The fifth noble person I met in the United States may not be believed by people when I tell him that he is Chi Honghu, a left-wing overseas Chinese leader in San Francisco.
Chi Honghu, a native of Fujian, smuggled himself into Hong Kong and later immigrated to the United States. He ran a business in San Francisco's Chinatown, becoming a prominent figure among the local Chinese community. His success led him to become president of the pro-communist Chinese Chamber of Commerce in San Francisco and a prominent figure in one of Chinatown's four major pro-communist gangs. He took orders from the Chinese consulate, leading pro-communist groups in their fight against pro-KMT groups. He was invited annually to Beijing to attend the National Day celebrations, where he was received and entertained by national leaders. He was recognized as the leading pro-communist leader among San Francisco's Chinese community.
The June 4th Massacre in 1989 ignited Chi Honghu's sense of justice. Fifty thousand Chinese San Francisco residents gathered at Garden Corner Plaza in Chinatown, where they held a protest rally and then marched to the Chinese Consulate to condemn the CCP's brutal massacre. Chi Honghu was one of the organizers of both the rally and the march. Like Chi Honghu, many pro-communist overseas Chinese leaders defected and joined the ranks condemning China's atrocities. Chi Honghu also formed an organization to support the Chinese democracy movement and aided Chinese democracy activists who had fled the country. In 1994, on the fifth anniversary of the June 4th Massacre, a statue of the Goddess of Democracy, similar to the one in Tiananmen Square, was erected in Garden Corner Plaza in San Francisco's Chinatown. Chi Honghu was a key member of the Statue's Preparatory Committee, contributing financially and physically, and attending numerous city hall hearings to expose the Chinese Consulate's conspiracy to obstruct the statue's construction. From 1989 onward, and for several years thereafter, Chi Honghu stopped accepting invitations from the CCP and refused to travel to Beijing for the National Day celebrations.
I was one of the June 4th exiles whom Chi Honghu helped. A few years earlier, I was working in Los Angeles. After resigning as editor-in-chief of the Free Press Herald and losing my income, he made a special trip from San Francisco to visit me in Los Angeles, hoping to improve my financial situation. He asked me, "Cheng Kai, besides running a newspaper, what else do you like to do?" I said, "I also like reading." He then offered to sponsor me to open a bookstore. He said, "You'll have your own bookstore, where you can read to your heart's content and earn money to improve your life." He estimated that opening a bookstore would cost about 40,000 yuan: 20,000 yuan for rent and renovations, and 20,000 yuan for book purchases. He wrote me a check for 20,000 yuan on the spot, saying he would send me the 20,000 yuan for book purchases once the rent was complete. He also said that if the bookstore made a profit, I wouldn't have to pay back the 40,000 yuan.
I knew nothing about running a shop and running a business. I was like an idiot. When Chi Honghu gave me 20,000 yuan, I was at a loss. I found a friend, gave him the 20,000 yuan, and asked him to help me rent a shop and renovate it. Two weeks later, this friend had spent all the money and returned with a stack of invoices I couldn't understand. The shop had vanished. After that, this friend refused to see me again and spread rumors about me.
I was deeply embarrassed. I lost 20,000 yuan to someone who had squandered my store and disappeared. I never saw that person again, only hearing him spread bad things about me. I told Chi Honghu about it. He said I was too trusting and that I had fallen for a bad person. He asked me to tell that friend that if you cheat someone and then speak ill of them, he'd want his hands or feet cut off. After that, the friend shut up. From that, I saw the image of a gang leader.
Some political exiles who had received help from Chi Honghu later broke off contact with him, but I have always maintained my friendship with him.
Around 1994, Chi Honghu reverted to a pro-Communist stance and once again became a pro-Communist overseas Chinese leader. He accepted the CCP's invitation to attend the National Day celebrations in Beijing, just as he had been before the June 4th Massacre. I analyze the reasons for this: First, the CCP's constant wooing over Chi Honghu for years had awakened his deep-seated pro-Communist complex, and the honor and benefits of being an overseas Chinese leader made it difficult for him to refuse. Second, even if he didn't resign, pro-KMT and traditional overseas Chinese groups wouldn't accept him. He was nothing in San Francisco's Chinatown, and he couldn't adapt to the stark disparity between being an overseas Chinese leader and being "nothing." Rather than being "nothing," he preferred to regain the territory, honor, and benefits of being an overseas Chinese leader. So, Chi Honghu reverted to a pro-Communist stance. This reversion was even more extreme than before, even expressing understanding and support for the CCP's tyranny after the June 4th Massacre. He established the "China Association for Promoting Unification," a distinction from the long-standing "China Association for Promoting Peaceful Unification" by dropping the word "peaceful" and advocating support for mainland China's use of any means against Taiwan, including "military reunification," as long as Chinese reunification is achieved.
