Riding the Iron Rooster

I watched them with an American teacher named Roy who said, "They do have grievances. They want to believe what they read in the papers and hear on the news. At the moment, they get it all from the VOA and BBC. They want to trust their own government—and they don't. They want to believe that the reforms that have begun with Deng are going to continue."

There were three theories to explain the sudden student discontent. One: that, as Roy said, the students really did have grievances. Two: that the government was divided and the students were being used by the liberal elements to test the conservatives. Three: that the disruptions were the work of conservative elements who wanted to discredit the liberals.

I was persuaded that the students had demonstrated on their own initiative. Their grievances were genuine bur muddled.

"They were really frightened," Roy said. "They didn't think they'd be arrested, but some were. They didn't think the police would push them around—but the police beat some of them and abused others. They know that if it happens again they will be arrested and not released. That scares them. It means they'll be kicked out of the university."

"The right to demonstrate is written into the constitution," I said.

"Sure, but it requires five days' notice, and the students have to submit their names in advance," Roy said. "So the government will know exactly who the ringleaders are."

The students were going around and around on the ice, shrieking and skidding.

"There won't be any more demonstrations," Roy said. "They're too scared. But it was interesting. They tested their freedoms and discovered they didn't have any."

The students would not tell me their names—well, who could blame them for being suspicious? They stood on the ice of Weiming Hu and became circumspect when I changed the subject from the weather to their discontent.

One boy told me he was "a small leader." He said he was a philosophy student and had been in the demonstration as well as its aftermath, when about 500 students had returned to Tiananmen Square and held a vigil from the night of January first until the early morning of January second, when the news came of their fellow students' release from police custody.

"Our teachers support us but they are afraid to say so," he said. "Officially they are said to condemn us. But the government misreports everything. They said there were three hundred students in the first demonstration when there were actually three thousand."

I said, "Do you think this repression is an effect of socialist policies?"

"I am not allowed to answer that," he said. "But I can tell you that the trouble with a lot of Chinese students is that they don't have a will to power."

Perhaps he was quoting Nietzsche from his readings in philosophy. And then I asked whether he thought that the students were too frightened, as Roy had said, to hold any more demonstrations.

"There will be more," he said. "Many more."

A moment later he was gone, and I talked with other students. They were jolly, frozen-faced youngsters on old, floppy skates. To ingratiate myself with them I borrowed a pair of skates, and seeing me fall down and make an ass of myself, they became very friendly. What did I think of China? they asked. How did American students compare with Chinese students? Did I like the food? Could I use chopsticks? What was my favorite city in China? They were goofy and lovable, with crooked teeth and cold, white hands. When I asked them whether they had girlfriends they averted their faces and giggled. They did not seem like counterrevolutionaries.

I had repeatedly requested a High-Level Meeting—that is, a chance to talk with an important government official. In the past my request had done nothing more than make certain people suspicious. What was I doing in China? they demanded to know. They had asked me for my itinerary. Using an extremely clever if somewhat fanciful Chinese technique for ensnaring awkward visitors, they insisted that I was too important to travel alone and so stuck me with Mr. Fang. He had gone back to his desk in Peking: he did not know that I was still in China. Now I was traveling on my own.

I risked asking for a High-Level Meeting once more, hoping that they would not pounce on me and give me another nanny or babysitter. I received a message telling me to report to Comrade Bai at the well-known Ministry of Truth. I was told that I could ask anything I liked.

Before I left for the ministry I asked a Chinese friend what questions I should put to the official. He said, "No matter what you ask him you will find his answers in the People's Daily"

The taxi driver who took me to the Ministry of Truth was impressed by the address I had given him. He said, "Can you meet American officials as easily as this?"