How my assistant got into trouble with Beijing’s security apparatus and I got to know the Chinese authorities
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Chinese Version
BeijingJournal on a Personal Matter
We haveheld off from publishing this story for a long time: A Chinese woman working asan assistant to DIE ZEIT has beendetained for more than 12 weeks. We didn’t want to complicate diplomaticefforts being made to secure her release. But since these have yet to yield anyresult, we consider it necessary to make public now the fate of our colleagueZhang Miao. Angela Köckritz, our Beijing correspondent, is no longer in China.In this article, she describes her experiences with Chinese authorities.
One daythree months ago, on October 1, 2014, I saw my friend and assistant Zhang Miaofor the last time. It was 9 a.m. when she knocked on the door of my hotel roomin Hong Kong. I was still in my pajamas. We had been out until late at nightreporting on the Occupy Central protests. Miao was on her way back to Beijing,but I wanted to stay longer. We hugged. "Take good care of yourself," I said."I will," she assured me with a smile. "And you, too. We’ll see each otheragain soon, anyway."
Since then,Miao has disappeared. She’s being held in custody.
During myfour years as a correspondent, I’ve often had to write about justice andinjustice in China. I’ve attended press conferences at which governmentofficials have told us that China is a country based on the rule of law, orwhat’s known in specialist circles as a Rechtsstaat.I’ve spoken to farmers who’ve been expropriated, who’ve tried to seek redressbut failed, and instead been beaten and carted off to a black jail forsupposedly fomenting unrest. I’ve interviewed civil rights activists who’vesought, with infinite tenacity, to make China into what it pretends to be: acountry based on the rule of law. I’ve visited dissidents who’ve beenthreatened and then vanished one day. Flipping through my telephone book, I seethe names of many who are simply gone. When I mentioned this to a Chineseacquaintance, he shrugged his shoulders. Those kind of things happened todissidents, but not to normal people, he said. Still, after a series ofunfortunate circumstances, even the most guileless person can run into troublewith the justice system and security apparatus. It’s like with cancer: Everyonethinks they won’t get it. It’s always other people who are put in prison.
This time,it happened to Miao. And therefore to me, as well. I’d already known that lawsin China are only valid when they serve the government’s interests. Butexperiencing it firsthand was something altogether different.
Miao is 40year old; I’ve known her for six years. She lived in Germany for a long time.She had a German residence permit. In Hamburg, she was my Chinese teacher. Webecame friends. When she went back to Beijing two years ago, she startedworking in the office of DIE ZEIT.Returning wasn’t easy for her. Much seemed foreign to her, and she had grownapart from some of her old friends. But she soon made new friends inSongzhuang, an artists’ colony she lives in near Beijing.
Miao and Itraveled frequently for the newspaper. We’d been through a lot together. Inself-mockery, we and our photographer sometimes called ourselves san jian ke, the Three Musketeers.
Miao and Ihad flown to Hong Kong on Sept. 24, 2014. We’d been able to track how theprotests had changed. On Sunday, Sept. 28, the police fired tear gas for thefirst time. We spent that night running through the streets until 5 a.m.
Troubled bythe news that police had used tear gas, Hong Kong residents were driven intothe streets. The crowds grew larger by the minute. The urban expressway,streets, pedestrian crossings and bridges were full of people. No one wouldhave dreamed that there would be so many. That night, many– including Miao –believed Beijing would send in tanks. She kept on shaking her head indisbelief. "It’s just like back then," she said. "In ’89, we also would’venever thought the tanks would come."
Miao was ingrade school in 1989 when students demonstrated on Beijing’s Tiananmen Square.She lived nearby, and she often took water to the protesters. Late on the nightof June 3, when the tanks started advancing, they passed by her apartmentbuilding. One can make out bullet holes in the building’s walls even today.