I haven't changed; it's Chi Honghu who has. Our political stances and views have fundamentally diverged. I understand and respect Chi Honghu's change, and he understands and respects my persistence. I still maintain a friendship with Chi Honghu, no longer based on shared political views, but on my belief that he's a good person. My decades of observing overseas Chinese have taught me that there are both noble individuals within the pro-communist camp and despicable individuals within the anti-communist camp.
Despite Chi Honghu's renewed pro-communist stance, he never stopped helping me, a kind and kind anti-communist. When I first moved to San Francisco from Los Angeles, I was so broke I couldn't pay my rent. Upon learning this, he opened his store's cash register without a word and handed me three thousand yuan. He then rented me a small building owned by his brother at a very low price, partitioning the basement into rooms and letting me rent them out, using the proceeds to supplement my rent. My income was meager as a tabloid editor, so he invited me to work at his grocery store, providing me with a regular income. Chi Honghu's grocery store also took in Huang Zhiming, a National First-Class actor and former head of the Guangzhou Yue Opera Troupe, who came to the United States after the June 4th Incident. Huang Zhiming, a descendant of the late Cantonese opera master Ma Shizeng, sang with a desolate and powerful "Ma accent," and his occasional performances brought joy to everyone working at Chi Honghu's grocery store.
Even a drop of kindness should be repaid with a spring. Chi Honghu's kindness to me is more than a drop of water. I can't repay him with a spring, and he never asks for anything in return. Every Spring Festival, I give him a bottle of wine to show that I will never forget his kindness.
In recent years, Chi Honghu and I have seen less of each other, and we no longer exchange wine. He retired, sold his Chinatown business and San Francisco home, and moved to a city farther away. I'm old, my energy is diminished, and I rarely leave the house. Even if we don't meet, I will never forget Chi Honghu, the benefactor I met in exile, and of course, Hsing Yun, Lu Keng, and Liu Binyan.
The last person I want to mention is not my benefactor, but a person I cannot help but mention. He is Xu Jiatun, former member of the Central Committee of the Communist Party of China, Secretary of the Hong Kong and Macao Work Committee of the Communist Party of China, and President of the Hong Kong Xinhua News Agency. Xu Jiatun fled to the United States at almost the same time as I did, residing at the Hsi Lai Temple in Los Angeles.
On June 29, 2016, Xu Jiatun passed away at the age of 100. According to Chinese folklore, this should be a "joyful funeral," but Xu Jiatun's death was anything but joyful. He passed away in a state of physical and mental agony.
A year before his death, Xu Jiatun's health took a sharp turn for the worse. Previously, despite the increasingly noticeable symptoms of old age, he remained robust and energetic. He disliked staying home, preferring to be taken out and about by his family and the young people who frequently visited him: as far as San Francisco in Northern California; further afield, to Taiwan, close to his homeland in mainland China, fulfilling his longing to see the beauty of this island, a place unconquered by mainland China. However, in his final year, his health deteriorated, and he became partially and completely unable to care for himself, requiring assistance for eating, walking, and even bathing. Xu Jiatun felt his self-esteem shattered, and every day he lived felt superfluous. He began to wish for death.
