
标题: 大国崛起的十二个瞬间(节选) [打印本页]
作者: chibaa 时间: 2012-6-22 21:12 标题: 大国崛起的十二个瞬间(节选)
前些天参加英国的海伊作家节,我做了一个主题演讲,题目是《大国崛起的十二个瞬间》,因为时间关系,有些故事只讲了梗概,还有一些则根本没提及,以下是讲稿全文:
大国崛起的十二个瞬间
提起中国,人们会想到万里长城,想到豆腐、功夫和孔夫子,也有人会想到北京和上海的摩天大楼,想到2008年那次难忘的奥运会,正是在那之后,中国开始进入大国崛起时代,人们开始相信,中国已经告别了屈辱和悲惨的年代,实现了真正的富强,不仅有强大的军队,还有几万亿的外汇储备,中国即将成为世界的中心。这些话或许是事实,但今天,我要告诉你另外一些故事,这些故事在中国广为人知,都曾被媒体广泛报道,它们不足以代表整个中国,但它们都曾是中国的一部分。象大多数热点事件一样,人们谈论过,兴奋过,转眼就丢在脑后。大国崛起让许多中国人患上了健忘症。但今天,我要重新谈起这些故事,希望人们能够知道,在大国崛起的同时,一些中国人正过着怎样的生活。
(一)
2009年6月29日下午两点40分,54岁的吴产娣挤上北京的14路公共汽车,准备去国务院法制办递交自己的上访材料。用中国的说法,吴产娣不是公民,而是访民,像大多数访民一样,因为在法庭上得不到公平,他们只能求助于政府。如果地方政府不能给他们公平,他们就千里赴京告御状。这样的故事在几千年中一再上演,到了大国崛起时代也不例外。上访者都有一个天真的想法,认为天下之大,总能找到说理的地方。当吴产娣和她的同乡挤上那辆巴士,她看到了满面流汗的人们,听到了嘈杂的车声人声,她心中有一个卑微的愿望,希望自己得到公正的对待,但在那一刻,她并不知道这辆车将把她带至何方。
10分钟后,司机崔林关上车门,打电话向北京市公安局报警,说自己的车上有许多上访人员,希望派警察处理。我们不知道这位崔先生为什么要这么做,或许是因为他负有特别使命,或许只是因为他的警惕性比较高。十几分钟后,先后来了两批警察,第一批两个,第二批三个,他们没有向任何人问话,也没有查验证件,只是禁止乘客下车。又过了大约半小时,十几个身着便装的人走进这辆大巴,照吴产娣推测,这十几个人应该隶属于常州市政府,他们职责之一就是把常州市的访民劝回家。但吴产娣和他的同乡没有听从他们的劝告,他们挤下大巴,上了另一辆14路车,到国务院法制办递交了材料,然后回家等候消息。她的家就在江苏常州,中国最富裕、最发达的地区之一,在回家的火车上,她会看到无数城市和乡村,庄稼长势良好,所有的烟囱都在冒烟,正如我们事后所知道的,那一年中国的工业、农业都有强劲的增长。
372天之后,2010年7月7日,已经回家的吴产娣和她的丈夫外出散步,突然被一群便衣警察围住,瞬即被带到派出所接受询问,那是漫长的一天,到了晚上,警察向吴产娣出示了一份文件,决定对她行政拘留9天。理由是:372天之前,她乘座14路公交车时没有购票,导致那辆车停运一个多小时。
14路公交车票价一元。因为没有视频,也查不到交易记录,除了司机崔林的证言,没有任何证据能够证明吴产娣没有买这一元钱的车票,但同样,吴产娣也无法证明自己买过票。在大国崛起时代,法律常常是这样的:除了执法机关要证明你做过什么,你还需要证明自己没做过什么,否则就可能被判有罪。
因为这一元钱的错误,55岁的吴产娣被戴上手铐,送进了拘留所。也许警方觉得拘留还不足以惩罚这一元钱的罪恶,就在第二天,他们撤销了这个决定,改为劳动教养一年。如果只看字面意思,“劳动教养”就像是大学和疗养院的合体,但事实上,它和坐牢没有太大的分别,只是不需要审判——只要警察机构认为有必要,就可以独自剥夺公民的人身自由。在中国,像吴产娣一样的劳教人员有千千万万,却很少有人知道真正的数字,这是大国崛起时代的重要机密。
那365天是吴产娣的噩梦,她失去了自由,和小偷、妓女、吸毒者、传销人员一起住在狭小拥挤的房间里,每天都要背诵某些必须、某些禁止,常常被强制做工,却没有一分钱的报酬。她所在的劳教所生产二极管,在这漫长的365天中,吴产娣已经记不清她做了多少个,但可以确定,这些二极管大多被装在了电器上,其中有一些正在播放着大国崛起的新闻。一年之后,吴产娣依然感觉到强烈的恐惧,时常梦到自己的劳教生涯,在这无法逃脱的梦中,她逃避、挣扎,一次又一次向那些伸向她的手告饶:我买了车票了,请不要劳教我。
从劳教所释放之后,吴产娣开始了另一段辛酸的旅程:她向法院起诉,请求撤销对她的劳教决定,并希望得到国家赔偿。结果并不意外:败诉。她上诉,再次败诉。从法院的判决中我们可以知道:对她的劳教合情合理,并无违法之处,所以没人需要对此负责。现在吴产娣已经57岁,病痛缠身,时常感到沮丧和绝望,她说自己是个“弱女子”,“年纪大了”,“一身是病”,“拼不起了”。关于未来,她有两个计划:第一,把身体养好;第二,身体养好之后继续上访。
2009年6月29日下午两点40分,吴产娣登上北京14路公共汽车,她并没意识到,这将是世界上最昂贵的公交路线。在这条路上,她将看到中南海的围墙、天安门广场的一角,以及许多名胜古迹和摩天大楼,还将看到巍峨壮观的国家大剧院,几小时之后,那里会有一台盛大的晚会,票价从180元到580元不等,上演的曲目有《为社会主义大厦多添一块砖》、《毛主席的话儿记心上》、《留给后世的故事》,届时会有大人物到场,人们将群起欢呼。
关于这一切,吴产娣一无所知。她坐在平稳的车上,行驶在平坦的路上,一步步走向自己颠簸曲折的人生。在中文中,她的名字听着就像“无产地”,但现在我们知道,她产于大国崛起时代的中国。
(二)
2011年5月26日上午9点,钱明奇把一辆银白色的微型面包车停在江西省抚州市检察院楼前,负责警卫的保安告诉他这里不能停车,钱明奇说他出去吃碗泡粉,很快就会开走。那是一个晴朗的星期四早晨,大多数店铺已经开门营业,办公室里的人们刚刚开始一天的工作。在那个瞬间,没人注意这个貌不出奇的52岁男人,即使他已经做了那么多明显的暗示。
那辆车的品牌叫“长安”,意思是长久的安全,但仅仅半小时之后,车里发生了爆炸,同时爆炸的还有另外两辆车,车的主人钱明奇当场死亡。
钱明奇1959年出生于北京,那是中国历史上最为饥饿的年代,新生儿的出生率和存活率都很低,从这个意义上说,钱明奇有个幸运的人生起点。在52年的人生中,他不算富人,可也算不上贫穷,我们甚至可以说,他比大多数中国人都过得好,到2000年,他已经有了一栋五层楼的房子,楼内有许多房间,总面积约700平方米。这栋房子是钱明奇一生的心血,他耗尽了所有积蓄,大约50万元,此外他借了一些钱。他一定希望可以在这房中住上很多年,因为他说过,要修就修一座能抗地震的。
两年后,政府决定修一条高速公路,按照规划,钱明奇的房子就在这条路上。这条路是“国家重点建设项目”,在大国崛起时代,它的意思就是:没什么可以阻挡它,即使是耗尽一生积蓄、刚落成不久的房子。
按照当时的市场价,钱明奇的房子大约值200万元,但政府另有一套评估系统,只肯补偿他25万元。钱明奇不肯接受这样的方案,他恳求过,抗争过,也曾跟拆迁队发生过激烈的冲突,不过,正像大国崛起时代的许多房子一样,不管房主人办过多少证件,还是阻挡不了它被拆除的命运。
2005年,京福高速公路建成通车,这是中国最好的公路之一,全长2540公里,连接北京和东南富庶地区,每天输送大量的物资和器材,对中国的经济有着深远的影响。道路通车时,政府举办了一个盛大的仪式,人们欢呼喝彩,那时钱明奇正在去北京的火车上,他已经从一名殷实的小商人坚定变成了一个坚定的访民,但在心中,他依然抱有希望,还没有打算去死。
