petermaize

Encounter in Beijing

In my last post I mentioned being banned from China,

which happened shortly after June 4, 1989. I’d spent

the previous few weeks covering the ongoing protests in Beijing.

Some of the incidents and impressions from that time ended up

in ZOOM OUT.

Below is a chapter from the book based on a real incident.

CHAPTER 49

“Come on, let’s go look for soldiers.”

Steven breezed into the dining room of the Minzu and motioned to Amy, who was just lighting up a cigarette. She inhaled quickly.

“Pardon?”

“Come on. You can smoke in the car.”

Steven didn’t say it impatiently, but Amy knew she needed to move. She stubbed out the cigarette. Steven had already waved to the languid waitress for the bill.

Amy checked in her big fake Yves St. Lauren bag. Notebook, pens. Just half a pack of Salems.

“Where are we going?”

Steven was zipping off a signature on her bill. He spoke without looking up.

“I told you, we’re going hunting for soldiers.”  He finished signing and looked up. “You ready?”

“Sure.”

They strode briskly out of the restaurant, through the lobby and out the big Stalinist doors. Their driver was waiting. Bobby was sitting in the front seat.

Ever since martial law had been declared, rumors of troop movements had swept the city. Steven had sources who fed him information from time to time; not high-level stuff, not always 100% accurate, but usually worthwhile.

“There are several regiments coming in today. Just reinforcements, I think. But I’ve heard that the Army wants to push them as close to Tiananmen as possible—see how much resistance they get from residents. That will be the key. If people come
out in the streets to stop convoys of soldiers, then Li Peng has a real problem on his hands.”

“I think that’s already happened,” Amy said, as the car turned onto the big, wide boulevard.

Steven nodded. “Yes, but only when troops were being moved from one area to another. People could see them packing up. This would be different. When all of a sudden trucks with troops in them come barrelling unsuspected down a street, will
citizens try to block them?”

Amy shrugged. So far, the democracy movement had been remarkably free of violence. The atmosphere was festive, not confrontational. Police had disappeared from the center of Beijing. Students now directed traffic—and did a pretty good job of it. Motorists seemed to show them more respect than they would a traffic cop. Overall, an atmosphere of courtesy and cooperation had settled over the capital. There was a spirit of unity, too, and a real energy.

They drove to the southwest part of the city, where most of the universities were. Things seemed pretty normal. Just people and automobiles and businesses, as if there wasn’t a revolution taking place five miles away.

“Let’s try the Capital Iron Works,” Steven suggested, and instructed the driver to turn
around.

“They’re going to put the soldiers in a safe place, away from the public. They don’t want them to be high-profile,” he observed.

“You think they’ll send troops into the square?” Amy asked.

Stephen didn’t respond for a moment. He looked out the window.

“I think the government leaders will do whatever they think is necessary to eliminate a threat to their power.”

They drove for more than an hour, checking out warehouse districts, remote neighborhoods and an abandoned air strip. Bobby dozed in the front seat. Eventually they gave up and headed back to the Minzu through a depressing residential area. Amy was lost in her own thoughts, daydreaming about Christmas back home, when she saw it.

“Army trucks!”

The driver had seen them too, a column of troop carriers  two blocks over. He immediately made a hard right. Amy’s heart raced. Bobby fired up the camera. They were only a hundred yards away from the slow-moving convoy. As they approached, Amy saw people in the street, moving toward the trucks.

Steven spoke rapidly to the driver in Mandarin. He pulled over and everyone piled out of the car, moving cautiously at first, then running as they realized a crowd of people had converged on the trucks. The big green vehicles had come to a halt.

“Just be careful,” Steven warned. He was trying to sound calm, but he was breathing quickly. People were rushing past them. Amy saw a woman emerge from the front of one of the five-storey housing blocks, wiping her hands on her dress. She
turned and called up to a woman leaning out a window. The woman quickly ducked inside.