Xu Jiatun's suffering lay not only in the loss of his vitality but also in his refusal, until his final days, to acknowledge that, since crossing the Luohu Bridge and boarding a plane to the United States in April 1990, he had embarked on a path of no return. For twenty-six years in America, the fantasy of returning to China became his spiritual sustenance, year after year, and he engaged in futile efforts to fulfill this fantasy. He wrote letters to the Standing Committee of the Political Bureau of the CPC Central Committee and sent messages to the highest authorities. During Jiang Zemin's administration, Zeng Qinghong offered him goodwill; during Hu Jintao's administration, his request was addressed with the response that "Xu Jiatun cannot return to China." Under Xi Jinping's administration, not only did his messages to the highest CCP leaders go unanswered, but he was even barred from entering the Chinese Consulate in Los Angeles. In the past, he could enter the building and be met by a consul or other official. However, about three months before his death, on his final visit, he waited outside the consulate in a wheelchair for two hours, but the gates remained unopened. It's human nature to return to one's roots, but Xu Jiatun didn't know that within the Communist Party, there's only cruelty and ruthlessness, no human compassion. The Communist Party treated Xu Jiatun the same as all other political dissidents in exile. Many died abroad, and many were prevented from returning to China to honor their deceased parents. The CCP never felt any sympathy for them. Xu Jiatun never considered, or perhaps didn't want to consider, what would happen if he returned? He would be under strict surveillance, perhaps even subjected to a police chief's beatings, stripped of his basic human dignity. I knew Xu Jiatun's daughter, Xu Rong, and I asked her father to tell her about Li Zongren's return to China: Former Acting President of the Republic of China, Li Zongren, returned to China from New York, USA, arranged by Zhou Enlai. After a period of excitement, the CCP, having maximized its propaganda efforts on Li Zongren, cast him aside. He suffered indifference and humiliation, and ultimately died in depression, along with his wife. When Xu Jiatun returned to China, there was no doubt that his fate was even worse than Li Zongren's.
In his final moments, Xu Jiatun still hoped to be accepted by the Central Committee of the Communist Party of China. During a brief moment of lucidity before his death, he told his daughter, Xu Rong, who was by his side: "Xu Jiatun is a son of the Communist Party of China, not a traitor. A loyal son of the Communist Party of China, not a traitor. He is a son of the Chinese people, of the people of Libao Town, Rugao, Jiangsu Province." The tragedy of life is the destruction of beautiful things for people to see. The tragedy of Xu Jiatun was that, until his last moments, he still considered himself a son of the Communist Party of China, yet the Chinese Communist Party had labeled him a traitor 26 years earlier and never acknowledged him as a "loyal son."
Xu Jiatun originally had a wonderful life.
In his early years, he served as Secretary of the Jiangsu Provincial Committee of the Communist Party of China. Under his leadership, Jiangsu's economy flourished, becoming a major economic powerhouse in China. In the late 1970s, he personally established the model of Huaxi Village, known as "China's First Village," which has been hailed as a banner of China's new socialist countryside. The significance of Huaxi Village lies in the fact that, after China's rural areas had weathered the devastation of the "Learn from Dazhai" movement, they had broken free from the constraints of the people's communes and partially returned to the traditional agricultural production path that had existed for thousands of years. Meanwhile, they had embarked on a new path of enterprise-oriented rural and agricultural production. China's rural areas and agriculture had struggled to find structures and production methods suitable for modern production and distribution, and Xu Jiatun explored this in Huaxi Village. The value of Huaxi Village was previously underappreciated, and is now even more neglected by the ruling authorities. If China's political landscape returns to normal, Huaxi Village, as a model for rural development, may resurface in the eyes of reformers.
After Xu Jiatun retired from his position as provincial Party Secretary, he should have taken a sinecure in the National People's Congress or the Chinese People's Political Consultative Conference. However, Deng Xiaoping re-employed him and transferred him to Hong Kong, a position more important than provincial Party Secretary. Before Xu Jiatun, the Communist Party was a formidable force in Hong Kong. During his seven years in Hong Kong, Xu Jiatun pioneered collaboration between the Communists and capitalism, presenting a new image of the Communists to the world and changing Hong Kong people's perception of the Communist Party, viewing it as approachable, respectable, and acceptable. During his time in Hong Kong, Xu Jiatun wrote "Re-Understanding Capitalism," a classic piece of thought and theory whose profoundness remains unsurpassed by any other CCP theorist. During his time in Hong Kong, Xu Jiatun adhered strictly to the principle of clean government. He fled to the United States, penniless, and accepted the shelter and support of Master Hsing Yun of the Fo Guang Shan Xilai Temple in Los Angeles. For the next twenty years, apart from receiving approximately $300,000 in royalties for his "Xu Jiatun Hong Kong Memoirs," he primarily relied on the support of old friends, something unattainable for contemporary CCP officials in Hong Kong, including those from mainland China. As far as I know, Li Ka-shing, Tung Chee-hwa and others have made one-time gifts to Xu Jiatun. It was not because they sympathized with and supported Xu Jiatun, nor was it a way of repaying Xu Jiatun for the favors he had shown them when he was in office. Instead, it was a way of ending the favor with Xu Jiatun, and from then on, they no longer owed each other anything and had no further contact.