But on thatnight in Hong Kong, no tanks would come. Nor would they come on the next nightor the one after that. Instead, in the following days, more and more peoplecrowded into the streets. Fear gave way to euphoria. Strangers smiled at eachother and took countless photos because they just couldn’t believe it: crowdsof people wherever they looked, the biggest demonstrations on Chinese soilsince 1989. "Wow! That's incredible," Miao kept saying. She was exhilarated,happy. A girl handed her a yellow ribbon, the symbol of the movement. Shepinned it on herself. I could understand her, but I still asked her to take itoff. "We’re journalists," I said, and she took it off with a smile. A few hourslater, she’d put it back on in another place.
Like somany people from mainland China, Miao had bought an iPhone 6 in Hong Kong. Shewould take photos with it and then post them on WeChat, a Chinese social network.Miao is an Internet addict. I’ve never met anyone who posts and comments onlineas much as she does. But we’d learned that the Chinese police had beenquestioning and detaining people from mainland China upon their return aftertaking photos in Hong Kong and transmitting them via WeChat. "Miao, please stopdoing that," I begged her repeatedly. She would just smile and put her phoneaside. And then start back up again shortly thereafter.
After aweek, Miao’s visa for Hong Kong had expired. She had to go back to Beijing, butI wanted to stay. She left on October 1, China’s National Day.
The nextmorning, I was in the middle of an interview when I received a WeChat messagefrom Miao. It was a photo taken the previous evening. It showed Miao and fourmen. All of them had pinned on yellow ribbons and crossed their arms over theirchests just like the student leader Joshua Wong had done on the morning ofOctober 1 when the Chinese flag was being hoisted in Hong Kong. "The one on theleft has been arrested," Miao had written below the photo. "A poet."
"Oh, God!"I thought. Then I checked to see if she had posted the photo on her publicaccount. She had. And she had also changed her profile picture. It now showed ayellow ribbon.
I wish Icould turn back the clock on what happened in the next 45 minutes. At somepoint during that span of time, Miao must have gotten out of a car in Beijingeven though she saw police on the side of the road. I’m not sure I could havestopped her. I would have at least liked to try.
During that45-minute period, I had finished one interview and rushed to the next. The daywas jam-packed with appointments. Internet reception was poor on the subway. Icouldn’t find the place I had agreed to meet the next interview subject. I waswandering through a huge shopping center. I absolutely wanted to speak withMiao, but I couldn’t find any time to do so. In retrospect, it seems like mybrain was preoccupied with the dumbest trifles. I was like someone racingthough the city to a dry cleaner’s to pick up a clean shirt while utterlyfailing to notice the tidal wave rising above me.
At last,I’m standing in front of the café we had arranged to meet at. I try Miao’snumber as my interview subject hurries toward me. We had hardly sat down forcoffee when the news about Miao’s arrest reaches me almost simultaneously viatwo channels. The editorial office in Hamburg was on the line, saying: "One Mr.Zhang from the Chinese security authorities called. He says Miao has beenarrested." Miao’s brother sent me a message with the same news. No one knewexactly what had happened.
I’m gluedto the phone. In the days to follow, I hardly do anything else. I barely eat; Ibarely sleep. I have to get Miao out, somehow. I contact the German Embassy,the Foreign Correspondents’ Club, Miao’s family, friends, the editorial office,Mr. Zhang from the security services. Zhang works for the Exit & EntryAdministration of the Ministry of Public Security, which issues visas toforeigners. It also occasionally summons foreign journalists and threatens notto extend their visa if the government doesn’t like their reporting. So far, Ihaven’t had any trouble with them.
"Mr. Zhang,what’s going on?" I ask.
"I’m notexactly sure," he replies. "She was involved in a village squabble. Inciting apublic disturbance or something like that."
"Villagesquabble? I can’t imagine that. Could you please give me the number of thepolice station in charge?"
"I can’t dothat."
"How can Iget it?"
"I can’ttell you that, either."
"But someonemust have called you."
"You knowwhat? I’ll ask around. Then I’ll call you back."
In themeantime, I make another round of calls. I find out that Miao was arrested inthe artists’ colony while on the way to a reading of poetry in support of thedemonstrators in Hong Kong. At that point, no one can tell me anything more.
