The faceless guards led me through a series of dark, narrow,
bending hallways and brought me to another cell, another icebox. It had lights
overhead. They were golden and intensely bright lights. They were lights like
spotlights on a stage.
In the cell were 15 other men, all Tibetans, except for one
Chinese, who appeared mute or deaf and was missing about half his left arm.
We weren’t allowed to speak. And we didn’t want to, either.
A bird-faced jailer sat on a plastic stool, staring at us from the shadows,
behind the harsh light. He’d sit pensively, somewhere behind the cell, and
would emerge, with a truncheon, and rattle at the bars if anyone spoke. Another
jailer, also with enraged eyes, brought us our food, and, in the evenings,
wheeled in a TV, that we were required to watch. It’d show Chinese state
propaganda, generally news, documentaries, and sometimes soap operas of happy
Han families.
We slept on the floor. We used a bucket in the corner for
piss and shit. There was one small, grimy sink, with a single cold-water tap,
next to the bucket for washing. We were fed twice daily, a small bowl of rice
and a bowl of clear soup with a chunk or two of pork fat and slice or two of
cabbage.
I was there a while. I wouldn’t find out how long until I
left. The days and nights, time, became irrelevant. There was no window in the
cell, no clock, and the lights were kept on 24/7, so time didn’t really exist
there.
In that deathly, luminous cell, we all just sat staring at
the gray wall. Since I thought I might be sentenced to death, my thoughts, at
first, were of my next life, where I’d be, who’d I’d be, what I’d be, and how
much karma I’d earned and how I might be reincarnated.
But then my thinking turned to fear, wondering what I’d be
charged with, what my “crime” could possibly be. I worried about being sent to
one of the worst labor camps. I feared never seeing my family again.
It sounds horrible. I sound like a monster when I say it,
but I actually didn’t think too much of my family during this ordeal. Firstly,
because it was too painful. Secondly, though, because I thought, perhaps, that
they’d turned me in, for whatever my crime was, and that hurt so much more.
Thinking, about anything, became too difficult, so I
stopped. I stopped my mind from racing, from conjecture, and I accepted karma.
I began to silently recite Buddhist mantras, over and over, and I’d meditate,
revisit the calm of dreamless sleep…
Eventually, the faceless men in turtle helmets returned,
took me to another room, in another part of the jail. This room actually had a
window, and I saw the sun for the first time in ages. The sun! The glorious
sun! Its yellowy light pouring into the room, like the aura of a deity.
Sitting down to a hard metal chair, I was not strapped in or
bound, but my back and shoulders still ached, from the first day’s beating, and
from sleeping on the cold concrete floor. But I could feel the beautiful,
merciful touch of the sun’s rays, shining in from that window, and the sunlight
tickled and warmed me and brought me back to life, and I shifted my weight
toward its glow, like a flower.
The men presented me a written confession and a pen. I’d
have almost signed anything, just to be out of there. I’d have maybe confessed
to murder if it meant being outside, working in the sun, breathing fresh air,
never seeing that jail again, never again smelling its mutant stench of feces,
urine, and bodies.
The statement said I’d been reported by a neighbor for
“spreading rumors and subverting state power.” It didn’t say the neighbor’s
name. It didn’t elaborate on exactly what “rumor” I’d spread. I couldn’t
imagine what I’d said that would have been considered a “rumor.”
But I knew of this charge. I heard of others receiving it,
usually for criticizing the government or holding an unsanctioned religious
event or gathering. Short of being told that everything was a misunderstanding
and declared innocent, a charge like this was the best I could hope for. It
meant probably, at most, maybe 5 years, and in a reeducation camp, not one of the
hard labor camps.
I signed it without question and was then whisked to another
part of the building, brought before a panel of 3 judges, one of whom, not much
older than me, looked Tibetan. I don’t know if he was for sure Tibetan, but he
looked like it. I’ve rarely felt such anger as I did, toward that judge. I’d
expect the Chinese to do this, but a fellow Tibetan, being my judge, no, I
couldn’t... Part of me died inside, just laying eyes on him.
Buddha forgive me, but I’d have killed him, with my bare
hands, if I could have. I’d have sprung up, charged at him and wrapped my hands
around his skinny neck, and strangled him to death, snapped his neck, like a
chicken, and stomped on his lifeless face until it was gone, until any trace of
his Tibetan features were erased.
I’d never felt such hate for my fellow man. Rage jolted
through me, as I stood there, my teeth chattering, and I hung my head and
stared at the floor. In that moment, I couldn’t see the judge’s face. I
couldn’t bear it…
The panel sentenced me to three years and asked that I
apologize and acknowledge my crimes to the court. And I did. I threw my head
back. I looked up. I told them what they wanted to hear. That I apologized for
my crimes. That I loved Mother China. That I was proud and loyal to the
Communist Party. That I would correct my errors. I would have mentioned my
errors, specifically, since I know that would have made them happier, but I
couldn’t, because I still wasn’t exactly sure what I’d been accused of saying.
(Deep down, it dawned on me how grateful I should be that it
was a “neighbor” who’d been the informer and not a family member. I felt
horrible, too, that I’d ever suspected my family of such treason. Buddha please
forgive me for this sin…)
The judges admonished me. They spoke, sternly, iron-eyed,
saying how hopefully “I’ve learned my lesson.” I was immediately led, in
handcuffs and shackles, to a van, which had three other men, who were Chinese,
and we were transported to a reeducation camp that was fairly close by.
