Freedom of press: They Have Miao | ZEIT ONLINE
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Journal on a Personal Matter
held off from publishing this story for a long time: A Chinese woman working as
an assistant to DIE ZEIT has been
detained for more than 12 weeks. We didn’t want to complicate diplomatic
efforts being made to secure her release. But since these have yet to yield any
result, we consider it necessary to make public now the fate of our colleague
Zhang Miao. Angela K?ckritz, our Beijing correspondent, is no longer in China.
In this article, she describes her experiences with Chinese authorities.
three months ago, on October 1, 2014, I saw my friend and assistant Zhang Miao
for the last time. It was 9 a.m. when she knocked on the door of my hotel room
in Hong Kong. I was still in my pajamas. We had been out until late at night
reporting 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 other
again soon, anyway."
Since then,
Miao has disappeared. She’s being held in custody.
four years as a correspondent, I’ve often had to write about justice and
injustice in China. I’ve attended press conferences at which government
officials have told us that China is a country based on the rule of law, or
what’s known in specialist circles as a Rechtsstaat.
I’ve spoken to farmers who’ve been expropriated, who’ve tried to seek redress
but failed, and instead been beaten and carted off to a black jail for
supposedly fomenting unrest. I’ve interviewed civil rights activists who’ve
sought, with infinite tenacity, to make China into what it pretends to be: a
country based on the rule of law. I’ve visited dissidents who’ve been
threatened and then vanished one day. Flipping through my telephone book, I see
the names of many who are simply gone. When I mentioned this to a Chinese
acquaintance, he shrugged his shoulders. Those kind of things happened to
dissidents, but not to normal people, he said. Still, after a series of
unfortunate circumstances, even the most guileless person can run into trouble
with the justice system and security apparatus. It’s like with cancer: Everyone
thinks 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 laws
in China are only valid when they serve the government’s interests. But
experiencing it firsthand was something altogether different.
Miao is 40
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. We
became friends. When she went back to Beijing two years ago, she started
working in the office of DIE ZEIT.
Returning wasn’t easy for her. Much seemed foreign to her, and she had grown
apart from some of her old friends. But she soon made new friends in
Songzhuang, an artists’ colony she lives in near Beijing.
Miao and I
traveled frequently for the newspaper. We’d been through a lot together. In
self-mockery, we and our photographer sometimes called ourselves san jian ke, the Three Musketeers.
The ZEIT correspondent and her assistant want to report on the protests in Hong Kong
Miao and I
had flown to Hong Kong on Sept. 24, 2014. We’d been able to track how the
protests had changed. On Sunday, Sept. 28, the police fired tear gas for the
first time. We spent that night running through the streets until 5 a.m.
Troubled by
the news that police had used tear gas, Hong Kong residents were driven into
the streets. The crowds grew larger by the minute. The urban expressway,
streets, pedestrian crossings and bridges were full of people. No one would
have dreamed that there would be so many. That night, many– including Miao –
believed Beijing would send in tanks. She kept on shaking her head in
disbelief. "It’s just like back then," she said. "In ’89, we also would’ve
never thought the tanks would come."
Miao was in
grade 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 night
of June 3, when the tanks started advancing, they passed by her apartment
building. One can make out bullet holes in the building’s walls even today.
But on that
night in Hong Kong, no tanks would come. Nor would they come on the next night
or the one after that. Instead, in the following days, more and more people
crowded into the streets. Fear gave way to euphoria. Strangers smiled at each
other and took countless photos because they just couldn’t believe it: crowds
of people wherever they looked, the biggest demonstrations on Chinese soil
since 1989. "Wow! That's incredible," Miao kept saying. She was exhilarated,
happy. A girl handed her a yellow ribbon, the symbol of the movement. She
pinned it on herself. I could understand her, but I still asked her to take it
off. "We’re journalists," I said, and she took it off with a smile. A few hours
later, she’d put it back on in another place.
