Beijing Coma (57 page)

‘Hurry up and make a decision.’ I was growing faint from the heat.

‘Who’s supposed to decide?’ Old Fu said, exasperated. ‘The Hunger Strike Headquarters, the Beijing Students’ Federation, or the Provincial Students’ Federation?’

‘We’re all in this together,’ Yang Tao said, with an impatient flick of his hand. ‘We must unite and reach a common agreement.’

‘When will the meeting start?’ Pu Wenhua asked. Although no longer a member of the Headquarters’ standing committee, he still attended their meetings as a non-voting delegate of the Agricultural College.

‘As soon as everyone turns up,’ said Old Fu. ‘It will be held in the public bus Lin Lu has transformed into a mobile command centre. You should get some marshals to place a cordon around it, Dai Wei.’

‘The meeting must be held in secret,’ said Yang Tao. ‘If the hunger strikers find out we’re considering ending the fast, they might attack us. They won’t want to see their efforts end in failure.’ With his constant strategising, Yang Tao was living up to his reputation as a modern-day General Zhu Geliang.

‘I doubt many representatives will turn up,’ said Zhuzi. ‘Everyone’s so dispirited.’

A procession of Beijing citizens in sky-blue shirts marched into the Square, beating drums. The men at the front were chanting, ‘If the officials won’t listen to the people, they should resign from their jobs and sell sweet potatoes!’ Another procession passed them shouting, ‘We can live without food, but we can’t live without freedom!’ The crowds in the Square surged back and forth. The light flashing from people’s spectacles and plastic sun visors, or from the metallic paint of their bicycles, shuddered in the air. The ground beneath my feet was shaking too.

Over seventy university representatives turned up to the meeting. We checked their identity cards and let them into the command bus. Once Fan Yuan and Han Dan had squeezed in, there wasn’t room for anyone else so I shut the door.

It was five in the afternoon already. We’d covered the windows of the bus with newspaper so that no one could see inside. A few latecomers banged on the door, but Mao Da told me not to open it.

Bai Ling, as commander-in-chief, briefed everyone on the current situation, but was almost immediately interrupted by Hai Feng, who shouted out to both carriages of the articulated bus, ‘I’ve just come back from the United Front Department, and have some very reliable inside information: General Secretary Zhao Ziyang has resigned from his post, and the hardliners have resolved to launch a crackdown. I propose we end the hunger strike. It will wrong-foot the government, and make any imposition of martial law look unnecessary and unjust.’

‘Please stick to the proper procedures,’ Lin Lu said loudly. ‘Bai Ling hasn’t finished her speech.’

Chen Di whispered to me, ‘Lin Lu is so stiff and po-faced. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was a government agent.’

Strong sunlight poured through the sheets of newspaper stuck to the windows, making the dark corners of the bus look even darker.

‘I must remind everyone that this discussion is top secret,’ Old Fu interrupted. ‘If the students out there knew what we’re planning, mayhem would break out and people would lose their lives.’

Liu Gang chipped in, determined to have his say. Over the previous couple of weeks, he’d been pushed to the sidelines of the movement he’d helped instigate. ‘In 1976, Beijing citizens came to the Square to mourn the death of Premier Zhou Enlai,’ he said, ‘but we’ve dared come here to call for freedom and democracy. We’ve raised the nation’s consciousness, which is what we set out to do, so we can now return to our campuses in triumph.’

‘We’ve managed to get the people on our side,’ Tang Guoxian said loudly. ‘If we stop the hunger strike now, that support will crumble.’ Since he’d set up the Provincial Students’ Federation with Wang Fei and Yang Tao he’d assumed a new air of authority.

‘If anyone dies, history will not forgive us,’ Bai Ling said softly. ‘We must ensure no one comes to harm.’ Her voice was so quiet that most people couldn’t hear what she was saying.

‘You launched this hunger strike, Bai Ling, and now you want to end it,’ Wang Fei said, tapping his megaphone. ‘Is this all just a game to you?’

‘The hunger strike will not end until every last hunger striker has passed out,’ Mou Sen declared, staring at the dark end of the carriage.

‘Or we could end it on Day Ten,’ Shao Jian said, not wanting to concede defeat either. ‘If we stop it now, the hunger strikers will feel betrayed.’

‘Are you going to prolong the strike until every reformer in the government has been sacked?’ said Sister Gao. ‘We must end the hunger strike immediately and replace it with a sit-in. There will be 200,000 PLA soldiers turning up here soon, and we’ll need to defend ourselves.’ She lifted her arm to her face and coughed into her sleeve.