在一开始,钱明奇并不是激烈的人,他尝试过一切他能想到的法律程序,为此他还专门自学了法律。他曾试图与政府洽谈,失败;申请行政复议,失败;起诉至法院,失败;上诉,还是失败。在2007年,他曾和其他拆迁户一起检举当地官员,认为他们在拆迁安置中贪污了本应属于自己的钱,这事的结果你已经知道了:又一次失败。在近十年的时间中,他一次次从江西前往北京,希望最高级的政府能够解决他的问题,这依然是合法的程序,中国人称之为申诉或信访,当然,结果只可能是一连串的、无休无止的失败。没人记得钱明奇曾有过什么样的遭遇,他有可能被强制遣送,也有可能黯然而归,但我们知道,钱明奇和他的朋友们已经成了大国崛起时代的独特风景,他们是大国崛起的最重要的负产品。
2006年,钱明奇开始在互联网上讲述他的遭遇,但回应寥寥。进入微博时代之后,他在多个网站注册了多个账号。在腾讯,他曾向50多人发过求助信息,无人回应;在新浪,他曾向200多人求助,无人回应,其中就包括我本人。在钱明奇死后,我才发现他曾经给我发过私信,请求我转发他的遭遇,我没做任何事。我曾经为自己找过各种理由,但今天,我要坦白地承认,我之所以不回应,完全是因为我的自私和冷漠。钱明奇之死,固然是死于他自己的处境,也是死于整个社会的麻木不仁,其中就有我自己。
2011年春节,钱明奇在门上贴了一副对联:新年好,新年好不了;冤难申,有冤不申了。至此他已经完全绝望,并且做好了死的准备。他开始在网上发出明显的信号,说自己要采取行动,常常谈到死亡。他要人们关注江西将要发生的“爆炸性”新闻,说自己准备带几个敌人去天堂,他多次声称要炸毁政府大楼,但没有人相信他。就在爆炸前不久,他在网上发布信息,留了自己的号码,说自己死后要捐献全部器官,不过只捐给贫困家庭的孩子。这愿望未能实现,爆炸后不久,他的遗体就被火化,埋入地底。他的号码还可以打通,接线人是他的儿子,他不太愿意谈论父亲的事。钱明奇的另一个儿子要健谈一些,他说自己想写一本关于访民的书,人物原型就是他的父亲。
2011年5月26日9点,钱明奇决定与这个世界告别,他把炸药装进三辆廉价汽车,然后按下启爆器。在这之前,他对朋友说,要给政府送一份礼物。事实上,政府并没收到这份礼物,钱明奇的死亡没能把它从大国崛起的梦中唤醒,它只是加强了警卫和安检,全中国的访民依然走在艰难的路上,走在钱明奇曾经走过的路上。钱明奇的礼物更多送给了那些比他更不幸的人,其中有两位保安,何海根和徐应福,他们与钱明奇同时死亡,他们都曾有完整的家庭和完整的生活,何的儿子在读小学,徐的儿子在读大学。他们都是穷人,出身贫寒,收入微薄,做着不起眼的工作,拿着不足千元的薪水,在大国崛起时代,这样的人无论是死是活,都不会有太多人关心。
(三)
2011年4月19日凌晨两点,徐武用木棍和床单绞弯窗上的铁栅栏,钻出了武钢第二医院精神病科的大楼,外面是一个生满杂草的院子,时当深夜,警卫已经熟睡,他轻轻推开铁门,一步步走回阔别已久的正常世界。
这不是他第一次出逃。2007年3月底,他利用无意中捡到锯条和8个夜晚的秘密工作,锯断了几根窗棂,逃出了这座戒备森严的医院。但仅仅一个月之后就被警察抓获,重又投进这座由水泥、铁门和铁栅栏组成的建筑,在此后近四年的时间中,他一直被关押在这阴暗坚固的堡垒之中,吃着难以下咽的食物,定时服用那些效用不明的药片,有时还会被电击和殴打。他曾长期被单独囚禁,有两年多没见过真正的阳光,几乎见不到家人朋友。但在正式文件中,他并非罪犯,而是一位病人。
徐武1968年出生,家庭成分是工人,如果中国的政治教材没说错,他就是这个国家的统治者之一。21岁那年,他从技术学校毕业,成了武汉钢铁集团公司的一名职工,按官方报道,徐武不算一名好员工,他曾旷工,也曾违反劳动纪律。但徐武不承认这一说法,他说自己的缺点只是“认真”,在中文中,这个词也有执拗、倔犟的意思,有时也指过分关注自己的权利。这就是徐武被长期关押在精神病院的原因,不过并不奇怪,在大国崛起时代,在权利被普遍忽视的地方,过分关注自己的权利常常会被认为是一种病。
从2003年到2006年,徐武和武钢打过十几场官司,原因是他认为后者克扣了他的工资。开始还不算太坏,经法院调解,武钢答应给徐武经济援助,但不是因为他们做错了什么,而是因为他们崇高的人道主义精神。徐武不肯接受这样的调解,他说,他固然需要钱,但更需要一个说法,一个有明确输赢的结果。
徐武的对手是一个超级商业王国。武汉钢铁公司是世界第四大钢铁企业,在全球五百强中排名第340位,其总部占地超过21平方公里,有数十万名员工、数千亿资产,以及数不清的子、分公司,它拥有自己的学校、医院和警察机构,它的管理者享受政府官员待遇,或者本来就是政府管员。需要一提的是,它还是全国文明单位、全国企业文化建设优秀单位——它的文化是“以人为本,诚信为先”。在大国崛起时代,这样庞大的“文明单位”可以让一些人很幸福,也可以让一些人很不幸福,徐武就属于后者。自从拒绝了武钢的人道主义援助,他开始品尝中国当代生活最辛辣的那一部分,他开始遭受伤害,多次被打至流血住院,多次被侮辱、被囚禁。每次被伤害之后,徐武都试图反抗,而每次反抗之后,都是更严重的伤害,最后,他只能逃离武汉。
2006年12月16日,徐武在北京大学门口被几个警察逮捕。官方的说法是徐武扬言要在天安门广场发动爆炸,而且还在他的背包中发现了炸药配方、电工刀和用于制造炸药的材料。但徐武否认这一切,他说自己只是到北京寻求法律援助。
2006年12月31日,武汉街头一派盛世气象,市民身着盛装,笑逐颜开地准备迎接新年。入夜之后,中央电视台将播放一台欢庆的晚会,庆祝这个辉煌的时代,赞美仁慈的政策和政府的恩情。就在那一天,徐武被押进了那栋被钢筋铁栅环绕的大楼,开始了长达1571天的治疗生涯,那时他的家人都不在场,他换上了蓝白相间的病号服,侧卧在狭小的床上,就像一只被火车碾过的盛世斑马。
五个月之后,徐武穿着一身破旧肮脏的衣服走进天安门广场。那是他第一次出逃后的故事。在此前的一个多月,他住在北京的桥洞中,靠捡饮料罐和塑料瓶为生,他曾经向许多政府机构求助,但没有得到他想要的结果。那天是5月1日,另一个盛大节日,天安门广场正处于严谨有秩序的欢庆之中,来自中国各地的游客怀着自豪而敬畏的心情走进这个广场。徐武找了一处稍微空旷的所在,在晴朗的天空下点亮了一支蜡烛。这举动自有其传统,早在47年前,四川人何明渊就做过同样的事,后来他被投进监牢。徐武的待遇好一些,他被投进了一座像是监牢的医院。
徐武的蜡烛是一个谜语,谜底很难猜到,当他在天安门广场举起这支点亮的蜡烛,他想告诉人们:此刻,1200公里外的武汉正处于暗无天日的黑夜之中。
从某个意义上说,徐武是幸运的。他的病友要交钱才能治疗,他不需要,他享受的是免费医疗。也许是医院认为他的病情过于严重,所以他们拒绝让徐武接受探视。他年迈的父母一次次来到这坚固的堡垒前,又一次次失望而归,从2007年到2011年,他们一共被拒绝了86次。他们向法院起诉,法院不肯受理。他们找医学专家来鉴定徐武的精神状况,医院坚决拒绝。他们和自己的儿子相距只有几公里,却如同远隔阴阳两界。
2011年4月19日凌晨两点,徐武逃出精神病院,他跟朋友借了2000元,坐火车来到中国南方的大城市广州,在一家专业精神病院中做了鉴定,结果未显示徐武患有精神病,只是“情绪抑郁,自我评价稍低”。接着徐武向新闻媒体求助,在一家电视台讲述过自己的经历之后,4月27日,就在电视台的院内被七名身穿便衣的男人强行押走,其中六人身份不明,另外一人自称姓周,但后来查明,他并不姓周,真实真份是武钢的一名保卫干部。
徐武事件引起了广泛关注,记者们走访了他的家人和邻居,几乎所有的人都认为徐武精神正常。徐武曾要求在湖北之外的地方进行精神鉴定,不过最终的鉴定报告还是湖北方面出具的,这份鉴定显示徐武确实患有偏执性精神障碍,“建议住院治疗”。他的父母没有听从建议,他们把自己的儿子接回了家。在这份鉴定报告之后,媒体不再关心徐武的消息,正如你们所知,需要报道的事情太多了,他们忙不过来。