Fear gives way to euphoria. Masses of young people pour into the streets of Hong Kong
many people from mainland China, Miao had bought an iPhone 6 in Hong Kong. She
would 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 online
as much as she does. But we’d learned that the Chinese police had been
questioning and detaining people from mainland China upon their return after
taking photos in Hong Kong and transmitting them via WeChat. "Miao, please stop
doing that," I begged her repeatedly. She would just smile and put her phone
aside. And then start back up again shortly thereafter.
week, Miao’s visa for Hong Kong had expired. She had to go back to Beijing, but
I wanted to stay. She left on October 1, China’s National Day.
morning, I was in the middle of an interview when I received a WeChat message
from Miao. It was a photo taken the previous evening. It showed Miao and four
men. All of them had pinned on yellow ribbons and crossed their arms over their
chests just like the student leader Joshua Wong had done on the morning of
October 1 when the Chinese flag was being hoisted in Hong Kong. "The one on the
left 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 public
account. She had. And she had also changed her profile picture. It now showed a
yellow ribbon.
Miao buys an iPhone in Hong Kong and posts pictures of the protests online
could turn back the clock on what happened in the next 45 minutes. At some
point during that span of time, Miao must have gotten out of a car in Beijing
even though she saw police on the side of the road. I’m not sure I could have
stopped her. I would have at least liked to try.
During that
45-minute period, I had finished one interview and rushed to the next. The day
was jam-packed with appointments. Internet reception was poor on the subway. I
couldn’t find the place I had agreed to meet the next interview subject. I was
wandering through a huge shopping center. I absolutely wanted to speak with
Miao, but I couldn’t find any time to do so. In retrospect, it seems like my
brain was preoccupied with the dumbest trifles. I was like someone racing
though the city to a dry cleaner’s to pick up a clean shirt while utterly
failing to notice the tidal wave rising above me.
I’m standing in front of the café we had arranged to meet at. I try Miao’s
number as my interview subject hurries toward me. We had hardly sat down for
coffee when the news about Miao’s arrest reaches me almost simultaneously via
two channels. The editorial office in Hamburg was on the line, saying: "One Mr.
Zhang from the Chinese security authorities called. He says Miao has been
arrested." Miao’s brother sent me a message with the same news. No one knew
exactly what had happened.
I’m glued
to the phone. In the days to follow, I hardly do anything else. I I
barely 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 & Entry
Administration of the Ministry of Public Security, which issues visas to
foreigners. It also occasionally summons foreign journalists and threatens not
to extend their visa if the government doesn’t like their reporting. So far, I
haven’t had any trouble with them.
"Mr. Zhang,
what’s going on?" I ask.
exactly sure," he replies. "She was involved in a village squabble. Inciting a
public disturbance or something like that."
squabble? I can’t imagine that. Could you please give me the number of the
police station in charge?"
"I can’t do
"How can I
tell you that, either."
"But someone
must have called you."
what? I’ll ask around. Then I’ll call you back."
meantime, I make another round of calls. I find out that Miao was arrested in
the artists’ colony while on the way to a reading of poetry in support of the
demonstrators in Hong Kong. At that point, no one can tell me anything more.
The police follow Miao as she is heading to a poetry reading, where she is later arrested
is back on the phone. He sounds triumphant. "Zhang Miao is a C
she doesn’t have a German passport," he says. "And she wasn’t officially
registered as your assistant."
wasn’t," I admit. Quite a few editorial offices haven’t registered their
assistants for some time because that would have meant more monitoring from the
Ministry of State Security – and it’s also more expensive. Now I’m wondering if
that would have somehow protected her. The authorities will undoubtedly exploit
this fact. I feel guilty.
happened has nothing to do with you," Zhang says.
"Of course
it does," I respond. "She’s my assistant. I’m responsible."
has nothing to do with journalistic work. I was told that she was abusive," he
says with disgust. "That she shoved police officers and bad-mouthed them
wildly. Appalling."
