Geography Reference
In-Depth Information
his neck and cinched at the waist kept his head bowed. His hands were
tied behind his back. The guards shoved him directly in front of us. He
stood there silently, like a trussed penitent, as the steam wisped up
around his feet. Yen had a speech.
“I have something awful to speak about. I'm not happy to do it and it's
nothing to be proud of. But it is my duty and it should be a lesson for you.
This rotten egg here was jailed on a morals charge—homosexual relations
with a boy. He only received seven years for this offence. Later, when
working in the paper mill, his behaviour was constantly bad and he stole
repeatedly. His sentence was doubled. Now we have established that
while here, he seduced a young prisoner nineteen years old—a mentally
retarded prisoner. If this happened in society, he would be severely pun-
ished. But by doing what he did here, he not only sinned morally but he
also dirtied the reputation of the prison and the great policy of Reform
Through Labour. Therefore, in consideration of his repeated offences,
the representative of the Supreme People's Court will now read you his
sentence.”
The man in the blue uniform strode forward and read out the somber
document, a recapitulation of the offences that ended with the decision
of the People's Court: death with immediate execution of sentence.
Everything happened so suddenly then that I didn't even have the
time to be shocked or frightened. Before the man in the blue uniform
had even finished pronouncing the last word the barber was dead. The
guard standing behind him pulled out a huge pistol and blew his head
open.
(Bao 1973, 189-90)
Harry Wu (Wu Hongda) was an intellectual arrested in 1960 for
speaking up for himself, which was considered a crime during the
Hundred Flowers campaign. He was subjected to similar intimidation:
Around midnight a duty prisoner called my name from the doorway.
I tried to still my growing panic as I followed him outside into a
small, bare room. A police captain sat behind a single table. “Squat
down,” he barked without looking up. He shone the desk lamp onto
my face. “State your name, age, occupation, and the nature of your
crime.”
“I am a counterrevolutionary rightist,” I answered quickly. “In the
Hundred Flowers campaign I attacked the Communist Party. I still have
a lot of poisonous ideas.”
“We know all that. What else? What else?” shouted my interrogator.
“Don't you understand the Party's policy? Lenience to those who
confess, harshness to those who resist reform.” He stood up, walked
around me, then kicked open a second door. I saw a body hanging from
the rafters, then another sprawled on the wet floor. I couldn't see their