The trucks were being engulfed by a cross-section of working-class Beijing. The neighborhood they were in
consisted of grey apartment buildings, squat and ugly. Grandfathers, teenagers, housewives and guys who looked like they’d just gotten off the early shift were filling the street, creating a human barrier. The convoy consisted of about a
dozen trucks. Some of them had canopies over the back, but in other trucks PLA soldiers could easily be seen, staring mutely at the mass of people who had blocked their way. No weapons were visible. The soldiers didn’t seem angry, or
scared. They just sat there, watching average citizens shout up at them.
Bobby was already shooting, focusing on a plump woman who was waving her finger at the young men in green uniforms who peered over the railings of their vehicle. Bobby was right up in the angry woman’s face, but she didn’t pay
attention to him. She was busy haranguing the soldiers. Something she said brought a burst of laughter from the crowd. Even some of the soldiers smiled. Amy examined their faces. They didn’t look very frightening. Very similar to the protestors, except they were all wearing bulky pea soup-green costumes. They probably are the same age as the students, she thought. Early 20’s. I wonder if they agree with the students? I wonder if they even know what the demonstrators are asking for? Probably not.

The angry bulky woman continued her diatribe, to the amusement of the growing crowd of onlookers. There were hundreds of people in the street now. No way the trucks were getting through. Amy couldn’t see any leaders among the troops, only
soldiers. They just sat there. A couple of teenagers were handing bottles owater up into one truck. A soldier was admonishing his comrades not to accept the offering, but he was ignored.

How does this happen? Amy wondered. A spontaneous act of civil disobedience by complete strangers. These people can accomplish anything.

The trucks had been idling noisily. Suddenly, they began backing up all at once. A cheer erupted from the crowd. Slowly, the trucks moved back the way they’d come. Jubilant residents waved and shouted. Some of the soldiers waved back. In a few
minutes the trucks had retreated out of sight. The moment of spontaneous action was over. The residents disappeared back in their homes. It was dinner time.

Peter Maize BANNED!!!

This isn’t the first time I’ve been banned.

My most significant banning was probably in 1989, when the

Chinese government wouldn’t let me into their country for awhile.

Yesterday I was banned by a website.

Most of you probably don’t listen to thrash metal very much, so you

might not be familiar with the band Slayer.

You might also be surprised to know that there are a few hardcore and

heavy metal Christian bands out there. I think that’s cool. Christian music

can take many forms. It’s the message that counts, right? And the emotion.

But the big names in the genre are generally loud, angry and—

to put it mildly—not followers of Jesus Christ.

One of them, Slayer, has been around a long time and is still making music.

Their themes are dark and violent. I visited the website and wondered about

the people who gravitate to Slayer’s music. Why do they choose imagery that is

so negative, hostile and hurtful? Are they hurting? Does this music provide them with

solace, or fuel a sense of community?

I’m not sure.

So I decided to talk to some of them. The Slayer website has a message board, so

I clicked the link to enter.

“You have been permanently banned from this board” I was informed.

“A ban has been issued for your IP address.”

I was amused and rather pleased. I’m not sure why Slayer won’t let me onto their board

(I’ve written to the website’s administrator and I’ll let you know if I get a reply).

The guys from Slayer grew up not far from my home in the suburbs of Los Angeles.

Thirty years on, they are still churning out angry, negative music, and they

continue to project extremely harsh attitudes to the usual targets: Christianity,

Authority, Hypocrites.

When I was a kid, it was a badge of honor for rock ‘n’ roll bands to declare that their music

was Banned in Boston.

Now I am banned by a rock ‘n’ roll band.

Maybe I’ll still get a chance to have a conversation. It’s worth the effort,

on both sides.

Dr. Li’s Miracle

What exactly is a miracle?

We use the term all the time, and it is even applied to

baseball teams and laundry detergents.

But do miracles really happen? Can they happen?

In Guangxi province, which is at the very bottom of China,

there was a poor village doctor named Dr. Li.

Dr. Li was a kindhearted person who never refused to provide medical care,

even if his patients couldn’t afford it. And most patients in that part of China

couldn’t afford medical care.

Dr. Li would pay for their medicine from his own funds, and waive his fees when necessary.

Needless to say, he was much loved in the village, not because people could get away without paying,

but because Dr. Li’s kind heart and compassion for his neighbors was so clear.

But in 2008, Dr. Li suddenly became a patient himself. He had kidney disease. The only solution

was an operation that cost US$40,000: an impossible sum for a country doctor.

