MCLC: a few moments in the China rising story

[Denton, Kirk]

MCLC LIST
From: Rowena He <rowenahe at gmail.com>
Subject: a few moments in the China rising story
***********************************************************

Source: http://blog.sina.com.cn/s/blog_467a3a7f01015kep.html

A Few Moments in the China Rising Story
By Huluhulu 
Translated by Jane Weizhen Pan, Martin Merz, Ling Wang

 
Mention China and people think of the Great Wall, tofu, kung fu, and of
course, Confucius. They might also think of the skyscrapers in Beijing and
Shanghai, and the unforgettable 2008 Olympics which heralded China’s rise
as a great nation. People started to believe that China had farewelled
forever the era of humiliation and tragedy, that China has truly become
rich and powerful. And not just in terms of military might—China now has
trillions of dollars in foreign exchange reserves and is destined to
become the centre of the world.
 

This, perhaps, is all true, but today I want to tell you some stories from
another perspective, stories that are well known in China and that have
been widely reported on. These stories do not represent all of China, but
they all represent a part of China. But like most hot topics, they were
much talked about and caused a great deal of excitement for a while, but
in the blink of an eye they were filed away in the recesses of public
consciousness and forgotten. The rise of China has also led to a rise in
amnesia. Today, as China is rising to new heights I want to retell these
stories in the hope that you can learn something about the entirely
different kind of life some people in China are living.

 
 
1     The petitioner

 
At 2.40 pm on the 29th of June, 2009, fifty-four-year-old Wu Chandi
squeezed on to a number 14 bus in Beijing. She was heading to the
Legislative Affairs Office of the State Council to present a petition. In
today’s parlance, Wu Chandi is not a citizen, she’s a petitioner. And like
most petitioners she had sought help from the government because she did
not receive fair treatment from the local courts. And like petitioners who
do not get satisfaction from the local government, she too embarked on
long pilgrimages to Beijing to lodge a formal complaint with the Petition
Office of the State Council.

 
This is a drama that has been played out countless times in China over the
centuries and the script is unchanged even in this the era of China
rising. Petitioners naively believe that they will find a place where
people will listen to reason if they just try hard enough.

 
As Wu and her fellow provincials squeezed onto the bus packed with a noisy
throng of sweat-soaked passengers she cherished but one humble hope: that
she would be treated fairly. But at that moment she had no inkling of
where the bus would really take her.

 
Ten minutes after Wu embarked, Cui Lin, the bus driver, closed the bus
doors and telephoned the Beijing Public Security Bureau to report that
there were a lot of petitioners on his bus, and requested the police send
some officers to deal with them. We do not know why Cui Lin made this
call. Perhaps he was on a mission. Or perhaps it was simply because he has
a heightened sense of vigilance.

 
A quarter of an hour later five policemen arrived on the scene. They did
not speak to anyone nor did they check anyone’s ID. But they would not let
anyone disembark either.

 
After another half hour a dozen plain-clothed men arrived. Wu assumed they
worked for the Changzhou city government, and were tasked with persuading
petitioners from Changzhou to return home.

 
Wu and her associates ignored their counsel. They disembarked the bus,
caught the next number 14 bus, delivered their petition and then returned
home to wait for a response.

 
 Wu’s hometown of Changzhou is located in Jiangsu province, one of the
wealthiest and most developed regions of China. On the journey home, as
the train raced past innumerable cities and villages, Wu saw that crops
were growing well and that every chimney along the way was belching smoke.
As we now know, China’s industry and agriculture grew rapidly in 2009.

 
 On the 7th of July, 2010, some three hundred and seventy two days later,
Wu was suddenly surrounded by a group of plainclothes police while she was
out strolling with her husband. The policemen took her straight to a
police station for questioning.

 
That was a long day for Wu Chandi. Towards evening the police showed her a
document, a notification of administrative detention for nine days. The
reason: when Wu took the number 14 bus in Beijing three hundred and
seventy two days previously, she had not purchased a ticket, which caused
the bus to be delayed for over an hour.

 
The cost of a number 14 bus ticket is one yuan—about ten pence. There was
no CCTV on the bus and there is no way to verify the transaction. Apart
from driver Cui Lin’s testimony, there is no evidence to prove that Wu did
not buy a one yuan ticket. By the same token, Wu has no way to prove she
did buy a ticket. As China rises, this is often how the law works: apart
from law enforcement agencies proving that you did something, you also
need to prove that did not do something. Otherwise you may be found guilty.

 
A one yuan discrepancy led to a now fifty-five-year-old Wu Chandi being
handcuffed and incarcerated in a detention centre. Apparently the police
felt that administrative detention was insufficient punishment for her one
yuan offence, because the next day they rescinded the decision and changed
it to one year of labour re-education.