"Excuse me,
Mr. Zhang, but I can’t imagine that," I say.
case," he answers, "Zhang Miao is a completely normal Chinese citizen. And we
will treat her like we deal with Chinese citizens."
day, I fly to Beijing late in the evening. I get home at around 4 a.m. It’s
Saturday, October 4. When I get up at noon, I see on my display that Mr. Zhang
has already called several times. "Come by," he says. "We want to chat." He
uses the word liaotian, to chat, as
if one were going to meet with friends in a café.
time, I have figured out which of Miao’s friends has information about the
course of events. I call them, as I want to be prepared before going in for
questioning. Three witnesses tell me the following: On the morning of October
2, Miao goes with some friends to the house of the poet, who had been arrested
the previous day. They want to visit with his family. When they get there, the
police are already waiting, and a heated exchange of words ensues. Afterwards,
Miao and a friend want to go to
the reading in support of the Hong Kong protests. An artist friend drives them
there and stops to drop them off. Police are already standing at the entrance
to the road. Miao and her friend get out of the car. The artist friend watches
as they hasten toward the event venue. The police chase after them. The women
make a run for it. The police catch them. They are slammed against the police
vehicle. That’s all the driver was able to see. The police ordered him to drive
away. Miao apparently succeeded in getting away, as she called another friend a
few minutes later. The conversation is interrupted several times. "They want to
arrest us!" she shouts. "They hit us!"
line goes dead. Miao is no longer reachable. All traces of Miao have been lost.
following months, more and more people across China are arrested for supporting
Occupy Central. According to information from civil rights activists, there are
more than 200 of them. Ten people have been arrested in Songzhuang. All of them
are somehow connected to the poetry reading. I know four of them.
I drive to
Mr. Zhang’s police station. He escorts me to a windowless room. Two young
colleagues are already sitting there: one Mr. Xu and a male clerk. They have
notebooks in front of them. I take mine out and write down their identification
numbers. "What’s that all about?" Zhang asks. "This is not an interview!" They
speak Mandarin with me.
"I’d like
to document this case," I say. "I read a lot about the development of the rule
of law in China, and now I’m experiencing it in person. I hope to be able to
write an upbeat story."
"Yes," Mr.
Xu responds, "be upbeat. You’ll see that the Chinese constitutional state will
give you every reason to do so."
question me: How did I meet Miao? What did we do in Hong Kong? Who did we
interview? Did I know about what had happened in Beijing? During the course of
the interrogation, Miao goes from being a suspected agitator to a de facto one.
"Why do you
always say ‘the agitator’?" I ask. "There hasn’t been any court ruling yet."
"I already
said ‘alleged’!" Zhang barks at me. "Am I supposed to repeat that now every
time or what? This here is a conversation among friends. But you’re not
behaving that way. And enough with all that note-taking. This isn’t an
interview!"
"Sorry," I
say, "but the word ‘alleged’ is a very important word."
gets even more furious. "What’s that about?" he asks. "Who do you think you
are, anyway? Are you really German? You’re very different from the other
aren’t. You’re odd. Very odd. It has always been very pleasant with the other
German journalists."
"That’s not
what they’ve told me."
"With you,
it’s not pleasant at all. If I were in your position, I’d pull myself
together."
gradually assumes the good cop role in this conversation, Zhang morphs into the
bad cop. When I mention that to the two, Zhang flips out. "You’ll be dealing
with us more often," he says. "Such as when you apply for your visa for next
year. There could be problems. Pull yourself together!"
"I’d like
to know where Miao is," I respond. "According to China’s Criminal Procedure
Law, the family must be informed within 48 hours of arrest. But we haven’t
heard anything yet."
smiles at me beamingly. "Her case has absolutely nothing to do with you," he
says. "Don’t let it be a concern to you. Have faith in the rule of law in
China. It is perfect."
leaves the room angrily, while Xu escorts me out. He shakes my hand, but then
he doesn’t release it. "Don’t worry about Zhang. He can get emotional
sometimes. You see, he studied in Germany, and he has a very high opinion of
Germans. Next time, I’ll invite you for a coffee, OK? A little chat?"
day, we still know nothing about Miao. Her brother gets a tip that she might be
in Beijing’s First Detention Center. A few hours later, we are standing outside
the building: me, her brother and her stepmother. She has brought along a bag
full of warm clothes, as the nights have grown cold. The prison is on the
outskirts of Beijing. In front of it are dreary yellow apartment buildings.
