The Most Wanted Man in China

by Fang Lizhi

  In September the shouts of “Traitor!” receded and then disappeared altogether. One reason for the decline was that the Communist Party needed to mark the approaching hundredth anniversary of the birth of Li Dazhao, one of its founders. Li, a hero in the Communist pantheon, was hanged in 1927 by the Beiyang warlord government. His martyrdom was always a shining star in the Party’s historical record, but now, by very bad luck, one point in his résumé was making people think of Fang Lizhi. Shortly before his execution, Li had taken refuge in the embassy of the Soviet Union in Beijing. After roundly denouncing him as a “traitor,” the warlord authorities had sent soldiers charging into the embassy to grab him by force. These facts were now presenting a dilemma for Chinese propaganda officials. How could one denounce a person who had fled to the American embassy as a despicable traitor while at the same time praising a person who had fled to the Soviet embassy as a “great pioneer of the Communist Party”? What a dilemma! I almost felt sorry for them. In the end, they took two measures: none of the many articles on Li Dazhao should mention his embassy stay, and the mantra of “fleeing to embassies is traitorous” should dwindle and die. I owe a debt of gratitude to Li Dazhao. My fellow “traitor,” seeker of asylum, I hereby direct a bow toward your spirit in heaven!

  From that point on, the Fang Lizhi burden shifted from the U.S. government to the Chinese government. On October 1, 1989, China’s National Day, the Chinese side made its first move toward “solving the Fang problem.” Xie Xide, the president of Fudan University in Shanghai, approached the American consul general in Shanghai to ask, “What can we do to solve the Fang Lizhi problem?” The regime’s choice of Xie to make this overture seems to have been carefully considered. Professionally, Xie was a physicist, had once been Li Shuxian’s teacher, and knew the two of us well. Politically, she was a member of the Central Committee of the Communist Party of China. Moreover, she had ties with the United States—she had studied there and had been a frequent visitor in recent years.

  Shortly thereafter, the president of the Chinese Academy of Sciences, who was also a member of the Communist Party Central Committee, revealed to the president of the U.S. National Academy of Sciences during a visit to the United States that it was his “personal opinion” that “the Fang Lizhi problem can be solved.”

  Next, Hu Qiaomu, a member of the Party’s ruling politburo, made a cameo appearance. He told Kenneth Lieberthal, an American professor with ties to President Nixon, that he was ready to mediate the Fang Lizhi problem in an unofficial capacity.

  Here again we can observe that “things stop at three.” The Chinese government calculated that three “unofficial” gestures would be enough to get the Americans, who presumably were desperate to solve this problem, to come up with a response. And in November, the Americans did.

  Two important Americans, Richard Nixon and Henry Kissinger, had already been scheduled to pay unofficial visits to Deng Xiaoping in November. Nixon indicated that he would be willing to assist the U.S. government on the Fang question, but Kissinger refused. He said he wanted no part of the problem.

  Deng Xiaoping received Nixon and Kissinger, his “old friends,” on November 2 and November 14, respectively. The Fang issue came up both times. Kissinger had not wanted to touch it, but Deng brought it up on his own and left Kissinger with no alternative.

  With both men, Deng made two points: (1) Fang Lizhi can leave China; and (2) Fang must confess his wrongdoing and promise never to oppose the Chinese government again. Deng’s goals were obvious: he wanted to restore an “old friend” relationship with the U.S. government while also getting rid of an “old thorn in his side”—me. His primary tactic was clear as well: pass the problem of getting me to “confess” over to the U.S. side.

  On November 15, Ambassador Lilley dutifully presented me with this imperial admonition from Deng Xiaoping:

  A spokesperson for the relevant offices has published a speech urging that Fang Lizhi and Li Shuxian seek lenient treatment by surrendering themselves as soon as possible.