The 1980s marked the golden age of China's reform and opening up. It was a time of genuine, simultaneous political and economic reforms, planned and implemented by Zhao Ziyang and his colleagues, rather than the devastating reforms that followed the June 4th Massacre, when the frenzied CCP elite suppressed dissent and embezzled state assets and the hard work of the people. Xu Jiatun was a pioneer of that era: he fully supported the development of China's special economic zones, encouraging investment from Hong Kong and Macao into the zones and the mainland. He and Shenzhen Municipal Party Secretary Liang Xiang planned to transplant Hong Kong's political system to the Shenzhen Special Economic Zone, serving as a testbed for comprehensive reform across China. He also proposed establishing Hainan as an independent province, creating a province-wide special economic zone with even more privileged policies than Shenzhen and the same high degree of economic freedom enjoyed by Hong Kong and Taiwan. Had it not been for the June 4th Massacre, Xu Jiatun's reform vision might have become a reality, thanks to Zhao Ziyang's support and the hard work of his fellow reformists, Liang Xiang, and others.
Xu Jiatun's life during the June 4th Incident in 1989 was the highlight of his remarkable career: he visited Hong Kong students who were sitting in front of the Xinhua News Agency in support of the Beijing student movement; he proposed to the CPC Central Committee that dialogue with the peaceful students be held, thereby promoting political reform; and when the gunfire rang out on June 4th, he shed tears for the students and citizens who suffered in the Beijing massacre. During this period, Xu Jiatun embodied the anguish, loss, and pain of a true Communist Party member at a critical and turning point in the fate and future of the Party and the country. Regardless of the many ups and downs in Xu Jiatun's life, the brilliance of the June 4th Incident in 1989 alone is enough to leave him a shining image in the dark history of the Chinese Communist Party.
Xu Jiatun's life during the June 4th Incident in 1989 was the highlight of his remarkable career: he visited Hong Kong students who were sitting in front of the Xinhua News Agency in support of the Beijing student movement; he proposed to the CPC Central Committee that dialogue with the peaceful students be held, thereby promoting political reform; and when the gunfire rang out on June 4th, he shed tears for the students and citizens who suffered in the Beijing massacre. During this period, Xu Jiatun embodied the anguish, loss, and pain of a true Communist Party member at a critical and turning point in the fate and future of the Party and the country. Regardless of the many ups and downs in Xu Jiatun's life, the brilliance of the June 4th Incident in 1989 alone is enough to leave him a shining image in the dark history of the Chinese Communist Party.
After June 4th, everything Xu Jiatun hated happened. Liang Xiang's fate awaited him, including the purge. A gentleman should not stand under a dangerous wall. People instinctively seek profit and avoid danger, so Xu Jiatun's escape was inevitable. But his success hinged on a crucial moment. On the day he decided to leave, Xu Jiatun was at the Xinhua News Agency's Hong Kong office in Shenzhen. He used his diplomatic passport to cross the Luohu Bridge. Less than an hour later, the Shenzhen Municipal Party Committee received an order from the Central Committee of the Communist Party of China: to immediately escort Xu Jiatun to Beijing. By the time Shenzhen Municipal Party Committee Deputy Secretary Qin Wenjun arrived at the Xinhua News Agency's Hong Kong office with the central government's order, Xu Jiatun had already left the dangerous wall and was about to board a plane to the United States. If Xu Jiatun had hesitated for an hour, the story of Xu Jiatun after June 4th would have been written differently.