Tall trees grow behind a high wall. We can’t see much.
security guard is a young guy in a ragged uniform.
"We’d like
to inquire about the whereabouts of a prisoner," I say.
"Come back
after the holidays," he responds.
"After the
holidays?"
"Yeah, in a
few days."
"But there
aren’t any holidays in the prison, are there?"
"No, there
prisoners on holiday?"
"Not them,
"Then there
has to be someone who can provide us with further assistance."
"Come back
some other time," he says with a yawn.
writing a story about the rule of law in China. Do you want me to quote
you as saying that and mention your identification number?"
security guard springs to life and lets us through to the doorman. He also
mentions the holidays. After what seems like an eternity, he calls his
superiors: two men and a woman. One of the men writes down detailed personal
information about us. He takes his time flipping through his notebook before
shutting it with a grave expression.
look to see whether she is there, but there are holidays," he says, before
starting to turn away.
say, "according to Chinese regulations for criminal proceedings, you are
obliged to notify us within 24 of the arrest. The 24 hours are up."
He eyes me
with a bored expression before saying: "There are holidays."
"And the rule of law?" I reply. "Is it on holiday, too?"
Miao’s family is turned away at the prison gates after being told that, regrettably, no information is available during the holidays
looks almost disgusted. "I have absolutely nothing to say to you," he replies.
"You aren’t a family member or a lawyer. Go away."
I telephone
Mr. Xu. "Didn’t you say that China as a state under the rule of law is perfect?" I
ask. "I’m experiencing a situation here right now that doesn’t seem so perfect
to me. I’m standing in front of the prison…"
just let it go, OK?" he says. "This is none of your business. We’ll deal with
"This is my business," I reply. "I’d like to
speak with someone in charge now, someone higher up."
"We can’t
help you. We don’t have a name or a number."
"But there
has to be a department. Which department is entrusted with this case? Which
public prosecutor?"
"We don’t
know. Just go home," he says. And then he hangs up.
The police
officers outside the prison won’t speak with me anymore. They treat Miao’s
family condescendingly. We go away. As we are sitting in the car, I am beside
myself with rage.
guys…," I say.
brother shrugs his shoulders. "They weren’t so bad," he says. "At least they didn’t
scream at us like usual…"
Meanwhile,
Miao’s lawyer, Zhou Shifeng, is working feverishly to get an appointment to
meet with the detainee. The meeting isn’t approved, so Zhou keeps at it and
files a complaint. Things will go on like this for months.
that be?" I ask him.
says that state security officials have to notify the family within 48 hours of
the arrest," he says. "But then there is the passage ‘unless further
investigation is required.’"
that mean that the police can always invoke an exception?" I ask.
lawmakers make laws, they do it for their own interests and not because they
are concerned about those of the public."
security authorities have to announce that they are invoking an exception or
get it authorized?"
"No," Zhou
responds. In principle, he continues, the security apparatus can find an
exception clause for every law. Citizens don’t have any legal entitlement to be
protected vis-à-vis the state and its representatives.
Wednesday, October 8, the family is served the formal detention order. It says
that Miao is being held in Beijing’s First Detention Center, that she’s
suspected of inciting a public disturbance. Law enforcement likes to use this
criminal 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 Miao
will be released in a few days.
That week,
the German and Chinese governments are preparing for Premier Li Keqiang’s state
visit to Germany. He will travel to Berlin on Thursday, October 9, with several
of his ministers. This is being billed as the biggest government consultations
in the history of both countries. In the preceding days, several media outlets
have telephoned me, including the South
China Morning Post and the New York
Times. They want to publish stories about Miao. Her family asks that only a
little be made public. Now the question arises whether I should writes stories
about Miao’s situation in the run-up to Li Kequiang’s visit. Everyone gives me
different advice. The more I think about it, the clearer it is: No one can tell
if reporting on it will do any good. This is a state ruled by arbitrariness.