 
Labour re-education doesn’t sound all that bad, but actually it’s the same
as going to jail, just without the need for a trial. If the police
consider it necessary, they can unilaterally take away a citizen’s
freedom. People who have gone through labour re-education are marked for
life. In the era of China rising, labour re-education alumni like Wu
Chandi number in the hundreds of thousands.

 
The 365 days of labour re-education were a very long nightmare for Wu
Chandi. She lost her freedom and lived in cramped quarters. Every day she
had to recite rules and regulations. She was forced to work without any
compensation. The work was making diodes. Wu Chandi lost count of how many
diodes she made during that long year, but one thing is certain: those
diodes are used in electronic gadgets and these gadgets are broadcasting
the news of China rising.

 
A year after completing her labour re-education Wu Chandi is still
terrified by her experience. She often has nightmares about her time as an
internee. Waking up in fright she wails, “I bought a bus ticket, please
don’t send me to labour re-education.”

 
After being released from labour re-education, Wu Chandi embarked on a
another sad journey: she lodged an appeal to a local court challenging the
administrative decision to send her to labour re-education and applied for
compensation. The judgement was predictable: she lost. Wu then appealed to
a higher court, and lost again. The judgement states that the decision to
send her to labour re-education was entirely justified and broke no laws,
and thus no one need shoulder any legal responsibility.

 
    Wu Chandi is now fifty-seven years old and in poor health. She often
feels dejected and hopeless, despairing that she is but a weak woman who
is old and infirm, unable to fight any more. She has two plans for the
future: she wants to regain her health, and once she has regained her
health, she wants to continue petitioning.

 
At 2.40 pm on the 29th of June, 2009, when Wu Chandi squeezed on to a
number 14 bus in Beijing, she had no idea that the bus she was on
traverses some of the most impressive sights in the world. The number 14
bus provides a view of the wall of Zhongnanhai—the Chinese Communist
Party’s leadership compound—before it passes a corner of Tiananmen Square.
You can see many ancient historical monuments as well as modern
skyscrapers from the number 14 bus.

 
And then, of course, there’s the imposing National Theatre. A few hours
after her bus passed by there was a grand concert with ticket prices
ranging from 180 to 580 yuan (18 to 58 pounds) for a performance that
included classics such as “Lay another brick in the mansion of socialism”
and “Chairman Mao’s words are forever engraved on my heart”. The
performance was attended by numerous VIPs who were welcomed with rousing
cheers.

 
 But Wu Chandi knew nothing of this as she sat on the bus trundling
inexorably on her troubled journey in the era of China rising. Wu Chandi’s
name in Chinese  sounds like “made in nowhere”, but now we know she is
made in the era of China rising.

 
 
2    The suicide bomber

 
At nine am on the 26th of May, 2011, Qian Mingqi parked a small silver
coloured van in front of the Procuratorate Building in the city of Wuzhou,
in Jiangxi province. The guard in charge of security told Qian he couldn’t
park there, but Qian said he was just eating a bowl of noodles and would
soon be on his way. It was a Thursday and the sky was clear. Most of the
shops in the area were open and office workers had just started their
day’s work.

 
No one noticed this unremarkable fifty-two year old man at that critical
moment, though he had given many hints of what he was about to do.

 
 The van was a Changan brand—Changan means eternal peace—but within half
an hour there was an explosion in the van, and in two other vehicles. The
owner, Qian Mingqi, died on the spot.

 
 Qian Mingqi was born in Beijing in 1959, the year of the worst famine in
Chinese history. It was a year of low birth rates and high infant
mortality. From this perspective, Qian had a lucky start in life. Over the
course of his fifty-two years, Qian was by no means wealthy, though he
certainly wasn’t poor. It would be fair to say, however, that Qian was
better off than the majority of people in China. By the year 2000 he owned
a five-story house with many rooms and floor space of about 700 square
meters. That building was the result of a lifetime of hard work. It took
his entire life savings of half a million yuan (about 50,000 pounds) and
some loans as well. He expected to be able to live in his home for many
years because he made it known that he was building it to withstand
earthquakes.

 
However, two years later the government decided to build an expressway
from Beijing to Fuzhou, and according to the plans Qian Mingqi’s house sat
in the path of the carriageway. The expressway was designated an important
infrastructure project, and in the era of China rising that means nothing
can stand in its way. Not even a new house that used up someone’s life
savings to build.

 
 The market value of Qian’s home was about two million yuan (over two
hundred thousand pounds) but the government valuation worked differently
and they only offered two hundred and fifty thousand yuan (about twenty
five thousand pounds) in compensation. Qian was unwilling to accept the
package. He pleaded. He resisted. He even got into ferocious fights with
the demolition crew. But like so many other houses in the era of China
rising, no matter how many certificates the owner has applied for and
obtained, Qian’s home too could not escape the wrecker’s ball.