After Xu Jiatun fled to the United States, he declared a "vacation" and declared the "Three Noes" (no seeking political protection, no leaking state secrets, and no participating in overseas democracy movements). To uphold the "Three Noes," he chose not to cooperate with U.S. intelligence agencies. This was his choice, and it was beyond reproach. The problem lies in his 26 years in the United States, cultivating an atmosphere where his body remained in the United States, his mind remained in China, and he lived within the Communist Party. He adhered to the CCP's thinking, spoke the CCP's language, and accepted only CCP information. In his later years, as his eyesight weakened, listening to the CCP's CCTV "News Broadcast" became almost his sole source of information. He criticized U.S. domestic and foreign policies; he supported the governing slogans of successive CCP leaders; he sided with the Hong Kong establishment and opposed the various proposals of the pro-democracy camp. For 26 years, he consistently believed that the time was not right to redress the June 4th incident. I once advised him that even if he didn't associate with political dissidents abroad, he should remain a moderate dissenter, voicing the need for political reform in China and upholding Hong Kong's "One Country, Two Systems" policy. By maintaining his image as a reformer, he would surely earn the same high reputation as Bao Tong, Jiang Yanyong, and Li Rui. Unfortunately, he didn't do it. In fact, he didn't want to do it at all. His ideological level was significantly lower than before he went abroad. He didn't continue his wonderful life. He ruined himself.
Xu Jiatun's funeral was organized by his family and friends, completely unrelated to the Chinese Communist Party, for which he fought his entire life. This was his honor, though he wouldn't necessarily have considered it that way. The funeral followed the usual American memorial service for an elderly man. One particularly striking detail: After the memorial service, his children, who had come to bid him farewell, stood in a row and each opened a pigeon cage in front of them. Hundreds of pigeons took to the sky. This was a way for the children to tell the world that their father, Xu Jiatun, was free, soaring like doves.
However, a free soul is not happy either. After Xu Jiatun's death, his life tragedy did not end.
According to Xu Jiatun's final wish, he could not return to China to live out his life, but his ashes must be returned to his homeland for burial after his death. So, will the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) authorities allow his ashes to be repatriated? Just as in his lifetime, obtaining the CCP's permission would be an endless wait. His children have decided not to negotiate with the Chinese authorities.
On September 30, 2016, Xu Jiatun's youngest daughter, Xu Rong, who had spent more than 20 years in the United States with her father, bravely returned to China from Los Angeles, carrying her father's ashes. This was Xu Jiatun's first return to his homeland after 26 years abroad. It wasn't his body that returned, but his soul.
However, Xu Jiatun's ashes have yet to be buried in China. His children planned to bury their father alongside their mother, who passed away in 2004. Xu Jiatun's wife, Gu Yiping, was a bureau-level official in Jiangsu Province. After her death, she occupied only a two-square-meter plot of land in her hometown of Rugao. A joint burial for a couple would require minor renovations to the cemetery. The children did not request an expansion, merely renovations to allow their parents to be buried together. However, the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) authorities blocked this legitimate wish. Rugao authorities said they needed approval from higher authorities. Who was that higher authority? The Jiangsu Provincial Committee of the CCP? Or the CPC Central Committee?
What are the authorities afraid of by preventing Xu Jiatun's ashes from being buried in his hometown? They're afraid of the three characters "Xu Jiatun" on his tombstone. When people see this name, they remember him as former Secretary of the Jiangsu Provincial Committee of the Communist Party of China, Secretary of the Hong Kong and Macao Work Committee of the Communist Party of China, and Director of the Xinhua News Agency's Hong Kong Bureau. They remember him as a reformer in China in the 1980s, and they recall his tears for the students and citizens who were massacred after the June 4th Incident. They also ask why he fled overseas? Why couldn't he return before he died? Why is such a man buried alone with his wife on a nine-square-meter plot?
Xu Jiatun's fallen leaves were never able to return to their roots. His life tragedy continued even after his death. Xu Jiatun's tragedy is not only the tragedy of a veteran member of the Chinese Communist Party, but also the tragedy of reformers within the party after the June 4th Incident in 1989, and the tragedy of people of conscience within the party.
(three)
When I first arrived in the United States, I heard a common saying among overseas political exiles: "We gained the sky but lost the land." This saying is filled with sadness and helplessness.