The agonizing uncertainty I’m feeling is intentional.
The German
Embassy in Beijing is working hard on Miao’s behalf. I’m learning to highly
appreciate the diplomatic service. The Federal Chancellery and the Federal
Foreign Office are dealing with Miao’s case, and all of the federal ministers
have been informed about it. On this Thursday evening, the German wire service
dpa will report on Miao’s situation. I will write a small piece for ZEIT ONLINE
On Thursday
morning, I get a call from Mr. Xu. I’m supposed to come by – to chat. As I
enter the small, windowless room, there are already three men sitting there:
two investigators and a clerk. They are of a different caliber than Zhang and
Xu, 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 can
alter his expression in seconds – now enticing, now flattering, now
threatening. Guan is more of the bulldog type, hard-nosed, monosyllabic,
persistent. Li says he is the deputy head of the division. But I’m guessing
he’s from even higher up the chain. I’m not given a chance to check their real
identities.
evidently wants to start with a relaxed conversation. He wants to talk about
hobbies, about philosophy and culture. It’s not clear to me why we have to do
this in a windowless room at the police station. And, in any case, the security
apparatus already knows how I spend my free time.
passionate equestrian," Li says. "In your opinion, what makes a good
equestrian?"
imagine perhaps sensitivity," I respond.
rider knows how to bring his horse under absolute control," he says while
looking at me intensely. "Then it does everything he wants."
loves equestrian metaphors. He will frequently use them during the
conversation, and he always looks at me when he does, as if to say: I am the
you are the horse. Li chats a bit more and then threatens that my
journalist visa won’t be extended. I shrug my shoulders and say: "Then I’ll
just go to Hong Kong and report from there."
will visit you there," he responds sharply. "Do not believe that you can elude
repeatedly asks me how I met Miao, whether I trust her.
He follows
several threads of conversation at the same time. His voice has different
registers, different pitches. He tries to lure me out of my emotional shell. I
ask him why our lawyer can’t see Miao. "You shouldn’t have such overblown
worries. We’re investigating the case. It just needs a little time," he says.
wants to know what German reunification was like for me. Whether I was happy
when the two Germanys grew back together. Whether I am a patriot. He says that
he is fervent patriot. "The unity of the fatherland is more important to me
than anything else," he says. I try to explain to him that most Germans have
had a problem with the term "patriotism"
since Hitler. That there are
things I love about Germany and other things that I find problematic.
everything about Chinese culture," Li ardently says.
"Everything?"
"Everything,"
he responds in a sure voice.
Great Leap Forward? Even the Cultural Revolution?"
his notebook without saying a word and leaves the room. I think he’s mad.
The bulldog
takes over. He doesn’t want to chat about philosophy. He asks hard, terse
questions. 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. He
insists. This back and forth seems to last forever.
read through the document three or four times. Mr. Xu, the nice guy, comes back
in. 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 me
while I’m reading in an attempt to distract me.
Guan, the police officer, that there will be reporting on Miao before Li
Keqiang’s visit.
"That could
have negative consequences," he says.
"What kind
of negative consequences?"
consequences. Think it over."
questioning has lasted four and a half hours. Exhausted, I step out of the room
and into the hallway, where all the policemen are standing.
They laugh.
They joke. All of a sudden, they are incredibly nice.
Mr. Li says
he would like to invite me out for a private meal some time. "It’s so nice to
chat with you," he says.
honest, 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 the
coverage," he says with a laugh.
Xu takes my
hand again and adds: "We’re all old friends, aren’t we?"
Germany, 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. Amnesty
International calls for Miao to be released. The next morning, a German
journalist asks Li Keqiang about the case during a joint press conference with
Angela Merkel. Foreign Minister Frank-Walter Steinmeier brings the issue up
doesn’t go free.
morning of Friday, October 9, I get two calls at once. Security officials want
to see me, and so does the Chinese Ministry of Foreign Affairs. "How am I
supposed to manage that?" I ask the foreign ministry employee. "My
interrogation yesterday lasted four and a half hours."