Because he had used his own money to help others, Dr. Li had none for himself.

It so happened that we sent a TV crew to do a story about Dr. Li. Even though he was just

a village physician, word of his compassion had gotten out, and we thought he would be a great subject

for our “Moving Mountains” program, which featured Chinese people who were selflessly helping others.

When the TV crew went to visit Dr. Li, he was hospitable, but shy. He felft awkward about being on TV.

On the last day of shooting, Dr. Li told our crew that he planned to stop paying for the medical treatment that was

keeping him alive. He’d already borrowed money from his family and could see no point

in going further into debt, since he was destined to die soon enough anyhow, because he

couldn’t afford the kidney transplant.

He had enough money for 2 more weeks.

Back at our office, we received the news with shock and anxiety.

This man, who had originally been the subject of an uplifting story on a TV show,

was now our neighbor, a neighbor with a real problem.

He was facing death in a matter of weeks.

We knew it would probably be impossible to raise $40,000 for the surgery, but decided

that we would do what we could. We took a collection among the staff at our office—

about 20 people.

And then we mentioned on another of our TV programs that we had done this, and

suggested that if anyone else felt moved to donate, then they could send the money to our charity.

I hoped that we could collect enough money to keep Dr. Li alive at least for a few more months.

By the time we had received $115,000 we had to tell people to stop donating.

We had more money than we needed to provide Dr. Li with his kidney surgery.

So we sent him and his wife up to Beijing–the first time he had ever been outside of Guangxi province.

Dr. Li’s sister donated a kidney, and he underwent the operation.

In the days following the surgery, Dr. Li accepted Christ. Before that, he’d never thought much

about religion or why people help each other.

After he left the hospital, Dr. Li went back to his home and resumed his normal life,

caring for the poor villagers in his remote mountain region.

But because we’d collected so much money, we had to figure out what to do with it.

We offered donors a choice to get their money back, or to designate their donation for

another purpose.

Most of them chose to continue supporting Dr. Li and his work in the village.

Over the past few years, with their support, Dr. Li  has been able to rebuild his clinic, which was falling down,

and add a few vital medical tools so he could better treat his patients.

The money that is left is used to supplement the cost of medicine and patient’s fees.

Oh, yes, and Dr. Li is now holding Bible studies in his home. People come from all over the region

to learn about God’s love for His people.

Dr. Li is doing well with his new kidney. He believes he received a miracle.

I know that something that seemed impossible suddenly became possible—and

the provision was abundant beyond our expectations.

I know that a man who had no knowldege of God–but was mirroring God’s heart for the poor—

had his life radically altered.

It’s not a baseball team or a laundry detergent, but it just might be a miracle.

Poor and Beautiful

It is an irony that many of the poorest people in China live

in the most beautiful parts of the country. Rural poverty in China

often means mountains. Mountains mean difficult land for growing crops,

and roads that are either impassable or nonexistent.

I’ve had the opportunity to visit many of these places in Guizhou, Guangxi

and Sichuan provinces, among others. The scenery is astonishing. It’s

easy, as a visitor, to stand and admire the tranquil beauty and forget for

a moment that the people who live there toil for less than $2 a day, walk

for hours to reach a town and have few options for progress–except to leave.

There are roughly 30 million migrant workers in China today. Many are from

the poor villages in the mountains, where economic progress hasn’t–or can’t–

reach.

The people who live in the mountains are simple, friendly, open. Simple does not

mean stupid. Although it’s difficult to get a good education in rural China, the people

posssess are quick to learn. Although they are guided by tradition, they are open

to ideas.

Should they leave the villages in order to find a batter life and more opportunity?

What would you do?

Hello world!

In Chinese, the number ‘8’ is lucky. It’s a homonym (it rhymes)

with the character for wealth. When combined with the number ‘2’,

it’s even luckier, because 2 sounds like “easy”.

Hence, 28 is easy wealth. You’ll see these numbers all over China and

in places where Chinese live. License plates are common.

So today, I’m launching my blog on an auspicious date. Not that

easy wealth is a priority of mine. Nor that I actually believe in lucky numbers.

Some of the characters in my books do, though. You’ll meet them later.

peter