. What they demanded was not violent confrontation, nor the overthrow of the state. They called for an end to corruption, for freedom, for greater press openness, and for political reform. They asked the government to respond seriously to the voices of the people.

Faced with these unarmed students and citizens, Deng Xiaoping, the highest de facto ruler of the Chinese Communist Party, chose neither dialogue nor respect for public opinion. Instead, he labeled the peaceful petition movement as “turmoil” and ultimately used troops, tanks, and live ammunition to crush the Chinese people’s hopes for freedom and democracy on the streets of Beijing.

This was Deng Xiaoping’s historical role in June Fourth: he was not a bystander, not someone who had been misled, nor someone who learned of events only afterward. He was the highest political decision-maker and the person bearing ultimate responsibility for the military suppression.

After the death of Hu Yaobang, students began spontaneous memorial activities, which soon developed into a nationwide movement advocating democratic reform. The students called for anti-corruption measures, opposition to official profiteering, freedom of the press, and political reform. In any normal country, such demands would have been issues the government should have addressed seriously. Yet when faced with the most basic political demands of the people, the Communist regime’s first reaction was not self-reflection, but fear.

Around April 25, Li Peng and Yang Shangkun reported the situation of the student movement to Deng Xiaoping. Deng did not view the students as the future generation of the nation, nor did he regard public anger as a warning sign of social contradictions. Instead, he elevated the movement to the level of what he called an “anti-Party and anti-socialist” challenge. Soon afterward, the April 26 People’s Daily Editorial labeled the student movement as “turmoil.”

This step was critically important.

Once the students were branded as perpetrators of “turmoil,” a political justification for subsequent repression had effectively been created. One of the Chinese Communist Party’s most frequently used methods has been to first stigmatize the people through propaganda and then deal harshly with them through action. Deng Xiaoping’s first major crime in the June Fourth crisis was personally advancing this political characterization, transforming a patriotic mass movement demanding anti-corruption measures and democratic reform into what was portrayed as a hostile threat to the regime.

This was not merely a mistake in judgment. It was the instinctive reaction of a dictator confronted by an awakening people.

By May, students had begun a hunger strike, and Tiananmen Square was filled with students, citizens, and supporters. The streets of Beijing were not scenes of riot and chaos; they were the stage for a nation finally giving voice to its political aspirations after years of silence. Many participants were not acting for personal gain. They hoped only that China would not continue sinking into authoritarianism, corruption, privilege, and deception.

At the time, there was not only one possible course of action within the Communist Party leadership. Zhao Ziyang advocated easing tensions, pursuing dialogue, and opposing the use of violence to resolve the crisis. But Deng Xiaoping rejected this path. As China’s highest de facto ruler, he ultimately sided with the hardliners. He chose martial law. He chose to mobilize the military. He chose to point the guns at the people.

Around May 17, under the leadership of Deng Xiaoping and other Party elders, decisions regarding martial law and troop deployment into Beijing took shape. On May 20, martial law was formally declared in Beijing. This decision marked the point at which the Communist Party no longer viewed students and citizens as people with whom dialogue was possible, but as subjects that had to be subdued.

After martial law was imposed, the military’s first attempt to enter Beijing was blocked. Large numbers of Beijing residents stopped military vehicles, brought water to soldiers, reasoned with them, and urged them not to suppress the students. That scene demonstrated that it was not only students who had stood up, but the conscience of an entire city. The citizens of Beijing used their own bodies to block the military—not to create turmoil, but to protect the students and prevent the machinery of the state from opening fire on its own people.

But Deng Xiaoping did not turn back.

He did not ask:Why were so many citizens willing to risk themselves to protect the students?

He did not ask:Why were the Chinese people so dissatisfied?

He did not ask:If a ruling party must rely on the military to confront university students, what has gone wrong with that regime?

Instead, he chose to send more troops, apply greater pressure, and push events toward a bloody conclusion.

Around June 2, the final decision to clear the square was made. Soon afterward, large numbers of martial-law troops advanced into central Beijing. On the night of June 3 and into the early hours of June 4, gunfire erupted, tanks rolled into the city, and the military opened fire on unarmed students and civilians. Along Chang’an Avenue, at Muxidi, Xidan, and in areas surrounding Tiananmen, many ordinary people fell before the guns.

Some were merely bystanders.Some were trying to persuade the troops to stop.Some were attempting to rescue the wounded.Some were simply standing in the streets expressing their political views.

What they faced was the national army—the very army that was supposed to protect the people.

Yet on that night, the People’s Liberation Army became an instrument for suppressing the people. Its guns were not aimed at foreign enemies, but at its own students, citizens, and taxpayers.

This was the greatest crime of June Fourth.

Even more disgraceful was what followed. After June Fourth, Deng Xiaoping neither admitted fault, apologized, nor held those responsible for the crackdown accountable. Instead, he publicly met with the martial-law troops, praised them for having withstood the “test,” and continued to label the people’s resistance as a “counterrevolutionary riot.”

He mourned and honored those who carried out the suppression, not the ordinary Chinese people who had been shot, crushed, hunted down, imprisoned, or sentenced.

This demonstrates that Deng Xiaoping’s actions were not the result of a momentary misjudgment. From beginning to end, he stood on the side of authoritarian rule.