回家并不代表自由。照徐武的说法,他依然活在重重障碍之中。2011年8月,他从家中逃出,但很快被监视他的人押回。12月,他再次来到北京,在那里生活了43天,每天上网求助,大多数时候都在讲自己的遭遇,也常常关心别人,但几乎无人回应,很明显,他的事情已经“热”过了,不可能再次热起来。43天之后,他再次被押回武汉。此刻他正在家中学习法律。关于未来,他有两个计划:第一是“忍耐”、“等待命运”;第二个计划与法律有关,他已经是法定的精神病人,没有一家法院肯受理他的诉讼,但他依然对法律满怀信心。要“学习法律、研究法律、宣传法律、普及法律”,我问他是否准备考律师,他说他对考试没有信心,只打算做一点力所能及的事。
徐武44岁,还没有结婚,他希望能够早日找到自己的爱情。早在2006年,他曾经遇见过一个喜欢的女人,不过远远谈不上爱情,“只是聊过几次天而已”。在漫长的精神病院生涯之后,他已经和那个女人失去了联系,徐武说:她肯定已经结婚生孩子了。
(四)
2010年11月29日上午8点,钟光伟被推进南京胸科医院的手术室。两个多小时以后,医生从他的肺中洗出了15瓶浑水,水中有许多黑色的颗粒和棉絮状的物质,共计约8000毫升。但这并非全部,因为这次手术只清洗了他的左肺。
钟光伟生于1973年,只读过五年书,然后就辍学回家,像他的祖父、父亲一样,在贫瘠的田地中刨土寻食。他有3个孩子,这肯定违反了中国的计划生育政策,根据这政策,超生的孩子要缴纳罚款才能取得合法的户籍,这对钟光伟来说是不堪承受的负担。在中国近60多年的历史中,最勤劳、最辛苦、最贫穷的就是钟光伟这样的农民,他们是这个国家的二等公民,没有工资、没有退休金,年复一年地耕作,换来的也只是勉强的生存。在大国崛起时代,中国政府免除了延续几千年的租税,这让一些农民过上了稍为轻松的生活,但对钟光伟这样的赤贫者来说,情况并没有太多好转。
2006年11月,钟光伟告别妻子和孩子,在山西大同的一家煤矿找了一份打岩石风钻的工作。山西省是中国的产煤大省,几十年来,从这里输出的煤炭达数百亿吨,是大国崛起最重要的能源基础,许多人因此发了大财,山西省也因此成为中国污染最严重、劳动事故最多的省份。大量矿工在极为危险和肮脏的井下采掘,他们大多没有劳动保险,也没有安全保障,许多人死于不见天日的地底。他们的死亡是大国崛起的一部分。
钟光伟工作的地方曾是中国的佛教圣地,离著名的云岗石窟只有4公里。但在大国崛起时代,这里的人大多都不再崇拜释迦牟尼,他们更崇拜煤。为了多赚钱,钟光伟每天都要在巨大的噪音和遮天蔽日的粉尘中工作十几个小时。四个月之后,他开始感到肺部疼痛,经常咳嗽,但他没有停止工作,在疼得难以忍受之时他会请医生给他输液,然后第二天照常开动风钻,任粉尘飘在他的脸上,飘进他的肺里。
2007年春天,钟光伟的健康已被摧毁,他的体重锐减,咳得越来越厉害,他怀疑自己得了尘肺病,到大同市卫生检验检测中心要求体检,但被医生拒绝,理由是:尘肺是职业病,他们需要先确定钟光伟“有职业”才能给他检查。
这意味着他要先拿出一份劳动合同,这对钟光伟来说是一件不可能的任务,因为他只是一位农民工,“农民工”是典型的中国特色词语,说明他同时具有两种身份:农民和工人,农民是他不可改变的阶级属性,工人是他实际做着的工作。在大国崛起时代,这样的人超过一亿两千万,路是他们修的,楼是他们盖的,一切繁重的、危险的体力工作都是他们做的,但同时他们也是这个国家最被轻视的一群,常常被当成不安定因素和嫌疑人员,他们有流不完的汗、使不尽的力气,却很少有法律意识,大多数都不知道用劳动合同来保护自己。当权利受到侵害,他们只能默默忍受,因为他们拿不出一份劳动合同,而你知道,中国是个讲法律的国家。
钟光伟回到工作的煤矿,希望矿上能够给他开个证明,但被拒绝了。在他们眼中,钟光伟已经成了一个明显的负担,他们实在没理由自寻烦恼。无奈之下,钟光伟向大同市南郊区劳动局请求裁定,这是异常艰难的旅程,需要赔无数笑脸,说无数恳求的话,他剧烈地咳嗽着,在这城市的马路上徒劳无功地蹒跚往返。三个月之后,劳动局的裁定出来了,他们不承认钟光伟和煤矿的劳动关系,理由是大国崛起时代的典型理由:钟光伟不认识煤矿主,所以他不曾在煤矿工作。
现在他只能向法院起诉,还是同样的旅程:赔笑脸、说好话、蹒跚往返,一次又一次。一审之后还有二审,一切再来一次。最后钟光伟终于拿到了那份判决,法院认定他和煤矿存在事实劳动关系。于是,在长达一年的艰苦卓绝的努力之后,钟光伟终于赢得了检查身体的权利。
体检结果表明,钟光伟患有二期矽肺,肺功能严重受损。他拿着这份体检报告向政府申请工伤鉴定,这是另一段艰难旅程:赔笑脸、说好话,在希望和绝望之间无休止地往返。他的病情越来越严重,而他赚到的那点可怜的钱几乎耗尽,只能吃最廉价的止痛片来缓解疼痛,开始是一颗一颗地吃,后来是一把一把地吃。在7个月的艰难周折之后,他被鉴定为伤残三级,完全丧失劳动能力。然后他开始申请工伤赔偿,他填了表格,复印了证件,办齐了全部申请的文件,大声咳嗽着来到南郊区劳动局,与以往的繁琐拖沓不同,这一次,劳动局的表现异常简洁,他们直截了当地告诉他:不予受理。因为他工作的那家煤矿已经在几个月之前关闭了。
然后是再一次起诉,一切艰难再次上演,几个月后,法院判他胜诉,应获赔偿49万余元。他又等了四个月,没有得到一分钱,于是只能向法院申请强制执行。在钟光伟的故事中,我已经说过多次“艰难旅程”,但请相信,这一次比以往所有的都要艰难。在大国崛起时代,执行是无比艰难的事,即使是最有经验的律师也会因为听见这两个字而昏死过去,更何况是身份卑微、衣着寒酸、奄奄一息的钟光伟。他和妻子一次次往返于住处和法院之间,一次又一次地绝望。他们跪在地上,流泪恳求,然而你们知道,法院都是讲法律的,所以法官会向他提出许多合法的要求:要求他把煤矿主带至法院,要求他提供可以存放大型矿山设备的仓库……他们一定明白,这些要求对钟光伟而言简直就是易如反掌。
此时钟光伟已经身无分文,还欠了一身的债,他生活在煤海之中,却买不起一块取暖的煤,在中国北方零下二十度的寒夜里,他们一家五口缩在一条薄薄的毯子下,其中还有一个两岁的孩子。钟光伟彻夜咳嗽,有时还会晕厥。他和妻子都想过自杀,他12岁的女儿准备去卖血,在最艰难的时刻,善良诚朴的钟光伟甚至想炸毁这个苦难煎熬的世界。
事情在几个月后有了转机,一些善良的人向他伸出援手,媒体也开始广泛报道钟光伟的遭遇,然后,2010年10月28日,法院召集钟光伟和他的债务人,开始了一次艰苦的谈判。大国崛起时代的法律有软硬两种版本,对吴产娣、钱明奇和徐武来说,法律是硬的、不可商量的,但对钟光伟来说,法律就是软的、可以讨价还价的。煤矿主不肯支付全额赔偿,法官从中调解,钟光伟就只能一次次降价,从49万到48万,到47万,到35万,最终27万成交。法律是钟光伟最后的信仰,但最后,法律给他打了个五五折。
2010年11月29日上午8点,钟光伟被推进南京胸科医院的手术室。医生从他的左肺中洗出了15瓶浑水,右肺更多,21瓶。医生说,这只能减缓他的病情,却不可能根治。
在大国崛起时代,像钟光伟这样的尘肺农民工有千千万万,他们绝大多数都不像钟光伟这么幸运,没有媒体和社会的关注,他们几乎无法维护自己的权利,他们默默地工作,在病痛中默默地挣扎,然后默默地死去。
钟光伟还活着,他身高173公分,体重52公斤。他洗了肺,还了债,买了一所旧房子,用健康换来的钱已经所剩无几。他的病不可能治愈,也没人会给他报销医疗费,因为他是个农民工。对他来说,“未来”是个奢侈的词,他没有太多计划,只想养些猪、养些羊,让家人吃饱穿暖,自己尽可能地活下去。他现在学会了使用网络,两年中,他在网上发布了超过4000条信息,全是在关心那些不幸的人,他说:我自己也曾遭遇不幸,知道痛苦是什么滋味,我没有能力给他们太多帮助,但至少可以让他们感觉一点温暖。
(五)
我要讲的故事还有很多,如果时间足够,我还会给你讲叶海燕的故事。叶生于1975年,是一位坚定的女性权益维护者。她关心艾滋病人,多次帮助他们维权,因此历经挫折。她长期致力于维护性工作者的权利,为了了解她们的处境,她曾深入“十元一次”的廉价妓院。她的压力来自于两方面:官方的和民间的,我们的政府不喜欢她,我们那些满怀道德感的同胞也不怎么喜欢她。就在10天之前,几个不名身份的人闯进了她的工作室,他们砸毁了许多家具,却并没有让叶海燕屈服。在未来的日子里,她将继续关心女性权益:那些吸毒品的妇女、那些在身处监牢的妇女,那些被侮辱、被侵害、在种种暴力下痛苦悲伤的妇女……她活得并不容易,却有着远大的理想,她想做中国第一任民选的妇联主席,如果有可能,她还想做中国的第一任女总统。
