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The dark side of China
Rupert Wingfield-Hayes, BBC Beijing Correspondent
What on earth is going on? I thought. As the morning wore on it start- ed to become clear. Media reports said 14 foreign members of the Falun Gong religious sect had been arrested in a Beijing hotel. Then came an anonymous call. “There will be a protest in Tiananmen Square,” the caller said and hung up. We leapt into the car. As we pulled out of the office not one, not two, but three black sedans swept out behind us. On Tiananmen Square the security was like I had never seen before. Scores of uniformed police were there, along with literally hundreds of plainclothes police - young tough looking men all with the same crew-cuts and mobile phones. As I stood and watched small groups of foreign protesters un- furled banners and began chanting: “Falun Gong is good! Stop the repression!” From the four corners of the square, hundreds of police began running. In minutes it was over, the pro- testers tackled to the ground and hauled away to waiting police vans. I began walking back to the BBC car to fi le my report.
But as I passed the huge Stalin- ist history museum on the east side of the square a police car squealed to a halt beside me. Two men and a woman leapt out. “What are you doing?” They demanded. “Nothing,” I said. “You must come with us,” they insisted. “Why?” I asked, my hackles be- ginning to rise. “I haven’t done anything”. “It doesn’t matter. You must come with us.” I was taken to a nearby police station and frog marched in to an interrogation room. Several other foreign journal- ists were already there. I began chatting to one. “Stop talking,” one of the po- licemen shouted. “What do you mean?” I said. “You can’t order me to stop talk- ing.” “I can tell you what I like,” he shouted back. “I am the police!” I told him he was being stupid - probably not the most sensible thing to do. He strode up grabbed me by the throat and shoved me against the wall glowering. My stomach tightened. For a moment I really thought he would hit me. “Who are you calling stupid?” he sneered, his face inches from mine. “You have carried out an ille- gal activity. “Did you apply to go to Ti- ananmen Square? Why were you there? Who told you to go?” The barrage of questioning continued for two hours.
They tried to get me to sign a confession admitting I had bro- ken China’s laws by going to the square. I refused. Eventually I was al- lowed to go. Outside the BBC offi ce the black sedans were back in place. For the next few days they fol- lowed me everywhere I went - to Starbucks for coffee, even when I went to the park with my son. The thickset men were never far away. They made no attempt to hide - if anything they did the opposite. The idea was to intimidate, to prevent me doing my job as a journalist. It was a minor irritation, and af- ter a few days they went away - at least for now. But the incident said much about the nature of China’s sys- tem.
Chinese who dare to criticise or challenge the government face it every day. One prominent dissident I know has had a team of police watching her for 10 years. Wherever she goes, whatever she does, they are always there in the background. But it is not just dissidents. The system of control goes deeper. The Chinese state holds a personal dossier on every single one of its citizens—its called a Dang An. You can never see it—you don’t know what it contains—but it can control your destiny. A black mark against you - a bad school report, a disagreement with your boss, a visit to a psychiatrist - all can travel with you for the rest of your life. One person I know once caught a glimpse of her Dang An. In it was a pink slip of paper she recognised as coming from her Primary school. Things she had done as an eight-year-old child are still following her more than 20 years later. Until that changes, the fancy coffee shops and skyscrapers of Beijing will remain a veneer for a police state that relies on coer-cion and fear to maintain control.
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