What concerned him was not the lives of the people, not the future of the nation, and not whether China could move toward democracy and civilization. What concerned him was whether the Chinese Communist Party could continue to maintain its hold on power.

Some argue that Deng Xiaoping promoted Reform and Opening-Up and therefore his historical legacy should not be judged solely by June Fourth.

Such an argument avoids the most fundamental issue: economic reform cannot erase the crime of killing one’s own people.

Even if a person contributed to economic development, that does not give him the right to order the military to suppress students and civilians.

Highways, factories, foreign investment, and GDP growth cannot wash away the blood spilled in and around Tiananmen.

Deng Xiaoping’s famous policy of “letting some people get rich first,” viewed from the perspective of its institutional consequences, became a massive trap.

Under a one-party dictatorship lacking democratic oversight, freedom of the press, and judicial independence, those most likely to become rich first were not ordinary citizens, but those who controlled policies, resources, land, finance, and administrative approval powers.

What was supposed to be “some getting rich first in order to help others become prosperous later” ultimately became a system in which political elites accumulated wealth first. Collusion between officials and business interests flourished. Families connected to the revolutionary elite and their intermediaries transferred enormous amounts of wealth, while ordinary people endured high housing prices, low wages, debt burdens, unemployment, and inadequate social welfare protections.

More fundamentally, Deng Xiaoping first used tanks to suppress the people’s struggle for democratic rights and then offered economic development as compensation, effectively saying:

You do not need political rights; you only need to focus on making money.

But without political rights, how can people protect their property rights?

Without elections, freedom of the press, independent courts, and genuine constitutional rule of law, the property of ordinary citizens can be taken away by power at any time.

In an authoritarian system, if people’s lives do not truly belong to themselves, how can their wealth truly belong to them?

Thus, what Deng Xiaoping left behind was not a free market, but crony capitalism operating under a Party-state system.

It was not common prosperity, but a system in which privileged groups became wealthy first while ordinary people were exploited.

It was not a path toward a modern and civilized nation, but an authoritarian model that used economic growth to conceal political oppression.

June Fourth was not merely a massacre.

It was also the end of an alternative historical path.

What Deng Xiaoping destroyed was not only the lives and destinies of the students of 1989.

He also destroyed one of China’s greatest opportunities for a peaceful political transformation.

Had the Communist Party chosen dialogue, compromise, and political reform, China might have followed a different path.

The press could gradually have become more open.

Political power could gradually have become subject to oversight.

Corruption could have been constrained by institutions.

Citizens could have gained genuine political participation.

But Deng Xiaoping chose tanks.

Through gunfire, he sent a message to the Chinese people:

The Communist Party may reform the economy, but it will never allow the people to share political power.

The Communist Party may speak of openness, but once its power is challenged, it will not hesitate to kill.

This, according to the author, is Deng Xiaoping’s true political legacy.

After June Fourth, the Chinese Communist Party used falsehoods to conceal the truth, censorship to erase memory, surveillance to suppress commemoration, and fear to force people into silence.

For decades, the families of those who died have been unable to mourn publicly.

Survivors have lived under long-term surveillance.

Exiles have been unable to return home.

Within China’s internet censorship system, many members of the younger generation do not even know what happened in Beijing in 1989.

A regime that fears even the names of the dead knows that it is guilty.

A government that bans candles, flowers, and commemorative dates demonstrates that its rule rests upon blood debt and lies.

Deng Xiaoping’s responsibility for June Fourth cannot be diminished by the passage of time, nor can it be rewritten through the long-term efforts of the Chinese Communist Party’s propaganda machinery.

He was not merely a “great leader who made mistakes in his later years.”

Rather, at a critical moment in history, he chose to use the military to suppress his own people.

He personally dragged China away from a possible path of political reform and back onto the track of authoritarian rule.

He transformed the peaceful demands of students and citizens into a national tragedy marked by bloodshed.

Opening fire on unarmed students and civilians is an unforgivable crime.

Using tanks to crush the people’s hope for freedom is an unforgivable crime.

Afterward, continuing to vilify the victims and praise those who carried out the suppression is an even more unforgivable crime.

June Fourth is a blood debt that the Chinese Communist Party can never wash away.

As the ultimate decision-maker, Deng Xiaoping must be nailed to the pillar of historical shame.

He was not a reformer of Chinese democracy.

He was the destroyer of China’s opportunity for democracy.

He was not a national hero.

He was, according to the author’s judgment, a betrayer of the nation who suppressed his own people.

He was not a great man worthy of commemoration.

He was the Butcher of June Fourth and a sinner before history.

History may be temporarily concealed by the Chinese Communist Party, but it can never be buried forever.

One day, the names of those who died will be openly remembered.

One day, responsibility for the killings will be pursued.

June Fourth is not merely a matter of the past.

It is a truth that the Chinese people must still confront.

To forget June Fourth is to tolerate massacre.

To glorify Deng Xiaoping is to insult the dead.

So long as responsibility for the bloodshed at Tiananmen has not been established, the historical judgment of Deng Xiaoping as the “Butcher of June Fourth” can never be changed.

Editor: Zhong Ran

Proofreader: Wang Bin

Translator: Shen Meihua