TIME Asia | Going Underground

	CHINA	MARCH 2, 1998 VOL. 151 NO. 8
Going Underground As U.S. clergymen examine religious freedom in China, its Christians feel increasingly constrained BY TERRY MCCARTHY Hong Kong arrying flashlights in one hand and Bibles in the other, a small group of men and women hurried through the narrow side-streets of Qingdao in northeastern China on their way to a covert Christian prayer meeting. Ea rlier in the day their preacher, Chen Wenjun, 31, had been called in for questioning by the police shortly after speaking with a TIME reporter. The prayer meeting went ahead anyway, in the bedroom of a private house with neither altar nor image of Jesus C hrist. "We pray to the Lord that Brother Chen will soon be able to join us," intoned Guo Yan, a 29-year-old woman leading the prayer session. "Amen" responded the 14 other people in the room, eyes tightly closed. Meanwhile in Beijing, three U.S. clergymen had just arrived on a high-profile visit to examine restrictions on religious freedom in China, including Tibet, the first time Beijing has given a U.S. religious group such access. At a meeting with no less a fi gure than Jiang Zemin, they were told by the President to "see for yourselves what is happening in China and hear about the ideas and views of the people from all walks of life." The visitors--Rabbi Arthur Schneier of New York City, Catholic Archbishop Th eodore McCarrick of Newark, N.J., and the Rev. Don Argue, president of the National Association of Evangelicals--said their meeting with Jiang was "very meaningful" with "good dialogue." But while the leadership preaches openness with foreign visitors, for Chen Wenjun's group and the estimated 12 million to 15 million other members of China's underground Christian churches, good dialogue with the authorities is a rare commodity. Since 199 4 a new crackdown on the underground church has taken place, not as violent as the beatings of priests and destruction of churches during the Cultural Revolution in the 1960s and '70s, but in some ways more insidious. Beijing decreed all Christians should belong to government-supervised patriotic associations, forcing them to kneel at the altar of the state even as they pray to a God supposedly above politics. To the embarrassment of the officially atheist Communist Party, religion is now enjoying unprecedented growth across China. Christianity alone is attracting 500,000 converts a year according to government estimates. "There have been few weighty articles o n Marxist theory of religion and atheism," lamented theoretician Luo Shuze in a 1996 essay for internal party distribution. "On the other hand, 'Christmas' activities and 'Christmas cards' have been pretty hot." The more the authorities tried to stamp it out in the past-Mao's wife Jiang Qing reportedly vowed in 1974 to destroy the Christian church "in one day"--the more resilient the church proved itself to be. Unable to ban God, the government is now trying to coopt him. About 100 million Chinese now adh ere to some religion, according to official statistics. That's almost double the membership of the party, whose ideological appeal has virtually evaporated among the young. Conscious of the role the church played in the overthrow of communism in Eastern Europe and nervous about any potential challenge to its authority, the party instinctively bristles at church activities it does not control. "The Communist Party cannot aff ord to be threatened," says the Rev. Deng Zhaoming, retired head of the Christian Study Centre on Chinese Religion and Culture in Hong Kong. "It is not strong enough, it has no self-confidence." But on the international stage the government is anxious not to give further ammunition to critics, particularly in the U.S. Congress, who are increasingly focusing on religious persecution in China as they gear up for the annual battle over China's human rights record at a United Nations conference in Geneva next month. Hence the visit of the three U.S. clerics, agreed to by Jiang when he met President Clinton in Washington last November. The Clinton Administration, under pressure from business lobbyists, wants to give China a clean bill of health on human rights. Beijin g is prepared to cooperate by allowing the clerics to tour the country, though with attentive chaperoning. The three men have appeared eager not to antagonize their Chinese hosts, declaring that "the primary purpose of our visit is not to visit the underg round church." In fact, "underground church" is a slight misnomer: although not officially recognized by the government, most groups of underground Christians are known to the local authorities even if their activities are not approved of. Even human rights monitors con cede that China is no longer as heavy-handed in its persecution of Christians as it was in the past--although in Tibet, where Buddhism is closely linked with nationalist sentiment, repression is harsher. A report released last October by Human Rights Watc h/Asia noted that "while long-term imprisonment, violence and physical abuse by security forces against religious activists still occur, they appear to be less frequent than ... in 1992 [the time of a previous study]." But the report added that as the gov ernment lessens its reliance on detention, it is "enforcing requirements on registration more strictly than ever before." The issue of "registering" religion is a contentious one. Since missionaries forced their way into China with foreign gunboats in the last century, Chinese leaders have tended to equate Christianity with outside interference. In the 1950s, Patriotic Chris tian associations were established to "cleanse" the church of its imperialist connections and subject it to party scrutiny. Officials have been given the right to control church activities, appoint bishops and even examine sermons for content before deliv ery. Bishop Fu Tieshan, elected as chairman of the Chinese Catholic Patriotic Association in January, has been a standing committee member of the National People's Congress since 1993. The attempt to subjugate religion to state authority has been strenuou sly opposed by many Christian churches, particularly the Vatican, the only European state to keep diplomatic relations with Taiwan. Last month the Pope announced he had created two cardinals in pectore (literally, in his breast), concealing their identiti es for their own safety: at least one is thought to be in China. Today there are 10 million Protestants and 4 million Catholics officially registered with the Religious Affairs Bureau. Penalties for not registering vary widely across the country: suspension of retirement benefits, loss of work permits, expulsion of chi ldren from school, a fine of up to $60 for attending Mass. In Dahou village in Hebei province, unregistered Christians have been required to report to local authorities eight times a day and were fined $12 if late. After Su Zhimin, the underground bishop of Baoding in Hebei province, wrote to the authorities daring to challenge the requirement to register, he became a wanted man and went on the run for 17 months until he was arrested last October. Although later released, the Vatican news service fides sa ys he is kept under surveillance. Back in Qingdao, Chen Wenjun eventually turned up at the prayer meeting, released this time by the police with nothing more than a warning to go home and not leave the city. Asked about the visit of the three U.S. clerics, Chen was skeptical. "They will o nly meet officials who wave the red flag and are on the government payroll," he said. "We hope they can get to see the real situation, but I doubt it." After the meeting Chen and his followers headed off into the night, chastened but still determined, fea ring not so much the beatings and internments of old as the silent eyes that are watching, monitoring and seeking to control. With reporting by Jaime A. Florcruz and Mia Turner/Beijing, Don Shapiro/Taipei and Richard N. Ostling/New York Photograph by RICKY WONG--Assignment Asia
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As U.S. clergymen examine religious freedom in China, its Christians feel increasingly constrained

