“Grandma, everyone will die sooner or later? I do not want to die!”
“Yes, my grandson. Everyone will die finally, but when you are in your fifties or sixties, you will understand. People actually suffer a lot in their lives. Then it does not matter to live a few years longer or not.” my grandma replied kindly.
I began to fear death since I was 4. However, the minister of death has knocked on my door many times, just never in. I would have died if I had walked one more step to a deep well, or had tumbled one more finger’s breadth to a running carriage. I once dropped into a boiling pot for eggs, and also put my finger into a rolling pin machine. But the one that happened on June 4th, 1989, in Tiananmen Square, is the most unforgettable when I was a student protestor in
As I remembered, at about 4:00 pm, June 3rd, I hummed a folk song and tripped into the Tiananmen Square, where it was still crowded and messy. Some students from other cities put up some tents and just camped there. I was the leader of a small group of volunteers distributing water and drinks for them. I enjoyed the feeling of this work, of course without salary. Once in a while, some pretty girls might ask me for signatures, thinking I might be one of the student heroes. I actually was, wasn’t I?
As usual, I brought my tape recorder to collect some protest poems. I also wrote one for the Goddess of Democracy, which was a new plaster statue, holding a torch high, somewhat like the Statue of Liberty in New York. I had been very excited during her completion ceremony 5 nights ago. In my poem, she would lead the future road of our country, and we students were certainly the real spine of the whole nation. I felt as if I were a brave fighter for democracy and liberty, and a proud saver of our calamitous country and people.
Despite some annoying noises,
All of sudden, I was awakened by a loud uproar. A tank! Yes, a military tank was dashing wildly across the Square, about 50 mph, like an unstoppable green monster. I was totally astonished. This was the so called people’s army! This was the so called people’s government! They actually used tanks to suppress us, barehanded students!!
Soon after that, at about 10:00 pm or so, a gust of gunshots tore apart my young heart again. The soldiers began shooting! Are they crazy? Dare they actually shoot the students? People became frantic and formed a boiling turmoil in the Square. Many students gathered together and sat around the Memorial Statue of the People’s Heroes at the center of the Square, but I did not want to just sit. Instead, I would see what was happening with my own eyes.
Near midnight, I walked to the northwest corner of the Square, the closest to the gunshots. The soldiers loomed and fired behind the fires and smokes, just over the street corner one mile away. The pungent smoke and tear gas flew in the air. The shrill sirens of some ambulances rushed back and forth. It was said that the soldiers shot directly towards the crowd and killed some students and citizens, but I thought the soldiers might likely use the rubber bullets and tear gas.
“Ambulance! Ambulance!” Suddenly I saw a bloody young man, almost bare, carried into the Square. Apparently he was just shot, still bleeding! An ambulance immediately took him away. With my tape recorder open, I asked the student helper:
“Rubber bullets?”
“What rubber bullets! Real! Real bullets! Real!!” he cried and shouted.
Soon after that, two tanks were wildly roaring over the street. The homicidal soldiers began marching and firing into the Square. I did not remember how I ran away from the square. I was so scared that my brain was almost empty. All I heard were the machine gun shots, like popcorn popping, and the panic-stricken stampede steps. Just before I left the Square to
Not yet recovered from the panic, again I heard the gunshots from the east. Another group of troops were coming along the
After all the tanks and military trucks passed, we gathered again in the
“We still have some classmates in the Square. They might be killed!” I cried out.
“Yes, those bastards are killing the students! We have to save them!”
Without any order, we formed a big stream toward the Square, facing the gunshots, facing the soldiers’ bastions. “The Internationale” song resounded in the
“Arise, you slaves of starvation!”
“Arise, you wretched of the earth!”
“This will be the final and decisive battle.”
“With the Internationale, the human race will arise”
…….
“DaDaDa…” suddenly the song was gruffly broken by a gust of gunshots. Just a few steps away from me, one man was shot and fell down like an empty gunny bag. I dragged him back and his blood had soaked his clothes and a pair of white gloves. We all felt ashamed for our retreat. We gathered together again and again, continuing our matches. “The Internationale” sang even louder, but each time, machine gun shots broke the song without any mercy. A middle aged wounded worker held my hands and broke into tears: “We are sorry! We are awfully sorry! We cannot protect you students well! We really tried our best. They just have the guns!”
………
My tape recorder loyally kept the singings and gunshots all that night. I even took the bloody gloves back to school. Five students in my university were killed. I could be the sixth if I had not instinctively hidden myself behind the crowd. Fearing death is probably one of human’s natures. When I ran, I could clearly feel my heartbeats, but my brain was empty. Every action was controlled by instinct.
A few days ago in my church, the pastor told us not to fear death because it was just the access to the heaven for our eternal life. We were born to suffer in our lives because of the sin. Genesis 3.19 says:
“By the sweat of your brow
you will eat your food
until you return to the ground,
since from it you were taken;
for dust you are
and to dust you will return.”
The pastor was actually one of the student leaders in 1989. Now he has become one of the most famous evangelists in American Chinese society.