  The spokesperson stated that, with the enthusiastic support of the people of the entire country, we have already won a decisive victory in curtailing the turmoil and pacifying the counterrevolutionary riot. Social order in the present stage has already been returned to normal and the domestic situation is more stable than before. Inspired by the policies of the Party and the government, many people who committed crimes during the turmoil and the riots have surrendered to public security organs and have received generous treatment.

  The spokesperson further stated that, after the pacification of the counterrevolutionary riot, a number of Chinese at different times hid inside the embassies of foreign countries in China. At present, except for the two people Fang Lizhi and Li Shuxian, who remain inside the embassy of the United States, all of the others have earlier or later left the organizations of foreign countries in China and have received generous treatment from the Chinese government and forgiveness from the Chinese people.

  The spokesperson urged Fang Lizhi and Li Shuxian to mend the errors of their ways, leave the U.S. embassy in China without delay, and seek generous treatment.

  I interpreted this letter inviting me to surrender as Deng Xiaoping’s answer to my letter to him of January 6. Even the word count of the two missives was about the same.

  The first formal meeting between the Chinese and American governments on the Fang Lizhi problem took place on November 18, and it was followed by several more. In early December, President Bush again dispatched Brent Scowcroft to Beijing, and after that, things seemed to be reaching a head. We were guardedly optimistic that we could be out by Christmas.

  Then, just as suddenly as hope had risen, it crashed. It turned out there were two things that Deng Xiaoping wanted from the Americans that even an American president could not deliver: one was a lifting of the economic sanctions on China that the U.S. Congress had imposed after the June Fourth massacre, and the other was a confession from Fang Lizhi. Deng’s miscalculation of what he could get was rooted, fundamentally, in his inability to step outside the worldview of an emperor. Inside China, the top ruler can decide who is guilty of a crime without any need for legal procedure (or, at most, in advance of legal “procedure” that confirms decisions after they are made). Deng truly did not understand that some other parts of the world do not work this way.

  At one point I suggested to Ambassador Lilley that he ask the Chinese authorities exactly what law I had broken. After all, it would be easier to write a confession if I knew what to confess to. A few days later the ambassador returned to say he had put the question and heard a response. A deputy minister of foreign affairs had replied that “Fang’s crimes are obvious.” So what was I supposed to write down? That I am guilty of “everybody-knows-what”?

  The exchange did clarify one point, though. It showed that six months after the regime had issued a warrant for our arrest, it still had not figured out what the charges were. More than a month later, the same deputy minister finally agreed to read to the ambassador a “statement of facts” concerning “fourteen points” in the criminal behavior of Fang Lizhi and Li Shuxian. The ambassador told us that the deputy minister read the statement in a tone of voice that suggested it was a legal indictment. But the language itself floated well above the law—never referring to which provision of what law had been violated. The official declined, moreover, to give the ambassador a written copy of his statement. It was for ears only. Perhaps he himself did not have much confidence in the accuracy of what he was orating and did not want it to turn into a diplomatic document.

  When the ambassador, speaking from notes and memory, recounted to us what he could recall of the “fourteen points,” the deputy minister’s wisdom in withholding a written version became more apparent. Two examples will suffice to illustrate the low quality of the material.

  According to the “points,” one of Li Shuxian’s crimes was that on April 18, 1989, she issued an order to the Autonomous Federation of Students at
Peking University. But according to the regime’s own newspaper, People’s Daily, that student group was founded on April 19. From a lawyer’s point of view, this would be like charging a person with a murder on day X of a person born on day X+1. Example two: One of Fang Lizhi’s crimes was that he manipulated speakers at the Peking University democracy salon in order to propagandize counterrevolutionary ideology. But according, again, to People’s Daily, two of the main speakers at that salon were the former U.S. ambassador, Winston Lord, and his wife, Bette Bao Lord. It would follow that Fang Lizhi committed the crime of manipulating the U.S. ambassador and his wife. Should this be a violation of Chinese law or of U.S. law?

