Forbidden City (11 page)

Which is what I was starting to feel.

But a couple of things I didn’t understand. “What’s this stuff about rumours?” I asked Lao Xu.

“It means —”

Eddie cut him off. “Remember what I told you about how the government here controls and manages the news, Alex?” I nodded, a little put out that he was answering for Lao Xu. “Well, the government will now tell more lies to the people than ever and withhold more information than ever. If people start circulating the truth, they are accused of spreading rumours and arrested. It’s a way of controlling information.”

I looked at Lao Xu. He sat there with a glum look on his face and nodded without saying anything.

“What will happen now?” I asked.

In unison, Eddie and Lao Xu shrugged.

“Lao Xu, can you still work for Dad and Eddie?” I wanted to know. “I mean, won’t this make things more difficult for you?”

Lao Xu smiled. “I can continue,” he answered, “for the time being, because I have not yet been told anything different by my leader.”

I stood at the office window looking at the crowds streaming along Chang An Avenue. Martial law, I thought. That’s what Zhao must have meant when he said, “It’s too late.”

Last night, after Lao Xu left, Eddie and Dad had a long discussion about the martial law restriction on journalists. For one thing they had to decide whether or not they would continue to send reports about the demonstrations to Canada. That part was pretty short. Eddie said he wasn’t about to pass up what could be the biggest story of the decade and maybe the biggest story in China since Liberation in
1949. “It could even lead to a book,” he added.

I knew what Dad’s decision would be. Don’t forget, this is the guy who held up thousands of cars on the Gardiner Expressway in rush hour so he could get the capture of some bank robbers on tape.

“Besides,” Dad added, “I think these kids over here have been peaceful and sensible in this demonstration. No one has been hurt. All they seem to want is for the government to listen to them. We have an obligation to get their story out of the country. If that means breaking martial law, so what? After all, what can the government do to us? Send us home? If we don’t cover this we might as well be at home anyway.”

So that was that. They talked longer about Lao Xu. Dad was worried that if they kept covering the story they’d put Lao Xu in a difficult position — the position of a Chinese helping foreigners to break Chinese law. Lao Xu could go to prison for that.

Eddie nodded all the way through Dad’s speech, puffing on the stove. “Yep. I agree. But we should let Lao Xu decide what he wants to do.”

This afternoon Eddie got a phone call telling him that the People’s Liberation Army had sent plain clothes men into the radio and TV stations and into the offices of all the newspapers published in Beijing. The
PLA
, in other words, had taken over the Beijing media. It began to look like Eddie was right about information control.

The satellite feed to North America and Europe has been shut down by the government. TV pictures can’t be sent out of China directly.

Dad was angry. His bright blue eyes snapped. “This means we’ll have to smuggle the tapes out,” he said with determination.

Eddie wasn’t surprised. “After all,” he said, “the whole thing was set up for Gorbachev’s visit. There
was an agreement to keep the feed open for a month, with possibility of renewal. So the Chinese government broke the agreement. What else is new?”

Early this morning Lao Xu went with Dad and me to Tian An Men Square. It was a chilly morning with bright sunshine. Beijing may be under martial law but you’d never know it — except for the military helicopters that buzzed overhead. The students in the tent city were huddled under those long green padded coats that are common here. The square is still packed with people and there are still lots of
buses scattered around with students sleeping in them. The students are well organized and seem to have enough food. Lots of the food is brought by local residents.

The temporary latrines have not been replaced, so when the wind is right — or wrong — the square isn’t a very pleasant place to be. Signs and banners are everywhere. The atmosphere is calm, as if the demonstrators expect to be there a long time, as if everyone is waiting.

I went to look for Hong first thing, but I guess I had been right about him. He was probably in the hospital.

There seemed to be a lot of meetings going on. We eavesdropped on one. Lao Xu said that the students were discussing tactics. Some said they should obey the martial law ban on demonstrations, some said they should stay, some said they should seal off the square by barricading the streets leading to it. They all seemed to agree that eventually the soldiers will come.