‘As it happens, Han Dan, Ke Xi and I have ended our fast,’ Cheng Bing confessed. ‘We had some noodles in the canteen of the United Front Department a couple of hours ago.’

Everyone fell silent. The bus reeked of sweat and antiseptic. Occasionally, a beam of light shone through a gap between the sheets of newspaper and fell onto a
NO SMOKING
sign, a square of the yellow-painted interior walls of the carriage or a patch of someone’s brown skin.

‘You dared stop your hunger strike before the government has agreed to our demands?’ Pu Wenhua said petulantly. ‘How could you, after everything we’ve been through?’

‘The hunger strikers from the Central Academy of Drama are refusing liquids,’ Shao Jian said. ‘I caught a glimpse of them through a gap in the crowd. All I could see were eight pairs of bare feet, lying completely still.’

‘We’re not cowards,’ Lin Lu said. ‘If the majority of students supported the strike, we would too. But the truth is, they don’t.’ Outside the bus, people were shouting and jeering.

‘Students have flooded here from all over the country,’ Wu Bin said. ‘But they didn’t realise that once they step into the Square, there’s no way out.’

‘We must take control of the situation and come to a decision, or people will die,’ Old Fu said.

‘I hereby announce that from now on, I will stop drinking fluids,’ Pu Wenhua said. ‘And if the government continues to ignore us, I’ll set fire to myself.’ He was very weak, and looked as though he was about to faint.

‘Do what you want,’ Han Dan said, wiping his glasses. ‘But you’ll be acting alone.’

‘As I’ve said before, I think we should end the hunger strike but stay in the Square and submit a new petition,’ Lin Lu said.

‘The Beijing Students’ Federation has called for an end to the fast,’ said Sister Gao to Bai Ling. ‘The Hunger Strike Headquarters must follow the will of the majority. If we keep fighting among ourselves like this, the students will lose trust in us.’

‘Stop wasting time,’ Mou Sen said. He too looked as though he was about to pass out. ‘We can talk about our future tactics at the next meeting, but the question now is: do we carry on with the hunger strike or not? Let’s have a show of hands.’

‘Yes, let’s have a vote,’ said Lin Lu. ‘Dai Wei, how many people are in the bus?’

‘Ninety-seven.’

A vote was taken. Fifty-one students voted to end the hunger strike.

Students outside began bashing on the door again. Mao Da, Chen Di and I opened it and stepped out. A huge crowd had surrounded the bus. I spotted journalists and Beijing residents in the throng. A few people lifted their cameras and took flash photographs of us.

‘Ke Xi wants to enter the bus, Dai Wei,’ Big Chan said, squeezing over to me.

‘He can’t!’ I shouted. ‘Don’t let him through!’ I was afraid Ke Xi wanted to stir things up again.

‘He’s already pushed his way through the third cordon, and he’s heading this way,’ Chen Di said, watching Ke Xi approach.

I grabbed Chen Di’s megaphone, switched it on and shouted, ‘Please don’t take flash photographs. The hunger strikers are very weak, and the flashes will disturb them. Please be considerate!’

A foreign journalist who was being pushed about in the scrum shouted in atonal Mandarin, ‘Don’t hit me! I’m not a dog! That’s not friendly!’ which made everyone laugh.

Ke Xi shoved his way up to us and said, ‘I’ve heard there’s an important meeting going on inside. Why won’t you let me in?’ He was accompanied by a doctor, two nurses and four students who were acting as his bodyguards.

‘It’s the rules,’ I said, blocking his way. ‘No one is allowed in once the meeting has started.’

‘Ke Xi, you’re here at last!’ Zhuzi shouted from inside the bus, having overheard our conversation. ‘Open the door quickly and let him in.’

Ke Xi moved feebly towards the bus. The two nurses fussed over him, shouting, ‘Don’t crush him! He could faint at any moment.’ Although he’d eaten some noodles earlier in the United Front Department, he was pretending to still be on hunger strike.

Chen Di and I pushed Ke Xi into the bus then closed the door behind us.

‘You’re not a member of the standing committee, Ke Xi,’ Bai Ling said sternly. ‘You can only vote as an individual.’

‘Cast your vote immediately,’ Sister Gao said.

‘What are we voting on? What’s been happening?’ Ke Xi was so squashed he could hardly speak. I was standing right behind him, almost choking from the stench of sweat and hospital disinfectant emanating from his body.

