‘Before you set up this place, it would have been sensible to discuss your plans with us,’ Old Fu said meekly, aware now of his lack of clout.
‘Without a broadcast station, we wouldn’t be able to do any propaganda work,’ Fan Yuan said. Then he paused and added, ‘I think it would be best if you closed your station and let us get on with our job.’
‘In that joint meeting we had a couple of hours ago, you didn’t say a word about setting up this station,’ Old Fu said.
‘That meeting was about whether to withdraw from the Square or not,’ said Sister Gao. She and Old Fu had been good friends in the past.
Realising that the argument wasn’t getting anywhere, we turned and left.
‘Our only option now is to buy a bigger amplifier and put up more loudspeakers,’ I said on our way back to our station.
Nearby, someone had hung a small bottle over a placard that said THE PEOPLE OF SICHUAN INVITE YOU TO RETURN HOME, COMRADE DENG. This was clearly a pun on Deng Xiaoping’s given name, which although means ‘Little Peace’ sounds identical to ‘Little Bottle’. The people who gathered round it laughed as they read the message.
‘When the Federation moved to the Square today, the Qinghua University marshals gave them access to the Monument’s upper terrace,’ Big Chan said.
‘The Federation must have collected a lot of donations,’ Little Chan added. ‘Look, they’ve arranged a communication office and a finance office up there, and they’re all wearing red neck-scarves. They look like a proper little army.’ He and Big Chan were wearing the same brand of denim shorts.
Old Fu seemed suddenly to recover his authority. ‘We must call a meeting of the university representatives straight away, and decide who is responsible for what. Let’s get started. I’ll clear a space in front of our broadcast station, and you go and notify the representatives, Dai Wei.’
I wandered through the crowds with the two Chans. We went to each university camp and asked them to send a representative to our meeting. Before long, we’d assembled more than a hundred people. When we returned to our broadcast station, I saw Sister Gao and Fan Yuan standing in front of it, with Lin Lu and Cheng Bing, the girl from Normal University who was now co-commander of the Hunger Strike Headquarters. Bai Ling, who’d just been discharged from hospital, was there too. Liu Gang, who’d trekked down from the campus to have a word with Old Fu, was sitting next to them.
The meeting kicked off with a discussion on how to manage the Square.
I scanned the assembled crowd. Ke Xi and Han Dan weren’t there. They’d both passed out and were still recovering in hospital. Lin Lu and Liu Gang were the only people who looked composed. Wang Fei’s face was bright red, as was Nuwa’s, who was sitting next to him. He’d taken a table onto the Monument’s lower terrace and fixed a sign to it that said TIANANMEN SQUARE PROPAGANDA OFFICE. As I looked at him, he stood up and shouted, ‘If anyone wants to join the Propaganda Suicide Squad, please sign up here. We’ll set off tonight and reach Shougang Steel Plant before the first shift starts tomorrow morning. We’ll give speeches outside the plant’s entrance, informing the workers that our occupation won’t end until our demands are met…’ There were so many students from the provinces on the Square now that Wang Fei’s regional accent no longer seemed out of place. Liu Gang stood up and proposed that the students return to their campuses, but was immediately shouted down.
A Beijing resident laughed and said, ‘This movement’s a farce! What can a bunch of amateurs like you hope to achieve?’
Shao Jian looked very frail. He stood up slowly and, wrinkling his brow, proposed that the students who weren’t fasting take over the management of the Square.
But Bai Ling didn’t agree. She was sitting on a wooden box, sweat trickling down her neck. Her face was gaunt and sallow. Two nurses in white coats were standing behind her, their hands resting on her shoulders.
‘There are hundreds of thousands of people in the Square,’ I said loudly. ‘The government has pulled the police out of the city, so we are responsible for maintaining public order now. Hunger strikers are passing out every minute. We need to ensure the lifeline is well guarded so that the ambulances can reach them and take them to hospital. If everything is to run smoothly, we’ll need a strong management team. How can you hunger strikers expect to supervise all this while you’re in such a weak state?’
Chen Di’s face was as rough and pale as hemp paper. He kept rising to his feet and asking to say something.
Mou Sen was lying on his side on a stretcher, holding a megaphone in his hand. He opened his eyes and said quietly, ‘The Central Academy of Drama hunger strikers have announced they will refuse all liquids! We shouldn’t waste time on these pointless discussions while students are on the verge of death.’
‘The hunger strikers are in very fragile states,’ said a young doctor who was attaching a drip to Mou Sen’s arm. ‘Don’t say anything that might cause them unnecessary distress.’ Three other student representatives were lying on stretchers next to Mou Sen, attended to by two nurses.
Hai Feng turned up and announced loudly, ‘The hospital has informed us that several of the students who passed out are now in a critical condition, and some have even slipped into comas.’ He moved over to where I was sitting and added, ‘The Dialogue Delegation came to the Square this morning saying it wanted to join forces with the Federation. But the Federation has fallen apart. When Fan Yuan convenes a meeting, he’s the only person to turn up. What the Square needs now is some kind of central leadership.’
‘How can you talk about such things… when we’re struggling to keep ourselves alive?’ Bai Ling said, having to pause in the middle to take a sip of water.
Crowds marching down Changan Avenue chanted, ‘The students are starving themselves to death, while government leaders stuff their bellies with food!… If those corrupt officials sell off all their Mercedes, they’ll wipe out the national debt in one fell swoop!’ The noise was so loud that, for a moment, I couldn’t hear what anyone in the meeting was saying.
‘If you lot go on hunger strike, we’ll stop our fast and look after the Square,’ Cheng Bing said hoarsely. I’d heard she’d fainted from dehydration the day before. Although Tian Yi was very frail, she hadn’t passed out yet.
‘The 27th Army has already entered the outskirts of the city, for God’s sake!’ Hai Feng shouted, waving his hands about in exasperation. ‘We need to get ourselves organised!’
‘The students are collapsing from starvation, and all you do is continue your ugly scramble for power,’ Lin Lu said with a deadpan face.
As the discussion shifted once more to whether we should stay in the Square or withdraw, Bai Ling suddenly fainted. The nurses shouted for someone to call an ambulance. No one was in the mood to continue the meeting. Liu Gang turned to Old Fu and said, ‘Let’s wind this up, Old Fu. We have a broadcast station. We should be using it to promote democracy in the Square and to inform the students of our various points of view.’ He took two drags from his cigarette in quick succession, and watched the representatives get up and leave.
In the evening, groups of Beijing residents continued to pour into the Square to show their support. Whenever they passed a hunger strike camp, they’d yell, ‘Long live the students!’ Big Chan, Little Chan and I had to keep running over and asking them not to shout.
When I returned to the broadcast station, Mao Da turned up with Yan Jia and Bao Zunxin, two reform-minded intellectuals from the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences. Mou Sen and I invited them to sit down on the stools in front of the microphone. Mou Sen, who had great admiration for these men, said, ‘Sorry about the strange smell. It’s from this waterproof sheet we’ve just put up… I was very disappointed not to have been here when you visited the Square a couple of days ago. I’ve been reading your books and essays for many years.’ He gazed into Yan Jia’s eyes like a schoolboy thirsting for knowledge. I thought his obsequiousness was a bit over the top.