The Snakeheads

by Mary Moylum

  Verster sprang up from his chair. “I’d like to request a break, too. It’s almost one o’clock. I’m famished and so is my client.”

  What the hell was going on? Grace glanced from Piraro to Verster. She would have preferred that the RCO complete his examination without stopping halfway, which would give Verster and the claimant the opportunity to formulate their responses. But she could hardly insist that they go on. So much for the element of surprise. Was Piraro that incompetent? What kind of trick was he trying to pull? In her book, his conduct was grounds for a reprimand. She made a note to have a little chat with him.

  After lunch, the RCO picked up where he had left off.

  “Do you remember where the May 1989 memorial parade was held?”

  “We went to Martha’s Park in Beijing.”

  “What happened?”

  “First there was a silent prayer. Then someone made a speech, then there was a group discussion and exchange of opinions. It went on all day. Afterwards we went home or back to the university.”

  “Could you explain how you became involved in the student movement?”

  “The universities of Beijing and Canton came together for joint demonstrations. I was asked to coordinate a group demonstration.”

  “Could you explain where and when these demonstrations took place?”

  “After the May parade there were other parades in the same month. One was at City Hall, then another at the Provincial Government Building. In Canton, it was at Haizhu Square near the bridge. Those were practice demonstrations before the June massacre.”

  “Do you remember what precipitated the June 4th 1989 incident?”

  “I’m not sure. It was many years ago.”

  “I’ll give you a minute. Think back to that day.”

  “My memories are confused … I really don’t remember what started it.”

  “Describe what you do remember.”

  “At eight in the morning we met at the university. Then about nine-thirty we went to Tiananmen.”

  Piraro turned to Grace, and said cheerfully, “Those are my questions for the claimant.”

  That was it? Less than two hours and he was done? Grace couldn’t believe it. She’d like nothing better than to pop him one from the bench. Only the need to maintain an appearance of judicial neutrality kept her in check. She had a score of questions she needed answers to. Questioning the claimant herself might be imprudent; judges were advised not to act as researchers, prosecutors or court reporters while on the bench. But she couldn’t just let the questions go unanswered because the RCO had failed in his duty to the court and the state.

  “Counsel, with your permission, in order to clear up my own confusion, I’d like to ask a few questions of clarification.”

  “By all means, Your Honour.”

  Testing his credibility, she asked, “Mr. Sui, why exactly did you make a videotape of the event?”

  “I was asked to.”

  “But it was dangerous. Why did you agree? You don’t do everything that you’re asked to, do you?”

  “No, but I did in this case, because I thought it was important to record history in the making. I was excited and proud to be a part of that history. I believed that the march at Tiananmen would be similar to the fall of the Berlin Wall. It was important that we have a record of it to show the world and our grandchildren.”

  Good answer, she thought. Testing him again, she asked, “But wasn’t the square crawling with foreign journalists? Weren’t they filming the event as well?”

  “They were. But a Chinese perspective was very important.”

  “The events were the same in everybody’s videotape. That means the perspective was the same. So I don’t understand your remark about a Chinese perspective. Do you care to explain?”

  “We wanted to take the footage and use it for a documentary. We wanted to explain to the people that when Deng talked of reform, he meant economic changes and not political ones. We wanted to wake up the people.”

  “What happened after you ran away from the square?”

  “I went home and I destroyed all the documents in my possession that the government might have used against us.”

  “What documents would those be?”

  “Anything with the signatures of people who participated in demonstrations.”

  “Was your signature among them?”

  “I wrote some of the slogans, but I don’t remember if I signed all the documents.” Sun stared straight at her. For a moment their eyes locked. She couldn’t read his expression.

  Grace wanted to ask more follow-up questions but she stopped herself. To do so was to slide down the slippery slope of prosecutor-judge. Changing tack, she said, “Counsel, I suggest you redirect. Could you ask the claimant what he did after he destroyed the documents?”

  “Very well, Your Honour.”

  Verster turned to Sun. “Given the passage of time, Sun, I want you to try and recollect the sequence of events.”

  “I went back to the university to find out what was going on. There were many rumours that some of the democracy leaders had disappeared, and some of the demonstrators had already gone into hiding.”

  “Now, Sun, I’m jumping around here. After the massacre at Tiananmen, did the government or students engage in any kind of protest?”

  Grace immediately slapped him down. “Counsel, that’s a leading question. I suggest you confine yourself to asking open-ended questions in my hearing room.”

  “Sorry, Your Honour.”

  “No, nothing further happened,” replied the claimant.

  Verster turned to her. “This ends my examination on the issue of political opinion. I’d like to make a small request on behalf of Mr. Sui. We’d like to reconvene for Wednesday instead of tomorrow. Mr. Sui has a doctor’s appointment. He has a respiratory condition and the high smog levels in the summer are affecting him adversely.”

  Grace stared incredulously at Verster and Sun. This was a transparent ploy to buy time. Time for what? To produce favourable evidence? More witnesses?

  Sun Sui explained, “I have a chronic cough, which needs medical attention.”