 
 In 2005 the Beijing to Fuzhou Expressway opened to traffic. This 2,540 km
expressway is one of the best in China. Connecting Beijing with the rich
and populous southeastern seaboard, it acts as an important artery for
moving materials and equipment. This expressway is vital to China’s
economic development.

 
As the government held a spectacular ceremony to mark the opening of the
expressway, Qian Mingqi was on a train heading to Beijing. By that time he
had been transformed from a prosperous businessman into a determined
petitioner who still embraced hope and had no intention of dying.

 
Qian Mingqi did not start out as an extremist as he pursued every legal
avenue to receive fair compensation. To equip himself in his numerous
attempts to follow legal procedures Qian took up studying the law. He
tried negotiating with the government—he failed. He applied for an
administrative review—he failed again. He took his case to court—yet again
he failed. He appealed to a higher court—and that too failed. In 2007 he
joined a group of fellow evictees in reporting local officials for
embezzling their relocation compensation funds. You can predict the
result—it failed.

 
Over the course of almost ten years Qian Mingqi travelled many times from
Jiangxi province to Beijing in the hope of resolving his problem at the
highest levels of government. This legal remedy known in China as
petitioning resulted, of course, in an unending series of failures for
Qian Mingqi.   

 
 Nobody remembers what happened to Qian Mingqi on those sojourns in
Beijing: perhaps he was forcibly repatriated to Jiangxi; perhaps dejected
he returned of his own volition. But we do know that Qian Mingqi and his
friends are part of the scenery in the rise of China, and have become the
most significant waste products of a rising China.

 
 In 2006 Qian Mingqi began to use the internet to publicise his
misfortunes online but there was little response. As microblogging took
off Qian Mingqi registered accounts on numerous web portals. On the
Tencent portal he pleaded for assistance from fifty people but no one
replied. He then implored 200 people on the Sina.com portal to help him,
and again no one replied. I was one of the people who did not reply.

 
After Qian Mingqi died I noticed for the first time that he had written to
me requesting that I repost his testimonial but I did nothing. Well I came
up many reasons for my inaction but today I wish to confess that I did not
respond because I was selfish and indifferent to the plight of others.
Qian Mingqi died because of his own peculiar circumstances but he also
died because this society is uncaring. And that includes me.
 
During the Chinese New Year festival in early 2011, Qian Mingqi pasted
traditional couplets, written in gold characters on red paper on each side
of the door to his house, with a non-traditional theme:

 
Happy New Year? Nothing happy about it!
My wrongs righted? Not a chance for it!

 
By this time Qian Mingqi was utterly disheartened and was ready to die. He
posted messages online telling people to look out for some “explosive
news” coming from Jiangxi province.  He said he was preparing to take his
enemies to the netherworld with him and frequently declared that he
intended to blow up a government building. No one believed him.

 
 Shortly before the explosion Qian Mingqi posted his telephone number
online with an offer to donate all his organs, though only to the children
of needy families. This wish was not granted because soon after he died in
the explosion Qian Mingqi was cremated and his ashes were buried. The
telephone number still works and it is answered by one of Qian’s sons. The
younger son is unwilling to discuss anything about his father, but his
older brother is a little more talkative. He is planning to write a book
about petitioners, modeling the main character on his father.

 
At 9 am on the 26th of May, 2011, Qian Mingqi decided to leave this world.
He packed three cheap vehicles with explosives. He had told a friend that
he wanted to give the government a present. In point of fact, the
government did not receive his present and Qian Mingqi’s death did not
awaken the rising China. All it achieved was an increase in policing and
security checks, while petitioners still trudge along their arduous path.

 
Qian Mingqi’s present was actually delivered to some people even less
fortunate than himself: two security guards, He Haigen and Xu Yingfu, died
together with Qian Mingqi. They once had families and enjoyed normal life.
He Haigen’s son was in primary school and Xu Yingfu’s son was a university
student. They were both poor, having come from poor families, and, being
engaged in low status work had low incomes, less than 1,000 yuan per
month. During the era of China rising, no one really pays much attention
to whether such people live or die.

 
 
3     The mental health patient

 
At two am on April 19, 2011, Xu Wu managed to bend the iron railings of
the gated mental health ward with wooden sticks and bed sheets and sneak
out of the the 2nd hospital of the Wuhan Iron and Steel Corporation, in
the city of Wuhan. Outside was a yard overgrown with weeds. The guards
were deep asleep. Xu Wu gingerly pushed the metal gate ajar and stepped
back into the sane world he had been kept away from for a long time.