  We decided to write “An Answer to the Fourteen Points.” It consisted of fifteen points, the fifteenth of which was that Fang Lizhi would be happy to give open testimony—for example, in the newspapers or on television—on the fourteen points. But the authorities ignored the offer, just as they had in the “libel case” about foreign bank accounts in 1988. And with that, the first attempts to solve “the Fang Lizhi problem” ground to a halt.

  The government went on New Year’s break in February 1990 and was preoccupied with other matters in March, so it wasn’t until April that they got around to trying something else on the Fang front. Their new tactic was to ask the Americans just to bracket the problem and not let two little asylees get in the way of great-power relations. (They did this partly in response to a comment that I had made in a letter to a famous American television reporter. I had observed that Li Shuxian and I were “stuck between the governments of two superpowers,” and the foreign media had found the notion of “stuck between superpowers” to be fascinating.) But the regime’s new tactic didn’t work. The U.S. Congress in those days was monitoring Chinese human rights issues closely, and there was no way the issue could be “bracketed.”

  After this and a few other frustrations, the Chinese authorities returned to the “confession” route. But now they set the bar lower—much lower. The “fourteen points” were gone. All they asked for now was a statement from Fang Lizhi that—one way or another—contained the two words “I confess.” As it happened, I had already written a statement during the first round of negotiations in November 1989 and had revised it several times since. None of my versions, alas, included the words “I confess.” Should I add them now?

  In April and May, the authorities went on an offensive. Every time their spokespeople met the media, they made a point of saying that Fang Lizhi would be allowed to leave China if he confessed. Their effort bore fruit. Friends overseas began writing to us recommending that we take this deal. Some advised us simply to lie. Just say “I confess”—that will at least get you out where you can do some good in the world. It’s worth it! Some of them assured us that if you cross your fingers when you lie, God forgives. Friends from Rome wrote that false confession is not officially a sin if it is spoken under duress. Even the great Galileo had once written a “confession”—so what, they asked, was I worried about? They mailed me a copy of Galileo’s confession for reference. The more panicky among them drafted some actual language I could use in confessing. Before it was over I received three complete drafts of ready-to-go confessions.

  And I might, in the end, have picked one of these if the Communist authorities had opted to let things keep dragging on. But they did not. For some reason they moved decisively to wrap things up. It took ten days, as follows:

  Saturday, June 16: American and Chinese diplomats conferred, after which the Chinese Foreign Ministry made it clear that Fang Lizhi and Li Shuxian would be permitted to leave China and that the condition would no longer be confession. There need be only a written request to go abroad for medical treatment, couched in language that somewhere included the word “lenient.” There would also need to be a guarantee of nonparticipation in any overseas activities that oppose the Chinese government.

  We accepted the medical parole idea but refused to ask for “leniency.” We agreed to promise to do nothing that opposed China, but could make no promises about opposing the Chinese government.

  Sunday, June 17: The U.S. ambassador visited us again to say that the Chinese authorities would not insist on a “request for leniency”; the key phrase could now be “for humanitarian reasons.” It was all right to drop the guarantee against opposing the Chinese government, but Fang and Li should not be released directly to the United States. The preferred destination would be a small, isolated island.

  We accepted the word “humanitarian.” We also accepted the condition that our first stop be a small island. We chose England.

  Monday, June 18: I wrote a statement.

  Tuesday, June 19: The diplomats met again. The Chinese Foreign Ministry reverted to asking for a confession, saying this time that the key phrase could be “admit error”—it did not have to be “admit crime.”

  We refused.

  Wednesday, June 20: The diplomats met again. The Chinese side dropped the requirement to “admit error.” With that the negotiations were declared a success and the two sides toasted each other at a state guesthouse. Right before the toast, though, the Chinese side presented a new demand: Li Shuxian would also have to sign the statement. She thought it over and decided to half-comply (see below for what that meant).

  Thursday, June 21: Choosing our words carefully, we submitted this final version:

  1. I oppose the Four Basic Principles that are contained in the Preamble of the Constitution of China, because these principles function to uphold a political system of “class struggle.” I am aware that the foregoing political opinion violates the Preamble of the Constitution of China.

