The weight of heavenly peace

We are currently reading a book called Sounds of the River, by Da Chen. It's the second of the author's memoirs (the first one is Colors of the Mountain), a coming of age story arc about growing up in Cultural Revolution China as the son of a landowner and his path to university. In this book, Chen is studying in Beijing at what was then known as the Beijing Languages Institute.

Looking north to Tiananmen Gate and
the Forbidden City

Every time I read the book, particularly about his treks through Beijing, I think about my own experience in the capital of China and my travels through the country in September 2003. One of my most vivid memories was standing in the middle of Tiananmen Square, looking around a vast and barren landscape. OK, OK--it's not like the square is in the middle of the Gobi Desert or something, but it is flat. And it's big. And there are absolutely no trees around. Just 440,000 square meters of concrete.

Let me establish the orientation of the square. Tiananmen is roughly translated as "gate of heavenly peace." On the southern edge of the square is Mao Zedong's mausoleum and an obelisk, the Monument to the People's Heroes. On the northern side is Tiananmen Gate--passing through the gate leads to the always impressive and overwhelming Forbidden City and its Imperial Palace. Between the square and the gate is Chang'an Avenue, which is commonly used for military parades. (Imagine Mao standing at the top of the gate, peering down as tanks and troops roll down the street.) On the west is the Great Hall of the People and on the east is National Museum of China.

It was still hot and humid in Beijing during September, without any shade save the long shadow cast by the Monument to the People's Heroes. The sun beat down relentlessly, though it seemed--counter intuitively--hazy and cloudy outside. I realized that it wasn't cloudy or misty--the sky looked hazy because of the air pollution. The air felt heavy and enveloping due to the humidity and gunk around me.

South view, looking at the obelisk
and Mao's mausoleum

Beyond the uncomfortable heat and the sensation of inhaling in a pack of cigarettes with each breath, I felt an eeriness standing in Tiananmen Square. It was hard to not think about the protests in 1989, knowing that I was standing right where it took place, where student protestors were so close to turning China toward democracy, only to be crushed under the thumb of communism and the tracks of tanks. This was where the tanks rolled in. This was where hundreds--maybe even more than a thousand--people were mercilessly massacred. To know that I was there--to witness history and tragedy on TV and then to actually be at that location--was chilling.

The square is, as you can imagine, under continuous surveillance. Video cameras are set on tall lampposts. A woman's soft voice through loudspeakers remind tourists not to take flyers or pamphlets that might be handed out. Uniformed and non-uniformed police wander around. There is no doubt that the Chinese government still feels a tad sensitive about the 1989 pro-democracy protests.

Perhaps, then, the sense of barrenness, pollution and desolation that weighed so heavily on me is perfectly apt for a location that has seen so much death and violence, and perverted the heavenly peace it is named after.