我还想讲梁树新的故事。梁是一名36岁的企业白领,共产党员。他受激于钱明奇之死,报名参选他所在社区的人大代表,他通过了一道又一道繁琐的程序,填写了一张又一张麻烦的表格,他印制了竞选海报,满怀热情地对选民们讲自己的目标和方向。按照中国法律,这不仅是合法的、可以做的事情,而且是应该做的事情,但他还是遇到了重重的障碍,有人电话阻止,有人当面劝说,还有人在暗中收集他的资料,远赴他的家乡做各种调查。2011年9月8日,在广州丽江花园的人大代表选举现场,他把两位候选人的名字划掉,在选票的空白处写下自己的名字,然后投进票箱。他获得了许多选民的支持,但最后还给败给了那些阴险的设计和可耻的伎俩。下一次选举将在2016年,梁树新说,如果那时可以正常地参选,他愿意再次为中国的民主进程贡献力量。
还有萧瀚的故事。到2012年5月29日,萧瀚这个名字已经被注销过131次。萧是一位43岁的学者,任教于中国政法大学,他长期关注时事,时常发表评论。在大国崛起时代,时评可以分为两种,一种赞美政府,一种批评政府,萧瀚的文章中,有相当一部分都属于后者。这些文章给他带来了许多麻烦,他曾因“不明原因”被学校停课,也曾短暂地失去自由,被不明身份的人绑架了8个小时。2009年11月,萧瀚注册开通了他的第一个微博账号,谈论法律、时事和言论自由,很快这个账号被注销,然后他注册了“萧瀚微博二世”,二世被注销之后,他注册了三世,三世又被注销,他就注册四世……在我离开中国的那一天,他的账号是“萧瀚微博132世”。事实上,在中国的互联网中,转世者决非萧瀚一人,而是成千上万,他们被称为“转世党”,其中有一位党员已经转世359次。
在大约30个月的时间里,萧瀚共计发布了超过百万字的言论,其中有一些广为人知,比如“恶猜公权、善待私权”。在某个意义上,他已经死过131次,但依然不会放弃死亡。这是铁墙与头颅的战争,虽然取胜无望,但他依然坚持着一次次把头颅撞向铁铸的高墙。萧瀚说:在没有自由的时候,自由就是一切。
还有刘德山和方洪的故事。刘德山是一位从业40年的法官,同时还是一位法院院长。2010年5月4日,有人电话通知他去一个度假山庄,他冒雨前往,从此失去了自由。他先是被监视居住,然后被投进看守所,在此期间他备受折磨,受过各种各样的酷刑。他本是小有权势的人物,却依然无法对抗无辜加之的伤害。在酷刑的间歇,办案人员也会表现出一些善意,他们会推心置腑地劝告刘德山要“调整心态”,因为办案的方针不是无罪推定,而是有罪推定——除非你能证明自己无罪,否则就是有罪。还有人会劝他明辨形势,“既然你都进来了,总得说点什么,给我们个台阶下吧?”19个月之后,法院判他无罪,然而失去的已经失去,应得的依然未得。此刻,他正准备提起国家赔偿诉讼,不过他自己也清楚,这将是一条无比艰难的道路。
方洪是一位44岁的公务员,2011年4月21日,方洪在互联网上发布了一则讽刺薄熙来和王立军的笑话,共计58个字。因为这58个字,方洪成为全世界稿酬最高的作家,他被劳教了一年,平均每个字值6.3天的自由。在薄熙来出事后,我们当然可以把这一切都推给薄,但这并不能说明方洪何以至此。一个崛起的大国为什么会害怕一个笑话?什么样的制度才会把一个仅仅是讲了几句笑话的人投进监牢?为什么公民的权利可以被如此轻易地剥夺?却又如此难以维护?方洪说,集中营的日子让他明白了许多道理,接下来,他将不遗余力地对抗这邪恶的劳教制度。
以及更多的人。那些在山野间挥汗如雨的人,那些在矿坑中疲惫挣扎的人,那些卑微的、沉默的、走在艰难道路上的人。几十年来,正是他们铺平了道路,盖起了高楼,是他们扛起了每年8%的增幅,创造了中国的奇迹,也正是他们,一直建设着、背负着、也忍受着这大国崛起的时代。
当人们欢呼大国的崛起,也应该看到大国的危机。三十多年来,中国在经济上取得了可观的成就,确实让许多人摆脱了贫困。而与此同时,人权状况却并没有太多改善,司法依然不独立,新闻依然不自由,言论依然被管控、被压制,大量的人依然生活在苦难之中,这些都已成为大国崛起时代难以承受之重。事实上,这并非大国的第一次崛起,翻开历史我们就会知道,几乎每一个王朝都有过繁荣时期,但如果没有良好的制度作保障,这繁荣将很难维持,随之而来的就是萧条、饥荒、战乱,直至最后的覆亡。没有太多证据显示现行制度比历代王朝政治更加优越,“其兴也勃,其亡也忽”依然是难以摆脱的宿命。当物价飞涨、贪腐横行、贫富差距日异严重、民间的抗议运动如风起云涌,而维稳已经成为重中之重的第一事业,我们必须知道,这就是末日征兆,几千年间,这样的事曾一再上演,如果不去改变,接下来就将是千万人的苦难。
作为中国人,我毫无疑问地希望自己的国家富强。这富强绝不仅仅是政府之富,更意味着公民的平安、幸福和健康;绝不仅仅是物质之富,更是思想、文化和艺术上的繁荣;除了钱,它还应拥有文明;除了枪,它还应心怀慈悲。当它崛起时,人们应该可以自由地说话,而不是被扼住喉咙;不幸的人应该得到救济,而不是被推进深渊;勤劳的人应该得到奖赏,而不是被无休止的盘剥;它的崛起应是13亿人共同的福音,而不只是几个家族的专利;它的崛起应惠及真正的劳动者,而不只是让官员中饱私囊;它的崛起应该让权力受到约束、正义得以伸张,而不是让吴产娣、钱明奇、徐武、钟光伟以及更多的人身陷苦难。我可以为它的崛起欢呼,却不能接受它崛起于我的尸骨之上。
- 慕容雪村
来源:葫芦葫芦
链接:http://blog.sina.com.cn/s/blog_467a3a7f01015k5l.html
《大国崛起的十二个瞬间》的英文版
作者: badbadbad 时间: 2012-6-22 21:34
我想看完整的中文版。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。
[ 本帖最后由 badbadbad 于 2012-6-22 22:11 编辑 ]
作者: badbadbad 时间: 2012-6-22 21:38
《大国崛起的十二个瞬间》的英文版 (2012-06-22 13:00:35)转载▼
标签: 杂谈
A Few Moments in the China Rising Story
Translated by Jane Weizhen Pan, Martin Merz, Ling Wang
Mention China and people think of the Great Wall, tofu, kung fu, and of course, Confucius. They might also think of the skyscrapers in Beijing and Shanghai, and the unforgettable 2008 Olympics which heralded China’s rise as a great nation. People started to believe that China had farewelled forever the era of humiliation and tragedy, that China has truly become rich and powerful. And not just in terms of military might—China now has trillions of dollars in foreign exchange reserves and is destined to become the centre of the world.
