A Day in The Life . . . . . . Of China: Free to Fly Inside the Cage

• Share

(16 of 18)

On the surface, then, totalitarianism in Beijing seems no more oppressive than a constant low-grade fever. Underneath, though, the town seethes. Even the silence is telling. Herded by their supervisors to the military museum's "True Story of Tiananmen Square" exhibit, those I see viewing it are stone-faced. Politically reliable cadres are everywhere, but so are wry smiles, especially when people see a giant blowup photograph of the man who defied a column of tanks, with a caption saying he had been spared because of the army's humanity.

At cinemas, free tickets are distributed for Baise Uprising, a new film extolling Deng's early military career, but even those who attend -- and most of the theaters are half empty -- talk through the movie or read. At work, employees protest by increasing their sick leave and slowing their production. At school, the results of an essay competition glorifying the army's role in Tiananmen are supposed to have been made public weeks ago. Perhaps too many entries reflect the view of an eleven-year-old girl whose grandparents I meet. Her short, three-page paper, reflecting the unpopularity of China's conservative Premier, has Li Peng resigning because he is "too stinking." Most significant of all, perhaps, few people seem to have become informers in spite of a well-advertised Ratters Anonymous network.

While stories like these are everywhere in China, few people but the most emotional predict the regime's imminent collapse -- or even want it. Most who do so live in Beijing, but in this respect at least, the capital seems as representative of China as Manhattan is of the U.S.

The most famous man in China this summer seems to be Xiao Bing, the "rumormonger" who was sentenced to ten years in prison for "exaggerating" the Tiananmen death toll in an interview with ABC News (he said 20,000 had died). Absolutely everyone knows the tale of Xiao. "Xiao Bing makes a point about the future," says an economics professor in Chengdu. "The people in Beijing were there -- and so may be very willing to take to the streets again. But we elsewhere are more cautious. It's not that the propaganda campaign is working. Most of us know full well what went on -- if not the details, then the essence. It is that we have seen how far even Deng, who we thought was a good guy, will go to keep power. It may seem strange -- we are used to executions -- but ten years in jail just for talking sends a powerful signal."

But maybe not powerful enough. My conversation with the professor takes place more or less publicly at a table for twelve in a teahouse in Chengdu, a drab city where the sun rarely shines more than 60 days a year. Instead of smoking and no-smoking sections -- almost everyone in China smokes -- this teahouse sets aside tables for those who want coffee. Unfortunately, we are at one of them. Drinking Chinese coffee is like drinking hot water with a distant memory of caffeine; there is an atavistic link somewhere, but it is not coffee.