Mr. Zhangis back on the phone. He sounds triumphant. "Zhang Miao is a Chinese citizen;she doesn’t have a German passport," he says. "And she wasn’t officiallyregistered as your assistant."
"No, shewasn’t," I admit. Quite a few editorial offices haven’t registered theirassistants for some time because that would have meant more monitoring from theMinistry of State Security – and it’s also more expensive. Now I’m wondering ifthat would have somehow protected her. The authorities will undoubtedly exploitthis fact. I feel guilty.
"Whathappened has nothing to do with you," Zhang says.
"Of courseit does," I respond. "She’s my assistant. I’m responsible."
"The casehas nothing to do with journalistic work. I was told that she was abusive," hesays with disgust. "That she shoved police officers and bad-mouthed themwildly. Appalling."
"Excuse me,Mr. Zhang, but I can’t imagine that," I say.
"In anycase," he answers, "Zhang Miao is a completely normal Chinese citizen. And wewill treat her like we deal with Chinese citizens."
The nextday, I fly to Beijing late in the evening. I get home at around 4 a.m. It’sSaturday, October 4. When I get up at noon, I see on my display that Mr. Zhanghas already called several times. "Come by," he says. "We want to chat." Heuses the word liaotian, to chat, asif one were going to meet with friends in a café.
By thistime, I have figured out which of Miao’s friends has information about thecourse of events. I call them, as I want to be prepared before going in forquestioning. Three witnesses tell me the following: On the morning of October2, Miao goes with some friends to the house of the poet, who had been arrestedthe previous day. They want to visit with his family. When they get there, thepolice are already waiting, and a heated exchange of words ensues. Afterwards,Miao and a friend want to go tothe reading in support of the Hong Kong protests. An artist friend drives themthere and stops to drop them off. Police are already standing at the entranceto the road. Miao and her friend get out of the car. The artist friend watchesas they hasten toward the event venue. The police chase after them. The womenmake a run for it. The police catch them. They are slammed against the policevehicle. That’s all the driver was able to see. The police ordered him to driveaway. Miao apparently succeeded in getting away, as she called another friend afew minutes later. The conversation is interrupted several times. "They want toarrest us!" she shouts. "They hit us!"
Then theline goes dead. Miao is no longer reachable. All traces of Miao have been lost.
In thefollowing months, more and more people across China are arrested for supportingOccupy Central. According to information from civil rights activists, there aremore than 200 of them. Ten people have been arrested in Songzhuang. All of themare somehow connected to the poetry reading. I know four of them.
I drive toMr. Zhang’s police station. He escorts me to a windowless room. Two youngcolleagues are already sitting there: one Mr. Xu and a male clerk. They havenotebooks in front of them. I take mine out and write down their identificationnumbers. "What’s that all about?" Zhang asks. "This is not an interview!" Theyspeak Mandarin with me.
"I’d liketo document this case," I say. "I read a lot about the development of the ruleof law in China, and now I’m experiencing it in person. I hope to be able towrite an upbeat story."
"Yes," Mr.Xu responds, "be upbeat. You’ll see that the Chinese constitutional state willgive you every reason to do so."
Theyquestion me: How did I meet Miao? What did we do in Hong Kong? Who did weinterview? Did I know about what had happened in Beijing? During the course ofthe interrogation, Miao goes from being a suspected agitator to a de facto one.
"Why do youalways say ‘the agitator’?" I ask. "There hasn’t been any court ruling yet."
"I alreadysaid ‘alleged’!" Zhang barks at me. "Am I supposed to repeat that now everytime or what? This here is a conversation among friends. But you’re notbehaving that way. And enough with all that note-taking. This isn’t aninterview!"
"Sorry," Isay, "but the word ‘alleged’ is a very important word."
Now Zhanggets even more furious. "What’s that about?" he asks. "Who do you think youare, anyway? Are you really German? You’re very different from the otherGermans!"
"Really?"
"They arehonest."
"And I’mnot?"