This, perhaps, is all true, but today I want to tell you some stories from another perspective, stories that are well known in China and that have been widely reported on. These stories do not represent all of China, but they all represent a part of China. But like most hot topics, they were much talked about and caused a great deal of excitement for a while, but in the blink of an eye they were filed away in the recesses of public consciousness and forgotten. The rise of China has also led to a rise in amnesia. Today, as China is rising to new heights I want to retell these stories in the hope that you can learn something about the entirely different kind of life some people in China are living.
1 The petitioner
At 2.40 pm on the 29th of June, 2009, fifty-four-year-old Wu Chandi squeezed on to a number 14 bus in Beijing. She was heading to the Legislative Affairs Office of the State Council to present a petition. In today’s parlance, Wu Chandi is not a citizen, she’s a petitioner. And like most petitioners she had sought help from the government because she did not receive fair treatment from the local courts. And like petitioners who do not get satisfaction from the local government, she too embarked on long pilgrimages to Beijing to lodge a formal complaint with the Petition Office of the State Council.
This is a drama that has been played out countless times in China over the centuries and the script is unchanged even in this the era of China rising. Petitioners naively believe that they will find a place where people will listen to reason if they just try hard enough.
As Wu and her fellow provincials squeezed onto the bus packed with a noisy throng of sweat-soaked passengers she cherished but one humble hope: that she would be treated fairly. But at that moment she had no inkling of where the bus would really take her.
Ten minutes after Wu embarked, Cui Lin, the bus driver, closed the bus doors and telephoned the Beijing Public Security Bureau to report that there were a lot of petitioners on his bus, and requested the police send some officers to deal with them. We do not know why Cui Lin made this call. Perhaps he was on a mission. Or perhaps it was simply because he has a heightened sense of vigilance.
A quarter of an hour later five policemen arrived on the scene. They did not speak to anyone nor did they check anyone’s ID. But they would not let anyone disembark either.
After another half hour a dozen plain-clothed men arrived. Wu assumed they worked for the Changzhou city government, and were tasked with persuading petitioners from Changzhou to return home.
Wu and her associates ignored their counsel. They disembarked the bus, caught the next number 14 bus, delivered their petition and then returned home to wait for a response.
Wu’s hometown of Changzhou is located in Jiangsu province, one of the wealthiest and most developed regions of China. On the journey home, as the train raced past innumerable cities and villages, Wu saw that crops were growing well and that every chimney along the way was belching smoke. As we now know, China’s industry and agriculture grew rapidly in 2009.
On the 7th of July, 2010, some three hundred and seventy two days later, Wu was suddenly surrounded by a group of plainclothes police while she was out strolling with her husband. The policemen took her straight to a police station for questioning.
That was a long day for Wu Chandi. Towards evening the police showed her a document, a notification of administrative detention for nine days. The reason: when Wu took the number 14 bus in Beijing three hundred and seventy two days previously, she had not purchased a ticket, which caused the bus to be delayed for over an hour.
The cost of a number 14 bus ticket is one yuan—about ten pence. There was no CCTV on the bus and there is no way to verify the transaction. Apart from driver Cui Lin’s testimony, there is no evidence to prove that Wu did not buy a one yuan ticket. By the same token, Wu has no way to prove she did buy a ticket. As China rises, this is often how the law works: apart from law enforcement agencies proving that you did something, you also need to prove that did not do something. Otherwise you may be found guilty.
A one yuan discrepancy led to a now fifty-five-year-old Wu Chandi being handcuffed and incarcerated in a detention centre. Apparently the police felt that administrative detention was insufficient punishment for her one yuan offence, because the next day they rescinded the decision and changed it to one year of labour re-education.
Labour re-education doesn’t sound all that bad, but actually it’s the same as going to jail, just without the need for a trial. If the police consider it necessary, they can unilaterally take away a citizen’s freedom. People who have gone through labour re-education are marked for life. In the era of China rising, labour re-education alumni like Wu Chandi number in the hundreds of thousands.
The 365 days of labour re-education were a very long nightmare for Wu Chandi. She lost her freedom and lived in cramped quarters. Every day she had to recite rules and regulations. She was forced to work without any compensation. The work was making diodes. Wu Chandi lost count of how many diodes she made during that long year, but one thing is certain: those diodes are used in electronic gadgets and these gadgets are broadcasting the news of China rising.
A year after completing her labour re-education Wu Chandi is still terrified by her experience. She often has nightmares about her time as an internee. Waking up in fright she wails, “I bought a bus ticket, please don’t send me to labour re-education.”
After being released from labour re-education, Wu Chandi embarked on a another sad journey: she lodged an appeal to a local court challenging the administrative decision to send her to labour re-education and applied for compensation. The judgement was predictable: she lost. Wu then appealed to a higher court, and lost again. The judgement states that the decision to send her to labour re-education was entirely justified and broke no laws, and thus no one need shoulder any legal responsibility.
Wu Chandi is now fifty-seven years old and in poor health. She often feels dejected and hopeless, despairing that she is but a weak woman who is old and infirm, unable to fight any more. She has two plans for the future: she wants to regain her health, and once she has regained her health, she wants to continue petitioning.
At 2.40 pm on the 29th of June, 2009, when Wu Chandi squeezed on to a number 14 bus in Beijing, she had no idea that the bus she was on traverses some of the most impressive sights in the world. The number 14 bus provides a view of the wall of Zhongnanhai—the Chinese Communist Party’s leadership compound—before it passes a corner of Tiananmen Square. You can see many ancient historical monuments as well as modern skyscrapers from the number 14 bus.
And then, of course, there’s the imposing National Theatre. A few hours after her bus passed by there was a grand concert with ticket prices ranging from 180 to 580 yuan (18 to 58 pounds) for a performance that included classics such as “Lay another brick in the mansion of socialism” and “Chairman Mao’s words are forever engraved on my heart”. The performance was attended by numerous VIPs who were welcomed with rousing cheers.
But Wu Chandi knew nothing of this as she sat on the bus trundling inexorably on her troubled journey in the era of China rising. Wu Chandi’s name in Chinese sounds like “made in nowhere”, but now we know she is made in the era of China rising.
2 The suicide bomber
At nine am on the 26th of May, 2011, Qian Mingqi parked a small silver coloured van in front of the Procuratorate Building in the city of Wuzhou, in Jiangxi province. The guard in charge of security told Qian he couldn’t park there, but Qian said he was just eating a bowl of noodles and would soon be on his way. It was a Thursday and the sky was clear. Most of the shops in the area were open and office workers had just started their day’s work.
No one noticed this unremarkable fifty-two year old man at that critical moment, though he had given many hints of what he was about to do.
The van was a Changan brand—Changan means eternal peace—but within half an hour there was an explosion in the van, and in two other vehicles. The owner, Qian Mingqi, died on the spot.
Qian Mingqi was born in Beijing in 1959, the year of the worst famine in Chinese history. It was a year of low birth rates and high infant mortality. From this perspective, Qian had a lucky start in life. Over the course of his fifty-two years, Qian was by no means wealthy, though he certainly wasn’t poor. It would be fair to say, however, that Qian was better off than the majority of people in China. By the year 2000 he owned a five-story house with many rooms and floor space of about 700 square meters. That building was the result of a lifetime of hard work. It took his entire life savings of half a million yuan (about 50,000 pounds) and some loans as well. He expected to be able to live in his home for many years because he made it known that he was building it to withstand earthquakes.
However, two years later the government decided to build an expressway from Beijing to Fuzhou, and according to the plans Qian Mingqi’s house sat in the path of the carriageway. The expressway was designated an important infrastructure project, and in the era of China rising that means nothing can stand in its way. Not even a new house that used up someone’s life savings to build.
The market value of Qian’s home was about two million yuan (over two hundred thousand pounds) but the government valuation worked differently and they only offered two hundred and fifty thousand yuan (about twenty five thousand pounds) in compensation. Qian was unwilling to accept the package. He pleaded. He resisted. He even got into ferocious fights with the demolition crew. But like so many other houses in the era of China rising, no matter how many certificates the owner has applied for and obtained, Qian’s home too could not escape the wrecker’s ball.
In 2005 the Beijing to Fuzhou Expressway opened to traffic. This 2,540 km expressway is one of the best in China. Connecting Beijing with the rich and populous southeastern seaboard, it acts as an important artery for moving materials and equipment. This expressway is vital to China’s economic development.
As the government held a spectacular ceremony to mark the opening of the expressway, Qian Mingqi was on a train heading to Beijing. By that time he had been transformed from a prosperous businessman into a determined petitioner who still embraced hope and had no intention of dying.
Qian Mingqi did not start out as an extremist as he pursued every legal avenue to receive fair compensation. To equip himself in his numerous attempts to follow legal procedures Qian took up studying the law. He tried negotiating with the government—he failed. He applied for an administrative review—he failed again. He took his case to court—yet again he failed. He appealed to a higher court—and that too failed. In 2007 he joined a group of fellow evictees in reporting local officials for embezzling their relocation compensation funds. You can predict the result—it failed.