BY TERRY MCCARTHY Hong Kong

arrying flashlights in one hand and Bibles in the other, a small group of men and women hurried through the narrow side-streets of Qingdao in northeastern China on their way to a covert Christian prayer meeting. Ea rlier in the day their preacher, Chen Wenjun, 31, had been called in for questioning by the police shortly after speaking with a TIME reporter. The prayer meeting went ahead anyway, in the bedroom of a private house with neither altar nor image of Jesus C hrist. "We pray to the Lord that Brother Chen will soon be able to join us," intoned Guo Yan, a 29-year-old woman leading the prayer session. "Amen" responded the 14 other people in the room, eyes tightly closed.

Meanwhile in Beijing, three U.S. clergymen had just arrived on a high-profile visit to examine restrictions on religious freedom in China, including Tibet, the first time Beijing has given a U.S. religious group such access. At a meeting with no less a fi gure than Jiang Zemin, they were told by the President to "see for yourselves what is happening in China and hear about the ideas and views of the people from all walks of life." The visitors--Rabbi Arthur Schneier of New York City, Catholic Archbishop Th eodore McCarrick of Newark, N.J., and the Rev. Don Argue, president of the National Association of Evangelicals--said their meeting with Jiang was "very meaningful" with "good dialogue."

But while the leadership preaches openness with foreign visitors, for Chen Wenjun's group and the estimated 12 million to 15 million other members of China's underground Christian churches, good dialogue with the authorities is a rare commodity. Since 199 4 a new crackdown on the underground church has taken place, not as violent as the beatings of priests and destruction of churches during the Cultural Revolution in the 1960s and '70s, but in some ways more insidious. Beijing decreed all Christians should belong to government-supervised patriotic associations, forcing them to kneel at the altar of the state even as they pray to a God supposedly above politics.

