The Man With the Briefcase

RECORDER, Amsterdam, NY ^ | 06/23/2002 | Robert N. Going

[Cincinnatus]

In early June yet another anniversary of the Tiananmen Square massacre passed with barely a notice.

How blithefully we forget those tens of thousands of brave Chinese people who in peaceful defiance of their autocratic state met in the spring of 1989 to celebrate the concept of freedom, raised a statue to the goddess of democracy (an homage to our own "Liberty Enlightening the World") and were rewarded with tanks, and guns and death. /SNIP/in the middle of Tianenman Square where thousands had only the day before been killed, arrested or dispersed, here stood one man, standing alone before a line of tanks, refusing to let them pass. Whichever way the lead tank zigged, he zagged.

He had no idea that he was being filmed as all cameras had been barred and the international press excluded from the area. Yet there he stood, nonetheless. In a nation of a billion people he stood up for his God-given right to be one.

[KayEyeDoubleDee]

I am pretty upset that I lost my "Tiannanmen Square Fight for Democracy" T-shirt, which I bought in, of all places, Johnny T-Shirts in The People's Republic of Chapel Hill.

[swarthyguy]

Timely Reminder about a forgotten hero. Fade to Black.

[Cincinnatus]

Here's the whole article, reprinted with the permission of the author:
The man with the briefcase

By Robert N. Going

Special to The Recorder

In early June yet another anniversary of the Tiananmen Square massacre passed with barely a
notice.

How blithefully we forget those tens of thousands of brave Chinese people who in peaceful
defiance of their autocratic state met in the spring of 1989 to celebrate the concept of freedom,
raised a statue to the goddess of democracy (an homage to our own "Liberty Enlightening the
World") and were rewarded with tanks, and guns and death.

China has always fascinated me, but more so since meeting my brother's father-in-law, Charlie
Chow.

Charlie was a teen-ager when the Communist revolution swept over China. One dark night they
came for his father, a judge. They never heard from him again.

Charlie alone managed to make his way to Taiwan. Because of the revolution he never graduated
from high school, but managed to attend college in Taiwan, Republic of China (I use the title
"Republic of China" not only to be historically accurate, but because I know it will annoy the despots
in Beijing when they read this).

He married, had the first of five children, and was off to graduate school in the United States
before he could attend his college graduation. He never attended graduation ceremonies for his
master's degree in Missouri either, since by then General Electric had hired him and the family moved
to the Schenectady area.

It was not until he received his doctorate that he finally stood on a platform to receive his just
accolades.

His mother and siblings remained behind in China, completely locked out of contact with their son
and brother until the 1971 Nixon trip. Then, slowly, things loosened and Charlie was among the very
first expatriates to be allowed to visit, with his wife.

It was an emotional time for them. China was a very closed society, just a few years removed
from the "cultural revolution" that had ripped the nation apart. A government translator was assigned
to the fluent Chows and accompanied them everywhere. The Mao clothes were still required and
poverty ran deep.

To carry his papers, Charlie had brought along a briefcase, the kind used my millions of
businessmen daily in this country. His relatives were enraptured by it. It was the finest thing they had
ever seen.

The Chows came back with hundreds of slides, and it seems that nearly half of them contained a
shot of one relative or another beaming broadly, holding that briefcase.

Charlie offered to leave it behind.

"Oh, no, you mustn't," he was told. "Not even the highest members of the party in our district have
anything as fine as this. We would be open to criticism and suspicion."

So they took the briefcase and little else, walking out of China with only the clothes on their backs
and bedroom slippers on their feet.

In early June of 1989 I was glued to the television, watching joyfully as the people took to the
streets and stopped the army with flowers and peaceful assembly. But when June 4 came and all
hope dashed, I returned to more mundane matters.

On June 5, 1989, the Montgomery County Republican Committee planned to meet in the
courthouse in Fonda to endorse candidates for the coming election. I was seeking re-election as city
court judge of Amsterdam, and would be expected to say a few words. I really didn't have any
prepared, and knew it wouldn't make a whole lot of difference what I said.

I caught the first part of the network news before leaving for Fonda, and saw the most startling
thing: in the middle of Tianenman Square where thousands had only the day before been killed,
arrested or dispersed, here stood one man, standing alone before a line of tanks, refusing to let them
pass. Whichever way the lead tank zigged, he zagged.

He had no idea that he was being filmed as all cameras had been barred and the international
press excluded from the area. Yet there he stood, nonetheless. In a nation of a billion people he
stood up for his God-given right to be one.

The footage, taken from a distant window with a telephoto lens, was fuzzy, yet I could see that he
was carrying something in his hand. To me it looked like Charlie Chow's briefcase.

"We meet here once a year and do the same thing over and over," I told my fellow Republicans.
"It's so trivial, what with everything else going on in the world."

And I told them of the man with the briefcase stopping the tanks, and I reminded them of our little
militia peacefully assembled on Lexington Green in 1775, standing with their weapons down as the
Red Coats approached, because they were confident that the British soldiers would never fire on
their own people.

And then I remembered that this was the eve of the 45th anniversary of D-Day, and mentioned the
courage of men like Judge Malcolm Tomlinson who went ashore ahead of the troops to help guide
the naval bombardment, and the courage of people of all time who were willing to risk even death
for a noble idea that was bigger than all of us.

"So the fact that we meet here every year and decide for ourselves who we want to hold public
office is quite trivial.

"And so magnificent.

"And it is well that we pause and reflect every once in a while about what a truly wonderful thing
we are doing here."

And I sat down.

They took the man with the briefcase away. They say he's dead now.

And we never learned his name.

Robert N. Going is an Amsterdam attorney engaged in general practice.