‘We’ve decided to end the hunger strike,’ Han Dan said. ‘Do you agree or disagree with our decision?’

‘Agree,’ Ke Xi said, raising his hand in the air.

‘Fine, then the meeting is now over,’ Lin Lu shouted. ‘In two hours’ time, get the hunger strikers to gather outside the broadcast station, and we’ll announce to the media and all the students in the Square that the hunger strike is officially over.’

‘Is everyone clear now?’ Shao Jian shouted through his cupped hands. ‘We will end the hunger strike and replace it with a sit-in.’

‘I’m going to storm Zhongnanhai!’ Pu Wenhua said, banging the walls of the bus, tears streaming down his child-like face. ‘It was my idea to launch this hunger strike! You have no right to end it!’

‘The hunger strikers should decide themselves whether to stop the strike or not!’ Tang Guoxian said. ‘Students who haven’t joined the strike have no right to vote!’ But most of the students had squeezed out of the bus by then. A few students from provincial universities were getting their photographs taken with Bai Ling, Ke Xi and Han Dan, then asking them to sign their T-shirts and hats. It looked as if they were planning to head home.

‘Who will announce the end of the hunger strike?’ Liu Gang asked Old Fu, pulling him into a corner.

‘Bai Ling, of course. She’s the Headquarters’ commander-in-chief.’

‘All right, Bai Ling will announce the decision, then the Beijing Students’ Federation will hold a press conference at 8 p.m.,’ Liu Gang said solemnly.

‘Zheng He has already written a Hunger Strike Termination Statement,’ Mou Sen said, handing the text to Han Dan.

‘Give it to Bai Ling,’ Han Dan said, pushing it away.

‘Let me read it first,’ Old Fu said, snatching it from Mou Sen.

Lin Lu handed a scrap of paper to Mou Sen and said, ‘This is the number of the State Council’s general office. Call them up on the phone outside the Museum of Chinese History and tell them the hunger strike is officially over. We must get this message to them before they impose martial law. Hurry up!’

Lin Lu turned to the few students who were still inside the bus and said, ‘Remember, this decision is top secret. Bai Ling must announce the news to the hunger strikers face to face. Before then, no one is to say a word. We don’t want a riot to break out.’

Mou Sen opened the door, stared at the vast crowd outside and whispered, ‘Will you help me squeeze my way through, Dai Wei?’

Tang Guoxian and Wu Bin stormed up to us and said, ‘You Beijing students can stir things up as much as you like then run away scot-free. But when the rest of us return to our universities in the provinces, we’ll all be thrown into jail.’

‘Let’s just see what happens,’ I said. ‘Anyway, no one should be heading home yet. This movement is going forward now, not retreating.’ Then, wiping the sweat from my face, I took Mou Sen’s hand and began pulling him through the crowd.

A long queue of people were waiting to use the telephone. I walked straight to the student at the front and told him we needed to make an urgent call. As Mou Sen grabbed the receiver, I glanced back and shouted, ‘Please keep quiet, everyone. We’re phoning the State Council.’ The queue of people behind immediately quietened down and gathered in a close circle around us.

Mou Sen nervously dialled the numbers, put the receiver to his ear and said, ‘Hello? We’re phoning to inform you we’ve ended the hunger strike. I will now read out our statement. I will speak slowly, so you can write it down if you want.’

‘There’s no need. This conversation is being taped. Give me your name and your title.’ The person on the other end of the phone sounded like a lowly secretary.

‘My name is Mou Sen. I am the deputy commander of the Hunger Strike Headquarters . . .’

Although he tried to keep his voice down, several people caught snippets of what he said. After he put the phone down, a journalist from Xinhua News Agency edged forward and asked for a copy of the statement. I told him there would be a press conference in front of the Monument later, and that commander-in-chief Bai Ling would read out the statement in person.

Mou Sen and I sat down, took swigs from the bottles of water a student had handed us and watched the colour drain from the sky to the west. Mou Sen said it would be difficult to impose martial law in Beijing. ‘When the government put Lhasa under curfew in March, they were able to cordon off the city and then attack the Tibetans away from the gaze of the Western media,’ he said. ‘But Beijing is filled with foreign diplomats and television crews. The whole world is watching us. The government wouldn’t dare use violence.’ Soon after he said this, his eyes rolled back and he collapsed in a sweaty heap on the ground. I pulled him up and took him back to the broadcast station to find him something to eat.