"No, youaren’t. You’re odd. Very odd. It has always been very pleasant with the otherGerman journalists."
"That’s notwhat they’ve told me."
"With you,it’s not pleasant at all. If I were in your position, I’d pull myselftogether."
While Xugradually assumes the good cop role in this conversation, Zhang morphs into thebad cop. When I mention that to the two, Zhang flips out. "You’ll be dealingwith us more often," he says. "Such as when you apply for your visa for nextyear. There could be problems. Pull yourself together!"
"I’d liketo know where Miao is," I respond. "According to China’s Criminal ProcedureLaw, the family must be informed within 48 hours of arrest. But we haven’theard anything yet."
Mr. Xusmiles at me beamingly. "Her case has absolutely nothing to do with you," hesays. "Don’t let it be a concern to you. Have faith in the rule of law inChina. It is perfect."
Zhangleaves the room angrily, while Xu escorts me out. He shakes my hand, but thenhe doesn’t release it. "Don’t worry about Zhang. He can get emotionalsometimes. You see, he studied in Germany, and he has a very high opinion ofGermans. Next time, I’ll invite you for a coffee, OK? A little chat?"
The nextday, we still know nothing about Miao. Her brother gets a tip that she might bein Beijing’s First Detention Center. A few hours later, we are standing outsidethe building: me, her brother and her stepmother. She has brought along a bagfull of warm clothes, as the nights have grown cold. The prison is on theoutskirts of Beijing. In front of it are dreary yellow apartment buildings.Tall trees grow behind a high wall. We can’t see much.
Thesecurity guard is a young guy in a ragged uniform.
"We’d liketo inquire about the whereabouts of a prisoner," I say.
"Come backafter the holidays," he responds.
"After theholidays?"
"Yeah, in afew days."
"But therearen’t any holidays in the prison, are there?"
"No, thereare."
"Are theprisoners on holiday?"
"No."
"And theguards?"
"Not them,either."
"Then therehas to be someone who can provide us with further assistance."
"Come backsome other time," he says with a yawn.
"I’mwriting a story about the rule of law in China. Do you want me to quoteyou as saying that and mention your identification number?"
Thesecurity guard springs to life and lets us through to the doorman. He alsomentions the holidays. After what seems like an eternity, he calls hissuperiors: two men and a woman. One of the men writes down detailed personalinformation about us. He takes his time flipping through his notebook beforeshutting it with a grave expression.
"I couldlook to see whether she is there, but there are holidays," he says, beforestarting to turn away.
"But," Isay, "according to Chinese regulations for criminal proceedings, you areobliged to notify us within 24 of the arrest. The 24 hours are up."
He eyes mewith a bored expression before saying: "There are holidays."
"And the rule of law?" I reply. "Is it on holiday, too?"
Now helooks almost disgusted. "I have absolutely nothing to say to you," he replies."You aren’t a family member or a lawyer. Go away."
I telephoneMr. Xu. "Didn’t you say that China as a state under the rule of law is perfect?" Iask. "I’m experiencing a situation here right now that doesn’t seem so perfectto me. I’m standing in front of the prison…"
"Listen,just let it go, OK?" he says. "This is none of your business. We’ll deal withit."
"This is my business," I reply. "I’d like tospeak with someone in charge now, someone higher up."
"We can’thelp you. We don’t have a name or a number."
"But therehas to be a department. Which department is entrusted with this case? Whichpublic prosecutor?"
"We don’tknow. Just go home," he says. And then he hangs up.
The policeofficers outside the prison won’t speak with me anymore. They treat Miao’sfamily condescendingly. We go away. As we are sitting in the car, I am besidemyself with rage.
"Theseguys…," I say.
Miao’sbrother shrugs his shoulders. "They weren’t so bad," he says. "At least they didn’tscream at us like usual…"
Meanwhile,Miao’s lawyer, Zhou Shifeng, is working feverishly to get an appointment tomeet with the detainee. The meeting isn’t approved, so Zhou keeps at it andfiles a complaint. Things will go on like this for months.