  Cough, my ass! He hadn’t coughed once in the course of a hearing that had run from nine to five. If she wanted to apply the credibility test, she could’ve gotten him then and there. But she agreed to the request, because it would also buy Nick time. As the minister’s representative, he should have faxed her notice of his absence and the date of his appearance to intervene.

  Where was he? What the hell had she done to tick him off? She had called him again last night. She got nothing. To be precise, she got fourteen rings, unanswered.

  “Wednesday morning. Nine sharp.”

  “Thank you, Your Honour,” answered Verster.

  Sun smiled at her as if he and she were on friendly terms. She wished he’d stop doing that. She had already secretly breached the rules of judicial conduct by sleeping with the minister’s rep. The last thing she wanted was for the press to start sniffing around her private life because she appeared to be chumming with the claimant! She looked at the reporters for a long moment. Those hungry hounds would snap at any scrap of scandal to stay on top of each other. The case was already a powder keg. She didn’t want to supply the press with a lighted match.

  “As of Wednesday, this hearing will be an in-camera proceeding,” she announced. “I know members of the media have filed an application to have these proceedings conducted in public. While I hadn’t made a decision on that application, I’m doing so now. I understand that the claimant and his counsel have waived their right to privacy; nonetheless, I’m disposed to invoke Section 69 (3) of the Immigration Act, which states that, if there is a serious possibility that the life, liberty, or security of the person would be endangered by reason of any of the case proceedings being held in public, the court may take measures to ensure the confidentiality of these proceedings. At the end of each hearing, the press may request copies of the hearing room tapes.”


  Protests immediately erupted from the reporters and from Verster because it was he who had invited the press. Leaping to his feet, he said accusingly, “Your Honour, it was our understanding that such an application was usually made by the claimant and his counsel.”

  “Generally it is. But this isn’t your average asylum claim. You just have to step outside this hearing room to see that. This claim has already generated a fair amount of public attention, thanks to you, counsel.” She glared down at them from the bench. “Too much attention could adversely affect Mr. Sui’s claim.”

  There! Put the spin that it was in the best interest of the claimant.

  “Lastly,” Grace intoned, “I want to make it clear to counsel and claimant that I don’t want any release of information concerning this case to interest groups or the media. Anyone doing so will be charged with serious misconduct. Is that clear?” Grace levelled her gaze at Verster, daring him to object. After a moment she won the staring contest. He reluctantly nodded assent.

  Back in her office, she waded through papers in her in-basket, hoping to outlast the waiting media types, but at six o’clock, she realized they weren’t going to leave until she delivered a few soundbites. Since there was no way to avoid them, she ran a comb through her hair and reapplied her lipstick. At the security doors, she paused for a moment to collect her thoughts, then pushed the doors open. Lights flashed in her eyes and microphones were pushed in her face. They pursued her all the way out the building.

  “Ms. Wang-Weinstein, we don’t understand why you have overturned Mr. Verster’s application to have the hearing heard in public?”

  “Are all your cases always in-camera proceedings?”

  “Can you give us your opinion of the first day of the hearing? Can the Immigration and Refugee Commission discuss the legal issues presented today?”

  “What about proof? Does the Refugee Commission intend to use the RCMP and the police to obtain evidence of illegal activities?”

  The distance from the security doors to the outside world had never been longer. The questions came at her like bullets in a firing range. On the steps of the building she decided to turn and face the cameras.

  Trying to keep her remarks brief and as unexciting as possible, she droned, “The IRC recognizes the right of the public to be kept informed about the quasi-judicial proceedings of Mr. Sui’s claim. However, that right must be balanced against other rights. In this case, particular sub-sections of the Immigration Act require that the Immigration and Refugee Commission decide whether there is a serious possibility that the life, liberty, or security of any person in this case would be endangered by reason of any of its proceedings being held in public. In this case, I believe that such a serious possibility exists. And I have granted such an application to ensure confidentiality. For that reason, the remainder of the hearing will be conducted in-camera. That’s all I have to say. Good day, everyone.”

  “Could you comment on the uniqueness of the situation? Isn’t it highly unusual for a judge to close a hearing that the lawyers and witnesses want open to the public?”

  “Some members of the media are considering taking this case to the Federal Court on the grounds that insufficient notice was given for an in-camera hearing. Would you reconsider if the media presented arguments to you on this issue?”

  The questions were being fired from all sides. Damn! The cordon of reporters and their bulky equipment had closed around her. Using her briefcase as a weapon to hack her way through the crowd, she kept her eyes straight ahead of her, and once out on the street jumped into the first available cab going in any direction.

  Time had passed and Nick could not remember the list of questions he had given Rocco for his examination of Sun’s witnesses or what his thoughts had been, except that those thoughts circled around Sun Sui and Li Mann Vu. He wanted to get out of his clothes, which were sticking to his body, but he had to stick around for the phone call from Jon Keiler. As he waited for the phone to ring, he scribbled notes into case files, from sheer habit. He sorted through detention certificates and applications. As he reached for the next file folder, the phone rang.

  “Nick, how ya doing, fella?”

