Cunningham, his camera, and the student leaders

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China Beat continue their excellent series of excerpts from Philip Cunningham‘s soon-to-be-released Tiananmen moon, with the latest installment shedding some light on the author’s role as interpreter for a BBC camera crew, while at the same time describing the moment he encountered Chai Ling (I assume for the first time) and other student leaders in the lobby of the Beijing Hotel at midnight. Earlier that day Cunningham had befriended a student from Xi’an, Wang Li, on the Square.
Wang Li and Hu gulp down the juice and ravage the snacks as if they had just ended a private hunger strike. While they eat, I look at the other table where a group of four young people are talking in low whispers next to the ornate ghost screen that blocked view from the entrance.
“Listen, troops have arrived northeast of Beijing. There are thousands of soldiers, tanks, and I heard there are trucks full of ammunition,” Wang Li says, as if trying to earn his keep.
“How do you know?”
“We were there,” he says with a hint of pride. And then anticipating further questions, he adds, “We know a journalist needs evidence, so we want to go back and take pictures.”
“Isn’t that kind of risky?”
“No, we must do it, Jin. Can I borrow your camera?” He reads the doubt on my face. “You can keep my ID card until I return with the camera.”
“No, no, that’s not necessary. I trust you,” I respond, using the immortal words of someone about to be conned. Actually I didn’t trust him. If anything his offer of the ID made me a little suspicious. If he were really a student why was he flashing his ID around? No one else did that.“I’ll tell you what, tomorrow you can shower and nap in my room if you want, okay?”
Even as the words left my mouth I wasn’t sure why I made the offer, but it got me off the hook tonight. And I did feel for these ragamuffins. We shared a powerful curiosity in common; we were interested in finding out what was really going on, but we weren’t journalists, not them, not me. I couldn’t forget how I was almost reduced to sleeping on the streets during the early vigils at Tiananmen.
“Can you give me some film, too?” he pleads, revealing sharper bargaining skills as my skepticism softened.
“Yeah, okay. By the way,” I ask, pointing to the figures in the shadows about 20 feet away, “Who are those people sitting at the table over there?”
“They’re our student leaders. That’s Wang Dan, Wuerkaixi, Chai Ling and Feng Congde.”
“The student leaders?” I ask in disbelief. Isn’t this a government hotel?We got up to leave. I walked past the other table to get a closer look. The quiet conference in progress momentarily went silent as we walked by. On the way out, I give my camera to Wang Li, not sure if I’d see it or him again. Even so I felt a pang of guilt. Is it right for me to encourage him to go running after troops?
Intriguing stuff. I recommend Cunningham’s own serialisation, updated as a twenty-years-ago-today chronology, not least because of some of the amazing pictures he captured at that time.

I place the image of the Dalai Lama above that of Hu Jintao for a good reason: His Holiness is a far, far, better person than Hu could ever hope to become and towers above the Chinese leader on any measure of human dignity, compassion, humility, and morality.