 
This is not his first attempt to escape. In March 2007, Xu had snuck out
of the heavily guarded hospital once before, after spending eight nights
secretly sawing through the iron bars on the window with a saw blade he
had fortuitously found.

 
One month later, he was picked up by the police and put back into the
prion-like structure. In the following four years, he was kept in this
fortress, forced to swallow inedible food and to regularly take tablets
with unknown effects. Sometimes he received electric shock treatments and
suffered physical abuse. For a long period, he was held in solitary
confinement. For two years, he did not see the sun and hardly ever
received visits from his family and friends.

 
It might surprise you to learn that, according to the official record, Xu
Wu was not a criminal. He was a mental health patient.

  
Xu Wu was born in 1968 to a worker’s family. If our political textbooks
are not mistaken, that would make him a member of China’s ruling class.
His father had worked at the Wuhan Iron and Steel Corporation for decades.
At the age of 21, Xu entered the ranks of the same company after
graduating from a technical institute.

 
According to the official record, Xu was not a good employee. He had taken
unauthorised leave and broken workplace regulations. But Xu disagrees. He
believes his only problem is that he “takes things too seriously,” which
in China can be interpreted as being “too stubborn,” or “too obsessed with
his rights.” This is why Xu was kept in the mental health ward for so
long. But this is not surprising. In the era of China rising, in a place
where people’s rights are commonly neglected, taking rights too seriously
can be seen as an illness.

 
From 2003 to 2006, Xu Wu had over a dozen legal battles with his employer
because he believed the company had unfairly cut his wages. Initially, the
dealings between him and his employer were cordial. After a court
conciliation, the company offered to provide Xu with financial assistance
on humanitarian grounds but denied any wrongdoing on its part. Xu refused
to accept this conciliation outcome. He said of course money is important
for him, but a court decision over right or wrong is even more important.
The court decision soon was delivered. Xu lost the case.

 
Xu Wu was fighting against a business giant. The Wuhan Iron and Steel
Corporation is the fourth largest steel manufacturer in the world and
ranked 340 among the world’s top 500 enterprises. The company’s
headquarters occupy an area of 21 square kilometres. The company employs
several hundred thousand people and owns hundreds of billions of yuan in
assets as well as countless subsidiaries. The company has its own schools,
hospitals and law enforcement agencies.

 
Members of company’s management team enjoy benefits of government
officials, or perhaps they are government officials. Also worth
mentioning, is the company has been named one of the nation’s best-managed
enterprises. In the era of China rising, a best-managed enterprise like
this can bestow fortunes to some people, but such giant corporations can
also make some people very unfortunate.

 
Xu Wu belongs to the unfortunate group. He has to endure the harshest life
in contemporary China since he turned down his employer’s offer of
“assistance on humanitarian grounds.” He was physically attacked many
times and his injuries required hospital treatment. He was humiliated and
locked up many times. He tried to resist whenever he was persecuted but
every act of defiance only resulted in even more severe persecution. In
the end, he had to flee the city of Wuhan.

 
On December 16, 2006, Xu Wu was arrested at the entrance of the Peking
University in Beijing. The official explanation for this event was that Xu
had threatened to set off a bomb at Tiananmen Square, and that he had been
found in possession of a bomb-making recipe, and an electrician’s cutter
and bomb-making ingredients were found in his backpack. But Xu denies it
all. He said he went to Beijing simply to seek legal assistance.

 
On December 31, 2006, the streets of Wuhan were full of festivity. People
dressed up to welcome the new year. CCTV, the state television channel,
broadcast a new year gala event to celebrate the time of happiness, to
praise the wisdom and kindness of the government. On that day, Xu Wu was
taken to a concrete fortress and subjected to 1,571 days of mental health
treatment. None of his family members was present when he was admitted.
Wearing a blue-and-white striped hospital uniform, curled up in a tiny
hospital bed, he looked like a forlorn zebra crushed under the weight of a
rising nation.

 
On May 1, 2007, clothed in rags, Xu Wu arrived at Tiananmen Square. This
was after he snuck out of the hospital for the first time. A month before
arriving at the square, he sought shelter under bridges in Beijing. He
lived on money he earned from selling recycled cans and bottles. He begged
for help in front of the gate of many government agencies. No one listened
to what he had to say.

 
    The 1st of may was another large fesival in China. Tiananmen sqaure
was swarmed with tourists from every parts of China. Xu Wu found a
relatively open space and lighted a cander under the clear sunny sky. This
action seemes to have its tradition as forty seven years before, He
Mingyuan, a man suffering from famine and oppression did the same thing
and was plunged into prison as a result. Xu Wu’s fate was slightly better
than He Mingyuan’s. he was thrown into a prison-like hospital. Xu Wu’s
candle is a riddle hard to fathom. When he held the lighted candle high in
the Tiananmen squre, he purported to convey the message: at the time Wuhan
city, 1200 kilometers away from Beijing was in pitch-dark night.

