An extract from HEAT 20

Preface: Avenue of Eternal Peace, what a great name.

I started to prepare this confession in spring 2006 after I finished my reportage on the first Tian’anmen Incident that I titled 1976. I spent six months on the tedious work of sifting through old diaries, chasing up leads and interviewing friends. In early March 2007, I sat down and wrote. I felt relieved when I was near to finishing the first draft in late April.

Sure some people died in Beijing in the summer of 1989. But there were not that many deaths, and there is no point making a big deal about it. Considering the number of unnatural deaths since the establishment of the People’s Republic of China in 1949, more people died of unnatural causes in 1951, 1961 and during the Cultural Revolution. The main reasons for me to write this confession are as follows.

For someone as insignificant as I am, I witnessed something that was truly significant. To be more specific, in peacetime three people were hit by bullets and fell to the ground right in front of my eyes.

The year 1989 was a unique stage where I saw some interesting performances by my friends and people I know. I cannot help myself from writing down what I saw.

Alcohol is taking its toll on my memory. Without a written account, my memory of what happened eighteen years ago might become foggy and the truth turn into legendary tales.

I wanted to record that year for myself, as if I wanted to relive that year. To me, the year 1989 definitely was not the hell it was for other people. Put it this way, that year for me was a huge circus. Life is boring these days, and I feel better just to recall that colourful year, 1989.

I wish to exchange this confession for some money, because I write for a living.

The title 1989: My Confession was chosen for the following reasons.

It is my confession based on what I saw and heard. It is about people I know, people who were my friends.

This piece is neither a confession nor a self-criticism produced by the government, nor is it a confession or review put together by those upright pro-democracy types. Definitely not.

As early as October 1989, I wrote 89 · Beijing, a series of over sixty poems. I did not shy away from mentioning tanks, bullets, or the hunger strike in my poems. Some people thought I was asking for trouble when I distributed over one hundred mimeographed copies right after they were written, to friends and university students. As for the content, many thought I was morally bankrupt for making fun of the students.

But I am my own person, and likewise, the students and the government had made their own decisions. If the students or the government pay me to write something for them, using their materials and their story lines, I may agree to do it their way as long as the money is good, just like a builder who builds houses regardless of whether the owners are good people or bad people. The builder does not own the houses, anyway.

I wrote this piece for myself. It is not a commissioned work. I make my own decisions on how I write. There may be some things in this confession that will upset students and please the government. But there is not much I can do about that. I take full responsibility if I happen to upset good people and make bad people feel good.

I want to make it objective, for I believe objectivity can be used as a parameter of truth. Without it, things will become messy. What I tried to avoid most during my writing was to let imagination overtake objectivity because of my fading memory. However, if there is something here that is not true, the mistake has nothing to do with my moral worth.

In 1976, except for names of party leaders, foreigners and historical figures, I concealed people’s names with XXX, even though many of these people were important figures at the time or became famous later. In My Confession, I decided to use people’s real names or nick names, unless I cannot remember them. Then they will be referred to by their family names or descriptions of their appearances. Consequently, I may upset some people by exposing their dishonorable and hypocritical sides, or embarrass some others with excessive praise. If I am no longer invited to their dining tables or their living rooms, that’s the way it is. I accept it.

A brief account of what I did in 1988 and 1989 follows.

Ran errands for the editorial committee of Culture: China and the World run mainly by Gan Yang. Founded in 1985, the committee had its origins in a philosophical salon of young scholars and became well known among students for introducing Western philosophical works into China in the 1980s.

Joined the Beijing Environmental Sanitation Bureau’s bad-minton team, competed in the Western City District competition and won second and third places.

Became a regular guest at the house of Zhao Yuesheng, then a celebrity in Beijing among Beijing intellectuals.

Signed the petition organised by Xu Youyu and others, calling for the release of dissident Wei Jingsheng.

Went to Tian’anmen Square almost every day as a spectator during May and June 1989 because I lived not far from the Beijing Telegraph Building. The building is right next to the Avenue of Eternal Peace. I witnessed three people next to me hit by bullets.

Went to various hospitals at the request of XXX to calculate the number of deaths after June 4.

Joined Chen Jiaming to euthanise his mother and arrange her cremation at the Babaoshan Revolutionary Cemetery.

Travelled to the Nu River Gorge and was detained for five days. In addition, I took a trip along the Yunnan-Tibet route.

Wrote 89 · Beijing poems and distributed one hundred mimeographed copies.

Ran errands for Cui Jian’s band, then the most well known Rock & Roll band in China. Wang Xiaojing was the agent. I attended Cui Jian’s roadshow performances for the Asian Games

Travelled to Jinshan Gorge, a 725 km section of interconnected gorges the Yellow River runs through. I walked or took boat rides during this trip and wrote Song of the Yellow River.

People died in June 1989. Some may consider their death as significant as the towering Tai Mountain, or as insignificant as a weightless feather. Did they die of unnatural causes? Hard to say.

By the way, My Confession is also to mourn people who died that year, including students, Beijing residents, as well as the soldiers who enforced martial law. People, one way or another, just like insects, are equally insignificant in the eyes of the ruler of heaven.

Gate of Heavenly Peace, the name is too grand. I prefer the Gate of Earthly Peace – but they are just names.

Avenue of Eternal Peace, what a great name. But what about the story that took place there in 1989?

April 16, 2007