Advertisement
YOU ARE HERE: LAT HomeCollectionsNews

Chen Guangcheng is gone, but his village stays locked down

Chinese security is tight around the area where the blind human rights activist lived under house arrest. It's symptomatic of a paranoid security apparatus that invested heavily in his imprisonment.

May 28, 2012|By Barbara Demick, Los Angeles Times
  • Plainclothes security personnel monitor the entrance to Dongshigu, China, even after the escape of activist Chen Guangcheng.
Plainclothes security personnel monitor the entrance to Dongshigu, China,… (Mark Ralston, AFP/Getty…)

LINYI, China — At the turnoff for the sleepy farming village of Dongshigu, a man wearing a straw hat appears to be selling watermelons at a rough-hewn stand. But when an approaching car slows, burly young men dart out from behind the nearby concrete house and rush to head it off.

"It's not a real fruit stand. They're pretending to sell watermelons so they can spy on people coming in and out of the village," said a 44-year-old farmer surnamed Sun from a village across the road.

Black cars with camouflage cloth over their license plates — paramilitary, say villagers — hover at intersections along the main road near Dongshigu. Men lurk in a peach orchard to intercept pedestrians.

The prisoner is gone, but the prison hasn't shut down.

After 19 months under house arrest in Dongshigu, blind activist Chen Guangcheng escaped last month by climbing a wall at night and making his way to the U.S. Embassy in Beijing. He was flown to New York with his wife and two children.

All of which adds a touch of the "closing the barn door after the horse has bolted" absurdity to the level of security here. Weeks after Chen's escape, Dongshigu and three surrounding villages, with a combined population of 2,500, remain under virtual lockdown.

The surreal cordon is symptomatic of a Chinese security apparatus so paranoid that any sign of resistance creates an overreaction, which gives rise to more resistance.

"They spend so much money on security, and it only makes China less secure," said Zhao Zhenrong, a retired Communist Party official from western China, who this month launched a petition drive to remove Zhou Yongkang, the national security czar who is also under fire for his support of ousted Politburo member Bo Xilai.

Chen, a self-trained lawyer who campaigned against abuses by family-planning officials, says one of the security officials told him that 70 million yuan — about $11 million at today's exchange rate — had been earmarked to keep him isolated in Dongshigu since 2005.

"Local officials don't want this saga to end, because it will cut off their biggest source of income," Chen said in a telephone interview on the eve of his departure for New York.

Depending on the time, a few dozen to more than 100 security personnel are on duty guarding Dongshigu and surrounding villages, locals say. About one-quarter of them are police or municipal employees. The rest are what are called da shou, or "beating hands." Many are relatives of local cadres and they usually earn 100 Chinese yuan, or about $16 a day — good wages in these parts.

If anything, Chen's escape has only served to infuriate the Communist Party cadres who ordered the security cordon in the first place.

"After little blind guy escaped, they got frightened," said 85-year-old Shao Shijiang, using a popular nickname for Chen. On Thursday, he pointed out to reporters the security personnel hiding in the fields in his village, Xishigu, which is on the other side of a small, muddy river from Dongshigu.

"There are men over there. In the trees too. Next to the road," he said gesturing toward a pedestrian bridge over the river. "Little blind guy has caused us lots of trouble."

Chen became the object of obsession in 2005 when he filed a class-action lawsuit on behalf of villagers contending that forced abortions and sterilizations violated China's family planning laws. He was at first confined to his home and then arrested on spurious charges of "intentionally damaging property and gathering crowds to disturb transport order."

After serving a four-year sentence, he was released in September 2010 to house arrest — but a most extraordinary house arrest: They built a prison around his home.

Chen's windows were covered with metal shutters and the perimeter cordoned off with an electric fence. Floodlights illuminated the house by night. Authorities put seven surveillance cameras at the entrance to the village and around the house and installed cellphone-jamming equipment to prevent Chen from having any contact with outsiders. Only Chen's mother was permitted in and out of the house to buy food.

Not only was the security stifling; it was brutal. Chen's wife was once tied to a chair for two days. When the couple made a video showing a guard peering over cornstalks around their house, the guards took revenge by wrapping Chen's wife in a quilt and kicking her, breaking a rib. Lawyers and activists who tried to visit Chen were beaten and robbed.

Villager Sun said: "I used to see how hard they'd beat people, with their fists, with their boots. It made me so angry."

The efforts to isolate Chen became increasingly counterproductive as his fame grew around the world. The six-hour drive from Beijing to tiny Dongshigu became a kind of pilgrimage for human rights activists, legislators, journalists. "Batman" star Christian Bale tried to visit in December and scuffled with the same thugs.

Advertisement
Los Angeles Times Articles
|
|
|