"How canthat be?" I ask him.
"The lawsays that state security officials have to notify the family within 48 hours ofthe arrest," he says. "But then there is the passage ‘unless furtherinvestigation is required.’"
"So, doesthat mean that the police can always invoke an exception?" I ask.
"Whenlawmakers make laws, they do it for their own interests and not because theyare concerned about those of the public."
"Do thesecurity authorities have to announce that they are invoking an exception orget it authorized?"
"No," Zhouresponds. In principle, he continues, the security apparatus can find anexception clause for every law. Citizens don’t have any legal entitlement to beprotected vis-à-vis the state and its representatives.
OnWednesday, October 8, the family is served the formal detention order. It saysthat Miao is being held in Beijing’s First Detention Center, that she’ssuspected of inciting a public disturbance. Law enforcement likes to use thiscriminal offence whenever they take aim at nonconformists. In the worst cases,it can be punished with up to 10 years in prison. We continue to hope that Miaowill be released in a few days.
That week,the German and Chinese governments are preparing for Premier Li Keqiang’s statevisit to Germany. He will travel to Berlin on Thursday, October 9, with severalof his ministers. This is being billed as the biggest government consultationsin the history of both countries. In the preceding days, several media outletshave telephoned me, including the SouthChina Morning Post and the New YorkTimes. They want to publish stories about Miao. Her family asks that only alittle be made public. Now the question arises whether I should writes storiesabout Miao’s situation in the run-up to Li Kequiang’s visit. Everyone gives medifferent advice. The more I think about it, the clearer it is: No one can tellif reporting on it will do any good. This is a state ruled by arbitrariness.The agonizing uncertainty I’m feeling is intentional.
The GermanEmbassy in Beijing is working hard on Miao’s behalf. I’m learning to highlyappreciate the diplomatic service. The Federal Chancellery and the FederalForeign Office are dealing with Miao’s case, and all of the federal ministershave been informed about it. On this Thursday evening, the German wire servicedpa will report on Miao’s situation. I will write a small piece for ZEIT ONLINEmyself.
On Thursdaymorning, I get a call from Mr. Xu. I’m supposed to come by – to chat. As Ienter the small, windowless room, there are already three men sitting there:two investigators and a clerk. They are of a different caliber than Zhang andXu, older, more experienced. The investigators say their names are Li and Guan.Li is the talker. He has dark rings around his eyes and an unusual face. He canalter his expression in seconds – now enticing, now flattering, nowthreatening. Guan is more of the bulldog type, hard-nosed, monosyllabic,persistent. Li says he is the deputy head of the division. But I’m guessinghe’s from even higher up the chain. I’m not given a chance to check their realidentities.
Lievidently wants to start with a relaxed conversation. He wants to talk abouthobbies, about philosophy and culture. It’s not clear to me why we have to dothis in a windowless room at the police station. And, in any case, the securityapparatus already knows how I spend my free time.
"I’m apassionate equestrian," Li says. "In your opinion, what makes a goodequestrian?"
"I’dimagine perhaps sensitivity," I respond.
"A goodrider knows how to bring his horse under absolute control," he says whilelooking at me intensely. "Then it does everything he wants."
Mr. Liloves equestrian metaphors. He will frequently use them during theconversation, and he always looks at me when he does, as if to say: I am therider; you are the horse. Li chats a bit more and then threatens that myjournalist visa won’t be extended. I shrug my shoulders and say: "Then I’lljust go to Hong Kong and report from there."
"Then Iwill visit you there," he responds sharply. "Do not believe that you can eludeme."
Herepeatedly asks me how I met Miao, whether I trust her.
He followsseveral threads of conversation at the same time. His voice has differentregisters, different pitches. He tries to lure me out of my emotional shell. Iask him why our lawyer can’t see Miao. "You shouldn’t have such overblownworries. We’re investigating the case. It just needs a little time," he says.