 
From a certain perspective, Xu Wu was lucky. His fellow patients had to
pay to receive treatment, but Xu got his treatment for free. Perhaps the
hospital authority believed his condition was too severe to have visitors,
so no one was allowed to visit him. Again and again, his aged parents went
to the concrete fortress attempting to visit their son. Again and again,
they were turned away at the gate. From 2007 to 2011, they were turned
away 86 times. They appealed to the local court but the court refused to
hear their case. They approached medical experts in local hospitals to
review Xu Wu’s condition, but the hospitals refused to assist. They lived
only a few kilometres away from their son, but the distance for them was
as far away as another planet.

 
At two am on April 19, 2011, Xu Wu snuck out of the hospital. He borrowed
2,000 yuan (about 200 pounds) from a friend and took a train to Guangzhou
in southern China. He went to a mental health hospital and requested an
assessment. Except “feeling unhappy and having low self-esteem,” the
assessment did not reveal any severe mental illness. Xu Wu then sought
help from the media. On April 27, after he went on television describing
his experience, he was taken away from the compound of the TV station by
seven plain-clothed men. One of them said he was surnamed Zhou. Later, his
true identity was revealed. He was a member of the law enforcement agency
under the Wuhan Iron and Steel Corporation. His surname was not Zhou.

 
This incident caused a media frenzy. Journalists interviewed Xu’s family
and neighbours. Everyone said Xu was mentally sound. Despite Xu’s request
to receive an authoritative mental health assessment in another province,
the assessment report was issued in his home province. This reports states
that Xu suffers from paranoid mental disorders and advised Xu “to be
treated as an in-patient.” Xu Wu’s parents ignored the advice and took
their son home. After the assessment report was released, the media lost
interest in Xu’s case. As you would understand, the media are overwhelmed
by the number of stories they have to cover.

 
Going home for Xu Wu doesn’t mean regaining freedom. According to Xu Wu,
problems are still following him. In August 2011, he escaped from his home
but was soon picked up by the people who were assigned to watch him and
bundled back. In December last year, he made it to Beijing again and
stayed for 43 days. Every day he pleaded for help online. Most of the time
he talked about his own experience but he also paid attention to others.
He received few responses. Obviously, his story is no longer hot.
Forty-three days later, he was taken back to Wuhan. These days he is
teaching himself law at home.

 
Xu has two plans for the future. One is “to endure whatever life brings
him.” The other relates to the law. Legally, he has been deemed mentally
unsound and no court will take up his case. But he still has hopes for the
law and wants to “study law and promote the law.” I asked him if he wants
to sit the National Judicial Exam. He said no. He told me that he is not
confident he could pass the exam and that he just wants to do whatever he
can to help others.

 
At 44, Xu Wu is still single and wants to find love in the near future. He
met someone he liked in 2006 but he thought that was far from falling in
love. “We just chatted for a few times,” Xu told me. However, he has lost
contact with that woman after all the years he spent in the mental health
ward. “I’m sure she is already married and has children,” said Xu.

 
 
4     The black lung patient

 
At 8 am on the 29th of December, 2010, Zhong Guangwei was wheeled into the
operating theatre of the Nanjing Chest Hospital. Two hours later, 15
bottles containing 8 litres of murky liquid, were lavaged from his left
lung. The liquid contained innumerable black granules and cottony
substances. But the procedure was not complete because the doctor only
lavaged his left lung.

 
Born in 1973, Zhong Guangwei dropped out of school after five years and
worked a hard life digging the barren land, sweating and laboring under
the sun just as his grandfather and father before him had. In violation of
China’s One Child Policy Zhong had three children. Because of government
policy he could only obtain legitimate residence certificates for the
extra children by paying fines. This was an unbearable burden for him.

 
 For the past 60 years since the founding of the People’s Republic of
China, farmers like Zhong Guangwei have been the most hard-working and the
most destitute. They are second class citizens in this country. They
barely survive, toiling year after year without regular incomes and
pensions. In the era of China rising, the government exempts farmers from
land tax and as a result some farmers live slightly better lives. However,
for a destitute farmer like Zhong Guangwei, life has not improved.

 
In November 2006, Zhong Guangwei bade farewell to his wife and children to
start a job as a pneumatic drill operator for a coal mine in Datong,
Shanxi province. Shanxi is the largest coal-producing province in China.
For decades it has been producing tens of billions tons of coal, used in
the generation of electricity for the rise of this great nation.

 
Many people have made huge fortunes from coalmining, which also accounts
for the notoriety of Shanxi as the worst polluted province with the
highest number of industrial accidents. Many coal-miners work in extremely
dangerous and unhealthy conditions underground. Most of them are not
covered by labor insurance or protected from industrial hazards. Many die
deep down in mine shafts and their deaths are an integral part of the rise
of China.