  “Jon, I don’t understand how it could take you almost a week to return a call. Particularly to your boss.” Nick thought he knew why Jon Keiler in Hong Kong was deliberately avoiding him. His immigration manager at the Canadian embassy didn’t want to discuss Sun Sui’s investor immigrant application because he had made an error in judgement.

  “Well, I’m sorry, but it’s not like we got nothin’ to do around here, you know. Anyway, I had to pull up that investor immigrant application you wanted. What do you want to know?”

  “The RCMP thinks Sun Sui has connections to the Flying Dragons triad. How could you approve his application? I don’t need to remind you that the Immigration Act prohibits the admission of any person who engages in criminal activity. In other words, Jon, we’re trying to keep criminals out of the country.”

  “I hear ya. But this guy’s a movie mogul. Everyone here in Hong Kong knows that there’s heavy-duty triad involvement inside the entertainment industry.”

  “Just because everybody’s doing it doesn’t make it right,” snapped Nick.

  “Nick, you don’t know the Hong Kong mentality. I’m telling ya, just because someone knows triad members doesn’t mean he’s a member. Because just about everybody here is a member of some triad or other.”

  Nick cut him off. “Just send me his entire file.”

  “His entire file? It was handled by four or five of us. A lot of those papers have been archived in another building across town. It’s gonna take several days and two bodies to do record searches. Nick, you know how short-staffed we are here.”

  “Then do it!” He was losing patience with Jon. In his book, it was one thing to screw up, another thing to try to bury it. That was the problem with being in the same job too long. Complacency settled in. One’s judgement became dull. When you add a government employer to that, you had that extra layer of secrecy to shield the poor and stupid decisions.

  “I’m giving you three business days to toss it into the diplomatic pouch.”

  Jon tried to argue but Nick interrupted him again. “How come you didn’t tell me about the joint Canada-U.S. operation into China-sponsored espionage and their illegal campaign contributions?”

  “Because it’s bullshit. It’s nothing more than a make-work project for law enforcement guys in the two embassies here.”

  “Still, I’m ticked that you didn’t even brief me on it. Now get on that Sun Sui file.”

  It was past six when Nick rode the office elevator down. His mood was sombre. His immigration manager in Hong Kong was beginning to look more and more incompetent with each passing week. And the idea that Sun and Li Mann were getting away with Walter’s murder was intolerable. Walter had been torn from life so brutally, in a second, with no time to prepare himself. Because of that Nick saw, more than ever, the sacredness of life. He saw, too, the elusiveness of justice. Outside, people rushed by him, a blur of movement. He headed home, his loneliness made worse by the empty beauty of soaring architectural patterns of glass, granite, and steel.

  chapter twenty-four

  Ottawa, like Washington, was a political town. It was just smaller, that’s all. She stared out the window, taking in the surrounding glass buildings and headquarters of blue chip companies. She knew that when she had first arrived here, her ex-husband’s name had smoothed her way. It was a city of insiders, and only insiders could get things done. If you had contacts, doors magically opened and calls were returned promptly. Insiders knew their contacts’ gatekeepers by their first names; they schmoozed with the spouses of their contacts. The ones who were really in the loop even knew all about their contacts’ extramarital affairs. But being an insider took a lot of work. It was almost a full-time job in itself, to maintain one’s network of contacts. For an insider, hell was finding oneself outside the gate, looking in.


  Outsiders cooled their heels sitting in public reception rooms as they waited their turn for interviews, permits, approvals and appointments. They waited and waited, because the wheels of the Byzantine bureaucracy that is the federal public service turn with excruciating slowness.

  Cadeux’s secretary intruded upon her thoughts.

  “Monsieur Cadeux will see you now.”

  She tried to do “upbeat and perky” as she walked into his office. “Commissioner. How are you?”

  “Grace, how are you?” He looked grim.

  “Fine. I’m just preparing for tomorrow’s continuation. I hope this won’t take long.”

  “Oh no. I just wanted to ask you how things are going.”

  “We’ve only had one day of hearing. I should get a better sense by day two or three on how the case is shaping up. We’ll talk at the end of the week perhaps.”

  “Wonderful. Now, I want you to bear in mind, Grace, that the situation is … difficult. As your political superior, I’m ultimately responsible and, well, the ministers are breathing down my neck. Reminding me to be careful with taxpayer dollars.”

  “Which ministers, sir?”

  Exasperated, he said, “What does it matter which ministers? Foreign Affairs and the International Trade, as it happens.”

  Keeping an even tone, she said, “I’ll keep that in mind.” Inwardly, she was raging. Cadeux was such a flunkey, so obsequious to the “ministers,” so rude to the judges and adjudicators who reported to him.

  “I’ve read the framework you’ve laid out. The exclusion evidence so far is entirely circumstantial. Keep in mind that we’re not the police! If the police don’t make their case on criminality, then it’s not for us to make it for them. I don’t need to remind you of that, do I?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Moreover, the claimant is only a year or so away from getting citizenship. If we can save the taxpayers’ money by cutting out the circumstantial evidence, then you should do it.”