  2. This is an application to leave the country for travel in order to visit friends and relatives overseas and to obtain needed medical treatment and is written in expectation of humanitarian consideration by the Chinese government.

  3. Our goals outside the country will be concentrated in areas of scholarly exchange and joint research. We will welcome and take pleasure in any activity that serves the interests of progress in Chinese society and will refuse to participate in any activity that does the opposite, i.e., that opposes China.

  June 22, 1990, Beijing

  Li Shuxian and I both signed. But note: point one uses the singular pronoun I, point two contains no personal pronoun, and point three uses the plural we. So Li Shuxian officially subscribed only to point three (and arguably point two).

  Friday, June 22: The diplomats met once more. The topic was technical arrangement of the departure.

  Saturday, June 23: Ambassador Lilley visited us in the morning. The purpose was to take photos with which to process Chinese passports and visas for England.

  Sunday, June 24: We packed our belongings. In the afternoon, local Party committees across China notified Party members that “the Fang Lizhi couple are going to leave the country for medical treatment.” In the evening, the ambassador held a farewell party for us at his residence. Strict secrecy was still in place. Other than Li Shuxian and me, only six people were there.

  Monday, June 25: With the summer solstice just passed, dawn arrived early.

  8:00 a.m.: A hundred or more police and plainclothes agents converged around the U.S. embassy buildings.

  10:30 a.m.: We walked out of the ambassador’s residence. The ambassador accompanied us as we boarded the same car that had brought us into the embassy a year earlier. The car exited through the front gate of the embassy compound and headed for the Beijing Nanyuan Military Airport.

  Martial law was in place along the entire route. All other traffic was blocked. A car from State Security drove in front of us. Its license plate, GA11-0001, identified it as police vehicle number one. Two other police cars followed behind “for protection.” When the police who lined the route saw car 0001 approaching, they knew it must contain a “personage” and reflexively delivered salutes.

  11:05 a.m.: We reached the airport. An American military aircraft was waiting.

  11:30 a.m.: A Public Securit
y officer, protected on his left and his right by two other policemen, delivered two Chinese passports to us. The man in the middle, who handed over the passports, was perspiring profusely. Perhaps he felt the weight of these two passports was just too much.

  12:40 p.m.: The U.S. aircraft taxied and took off in normal fashion.

  So there it was. The Chinese government had allowed an American military aircraft to fly away with two Chinese who topped a wanted list for crime. Absurd? Yes, but the world has long seen absurdity.

  AFTERWORD

  by PERRY LINK

  Aboard that American military aircraft, Fang Lizhi and Li Shuxian headed for the “small island” of England and then to Cambridge University, where Fang had spent many pleasant days in 1979–80. When they arrived, they were met by activists from the overseas Chinese democracy movement who hoped that Fang would take a leading role with them, but Fang, adhering to his lifelong principle of being a scientist first, politely declined. It was not that he saw civic duty as a “number two” priority; he saw it as a universal value that should apply to any person in any line of work. He would continue, he said, to speak out about justice and fairness in the world while working as a professional physicist. For now, he was looking forward to “a period of quiet” for a few days.

  The international press was in no mood to leave him alone, however: How does it feel to be free? Was the crushing of the Tiananmen movement a fatal blow to Chinese democracy? And so on. Tom Brokaw of NBC News asked Fang if U.S. human rights policy still suffered from a double standard. (Fang had said in the late 1980s that the West viewed Soviet dissidents differently from Asian dissidents; now, though, the U.S. government had given Fang and his wife thirteen months of protection in its Beijing embassy. Did that make things different?) Fang, ever the scientist, sought to answer objectively. “Without doubt there is still some double standard,” he told Brokaw, even though things “are better than before.” President George H. W. Bush, hearing Fang’s surprising words, commented the same day, “I’d say he’s wrong.”