Over the course of almost ten years Qian Mingqi travelled many times from Jiangxi province to Beijing in the hope of resolving his problem at the highest levels of government. This legal remedy known in China as petitioning resulted, of course, in an unending series of failures for Qian Mingqi.
Nobody remembers what happened to Qian Mingqi on those sojourns in Beijing: perhaps he was forcibly repatriated to Jiangxi; perhaps dejected he returned of his own volition. But we do know that Qian Mingqi and his friends are part of the scenery in the rise of China, and have become the most significant waste products of a rising China.
In 2006 Qian Mingqi began to use the internet to publicise his misfortunes online but there was little response. As microblogging took off Qian Mingqi registered accounts on numerous web portals. On the Tencent portal he pleaded for assistance from fifty people but no one replied. He then implored 200 people on the Sina.com portal to help him, and again no one replied. I was one of the people who did not reply.
After Qian Mingqi died I noticed for the first time that he had written to me requesting that I repost his testimonial but I did nothing. Well I came up many reasons for my inaction but today I wish to confess that I did not respond because I was selfish and indifferent to the plight of others. Qian Mingqi died because of his own peculiar circumstances but he also died because this society is uncaring. And that includes me.
During the Chinese New Year festival in early 2011, Qian Mingqi pasted traditional couplets, written in gold characters on red paper on each side of the door to his house, with a non-traditional theme:
Happy New Year? Nothing happy about it!
My wrongs righted? Not a chance for it!
By this time Qian Mingqi was utterly disheartened and was ready to die. He posted messages online telling people to look out for some “explosive news” coming from Jiangxi province. He said he was preparing to take his enemies to the netherworld with him and frequently declared that he intended to blow up a government building. No one believed him.
Shortly before the explosion Qian Mingqi posted his telephone number online with an offer to donate all his organs, though only to the children of needy families. This wish was not granted because soon after he died in the explosion Qian Mingqi was cremated and his ashes were buried. The telephone number still works and it is answered by one of Qian’s sons. The younger son is unwilling to discuss anything about his father, but his older brother is a little more talkative. He is planning to write a book about petitioners, modeling the main character on his father.
At 9 am on the 26th of May, 2011, Qian Mingqi decided to leave this world. He packed three cheap vehicles with explosives. He had told a friend that he wanted to give the government a present. In point of fact, the government did not receive his present and Qian Mingqi’s death did not awaken the rising China. All it achieved was an increase in policing and security checks, while petitioners still trudge along their arduous path.
Qian Mingqi’s present was actually delivered to some people even less fortunate than himself: two security guards, He Haigen and Xu Yingfu, died together with Qian Mingqi. They once had families and enjoyed normal life. He Haigen’s son was in primary school and Xu Yingfu’s son was a university student. They were both poor, having come from poor families, and, being engaged in low status work had low incomes, less than 1,000 yuan per month. During the era of China rising, no one really pays much attention to whether such people live or die.
3 The mental health patient
At two am on April 19, 2011, Xu Wu managed to bend the iron railings of the gated mental health ward with wooden sticks and bed sheets and sneak out of the the 2nd hospital of the Wuhan Iron and Steel Corporation, in the city of Wuhan. Outside was a yard overgrown with weeds. The guards were deep asleep. Xu Wu gingerly pushed the metal gate ajar and stepped back into the sane world he had been kept away from for a long time.
This is not his first attempt to escape. In March 2007, Xu had snuck out of the heavily guarded hospital once before, after spending eight nights secretly sawing through the iron bars on the window with a saw blade he had fortuitously found.
One month later, he was picked up by the police and put back into the prion-like structure. In the following four years, he was kept in this fortress, forced to swallow inedible food and to regularly take tablets with unknown effects. Sometimes he received electric shock treatments and suffered physical abuse. For a long period, he was held in solitary confinement. For two years, he did not see the sun and hardly ever received visits from his family and friends.
It might surprise you to learn that, according to the official record, Xu Wu was not a criminal. He was a mental health patient.
Xu Wu was born in 1968 to a worker’s family. If our political textbooks are not mistaken, that would make him a member of China’s ruling class. His father had worked at the Wuhan Iron and Steel Corporation for decades. At the age of 21, Xu entered the ranks of the same company after graduating from a technical institute.
According to the official record, Xu was not a good employee. He had taken unauthorised leave and broken workplace regulations. But Xu disagrees. He believes his only problem is that he “takes things too seriously,” which in China can be interpreted as being “too stubborn,” or “too obsessed with his rights.” This is why Xu was kept in the mental health ward for so long. But this is not surprising. In the era of China rising, in a place where people’s rights are commonly neglected, taking rights too seriously can be seen as an illness.
From 2003 to 2006, Xu Wu had over a dozen legal battles with his employer because he believed the company had unfairly cut his wages. Initially, the dealings between him and his employer were cordial. After a court conciliation, the company offered to provide Xu with financial assistance on humanitarian grounds but denied any wrongdoing on its part. Xu refused to accept this conciliation outcome. He said of course money is important for him, but a court decision over right or wrong is even more important. The court decision soon was delivered. Xu lost the case.
Xu Wu was fighting against a business giant. The Wuhan Iron and Steel Corporation is the fourth largest steel manufacturer in the world and ranked 340 among the world’s top 500 enterprises. The company’s headquarters occupy an area of 21 square kilometres. The company employs several hundred thousand people and owns hundreds of billions of yuan in assets as well as countless subsidiaries. The company has its own schools, hospitals and law enforcement agencies.
Members of company’s management team enjoy benefits of government officials, or perhaps they are government officials. Also worth mentioning, is the company has been named one of the nation’s best-managed enterprises. In the era of China rising, a best-managed enterprise like this can bestow fortunes to some people, but such giant corporations can also make some people very unfortunate.
Xu Wu belongs to the unfortunate group. He has to endure the harshest life in contemporary China since he turned down his employer’s offer of “assistance on humanitarian grounds.” He was physically attacked many times and his injuries required hospital treatment. He was humiliated and locked up many times. He tried to resist whenever he was persecuted but every act of defiance only resulted in even more severe persecution. In the end, he had to flee the city of Wuhan.
On December 16, 2006, Xu Wu was arrested at the entrance of the Peking University in Beijing. The official explanation for this event was that Xu had threatened to set off a bomb at Tiananmen Square, and that he had been found in possession of a bomb-making recipe, and an electrician’s cutter and bomb-making ingredients were found in his backpack. But Xu denies it all. He said he went to Beijing simply to seek legal assistance.
On December 31, 2006, the streets of Wuhan were full of festivity. People dressed up to welcome the new year. CCTV, the state television channel, broadcast a new year gala event to celebrate the time of happiness, to praise the wisdom and kindness of the government. On that day, Xu Wu was taken to a concrete fortress and subjected to 1,571 days of mental health treatment. None of his family members was present when he was admitted. Wearing a blue-and-white striped hospital uniform, curled up in a tiny hospital bed, he looked like a forlorn zebra crushed under the weight of a rising nation.
On May 1, 2007, clothed in rags, Xu Wu arrived at Tiananmen Square. This was after he snuck out of the hospital for the first time. A month before arriving at the square, he sought shelter under bridges in Beijing. He lived on money he earned from selling recycled cans and bottles. He begged for help in front of the gate of many government agencies. No one listened to what he had to say.
The 1st of may was another large fesival in China. Tiananmen sqaure was swarmed with tourists from every parts of China. Xu Wu found a relatively open space and lighted a cander under the clear sunny sky. This action seemes to have its tradition as forty seven years before, He Mingyuan, a man suffering from famine and oppression did the same thing and was plunged into prison as a result. Xu Wu’s fate was slightly better than He Mingyuan’s. he was thrown into a prison-like hospital. Xu Wu’s candle is a riddle hard to fathom. When he held the lighted candle high in the Tiananmen squre, he purported to convey the message: at the time Wuhan city, 1200 kilometers awary from Beijing was in pitch-dark night.
From a certain perspective, Xu Wu was lucky. His fellow patients had to pay to receive treatment, but Xu got his treatment for free. Perhaps the hospital authority believed his condition was too severe to have visitors, so no one was allowed to visit him. Again and again, his aged parents went to the concrete fortress attempting to visit their son. Again and again, they were turned away at the gate. From 2007 to 2011, they were turned away 86 times. They appealed to the local court but the court refused to hear their case. They approached medical experts in local hospitals to review Xu Wu’s condition, but the hospitals refused to assist. They lived only a few kilometres away from their son, but the distance for them was as far away as another planet.