Mr. Liwants to know what German reunification was like for me. Whether I was happywhen the two Germanys grew back together. Whether I am a patriot. He says thathe is fervent patriot. "The unity of the fatherland is more important to methan anything else," he says. I try to explain to him that most Germans havehad a problem with the term "patriotism" since Hitler. That there arethings I love about Germany and other things that I find problematic.
"I loveeverything about Chinese culture," Li ardently says.
"Everything?"I ask.
"Everything,"he responds in a sure voice.
"Even theGreat Leap Forward? Even the Cultural Revolution?"
Li closeshis notebook without saying a word and leaves the room. I think he’s mad.
The bulldogtakes over. He doesn’t want to chat about philosophy. He asks hard, tersequestions. At the end of the interrogation, he insists that I sign a statement. It’s written in Chinese on four or five pages. I decline. Heinsists. This back and forth seems to last forever.
I slowlyread through the document three or four times. Mr. Xu, the nice guy, comes backin. He generally comes in whenever the mood has hit rock bottom. He is Mr.Sunshine at the police station. Now he’s not wearing a uniform. He talks to mewhile I’m reading in an attempt to distract me.
I say toGuan, the police officer, that there will be reporting on Miao before Li Keqiang’s visit.
"That couldhave negative consequences," he says.
"What kindof negative consequences?"
"Negativeconsequences. Think it over."
Thequestioning has lasted four and a half hours. Exhausted, I step out of the roomand into the hallway, where all the policemen are standing.
They laugh.They joke. All of a sudden, they are incredibly nice.
Mr. Li sayshe would like to invite me out for a private meal some time. "It’s so nice tochat with you," he says.
"To behonest, the questionings with you are enough for me," I respond.
"Nevertheless,we’d like to see you tomorrow. We would like to speak with you about thecoverage," he says with a laugh.
Xu takes myhand again and adds: "We’re all old friends, aren’t we?"
Back inGermany, Li Keqiang lands in Berlin at noon local time. At that very moment,the dpa story is running on the ticker. Other media sources pick up the story. AmnestyInternational calls for Miao to be released. The next morning, a Germanjournalist asks Li Keqiang about the case during a joint press conference withAngela Merkel. Foreign Minister Frank-Walter Steinmeier brings the issue upwith Li.
But Miaodoesn’t go free.
On themorning of Friday, October 9, I get two calls at once. Security officials wantto see me, and so does the Chinese Ministry of Foreign Affairs. "How am Isupposed to manage that?" I ask the foreign ministry employee. "Myinterrogation yesterday lasted four and a half hours."
"Come rightafterwards," he says. "It’s urgent."
I startmaking my way to the police station. The rings around Mr. Li’s eyes are evendarker than they were yesterday.
"We weresitting here until two in the morning," he says. "We thought a lot about you.We asked ourselves who you are – I mean, who you really are."
We’re alonein the room.
"We won’tbe beating around the bush today," he says. "Let’s get to the point."
I nod.
"What’s themost important thing in horse racing?" he asks.
"No idea."
"The jockeymust win the horse’s trust within a very short time."
"Aha."
"Do youtrust me?"
"Don’t takeit personally, but no."
"But yousaid you trust Miao, right?"
"Yes."
"What ifshe’s completely different than what you think?"
"I don’tbelieve it."
"Miao hastestified that you organized everything. The events in support of OccupyCentral. That the two of you went to Hong Kong to organize protests there. Thatshe worked for you personally, and not for the newspaper."
"She neversaid that!"
"But shedid. We have proof."
"I’d liketo hear that in person from Miao’s own mouth. We all know that confessions inChinese prisons often aren’t voluntary."
"Youorganized everything."
"I didnot."
"We knowyou did."
"As I seeit, there are three possibilities," I say. "Either Miao was forced to give thistestimony. Or she didn’t tell the truth. Or you aren’t telling the truth."
"There’s afourth possibility, as well," he replies softly. Then he suddenly shouts:"You’re lying! You’re lying! You’re lying!"
He standsup and grows louder: "You’re lying! You’re lying! You’re lying!"