For over thirty years, as a political exile, I have only lamented the loss of this piece of Chinese land, but rejoiced at the fact that I have gained a piece of sky. This sky I have gained is a deep blue, a deep blue sky, and how beautiful it is.
In fact, as soon as I set foot outside my home country over 30 years ago, I was greeted by a blue sky. Beneath this blue sky were my friends and the Special Branch of the Hong Kong Police, who rescued me from persecution; Hong Kong gang leaders Six Brother and Tai Brother, who aided me; Master Hsing Yun and Hsi Lai Temple, who offered a harbor to my ship of suffering upon my arrival in the United States; Lu Keng, whom I met in America; Liu Binyan, whom I reunited with in America; and Chi Honghu, a Chinese community leader in San Francisco, who generously supported me during my most difficult times.
Over the past thirty years, beneath this azure sky, I've lived through six US presidents: Bush, Clinton, Bush Jr., Obama, Biden, and Trump. I've watched their campaigns and heard their speeches. What has most profoundly enlightened me is a statement made by Bush Jr. at a public rally during his visit to the Czech Republic. He said, "For thousands of years of human history, the most precious thing is not dazzling technology, not the vast classics of great masters, not the rhetoric of politicians, but the taming of rulers, the realization of the dream of caged rulers. Because only by taming them and locking them up can they stop harming people. I stand in this cage and speak to you." He added, "This cage is surrounded by five bars: the ballot box, freedom of speech, judicial independence, a nationalized military, and the separation of powers." After reading Bush Jr.'s words, I made the most important discovery of my life: Only under this azure sky can true politicians emerge, and only then can political scoundrels like Mao Zedong and Xi Jinping be eliminated.
Although the caged rulers often make trouble, they blaspheme the founding spirit laid down by the founding fathers of the United States, sometimes they turn the blue sky into dark clouds and turn God's country into Satan's country, but someone will eventually stand up, clear the sky, restore order, and make America great again.
For over thirty years, I've lived through the most horrific September 11 terrorist attacks in American history. I watched live on television as hijacked planes crashed into the World Trade Center in New York. I've experienced America's worst natural disaster, when floods breached seawalls and instantly inundated New Orleans. I witnessed how left-wing politicians in the US government granted China most-favored-nation trade status and facilitated its entry into the WTO, rapidly strengthening China and leading to a historic shift in the world. This empowered the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) to despise and retaliate against the US, launching a propaganda-driven infiltration and offensive against Western democratic societies. Just as in the 1940s, figures like Marshall and John King Fairbank helped the CCP defeat the Kuomintang (KMT) and seize power in China, and facilitated China's rise on the world stage after the collapse of the Soviet Union and the Eastern European socialist bloc. I've also witnessed the powerful collaboration between the US left and the CCP in promoting economic globalization, which has led to the relocation of American industry, the closure of businesses, and the rapid transformation of a once-glorious manufacturing base into a rust belt. Large numbers of people who were commuting to work yesterday are now unemployed. It was through these disasters that I came to understand the unique character of the Americans who grew up under this clear blue sky: strong, optimistic, selfless, indomitable, and able to endure great hardship. When the World Trade Center was about to collapse, those inside fled for safety, while firefighters headed inside. As the victims fled, leaving New Orleans a ghost town, countless dedicated and volunteer workers rushed to rescue those trapped by the floodwaters and humanity's friends, cats and dogs. When some lost their jobs in the financial tsunami, these same people still volunteered to help those in greater need. Americans under this clear blue sky never boast about themselves, yet they make the self-proclaimed superiority of the Chinese pale in comparison.
Over the past thirty years, I've met many overseas Chinese democracy activists, especially those student leaders persecuted by the Chinese government and forced into exile after the June 4th Incident in 1989. They are the most endearing group of overseas Chinese: persistent, noble, and pure, they matured through hardship, and they carry a radiant light wherever they go. Of course, I've also met another, larger group of overseas Chinese. They received green cards because of the bloodshed of students and Beijing citizens in Tiananmen Square and Chang'an Avenue during the June 4th Massacre. Their green cards, stained red with blood, are known as "June 4th Blood Cards," and they are also known as "those who profit from the blood of others." It was from meeting them that I first learned of the shamelessness of some overseas Chinese. They are now each filled with patriotic fervor: enjoying the benefits afforded by the June 4th Blood Cards and a free and democratic America, while simultaneously singing the praises of China's dictator; cultivating a comfortable and secure life in the United States, while returning home to feast on the scraps of corrupt officials. June 4th forged not only the courage and nobility of one group, but also the vileness and baseness of another.