"Come right
afterwards," he says. "It’s urgent."
making my way to the police station. The rings around Mr. Li’s eyes are even
darker than they were yesterday.
sitting 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 alone
in the room.
"We won’t
be beating around the bush today," he says. "Let’s get to the point."
"What’s the
most important thing in horse racing?" he asks.
"No idea."
"The jockey
must win the horse’s trust within a very short time."
trust me?"
"Don’t take
it personally, but no."
said you trust Miao, right?"
she’s completely different than what you think?"
believe it."
testified that you organized everything. The events in support of Occupy
Central. That the two of you went to Hong Kong to organize protests there. That
she worked for you personally, and not for the newspaper."
"She never
said that!"
did. We have proof."
"I’d like
to hear that in person from Miao’s own mouth. We all know that confessions in
Chinese prisons often aren’t voluntary."
organized everything."
it, there are three possibilities," I say. "Either Miao was forced to give this
testimony. Or she didn’t tell the truth. Or you aren’t telling the truth."
"There’s a
fourth possibility, as well," he replies softly. Then he suddenly shouts:
"You’re lying! You’re lying! You’re lying!"
up and grows louder: "You’re lying! You’re lying! You’re lying!"
threatening.
During questioning by state security officials, Officer Li yells: “There’s a fourth possibility: You’re lying! You were in Hong Kong to organize the protests there!”
the side. Does he seriously think that? Will he declare that I’m an agent
provocateur, a spy?
Possibility
one: He’s trying to intimidate me, to destroy the trust between Miao and me.
Possibility
two: They really do want to brand me a spy. One thing speaks against this
conclusion: Relations with Germany are important to China. If they were looking
for a scapegoat, it would probably be someone of another nationality, a
Japanese person perhaps. On the other hand, these are special times. State
security is in a state of alarm. The leadership is about to pass a big new
anti-espionage law. From the beginning, it has said that Occupy Central is a
"color revolution" backed by foreign powers. Its argument would be more
credible if it could produce a suspected spy. Maybe me?
They don’t
have any proof. But the Chinese security apparatus has plenty of options: It
can use other laws as a fallback, twist evidence, launch
character-assassination campaigns or resort to mafia methods. An American
journalist was informed through back channels that he and his family were no
longer safe in Beijing.
"I’d like
to break off this conversation now," I say. "I will only speak with you in the
presence of an embassy employee. I’m calling the press attaché."
press attaché promises to send the second one over.
"We won’t
let him in," the police say.
"Whatever,"
I respond. "He’s on his way over now."
the room, and Guan takes over. He wants to learn everything about Miao’s
activities on WeChat. He wants me to name names. I refuse to say anything. He
gets 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. I know your matters with her are also important," Guan says like a big
brother talking to his little brother. He’s annoyed. He wants me to sign a statement. I refuse to do so.
Waiting for
me outside is Mr. Sunshine himself, Xu, in a stellar mood. "You’re just too
sensitive," he says.
comparison, my meeting with the Chinese diplomats is positively pleasant.
They’re not thrilled that reports about Miao’s case have been published right
when there’s a state visit, but they remain polite, civilized. The difference
between them and my new acquaintances with state security could not be bigger.
Sitting in the foreign ministry are the doves, but their
ministry is the weakest in China. The Ministry of State Security, on the other
hand, is extremely powerful.
On the next
day, Saturday, October 11, I get yet another call from Xu. I’m supposed to come
in for questioning. For a chat.
"I’m ill,"
I tell him.
"Come anyways,"
he responds.
doesn’t work. I’d infect you all."
