Chinese Democracy

I don't think I'll ever forget this man.

No one knows who he is. No one knows if they should really be using the word "was" instead of "is" when they write about him. No one has any idea about anything in regards to him.

Yet everyone remembers him.

He was the one who screamed through his actions that you will have to get around me if you want to do this. The world will be watching. Just go ahead and try it on for size and see what happens.

I wonder about him. I know this is hardly new stuff. Half the world has seemingly speculated on what this man was about when he stepped in front of a row of tanks, tightly grasping what looks to be the fruits of his Saturday morning shopping. But I can't really help myself from wondering about him. Who he was. Why he did what he did. What happened to him. What his name is. All of it fascinates me.

I would like to think that this man is the one who gave a massive boulder a good hard shove and started it moving down a hill. Even if his own country didn't benefit from his actions, I think he's the one who led people to say, just like he did, that enough is enough. He showed them they could be brave. He showed them you didn't need to have a party membership or a position of power to make a memorable effect. All you really needed was the will to make that statement. To say, in effect, "no, you're not going to do this because I am here. I will try and stop this. Because I believe your actions to be wrong. I am going to make a stand, right here, right now, because this is what I believe is needed."

I have imagined what led him to step up in front of those tanks. The story that I have concocted for myself is one of a random, sunny, early summer Saturday morning. I believe he was just your average Schmo Joe. I think he was probably married and had a child. Maybe his wife had sent him out to do the usual Saturday morning errands. But maybe he wasn't, and was just a single guy, out taking care of things he couldn't get done on a weekday. Either way, I like to think he lingered over his errands. That he took his time completing them, enjoying the nice weather, before he had to go home and deal with other domestic duties. But head home he did, and on his way, he couldn't have helped but notice that things were different. The air has changed quite noticeably. Things are quiet now, when they haven't been for weeks. Something is afoot and it most likely has to do with those students who have been protesting for weeks now.

The protests, in Schmo Joe's eyes, were probably something he had become accustomed to, as any resident of any large city would have become accustomed to any sort of large, prolonged demonstration. As we all know, it's one thing to watch something on CNN; it's entirely another to live through something. Maybe he had been caught up in the spirit of the demonstrations. Or perhaps he was following the action, but had learned to live with it and wasn't too excited about it. The demonstrations probably meant he took a different path to work, to avoid the traffic. We will never know if he was excited that the students were protesting, that he hoped this might lead to a tangible change in his life, or if he thought the students were simply full of shit and that these protests, in his eyes, were as good an excuse for blowing off studying for final exams as any other. We don't know and we probably never will. We just know that somewhere, somehow, along that path home, he saw those tanks rolling up the ironically titled "Avenue of Eternal Peace" toward Tiananmen Square. We know that he felt he had to do something to stop them. That he felt this was wrong because he was compelled to act against it.

So he stepped in front of the tanks and halted their progress.

I cannot imagine how scary that moment would have been. Tanks are massive things and there are big, scary guns hanging off the turrets. But that big gun on the front end isn't the only gun on a tank, as everyone knows. And they don't have to fire the big gun to kill you, either: there are plenty of the small ones which will do the trick just as well and will be more efficient at it. You can see in the photograph how small he looked in comparison to them. Yet, he didn't let fear stop him. He had to have been afraid that they would roll right over him, not having seen him, or, even worse, that they had seen him and would start shooting. That it would begin--and, to a certain degree, end---with him. Because this was the proverbial "put your money where your mouth is" moment. And not only because the Chinese armored cavalry was staring him down, but with the protestors as well. Remember that this hadn't ever happened before in China. There was no proven level of commitment on the part of these students. Would the demonstrators, those students who had been protesting for weeks on end, actually back him up? Would they turn tail and run? But maybe he didn't doubt their sincerity. Maybe he really thought they had a chance to change things and that this action was just him doing his bit? Maybe the only thought that was racing through his brain was that I have to stand up and stop these things. This is the threat, not the students. I must do what I consider to be right, so here I will stay.

Then the tank tried to get around him. And he moved in concert with it, shifting to stay directly in its path. I remember being stunned when this happened. I remember saying, "Holy Shit!" to no one in particular in the family room of the house I grew up in as I watched. I remember that his body language gave off an air of agitation and annoyance, like he was long-suffering father after a long day of work who'd simply had enough of his kids roughhousing and was going to put an end to it so he could have some peace and quiet. He looked like he was chewing the tank out.

The tank dodged again, and again he dodged with it. Then he did the most breathtaking thing that completely outdid everything else he'd done that day: he climbed up on the tank and started chatting with the driver. After a few long moments, he climbed down, and onlookers pulled him to safety.

This whole incident has stayed with me for sixteen years, and I'm not likely ever to forget it. But there's always one thing above and beyond all the rest that I wonder about: why didn't he drop his shopping bags? Why did he get in front of the row of tanks with them still in his hands, and why did he leave with them still in his hands? One would think that when one is about to risk one's life and limb by stepping out in front of a column of approaching tanks that one would forget all about the everyday path that had brought him to that moment. Oh, fuck the groceries, I've got bigger fish to fry. But he didn't forget about them. I would like to think that he, quite simply, had a life to lead and that the Saturday marketing was just as much a part of that life as was stepping out in front of those tanks. That this is who he was: Schmo Joe, average citizen of Beijing. That may not be the case: he may have been as surprised as everyone else that he still had the bags in his hands when all was said and done. In his haste, he may have completely forgotten about them, which is probably the more likely reason, but still...

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Posted by Kathy at June 4, 2005 03:20 PM