He seemsthreatening.
"You’relying!"
I turn tothe side. Does he seriously think that? Will he declare that I’m an agentprovocateur, a spy?
Possibilityone: He’s trying to intimidate me, to destroy the trust between Miao and me.
Possibilitytwo: They really do want to brand me a spy. One thing speaks against thisconclusion: Relations with Germany are important to China. If they were lookingfor a scapegoat, it would probably be someone of another nationality, aJapanese person perhaps. On the other hand, these are special times. Statesecurity is in a state of alarm. The leadership is about to pass a big newanti-espionage law. From the beginning, it has said that Occupy Central is a"color revolution" backed by foreign powers. Its argument would be morecredible if it could produce a suspected spy. Maybe me?
They don’thave any proof. But the Chinese security apparatus has plenty of options: Itcan use other laws as a fallback, twist evidence, launchcharacter-assassination campaigns or resort to mafia methods. An Americanjournalist was informed through back channels that he and his family were nolonger safe in Beijing.
"I’d liketo break off this conversation now," I say. "I will only speak with you in thepresence of an embassy employee. I’m calling the press attaché."
The firstpress attaché promises to send the second one over.
"We won’tlet him in," the police say.
"Whatever,"I respond. "He’s on his way over now."
Li leavesthe room, and Guan takes over. He wants to learn everything about Miao’sactivities on WeChat. He wants me to name names. I refuse to say anything. Hegets pissed. I walk to the door, but the policemen rush over and block my path.The phone rings. It’s the foreign ministry. They want to talk with me now.
"Yeah,yeah. I know your matters with her are also important," Guan says like a bigbrother talking to his little brother. He’s annoyed. He wants me to sign a statement. I refuse to do so.
Waiting forme outside is Mr. Sunshine himself, Xu, in a stellar mood. "You’re just toosensitive," he says.
Incomparison, my meeting with the Chinese diplomats is positively pleasant.They’re not thrilled that reports about Miao’s case have been published rightwhen there’s a state visit, but they remain polite, civilized. The differencebetween them and my new acquaintances with state security could not be bigger.Sitting in the foreign ministry are the doves, the worldly people; but theirministry is the weakest in China. The Ministry of State Security, on the otherhand, is extremely powerful.
On the nextday, Saturday, October 11, I get yet another call from Xu. I’m supposed to comein for questioning. For a chat.
"I’m ill,"I tell him.
"Come anyways,"he responds.
"Thatdoesn’t work. I’d infect you all."
On Sunday,he writes me a text message, saying: "Dress warm. The weather is going tochange. Don’t forget to rest. Your policeman, Xu."
Thatweekend, I read a lot of upbeat newspaper articles about how China is a countrybased on the rule of law. The third party plenum is about to be held. Its mottois "The Rule of Law." We still haven’t heard anything about Miao.
On Monday,October 12, it’s Xu on the phone again. He wants to chat. This time, I insistthat we don’t speak Chinese anymore. I’m accompanied by a press attaché fromthe embassy and a translator. "You should get yourself a lawyer now," thediplomat says on the way there. "If they want to put you in pretrial detention,we can’t do anything about it – except protest."
Three menare waiting in the interrogation room. One is the investigator who has beenquestioning Miao. Short hair. A broad, fleshy face. The skin of a chain-smoker.To the right of him sits a man in a Nappa leather jacket who doesn’t introducehimself. We ask who he is. He smirks mysteriously.
"I ameverywhere," he says. "I know you all. One can see me in many photos."
Though hesays little, he is the menacing one. He must hold the highest rank. None of themen say which division they belong to. When I ask the brawny one that question,he smiles in such a flattered and humble way that what he says just can’t betrue: "I’m just a simple cop."
Hisquestions are terse and tough. Lying in front of him are pages and pages ofstatements taken from Miao’s WeChat account, a whole pile of them. Hisquestions are pointed in the following direction: Miao was my privateassistant. I’m more than a journalist. I’m pursuing an entirely differentagenda. We met with critics of the regime. Separatists. We gave them money.