 
The place where Zhong Guangwei worked was once a Buddhist sanctuary, only
four kilometers from the renowned Yungang Grottos. To earn more money,
Zhong worked over ten hours a day in noisy and dusty conditions. Four
months later, he felt pain in his lungs and began coughing a lot. But he
persevered with work, and only asked doctors to administer intravenous
drips when the pain was unendurable. The next day he would continue
operating the pneumatic drill, allowing coal dust sweep across his face,
and settle in his lungs.

 
In the spring of 2007, Zhong Guangwei’s health was totally destroyed. His
weight plunged and the coughing fits became worse. He feared that he had
pneumoconiosis and went to the Datong city Health Examination and Testing
Center for an checkup. The doctor, however, refused to examine him on the
grounds that pneumoconiosis is an occupational disease, and they could
only give him a medical examination if they had proof that Zhong Guangwei
had an occupation.

 
This meant that Zhong Guangwei had first to provide a labor contract. But
he was only an off-farm worker, a typical designation with Chinese
characteristics that reflects his dual identity: farmer and worker. Farmer
is an immutable class attribute, while worker is his actual occupation. In
the era of China rising, the number of off-farm workers exceeds 120
million. They build roads and mansions, they take on the most onerous and
dangerous work, but at the same time they are the most despised people in
China, and are routinely treated as criminal suspects. They sweat and
labor day after day, seldom aware of their legal rights. Many of them have
no concept about protecting themselves by signing a labor contract. When
their rights are violated, the only thing they can do is to endure, as
they are not able to present labor contracts to the law courts. Surely you
must know that China is a country governed by the rule of law.

 
Zhong Guangwei had to go back to the coal mine where he worked to ask his
employer to issue a certificate of proof of employment. But his request
was refused. In the eyes of his employers, he had become a nuisance. They
felt no obligation to help him.

 
Zhong Guanwei had no choice but to seek assistance from the government. He
applied for an administrative ruling from the South District Labor Bureau
of Datong city. This turned out to be an extremely arduous expedition.
With forced smiles and humble entreaties, he tottered back and forth on
the city’s roads coughing in agony and waiting in vain. Three months
later, he finally received the administrative ruling of the Labor Bureau
which simply denied that an employment relationship existed between Zhong
Guangwei and the coal mine owner. The reason was simple, and typical of
the era of China rising—Zhong Guangwei never worked in the coal mine as he
was not acquainted with the coal mine owner.

 
 Now he had to file a complaint to the People’s Court. The same expedition
was repeated—forced smiles, humble entreaties and tottering steps—over and
over during first trial at the Court of First Instance and second trial at
the Intermediate Court. At last, Zhong Guangwei won, with a decision
adjudicating that there was indeed a de facto employment relationship
between him and the coal mine owner. After one year’s painstaking effort,
he finally won the right to receive a medical examination.

 
The medical report stated that he had stage II pneumosilicosis. His lungs
were severely damaged. With this medical report, he began to apply to the
government for an industrial injury appraisal. This was, again, an arduous
expedition. His condition deteriorated and the treatment depleted his
meager savings. He could only afford to kill the pain with the cheapest
pain killers on the market, taking the pills one by one at first, and then
by the handful.

 
Seven months later, he was appraised with stage III industrial injury,
which means a total loss of ability to work. Then he started to claim for
industrial injury compensation. He filled in the forms, copied the
certificates and collected all the necessary documents. Coughing
wretchedly, he again called upon the Labor Bureau of the South District of
Datong city. Unlike their usual obfuscation, this time the Labor Bureau’s
response was devastatingly concise. They told him that his application
could not be accepted because the coal mine he worked for was shut down
several months earlier.

 
Again he filed another complaint, the results of which this time only took
several months. The court ruled that he won the case and was entitled to
compensation of 490,000 yuan (about fourty-nine thousand pounds). He
waited four months but received not a penny. Then he had to apply for
enforcement of the court order. In the story of Zhong Guangwei, I have 
emphatically repeated the phrase “arduous expedition”. But believe me, 
this time the expedition was more arduous than ever.

 
In the era of China rising, enforcement of a court decision is a 
formidable task. Even the most experienced lawyer will feel faint on 
hearing the word “enforcement”, let alone a lowly, impoverished and dying 
farmer like Zhong Guangwei. He and his wife stumbled back and forth 
between their domicile and the court, only falling further and further 
into desperation. They kneeled on the ground, weeping and begging. As you 
know, the court is obliged to follow the law, so the judges would raise 
many reasonable requests of him, such as to bring the coal mine owner to 
the court and to provide a warehouse to store heavy coal mining equipment. 
The judges must have believed that meeting their demands would have been a 
piece of cake for Zhong Guangwei.