In China, I have a history I'm ashamed to share: I was a member of the Communist Party, a reporter for the CCP's highest-ranking newspaper, and editor-in-chief of a provincial-level CCP newspaper. Since exiling myself to the United States, where I've found the blue skies, I've resolved to start anew and shed my past. I worked in a Chinatown grocery store; I edited pro-democracy newspapers and community tabloids; and finally, I finally achieved my dream of spreading free information to China, reaching the pinnacle of my career spanning over sixty years and fifty years of journalism. Some say I've fallen from heaven to earth compared to my past. I say no, I've ascended from earth to heaven. We only come into this world once, and each of us lives it in his own way. In China, even high-ranking officials and generous salaries can make one's life less than human. But selling groceries in Chinatown, under the blue skies, allows me to live a fulfilling and fulfilling life.
For thirty years, beneath the blue sky, I've also endured unbearable bitterness and grief: I was blacklisted by the Chinese government, banned from returning to China, and never saw my mother again until her death. My exile began in my early forties, and now I'm nearly eighty. I've experienced the torment of human relationships and kinship. But this isn't the blue sky's fault, but the land's, because that land nurtures a Chinese Communist Party that thrives on destroying humanity and taking lives.
If someone asks me: After living under the blue sky for twenty years, do I still love this land? My answer is: No, I don’t love it anymore.
That is a land polluted by the CCP's Party culture for sixty years. What is the CCP's Party culture? It is a blend of the venom of Marxism-Leninism and the dregs of traditional Chinese culture. Since 1949, Party culture, created, inherited, and developed by Mao Zedong, Deng Xiaoping, Jiang Zemin, Hu Jintao, and Xi Jinping, has transformed the CCP into a naked mafia gang that plunders the nation and its people. The venom of Marxism-Leninism is class struggle and violence; the dregs of traditional culture are eunuchs who castrate themselves to serve the emperor, literati who bind women's feet into three-inch golden lotus for fun, the spiritually victorious Ah Q, the numb and dull Runtu, and the blood-sucking Hua Laoshuan. This blend of the two makes Party culture a riot of corrupt officials, princelings, the "50-cent gang," slave labor in illegal kilns, violent demolitions, the pursuit and blocking of petitioners, melamine-tainted milk powder, gutter oil, mistresses, the torture of Gao Zhisheng, the rape of Deng Yujiao, the execution of Yang Jia, angry young people cheering for the terrorist attacks on the United States, and so on and so forth. That land, polluted by Party culture, where the air lingers with the smoke of Tibetan self-immolations, brings only a sigh, a loss of nostalgia. As long as the Communist Party remains, I find no reason to love that land.
I'm thankful that I lost my land and gained blue skies; at least I can still be a good person. My body, too, was once tainted by the filth of Party culture. In Chinese officialdom, I once returned a bribe of 300,000 yuan, but I can't guarantee I'd be able to resist the temptation if I were to receive 3 million or 30 million. I strive to be an honest official, but I know that when one honest official is surrounded by nine corrupt officials, the end result is that the corrupt officials will send the honest official to prison, while the corrupt official will become a model of integrity. So I can't help but feel thankful for losing that piece of land.
Over the past thirty years, I've lost my land and gained blue skies. At the same time, I've gained human dignity, democratic rights, and freedom from fear. I create my own life through my own efforts and abilities, regardless of power or influence. Every day, I breathe fresh air and drink clean water. I can freely criticize the blue skies I possess and the land I've lost, and no one will jail me for it. In short, my life in exile under the clear blue sky has been full of life and excitement for over thirty years.
More than thirty years have passed, and now another thirty will begin. These next thirty years no longer belong to me. In this lifetime, I can no longer return to the land I lost, but I believe someone will return to rid that land of the Communist Party, cleansing it of its filth. I will die under the blue sky that I own, with no regrets. As I bid farewell, my final words will be: The exile's blue sky, deep blue, how beautiful!