To the embarrassment of the officially atheist Communist Party, religion is now enjoying unprecedented growth across China. Christianity alone is attracting 500,000 converts a year according to government estimates. "There have been few weighty articles o n Marxist theory of religion and atheism," lamented theoretician Luo Shuze in a 1996 essay for internal party distribution. "On the other hand, 'Christmas' activities and 'Christmas cards' have been pretty hot." The more the authorities tried to stamp it out in the past-Mao's wife Jiang Qing reportedly vowed in 1974 to destroy the Christian church "in one day"--the more resilient the church proved itself to be. Unable to ban God, the government is now trying to coopt him. About 100 million Chinese now adh ere to some religion, according to official statistics. That's almost double the membership of the party, whose ideological appeal has virtually evaporated among the young.

Conscious of the role the church played in the overthrow of communism in Eastern Europe and nervous about any potential challenge to its authority, the party instinctively bristles at church activities it does not control. "The Communist Party cannot aff ord to be threatened," says the Rev. Deng Zhaoming, retired head of the Christian Study Centre on Chinese Religion and Culture in Hong Kong. "It is not strong enough, it has no self-confidence." But on the international stage the government is anxious not to give further ammunition to critics, particularly in the U.S. Congress, who are increasingly focusing on religious persecution in China as they gear up for the annual battle over China's human rights record at a United Nations conference in Geneva next month.

Hence the visit of the three U.S. clerics, agreed to by Jiang when he met President Clinton in Washington last November. The Clinton Administration, under pressure from business lobbyists, wants to give China a clean bill of health on human rights. Beijin g is prepared to cooperate by allowing the clerics to tour the country, though with attentive chaperoning. The three men have appeared eager not to antagonize their Chinese hosts, declaring that "the primary purpose of our visit is not to visit the underg round church."

In fact, "underground church" is a slight misnomer: although not officially recognized by the government, most groups of underground Christians are known to the local authorities even if their activities are not approved of. Even human rights monitors con cede that China is no longer as heavy-handed in its persecution of Christians as it was in the past--although in Tibet, where Buddhism is closely linked with nationalist sentiment, repression is harsher. A report released last October by Human Rights Watc h/Asia noted that "while long-term imprisonment, violence and physical abuse by security forces against religious activists still occur, they appear to be less frequent than ... in 1992 [the time of a previous study]." But the report added that as the gov ernment lessens its reliance on detention, it is "enforcing requirements on registration more strictly than ever before."

The issue of "registering" religion is a contentious one. Since missionaries forced their way into China with foreign gunboats in the last century, Chinese leaders have tended to equate Christianity with outside interference. In the 1950s, Patriotic Chris tian associations were established to "cleanse" the church of its imperialist connections and subject it to party scrutiny. Officials have been given the right to control church activities, appoint bishops and even examine sermons for content before deliv ery. Bishop Fu Tieshan, elected as chairman of the Chinese Catholic Patriotic Association in January, has been a standing committee member of the National People's Congress since 1993. The attempt to subjugate religion to state authority has been strenuou sly opposed by many Christian churches, particularly the Vatican, the only European state to keep diplomatic relations with Taiwan. Last month the Pope announced he had created two cardinals in pectore (literally, in his breast), concealing their identiti es for their own safety: at least one is thought to be in China.

Today there are 10 million Protestants and 4 million Catholics officially registered with the Religious Affairs Bureau. Penalties for not registering vary widely across the country: suspension of retirement benefits, loss of work permits, expulsion of chi ldren from school, a fine of up to $60 for attending Mass. In Dahou village in Hebei province, unregistered Christians have been required to report to local authorities eight times a day and were fined $12 if late. After Su Zhimin, the underground bishop of Baoding in Hebei province, wrote to the authorities daring to challenge the requirement to register, he became a wanted man and went on the run for 17 months until he was arrested last October. Although later released, the Vatican news service fides sa ys he is kept under surveillance.

Back in Qingdao, Chen Wenjun eventually turned up at the prayer meeting, released this time by the police with nothing more than a warning to go home and not leave the city. Asked about the visit of the three U.S. clerics, Chen was skeptical. "They will o nly meet officials who wave the red flag and are on the government payroll," he said. "We hope they can get to see the real situation, but I doubt it." After the meeting Chen and his followers headed off into the night, chastened but still determined, fea ring not so much the beatings and internments of old as the silent eyes that are watching, monitoring and seeking to control.

With reporting by Jaime A. Florcruz and Mia Turner/Beijing, Don Shapiro/Taipei and Richard N. Ostling/New York

Photograph by RICKY WONG--Assignment Asia