 
At this time, Zhong Guangwei had become penniless and was heavily 
indebted. He lived in an ocean of coal but he could not afford to burn 
coal to keep his family warm. In the chilling winter of twenty degree 
below zero in northern China, his family of five, including a two year old 
infant, huddled up under a thin blanket doing their best to keep warm. 
Zhong Guangwei coughed throughout the night, and sometimes even lost 
consciousness. He and his wife even considered suicide while his 
twelve-year old daughter was preparing to sell her blood. At his nadir, 
Zhong Guangwei, a simple and kind farmer, even had thoughts of blowing up 
this world of suffering.

 
 Things took a favorable turn several months later. Some kind-hearted 
people extended helping hands and there was wide media coverage of his 
misfortune. On the 28th of October, 2010, the court summoned Zhong 
Guangwei and his debtors. Tough negotiation ensued. In the era of China 
rising, the law has two versions: soft and hard. For Wu Chandi, Qian 
Mingqi and Xu Wu the law was hard and non-negotiable. For Zhong Guangwei, 
the law was soft and negotiable. Because the coalmine owner refused to 
compensate the total sum, the judges mediated between the two parties. 
Zhong Guangwei had to lower his price over and over, from 490,000 yuan 
down to 480,000, then to 470,000 yuan, then 350 000, and ultimately down 
to 270,000 yuan (about twenty-seven thousand pounds) where the deal 
finally closed. ForZhong Guangwei law is his last resort, but ultimately 
the law took a forty-five percent discount from him.

 
 At 8 am on the 29th of November, 2010, Zhong Guangwei was wheeled into 
the operating theatre of the Nanjing Chest Hospital. Fifteen bottles of 
murky liquid were lavaged from his left lung.  Once again Zhong Guangwei 
was wheeled into the operating theatre of the Nanjing Chest Hospital. Even 
more murky fluid was lavaged from the right lung, filling some twenty-one 
bottles. The doctor said that lung lavaging could only mitigate his 
symptoms and there was no cure for the disease.

 
 In the era of China rising, there are tens of thousands of off-farm 
workers suffering from pneumosilicosis just like Zhong Guangwei. However, 
most of them are not as fortunate as him. In the absence of media coverage 
and attention from society, they can barely protect their own rights. They 
toil in silence, and in silence they suffer, and die.

 
Zhong Guangwei is still alive. At a height of 173 cm, he only weighs 52 
kilograms. He had his lungs lavaged, paid off his debt and even bought an 
old house. The money he received in exchange for his lost health, is 
almost completely gone. Because he is an off-farm worker Zhong Guangwei is 
ineligible for reimbursement of medical expenses.

 
To Zhong Guangwei, the “future” is beyond his reach. He cannot make any 
plans for the future. He just wants to raise some pigs and goats, to feed 
his family, keep them warm and strive to survive. He has learnt to use the 
internet. For the past two years, Zhong Guangwei has posted over four 
thousand messages online. All of his post are about his concern for the 
disadvantaged. He said to me: I suffered and I know how it feels. There’s 
not much I can do, but at least I can give people who are suffering a 
little warmth.

 
 
5     The candidate   

 
I also want to tell you the story of Liang Shuxin. Liang is in his 30s and 
is member of the Communist Party. On September 8, 2011, at the venue to 
elect the local people’s representatives, Liang crossed out the names of 
two candidates on the ballot, wrote down his own name and cast his ballot. 
Despite having the support of many ordinary people, Liang lost his bid to 
become a candidate, because “some people” had made sure he couldn’t become 
a candidate. The next election will be in 2016. He said he will definitely 
participate if the election procedure is fair.

 
6    The online commentator

 
I also want to tell you the story of Xiao Han. By May 29, 2012, Xiao Han’s 
account on the microblog portal Sina Weibo had been shut down 131 times. 
Xiao Han is 43. He is an academic at the China University of Political 
Science and Law. Xiao avidly follows current affairs and regularly voices 
his opinion online.

 
In November 2009, Xiao Han first registered his user name on Weibo. He 
posted messages about the law and freedom of speech. His account was 
quickly shut down. He then registered a new account name, Xiao Han Weibo 
II. When that account was shut down, he registered another account under a 
new name, Xiao Han Weibo III. When I left China a few days ago, his latest 
Weibo user name was Xiao Han Weibo CXXXII—that’s 132 times Xiao Han has 
had to register to have his voice heard.

 
In some ways, Xiao has died 131 times. He doesn’t know how many more times 
he will be allowed to be reborn, but he refuses to give up. “Where there 
is no freedom, freedom means everything.”

