Bittersweet memories at graduation

After two years at Columbia, I will be graduating in May. I am excited by this prospect, but my mind goes back 10 years ago to April 25, 1999—a day that will remain etched in the memories of millions who, like myself, practice Falun Gong. That was the day 10,000 of us gathered peacefully in Beijing to call for an end to the escalating rights violations that practitioners of Falun Gong faced.

I started practicing the meditation exercises of Falun Gong in 1995 with my parents in mainland China. We meditated quietly in parks, practicing the slow-moving, tai chi-like exercises. We strove to be good people and to live in accordance with Falun Gong’s teachings on truth, compassion, and tolerance.

Those were happier days. Taken aback at the growing popularity of the practice, the Chinese Communist Party later started to publish negative falsehoods about Falun Gong through state-controlled media. All Falun Gong publications were banned, allowing only one voice: the party’s. In April 1999, several practitioners tried to speak to managers at a Tianjin TV station after it had aired false information, only to be arrested and physically abused by police.

On April 25, our family and many other Falun Gong practitioners went to Zhongnanhai, the central compound of the Chinese regime, to petition state leaders for the Tianjin group’s release and for fairer treatment in general. Our gathering was completely nonviolent and composed. Ten thousand of us stood there for a whole day bearing silent witness to the event. My mother, fearful for my safety, asked me whether I wanted to go home. I declined, sensing I was part of something bigger than myself. Only later would I realize nobody had dared anything of the sort since the Tiananmen protests, 10 years before.

Later that day, China’s premier, Zhu Rongji, came out and talked to us, promising he’d address our concerns. Satisfied, we dispersed in an orderly manner. Not once did we attempt to “topple” the government, as the party would later claim.

Tensions and infringements only continued to mount, however. In July, the party banned our practice and way of life, declaring that the government would “smash” and “eradicate” us. A campaign of arrests, brainwashing, and torture soon unfolded—the scope and size of which few in the West can imagine.

Luckily, I went unscathed and managed to make it to the United States for graduate school. But the persecution back home continues to haunt me. In March 2006, my parents were arrested and sentenced to prison terms without so much as a trial. They were sent to the Tuanhe labor camp in Beijing.

For the next year and a half, my studies took a back seat to my desperate attempt to win freedom for my dear parents. I spent every bit of time outside the classroom (I was studying in Texas then), visiting congressmen and others, pleading for help.

It was not until August 2007, when I entered Columbia, that my parents’ ordeal came to an end. They were finally released after over a year of maltreatment. Yet for many thousands more in China, the silent ordeal continues.

Knowing what so many of my fellow countrymen and women face in China, I try to bear witness to their suffering and plight. Few in America know the cruelty, danger, and injustice they endure. At Columbia, I meditate publicly with the Falun Dafa club and try to raise awareness on campus.

At times, the need for awareness is acutely felt, even when I’m with my Chinese friends. Many don’t want “trouble” back home, or they prefer happy memories to the grim realities I bring up. Some have bought into the party line and reiterate negative propaganda about my practice without the critical thinking we learn and cherish at Columbia. Some have even discriminated against me at the encouragement of a “patriotic” Chinese student group on campus, as if my standing up for the constitutional rights of the persecuted masses was somehow “disloyal.”

My two years here have nevertheless been a period that I cherish greatly. So many people have listened to my story. So many have cared. To be able to study and converse freely on any topic, or sit publicly in meditation without fear of arrest or torture, has been a privilege to me.

But my thoughts will also go back to that day 10 years ago. It transformed my life and that of millions of others like me. My only hope is that those who lost their lives in a plight to attain a basic freedom will not be forgotten.

The author is a master’s student in the School of Engineering and Applied Science.