I Interrupt Confession Tuesday to Remember Tiananmen Square 30 Years Ago

Thirty years ago a young man stood in defiance of Chinese tanks at Tiananmen Squair. The photo of this single person in street clothing and clutching two shopping bags, standing face to face with a tank, is widely recognized and associated with the student freedom movement. The man and the massive machines of war catapulted itself to become an icon seen around the world.   It was June 5th, 1989 when "Tank Man" was photographed in the aftermath of a deadly government crackdown to clear Tiananmen of young protesters. 

At home, however, China was attempted to scrub this image from the public minds. They once used it to demonstrate their need to use force, but the picture hardly served that purpose well.  Generations of Chinese youth have been largely sheltered from this picture and the deadly government actions 30 years ago. 



In 2005 I wrote a poem the poem that follows -  Tiananmen Mother  - dedicating it to a Communist Party official that broke with the government and tried to warn the protesters of the coming violence. As has been the case with others, he was ostracized.  Beyond that, I believe the poem speaks for itself. 

Tiananmen Mother

for Zhao Ziyang

The Beijing breeze whispers
mournful strophes.
Tears like the mountain rains
follow slopes

to tributaries until they become one
with the rippling waters of the Yangtze.

I am a Tiananmen mother.
My eyes have swelled
with this sadness before.
The wetness follows a path
well rehearsed.

My nights are immense.
I am but a lone bare branch
in a cold, dark world.

They replicate
that June night
etched in my soul
over and over.

My son stood
in the Square
armed only
with a vision
and they came-
The People's Army.

My son stood
in Tiananmen Square,
amid a sea of other
sons and daughters
and they came-

armored tanks
clanking along the streets into Tiananmen
driven by fear, ordered by paranoia.

Our sons and daughters
toppled to the earth
at their hands.
Crimson crawling into every crevice
Of these ancient Chinese streets
A stain still upon us today.

I cannot count the nights
I've wept for my son since.
Today, I weep for another.

There is no official news
but the Beijing breeze whispers again.
This time for the death of the old man.
There are guards of fear
stationed outside my door.
The lump in my throat is big,
I cannot begin to swallow,
that is how I know the truth.

Guilt always gnawing at my heart.
I could not help my son that June night.
Again as I am helpless.

I want to pay my respects
to the old man who stood up
for my son and others
massacred in Tiananmen,
but the thugs watch
my every move.

I am a Tiananmen mother.
It is my duty to weep
for the lost ones.

© 2005 Michael A. Wells

Empty Chair

Liu Xiaobo, the Chinese poet and essayist, is serving an 11-year sentence for penning a manifesto calling for greater freedoms in China. He has not been seen in public since he was moved to his current prison in May.

The Nobel organization, with its long-standing position that human rights are universal values awarded the prize to Liu in his absence.

China not only disallowed Liu to attend, it successfully lobbied 18 countries to boycott the ceremony and in China censors blocked international television and websites carrying news of the event.



Not since 1936 has a country blocked a recipient from attending to accept the award. That was Nazi Germany.

For China to spend so much energy to attempt to scrub or censor information about this award to Liu speaks volumes about the paranoia that continues to plague the Chinese government.  It also demonstrates how little faith they have in the Chinese people. 

Those present at the award ceremony were told that it was Liu Xiaobo's wish that the award be dedicated to "the lost souls of June 4," referring to the day the Chinese troops opened fire on demonstrators gathered in Tiananmen Square killing many young Chinese pro-democracy students who were protesting; unarmed.