 
There are thousands of Chinese netizens like Xiao Han. The are called 
members of the Reincarnated Party. One party member was reincarnated 359 
times. This is a battle between a hard wall and soft tissue. Even though 
losing the battle is inevitable, members of the Reincarnated Party never 
shy away from throwing themselves against the iron wall.

 
 
7     The joker   

 
Fang Hong is 44 year-old civil servant. On April 21, 2011, he posted a 
joke about Bo Xilai and Wang Lijun, the now disgraced officials of 
Chongqing. The joke consisted of merely 58 Chinese characters. As a result 
of posting the joke, Fang Hong became probably one of the most highly paid 
writers in the world—he was sent to a labor re-education camp for one 
year—which equates to 6.3 days of his freedom per character. People can 
now blame Bo Xilai for Fang Hong’s plight. But Bo Xilai is not the 
fundamental reason Fang Hong got into trouble.

 
Why is a rising China so scared of a joke? What kind of a system would 
throw someone into prison for simply telling a joke? Why is it that the 
rights of a citizen can be deprived so easily but are so hard to restore?

 
 
8     The bribe giver  

 
Finally, please allow me to talk about my own China rising moment. When I 
was thirty years old I applied for my first passport. At the time, I lived 
in Guangdong province in the south, but had to submit my application in 
person in Sichuan province in the far west of China where my household 
registration record was held. The journey to Sichuan only takes two hours 
by plane, but the application process took two weeks, during which time I 
had to make countless journeys between various government offices. Every 
journey was a battle. I felt that obtaining a passport was no longer my 
legal right as a Chinese citizen, but a gift bestowed by the government 
for which I must be grateful. As part of the procedure, I was required 
obtain a certificate from the neighborhood committee, confirming I was not 
a Falun Gong practitioner and had not participated in the student movement 
of 1989.

 
It was a hot summer afternoon. I stood in line for two hours before 
finally being allowed to speak to the busy neighborhood committee 
director. The director was probably the lowest ranking official in China’s 
bureaucratic chain, but he was as cold as most of the government officials 
above him. “I need proof that you have never practiced Falun Gong and did 
not participate in the student movement,” he insisted.

 
 “It’s difficult for someone to prove he did not do something. Other 
people can only testify if one has actually donesomething,” I said, trying 
to reason with the man. I told him that it was impossible for me to be 
part of the student movement in 1989 because I was just a junior high 
school student at the time. “As for Falun Gong, I have never had anything 
to do with them.” All I said was true and the man knew it but he still 
refused to issue the certificate. I didn’t dare to argue with him because 
that would mean the end of my passport application. Putting my pride 
aside, I pleaded and begged. He would not budge.

 
In the end, I gave in. I bribed him with a carton of Chung Hwa—China 
brand—cigarettes, which cost 400 yuan, about 40 pounds.

 
I proved my innocence through dishonorable means. The neighborhood 
committee director gave up his principles for a carton of cigarettes.

 
I thanked him. “You’re welcome,” he replied. “That’s what I’m supposed to 
do.” To this day, I don’t know if he meant he was supposed to issue me the 
certificate, or supposed to take my bribe.

 
It took him only five minutes to issue the certificate. But obtaining the 
certificate was only the first step of my long journey towards applying 
for a passport.

 
       That was in 2003. At the time, people had just started to talk 
about the rise of China.

 
 
Conclusion

 
If we have time, I will tell you more stories. More stories about those 
who sweat in fields under the sun, stories about other people who labour 
in mine pits and stories about other humble, insignificant individuals who 
are struggling to survive. In recent decades, it is these people who built 
the freeways and constructed the skyscrapers, it is these people who have 
been carrying the 8% annual GDP growth every year and created the China 
miracle, it is these people who bear the brunt of a rising China.

 
As a Chinese citizen, I of course hope my country will become prosperous. 
But this prosperity should not just put money into government coffers. It 
should also bring security, happiness and health to the Chinese people. 
This prosperity should not be just about money, but also about prosperity 
in ideas, culture and art. Apart from acquiring material prosperity, I 
hope my country becomes a greater civilization. Apart from possessing 
military power, I hope my country embraces compassion for mankind.

 
When my country rises, I hope my people can speak freely, instead of being 
suffocated, I hope disadvantaged people can receive help, instead of being 
pushed into the hell of suffering, I hope hard-working people can be 
rewarded, instead of being exploited.

 
I hope the rise of my country benefits the entire population, instead of a 
handful of families. I hope the rise of my country profits truly 
hard-working people, instead of lining the pockets of corrupt bureaucrats.
 
I hope the rise of my country means power can be restrained, justice 
served and people’s freedom protected, instead of more people being pushed 
into despair.

 
I hope the rise of my country is not at the expense of its people’s lives.