The Not-So-Good Book

In

the crowded stalls of Beijing's Book Street, Bibles compete openly for space with self-help manuals and guides to getting into American M.B.A. programs. Selling the holy book is perfectly legal in China, certainly more legitimate than the peddling of skin magazines. (Look under the stack of computer journals.) So when Lai Kwong-keung, a 38-year-old Hong Kong trader, was indicted last month in Fujian province for bringing 33,000 Bibles into China, his mainland-born wife was puzzled. "How can you arrest someone," she asks, "for bringing in books that are available all over China?"

In fact, Lai's books weren't the kind of Bibles the People's Republic condones. His New Testament Recovery version, unlike the text officially sanctioned in China, contains footnotes that try to explain particularly tricky parts of the scriptures. By using Lai's edition, underground evangelical worshippers can further their understanding of Christianity without the aid of preachers. That might sound innocuous enough, but not in the Chinese context. If you want to study the Bible in China, you are supposed to do so through either the Protestant Three-Self Patriotic Movement or the Catholic Patriotic Association, which follow state-sponsored liturgy. If you have doctrinal questions, those churches provide the only approved answers. If you're interested in such taboo topics as the Second Coming of Christ, you are defying the state. "Lai was just trying to help people explore all parts of Christianity," says a friend of Lai's, who worships at the same church in Hong Kong. "But Beijing does not want anyone learning about Christianity without its guidance."

Lai's arrest highlights China's rough crackdown on religion. While previous Bible couriers have been deported for their secret work, Lai could face the death penalty for smuggling "cult publications" and will be up for trial as early as this week. In a worrisome precedent set last month, leaders of a Protestant denomination similar to Lai's were sentenced to death for holding underground meetings. Last fall, more than a dozen secret churches in eastern China were razed, leaving piles of rubble and crucifixes scattered throughout Fujian and Jiangsu provinces.

Lai's plight has become an international concern. He is a Hong Kong resident, not a mainland Chinese citizen, and Hong Kongers still enjoy religious freedom even though the territory reverted to Chinese rule in 1997. Last week U.S. President George W. Bush expressed concern about Lai's case, which has chilled relations that had turned almost chummy after the Sept. 11 attacks. Beijing responded by telling Washington to stop meddling in its judicial affairs. Foreign Ministry spokesman Sun Yuxi claimed Lai's transgression wasn't just bringing in Bibles, but also passing them to a fast-growing evangelical Christian sect called the Shouters, banned in the mid-'90s as an "evil cult."

The 500,000-strong Shouters, who yell out a condensed version of the Lord's Prayer during their services, are one of many underground Protestant groups that have flourished in China in recent years, circumventing the state-supported Catholic and Protestant churches. That makes their meetings (often in basements or abandoned buildings) illegal, but many of the devout want little to do with "patriotic" churches. "How can I believe in a Jesus who has to listen to leaders in Beijing?" asks an underground preacher from Henan province, who leads a group of Shouters. "My Jesus does not have any masters."

That sentiment is precisely what worries Beijing. As China gears up for an expected succession struggle in the Politburo later this year, the Communist Party wants to ensure that no group nibbles away at its hold on power. Thus Beijing's severe crackdown on Falun Gong, the Buddhist-exercise movement that spooked China's leaders by getting 10,000 followers to protest in front of Beijing's leadership compound three years ago. The demonstration prompted the hasty passage of a law dictating harsh punishment to anyone involved in a cult—while conveniently failing to define what exactly constitutes one. "Anytime a religious group gathers strength, it's at risk of a crackdown," says Frank Lu, head of the Information Center for Human Rights and Democracy in Hong Kong. "Yesterday, it was Falun Gong. Today, it's the Shouters. Who knows which group it will be tomorrow?"