On Sunday,
he writes me a text message, saying: "Dress warm. The weather is going to
change. Don’t forget to rest. Your policeman, Xu."
weekend, I read a lot of upbeat newspaper articles about how China is a country
based on the rule of law. The third party plenum is about to be held. Its motto
is "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 insist
that we don’t speak Chinese anymore. I’m accompanied by a press attaché from
the embassy and a translator. "You should get yourself a lawyer now," the
diplomat says on the way there. "If they want to put you in pretrial detention,
we can’t do anything about it – except protest."
are waiting in the interrogation room. One is the investigator who has been
questioning 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 introduce
himself. We ask who he is. He smirks mysteriously.
everywhere," he says. "I know you all. One can see me in many photos."
says little, he is the menacing one. He must hold the highest rank. None of the
men 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 be
true: "I’m just a simple cop."
questions are terse and tough. Lying in front of him are pages and pages of
statements taken from Miao’s WeChat account, a whole pile of them. His
questions are pointed in the following direction: Miao was my private
assistant. I’m more than a journalist. I’m pursuing an entirely different
agenda. We met with critics of the regime. Separatists. We gave them money.
how he is fastening the noose tighter and tighter around my neck. His questions
are supported by facts. Yes, I did meet with regime critics. Yes, after an
interview, I gave 70 euros to a severely ailing civil rights lawyer for
state security had beaten her so badly that she is now confined to a
wheelchair. But I was always traveling as a journalist and not a spy or agent
provocateur, as the brawny one keeps insinuating.
starting to experience firsthand something that I’ve read a lot about: their
skill 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 sometimes
let me know that they’ve searched through my home: The box of business cards I
keep on my desk will have somehow ended up outside on the mailbox. A door I’d
locked is now open. The time setting on my computer has been changed from
Beijing to Seoul. These things happen to other correspondents, too.
ugly thought, but I usually didn’t let it bother me all that much. How else was
I going to be able to live here? But now that I know they aren’t just gathering
information, but are also going to use it, things are starting to look
different. I think about all the sensitive work-related data from Miao’s
cellphone and email account. Now the state security has it. I start feeling
sick. The Internet makes citizens transparent to Chinese authorities.
Miao is doing, why the Criminal Procedure Law is being ignored.
worry about that. She’s doing fine."
Packed in a hurry: The correspondent’s suitcase before leaving China
journalists 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’s
why the Criminal Procedure Law doesn’t apply."
"I was told
that she was merely involved in a village squabble."
about inciting unrest, and that’s a matter of national interest."
The brawny
one’s questions about Miao get more and more persistent. I demand a lawyer. Now
they want me to sign a 10-page statement written in Chinese. They don’t supply
a translated version, nor are we allowed to take an original copy with us to
get it translated ourselves. We remain steadfast in our refusal.
"Translate
it here. Verbally. We have time. We can stay here all night."
for another hour. They eventually let us go. We are incensed.
"Phew!" the
translator 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."
fly out tomorrow," I say.
"Hopefully
you’ll even make it out of there tomorrow," says the press attaché accompanying
me. "We should escort you to the airport gate so they don’t still try to nab
That night,
I frantically pack all my things together: notebooks, data, letters. I know
there will be an orgy of searching once I’m gone. The next day, two embassy
employees take me to the airport gate.
While I’m
at 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 on
the island as an agent provocateur. Right after I hang up, I get a text message
from Xu, the policeman: "What’s your WeChat ID? Send it so we can keep in touch
for a long time. Welcome back to Beijing."
Last steps in China: The ZEIT correspondent rushes to the departure gates at Beijing’s airport
hear anything about Miao for a long time despite countless attempts by the
lawyer. In the course of his inquiries, he learns that she is no longer being
held 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 can
d inmates are often beaten up or sexually assaulted.
days later, we find out that Miao has been transferred to the prison in
Tongzhou, a suburb of Beijing. The law forbids police officers and guards to
abuse inmates. But they often avail themselves of certain cell mates who
will mistreat other inmates in the knowledge or at the request of the guards.
On December
10, the lawyer is finally allowed to see Miao. He indicates that we can’t speak
freely on the phone, but he does share with me that Miao is suffering both
physically and psychologically. Her spirit is strong, he says, adding that
security officers want to force her to sign a statement in which she declares
that our ties have been severed.
She hasn’t
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