Lao Xu read some of the signs for us. Many of them name the universities represented — Beijing University, Qinghua University, People’s University, Beijing Normal University. Some of the signs said Down with Li Peng or Down with Deng Xiao-ping. He’s the guy Eddie says really runs the country but there have been lots of rumours that he’s sick and might die soon. Some of the signs had little pop bottles hanging from them. Dad asked Lao Xu what they were for.

“Hey! I know!” I cut in.
“Xiao ping
means ‘little bottle’. It’s a play on Deng Xiao-ping’s name which really means ‘Little Peace’. Right, Lao Xu?”

Lao Xu looked uncomfortable. “Yes. It’s very bad manners. All of these signs calling for down with this person and that are rude. And dangerous.”

Dad wasn’t listening. He had the video camera up to his eye. It was pointed at the little bottles.

Things are getting really intense. This morning the
PLA
tried to enter the city. Their objective, of course, was to clear the square because the demonstrations are a defiance of martial law. Well, guess what happened? Hundreds of thousands of citizens of Beijing poured out into the streets and blocked the roads! I mean, the roads just filled up with live standing bodies! Nothing could move. People surrounded the trucks and the columns of soldiers and stopped them in their tracks!

I took a little tour on my bike — with the camcorder rigged up and running, naturally — heading west along Chang An, past Xi Dan Street market area where I bought my bike. I didn’t even get to the second Ring Road before I met so many people that I had to get off my bike and walk. What I saw was amazing. I saw soldiers sitting on benches in the back of an army truck, looking embarrassed while students standing on the hood of the truck lectured
them through loud-hailers. Some students offered the soldiers food or bottles of pop. The soldiers refused them. When I got closer I could see citizens —women with net shopping bags full of vegetables over their arms, old men with those whispy beards — talking with the soldiers at the tailgate.

One interesting thing was that the soldiers weren’t armed. I remembered what Lao Xu had told me about the
PLA
being a people’s army. The citizens and students I saw obviously thought so too. They were telling the soldiers to turn around and go away.

And they did! Later in the afternoon the army pulled out of the centre of the city.

As I pedalled along on my way back to the hotel I thought about what I’d seen. What kind of army, I thought, goes into combat — even crowd control — unarmed? What kind of officer allows his men to sit in the back of a truck like kindergarten kids on the way to the zoo while civilians lecture them and laugh at them? Could the Chinese army be
that
incompetent? Was this the army that beat the Guomindang, held off the
UN
in Korea, skirmished with the Russians along the northern border, and whacked the Vietnamese every so often?

I passed a road sign with some characters and an arrow on it pointing down a side street. The arrow triggered thoughts about Zhu Ge-liang and the way he fooled both Cao Cao and Sun Quan. He did it by feigning one thing and doing another. Classic strategy, I thought. Then I remembered a famous quotation
from Sun Zi’s
The Art of War
in the chapter on strategy. Make yourself appear to be weak in order to make the enemy proud and rash, he wrote. Even though you are capable, feign incompetence. The enemy would be put off guard. Were the
PLA
playing games with the people? And, in their eyes, were the people now the enemy?

This afternoon while I was out in the streets Lao Xu was called away by his Party boss for a briefing. He returned to tell us that he has been warned not to aid us in any way if we are breaking martial law.

“Well, that’s it, then,” said Eddie. “You have to stay away, Lao Xu. Because we aren’t quitting, and if you stay, you’ll be in trouble that you’ll never get out of.”

Dad agreed, but Lao Xu said he’d like to stay and help us. He just won’t help us directly if we do anything illegal. Eddie argued with him but finally said the decision was Lao Xu’s and he would welcome his help if he wanted to stay.

Lao Xu said he wanted to. Dad’s twinkling eyes caught mine. I knew what he was thinking. Was Lao Xu staying to help, or to keep an eye on us for the Party?