I have been spending some time in the People’s Republic of China, Beijing to be more exact, the political capitol of the country. This is a place which is interesting, beautiful and freighting all at the same time. First off, you have to remember that China is not a free country. It is not a democracy. And if you look carefully, you will notice, with increased frequency, what this means for a country.When you first land in Beijing and you walk along Chang’An avenue down to Tiananmen square, you are almost convinced you are walking in a western city. Forget about what you may think about China being a country from the dark ages. Everything is very modern, from the giant neon signs all the way down to the McDonalds restaurants. But then, as you walk onto Tiananmen square, you see Mao’s giant portrait hanging over the entrance into the forbidden city, and you know you are not in New York City! All around the giant square, there are large buildings which look like those eastern European or Russian buildings you used to see in the movies in the 1980’s. You know, there would be a scene with the text: “In the meantime, at KGB headquarters in Moscow”. On the roof of these imposing buildings there are dozens of red flags flapping in the wind, reminding you of the communist roots of this country’s current administration.
But what gets to you the most is the enormous amount of military police in the streets. Especially on Tiananmen square. No matter where you look, the police is ever watchful. A giant black SWAT bus is always parked at the edge of the square, reminding you that as soon as the shit hits the fan, they will come into action and forcefully restore the peace. There is literally enough police to occupy Paris!
As I walked across the square I am left with a bizarre feeling. Only 18 years ago, this is where a giant massacre took place. It all seems so quiet and friendly now. Two shy Chinese girls ask if they can take their picture with me. Apparently, they have never seen a westerner before. People are sitting on the pavement reading books. Some are taking pictures and are enjoying the sun which warmed the tiles. But I know that 18 years ago, these very same tiles were not warmed by the sun but by blood that was spilled on them. I have a feeling that this tranquillity I experience is as thin as a hair. Even the slightest outburst, and this seemingly tranquil place turns into a battlefield. It is this sense of presence which frightened me most.
As I walk back along Chang’An avenue and I stop where the famous photo was taken of a man, carrying nothing more than a bag, boldly steps in front of a column of chinese-made type 59 tanks. The photo hit the international media like a slug from a cannon. The man became internationally known as “Tank Man”. To this day, the whereabouts of this man are unknown. Some say he lives in secrecy, some say he is still in a Chinese prison and some say he was sentenced to death and shot (in which case the Chinese government sends the bill for the bullet to the family of the executed. Nice touch!). I stand there for a while, recalling that picture. Other people are walking by not even paying an odd glance. Most Chinese people probably don’t even know. There is no way for them to learn what happened because the government censures everything. I tried to pull up a picture in my hotel room in China only to find out that every single site on the internet which could say something bad about China has been banned and blocked. Not even wikipedia can be consulted. Like I said, it’s a bizarre place.
I’m not one to assume I know how to run a country. Us westerners are always quick to state that democracy is the best form (or as Churchill put it: the least bad form) of government. But much as we are brought up with the idea of democracy, Chinese people are brought up under the wings of the state, a state which has totalitarian power. They will look at the situation quite differently. I am not even going to try and make a judgement call here. All I want to say is that for a Dutch boy like me, it was quite a trip.
Jeroen Breukels