I noticehow he is fastening the noose tighter and tighter around my neck. His questionsare supported by facts. Yes, I did meet with regime critics. Yes, after aninterview, I gave 70 euros to a severely ailing civil rights lawyer formedicine; state security had beaten her so badly that she is now confined to awheelchair. But I was always traveling as a journalist and not a spy or agentprovocateur, as the brawny one keeps insinuating.
Now I’mstarting to experience firsthand something that I’ve read a lot about: theirskill at twisting the meaning of things. They might have enough material on me.They’ve been eavesdropping on me for four year – on my phone, in my apartment.They read my emails and monitor what I post on social networks. They sometimeslet me know that they’ve searched through my home: The box of business cards Ikeep on my desk will have somehow ended up outside on the mailbox. A door I’dlocked is now open. The time setting on my computer has been changed fromBeijing to Seoul. These things happen to other correspondents, too.
It’s anugly thought, but I usually didn’t let it bother me all that much. How else wasI going to be able to live here? But now that I know they aren’t just gatheringinformation, but are also going to use it, things are starting to lookdifferent. I think about all the sensitive work-related data from Miao’scellphone and email account. Now the state security has it. I start feelingsick. The Internet makes citizens transparent to Chinese authorities.
I ask howMiao is doing, why the Criminal Procedure Law is being ignored.
"Don’tworry about that. She’s doing fine."
"I doubtit."
"Youjournalists think Occupy Central is the reason. But it’s about more than that.It’s about the security of the state, about its territorial integrity. That’swhy the Criminal Procedure Law doesn’t apply."
"I was toldthat she was merely involved in a village squabble."
"This isabout inciting unrest, and that’s a matter of national interest."
The brawnyone’s questions about Miao get more and more persistent. I demand a lawyer. Nowthey want me to sign a 10-page statement written in Chinese. They don’t supplya translated version, nor are we allowed to take an original copy with us toget it translated ourselves. We remain steadfast in our refusal.
"Translateit here. Verbally. We have time. We can stay here all night."
We arguefor another hour. They eventually let us go. We are incensed.
"Phew!" thetranslator says as we’re leaving. "They sure did pile it all on you:separatism, antagonism, Hong Kong. Sure doesn’t look good for you at all."
"I wannafly out tomorrow," I say.
"Hopefullyyou’ll even make it out of there tomorrow," says the press attaché accompanyingme. "We should escort you to the airport gate so they don’t still try to nabyou."
That night,I frantically pack all my things together: notebooks, data, letters. I knowthere will be an orgy of searching once I’m gone. The next day, two embassyemployees take me to the airport gate.
While I’mat the airport, a fellow correspondent calls me. She tells me that Phoenix TV,a station in Hong Kong, has mentioned a German journalist who was traveling onthe island as an agent provocateur. Right after I hang up, I get a text messagefrom Xu, the policeman: "What’s your WeChat ID? Send it so we can keep in touchfor a long time. Welcome back to Beijing."
We don’thear anything about Miao for a long time despite countless attempts by thelawyer. In the course of his inquiries, he learns that she is no longer beingheld in the First Detention Center. We fear she’s ended up in a black prison.These illegal prisons are beyond the reach of the law. Security personnel cando whatever they like; inmates are often beaten up or sexually assaulted.
Severaldays later, we find out that Miao has been transferred to the prison inTongzhou, a suburb of Beijing. The law forbids police officers and guards toabuse inmates. But they often avail themselves of certain cell mates whowill mistreat other inmates in the knowledge or at the request of the guards.
On December10, the lawyer is finally allowed to see Miao. He indicates that we can’t speakfreely on the phone, but he does share with me that Miao is suffering bothphysically and psychologically. Her spirit is strong, he says, adding thatsecurity officers want to force her to sign a statement in which she declaresthat our ties have been severed.
She hasn’tdone it.
The hashtag on Twitter is #freemiao
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Correction: The friend who visited the poetry reading with Miao was not an assistant of BBC