At two am on April 19, 2011, Xu Wu snuck out of the hospital. He borrowed 2,000 yuan (about 200 pounds) from a friend and took a train to Guangzhou in southern China. He went to a mental health hospital and requested an assessment. Except “feeling unhappy and having low self-esteem,” the assessment did not reveal any severe mental illness. Xu Wu then sought help from the media. On April 27, after he went on television describing his experience, he was taken away from the compound of the TV station by seven plain-clothed men. One of them said he was surnamed Zhou. Later, his true identity was revealed. He was a member of the law enforcement agency under the Wuhan Iron and Steel Corporation. His surname was not Zhou.
This incident caused a media frenzy. Journalists interviewed Xu’s family and neighbours. Everyone said Xu was mentally sound. Despite Xu’s request to receive an authoritative mental health assessment in another province, the assessment report was issued in his home province. This reports states that Xu suffers from paranoid mental disorders and advised Xu “to be treated as an in-patient.” Xu Wu’s parents ignored the advice and took their son home. After the assessment report was released, the media lost interest in Xu’s case. As you would understand, the media are overwhelmed by the number of stories they have to cover.
Going home for Xu Wu doesn’t mean regaining freedom. According to Xu Wu, problems are still following him. In August 2011, he escaped from his home but was soon picked up by the people who were assigned to watch him and bundled back. In December last year, he made it to Beijing again and stayed for 43 days. Every day he pleaded for help online. Most of the time he talked about his own experience but he also paid attention to others. He received few responses. Obviously, his story is no longer hot. Forty-three days later, he was taken back to Wuhan. These days he is teaching himself law at home.
Xu has two plans for the future. One is “to endure whatever life brings him.” The other relates to the law. Legally, he has been deemed mentally unsound and no court will take up his case. But he still has hopes for the law and wants to “study law and promote the law.” I asked him if he wants to sit the National Judicial Exam. He said no. He told me that he is not confident he could pass the exam and that he just wants to do whatever he can to help others.
At 44, Xu Wu is still single and wants to find love in the near future. He met someone he liked in 2006 but he thought that was far from falling in love. “We just chatted for a few times,” Xu told me. However, he has lost contact with that woman after all the years he spent in the mental health ward. “I’m sure she is already married and has children,” said Xu.
4 The black lung patient
At 8 am on the 29th of December, 2010, Zhong Guangwei was wheeled into the operating theatre of the Nanjing Chest Hospital. Two hours later, 15 bottles containing 8 litres of murky liquid, were lavaged from his left lung. The liquid contained innumerable black granules and cottony substances. But the procedure was not complete because the doctor only lavaged his left lung.
Born in 1973, Zhong Guangwei dropped out of school after five years and worked a hard life digging the barren land, sweating and laboring under the sun just as his grandfather and father before him had. In violation of China’s One Child Policy Zhong had three children. Because of government policy he could only obtain legitimate residence certificates for the extra children by paying fines. This was an unbearable burden for him.
For the past 60 years since the founding of the People’s Republic of China, farmers like Zhong Guangwei have been the most hard-working and the most destitute. They are second class citizens in this country. They barely survive, toiling year after year without regular incomes and pensions. In the era of China rising, the government exempts farmers from land tax and as a result some farmers live slightly better lives. However, for a destitute farmer like Zhong Guangwei, life has not improved.
In November 2006, Zhong Guangwei bade farewell to his wife and children to start a job as a pneumatic drill operator for a coal mine in Datong, Shanxi province. Shanxi is the largest coal-producing province in China. For decades it has been producing tens of billions tons of coal, used in the generation of electricity for the rise of this great nation.
Many people have made huge fortunes from coalmining, which also accounts for the notoriety of Shanxi as the worst polluted province with the highest number of industrial accidents. Many coal-miners work in extremely dangerous and unhealthy conditions underground. Most of them are not covered by labor insurance or protected from industrial hazards. Many die deep down in mine shafts and their deaths are an integral part of the rise of China.
The place where Zhong Guangwei worked was once a Buddhist sanctuary, only four kilometers from the renowned Yungang Grottos. To earn more money, Zhong worked over ten hours a day in noisy and dusty conditions. Four months later, he felt pain in his lungs and began coughing a lot. But he persevered with work, and only asked doctors to administer intravenous drips when the pain was unendurable. The next day he would continue operating the pneumatic drill, allowing coal dust sweep across his face, and settle in his lungs.
In the spring of 2007, Zhong Guangwei’s health was totally destroyed. His weight plunged and the coughing fits became worse. He feared that he had pneumoconiosis and went to the Datong city Health Examination and Testing Center for an checkup. The doctor, however, refused to examine him on the grounds that pneumoconiosis is an occupational disease, and they could only give him a medical examination if they had proof that Zhong Guangwei had an occupation.
This meant that Zhong Guangwei had first to provide a labor contract. But he was only an off-farm worker, a typical designation with Chinese characteristics that reflects his dual identity: farmer and worker. Farmer is an immutable class attribute, while worker is his actual occupation. In the era of China rising, the number of off-farm workers exceeds 120 million. They build roads and mansions, they take on the most onerous and dangerous work, but at the same time they are the most despised people in China, and are routinely treated as criminal suspects. They sweat and labor day after day, seldom aware of their legal rights. Many of them have no concept about protecting themselves by signing a labor contract. When their rights are violated, the only thing they can do is to endure, as they are not able to present labor contracts to the law courts. Surely you must know that China is a country governed by the rule of law.
Zhong Guangwei had to go back to the coal mine where he worked to ask his employer to issue a certificate of proof of employment. But his request was refused. In the eyes of his employers, he had become a nuisance. They felt no obligation to help him.
Zhong Guanwei had no choice but to seek assistance from the government. He applied for an administrative ruling from the South District Labor Bureau of Datong city. This turned out to be an extremely arduous expedition. With forced smiles and humble entreaties, he tottered back and forth on the city’s roads coughing in agony and waiting in vain. Three months later, he finally received the administrative ruling of the Labor Bureau which simply denied that an employment relationship existed between Zhong Guangwei and the coal mine owner. The reason was simple, and typical of the era of China rising—Zhong Guangwei never worked in the coal mine as he was not acquainted with the coal mine owner.
Now he had to file a complaint to the People’s Court. The same expedition was repeated—forced smiles, humble entreaties and tottering steps—over and over during first trial at the Court of First Instance and second trial at the Intermediate Court. At last, Zhong Guangwei won, with a decision adjudicating that there was indeed a de facto employment relationship between him and the coal mine owner. After one year’s painstaking effort, he finally won the right to receive a medical examination.
The medical report stated that he had stage II pneumosilicosis. His lungs were severely damaged. With this medical report, he began to apply to the government for an industrial injury appraisal. This was, again, an arduous expedition. His condition deteriorated and the treatment depleted his meager savings. He could only afford to kill the pain with the cheapest pain killers on the market, taking the pills one by one at first, and then by the handful.
Seven months later, he was appraised with stage III industrial injury, which means a total loss of ability to work. Then he started to claim for industrial injury compensation. He filled in the forms, copied the certificates and collected all the necessary documents. Coughing wretchedly, he again called upon the Labor Bureau of the South District of Datong city. Unlike their usual obfuscation, this time the Labor Bureau’s response was devastatingly concise. They told him that his application could not be accepted because the coal mine he worked for was shut down several months earlier.
Again he filed another complaint, the results of which this time only took several months. The court ruled that he won the case and was entitled to compensation of 490,000 yuan (about fourty-nine thousand pounds). He waited four months but received not a penny. Then he had to apply for enforcement of the court order. In the story of Zhong Guangwei, I have emphatically repeated the phrase “arduous expedition”. But believe me, this time the expedition was more arduous than ever.
In the era of China rising, enforcement of a court decision is a formidable task. Even the most experienced lawyer will feel faint on hearing the word “enforcement”, let alone a lowly, impoverished and dying farmer like Zhong Guangwei. He and his wife stumbled back and forth between their domicile and the court, only falling further and further into desperation. They kneeled on the ground, weeping and begging. As you know, the court is obliged to follow the law, so the judges would raise many reasonable requests of him, such as to bring the coal mine owner to the court and to provide a warehouse to store heavy coal mining equipment. The judges must have believed that meeting their demands would have been a piece of cake for Zhong Guangwei.
At this time, Zhong Guangwei had become penniless and was heavily indebted. He lived in an ocean of coal but he could not afford to burn coal to keep his family warm. In the chilling winter of twenty degree below zero in northern China, his family of five, including a two year old infant, huddled up under a thin blanket doing their best to keep warm. Zhong Guangwei coughed throughout the night, and sometimes even lost consciousness. He and his wife even considered suicide while his twelve-year old daughter was preparing to sell her blood. At his nadir, Zhong Guangwei, a simple and kind farmer, even had thoughts of blowing up this world of suffering.
Things took a favorable turn several months later. Some kind-hearted people extended helping hands and there was wide media coverage of his misfortune. On the 28th of October, 2010, the court summoned Zhong Guangwei and his debtors. Tough negotiation ensued. In the era of China rising, the law has two versions: soft and hard. For Wu Chandi, Qian Mingqi and Xu Wu the law was hard and non-negotiable. For Zhong Guangwei, the law was soft and negotiable. Because the coalmine owner refused to compensate the total sum, the judges mediated between the two parties. Zhong Guangwei had to lower his price over and over, from 490,000 yuan down to 480,000, then to 470,000 yuan, then 350 000, and ultimately down to 270,000 yuan (about twenty-seven thousand pounds) where the deal finally closed. For Zhong Guangwei law is his last resort, but ultimately the law took a forty-five percent discount from him.
At 8 am on the 29th of November, 2010, Zhong Guangwei was wheeled into the operating theatre of the Nanjing Chest Hospital. Fifteen bottles of murky liquid were lavaged from his left lung. Once again Zhong Guangwei was wheeled into the operating theatre of the Nanjing Chest Hospital. Even more murky fluid was lavaged from the right lung, filling some twenty-one bottles. The doctor said that lung lavaging could only mitigate his symptoms and there was no cure for the disease.
In the era of China rising, there are tens of thousands of off-farm workers suffering from pneumosilicosis just like Zhong Guangwei. However, most of them are not as fortunate as him. In the absence of media coverage and attention from society, they can barely protect their own rights. They toil in silence, and in silence they suffer, and die.
Zhong Guangwei is still alive. At a height of 173 cm, he only weighs 52 kilograms. He had his lungs lavaged, paid off his debt and even bought an old house. The money he received in exchange for his lost health, is almost completely gone. Because he is an off-farm worker Zhong Guangwei is ineligible for reimbursement of medical expenses.
To Zhong Guangwei, the “future” is beyond his reach. He cannot make any plans for the future. He just wants to raise some pigs and goats, to feed his family, keep them warm and strive to survive. He has learnt to use the internet. For the past two years, Zhong Guangwei has posted over four thousand messages online. All of his post are about his concern for the disadvantaged. He said to me: I suffered and I know how it feels. There’s not much I can do, but at least I can give people who are suffering a little warmth.
5 The candidate
I also want to tell you the story of Liang Shuxin. Liang is in his 30s and is member of the Communist Party. On September 8, 2011, at the venue to elect the local people’s representatives, Liang crossed out the names of two candidates on the ballot, wrote down his own name and cast his ballot. Despite having the support of many ordinary people, Liang lost his bid to become a candidate, because “some people” had made sure he couldn’t become a candidate. The next election will be in 2016. He said he will definitely participate if the election procedure is fair.
6 The online commentator
I also want to tell you the story of Xiao Han. By May 29, 2012, Xiao Han’s account on the microblog portal Sina Weibo had been shut down 131 times. Xiao Han is 43. He is an academic at the China University of Political Science and Law. Xiao avidly follows current affairs and regularly voices his opinion online.
In November 2009, Xiao Han first registered his user name on Weibo. He posted messages about the law and freedom of speech. His account was quickly shut down. He then registered a new account name, Xiao Han Weibo II. When that account was shut down, he registered another account under a new name, Xiao Han Weibo III. When I left China a few days ago, his latest Weibo user name was Xiao Han Weibo CXXXII—that’s 132 times Xiao Han has had to register to have his voice heard.
In some ways, Xiao has died 131 times. He doesn’t know how many more times he will be allowed to be reborn, but he refuses to give up. “Where there is no freedom, freedom means everything.”
There are thousands of Chinese netizens like Xiao Han. The are called members of the Reincarnated Party. One party member was reincarnated 359 times. This is a battle between a hard wall and soft tissue. Even though losing the battle is inevitable, members of the Reincarnated Party never shy away from throwing themselves against the iron wall.
7 The joker
Fang Hong is 44 year-old civil servant. On April 21, 2011, he posted a joke about Bo Xilai and Wang Lijun, the now disgraced officials of Chongqing. The joke consisted of merely 58 Chinese characters. As a result of posting the joke, Fang Hong became probably one of the most highly paid writers in the world—he was sent to a labor re-education camp for one year—which equates to 6.3 days of his freedom per character. People can now blame Bo Xilai for Fang Hong’s plight. But Bo Xilai is not the fundamental reason Fang Hong got into trouble.
Why is a rising China so scared of a joke? What kind of a system would throw someone into prison for simply telling a joke? Why is it that the rights of a citizen can be deprived so easily but are so hard to restore?
8 The bribe giver
Finally, please allow me to talk about my own China rising moment. When I was thirty years old I applied for my first passport. At the time, I lived in Guangdong province in the south, but had to submit my application in person in Sichuan province in the far west of China where my household registration record was held. The journey to Sichuan only takes two hours by plane, but the application process took two weeks, during which time I had to make countless journeys between various government offices. Every journey was a battle. I felt that obtaining a passport was no longer my legal right as a Chinese citizen, but a gift bestowed by the government for which I must be grateful. As part of the procedure, I was required obtain a certificate from the neighborhood committee, confirming I was not a Falun Gong practitioner and had not participated in the student movement of 1989.
It was a hot summer afternoon. I stood in line for two hours before finally being allowed to speak to the busy neighborhood committee director. The director was probably the lowest ranking official in China’s bureaucratic chain, but he was as cold as most of the government officials above him. “I need proof that you have never practiced Falun Gong and did not participate in the student movement,” he insisted.
“It’s difficult for someone to prove he did not do something. Other people can only testify if one has actually done something,” I said, trying to reason with the man. I told him that it was impossible for me to be part of the student movement in 1989 because I was just a junior high school student at the time. “As for Falun Gong, I have never had anything to do with them.” All I said was true and the man knew it but he still refused to issue the certificate. I didn’t dare to argue with him because that would mean the end of my passport application. Putting my pride aside, I pleaded and begged. He would not budge.
In the end, I gave in. I bribed him with a carton of Chung Hwa—China brand—cigarettes, which cost 400 yuan, about 40 pounds.
I proved my innocence through dishonorable means. The neighborhood committee director gave up his principles for a carton of cigarettes.
I thanked him. “You’re welcome,” he replied. “That’s what I’m supposed to do.” To this day, I don’t know if he meant he was supposed to issue me the certificate, or supposed to take my bribe.
It took him only five minutes to issue the certificate. But obtaining the certificate was only the first step of my long journey towards applying for a passport.
That was in 2003. At the time, people had just started to talk about the rise of China.
Conclusion
If we have time, I will tell you more stories. More stories about those who sweat in fields under the sun, stories about other people who labour in mine pits and stories about other humble, insignificant individuals who are struggling to survive. In recent decades, it is these people who built the freeways and constructed the skyscrapers, it is these people who have been carrying the 8% annual GDP growth every year and created the China miracle, it is these people who bear the brunt of a rising China.
As a Chinese citizen, I of course hope my country will become prosperous. But this prosperity should not just put money into government coffers. It should also bring security, happiness and health to the Chinese people. This prosperity should not be just about money, but also about prosperity in ideas, culture and art. Apart from acquiring material prosperity, I hope my country becomes a greater civilization. Apart from possessing military power, I hope my country embraces compassion for mankind.
When my country rises, I hope my people can speak freely, instead of being suffocated, I hope disadvantaged people can receive help, instead of being pushed into the hell of suffering, I hope hard-working people can be rewarded, instead of being exploited.
I hope the rise of my country benefits the entire population, instead of a handful of families. I hope the rise of my country profits truly hard-working people, instead of lining the pockets of corrupt bureaucrats.
I hope the rise of my country means power can be restrained, justice served and people’s freedom protected, instead of more people being pushed into despair.
I hope the rise of my country is not at the expense of its people’s lives.
作者: cst590 时间: 2012-6-23 00:16
完整的中文版?????
作者: earthsos 时间: 2012-6-23 02:28
许多年之后,当后世从新看待这段历史的时候,写进教科书中的恐怕更多的是控诉和警示。未来的某一天,政治家们会说:如果我们如此做,Z国的悲剧就会重演。。。。。。
作者: chibaa 时间: 2012-6-23 08:15
找不到完整中文版, 被加密 http://blog.sina.com.cn/s/blog_467a3a7f01015k5l.html
去 慕容雪村的微博也找不到 http://t.qq.com/murongxc http://weibo.com/hawking
只有英文版全文 http://blog.sina.com.cn/hawking
另一篇登在香港明報, 這里已有, 值得一讀. 慕容雪村 – 在所谓大国崛起的某些瞬间
https://cmule.com/viewthread.php ... 3%D0%A9%CB%B2%BC%E4
作者: sunmoon2008 时间: 2012-6-23 10:08
崛起来,准备挨操了吗?
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