Kent Wong - Swimming to Freedom: My Escape from China and the Cultural Revolution

Copyright 2021 Kent Wong

Cover 2021 Abrams

Published in 2021 by Abrams Press, an imprint of ABRAMS. All rights reserved.
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Library of Congress Control Number: 2020944982

ISBN: 978-1-4197-5150-9
eISBN: 978-1-64700-186-5

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This memoir tells a story of the heroic freedom swimmers, a by-product of the political upheaval in China during a bygone era. But my heart in writing this memoir is for my mother.

Every friend of my family called my mother Mommy, just like I did. Some were even older than her! Mommy was caring, and she was witty. She made us laugh with her smooth voice and calm bearing. Her presence was one of those unique elements that make a dwelling a home one treasures for life.

Mommy was apolitical. Her heart was solely with her children. During the twenty-seven years she lived in Communist China, from 1951 to 1978, the world around her was against herdepriving her of peace and joy, burdening her with worries and threats, punishing her with separation from her husband and then three of her children, torturing her with the knowledge that her children were enduring harsh labor in a poor village without hope; and frightening her with the loss of her children as they escaped to Hong Kong while she remained behind, defenseless. All she could do was to pray to Heavenalone, in the dead of the night, crying and clutching burning sticks of incenseto open Its eyes.

For her, Heaven did open Its eyes. Her children survived and succeeded, and she was allowed to leave China in 1978, becoming a proud U.S. citizen and living in America for thirty-three years, until she passed away peacefully in 2011. But there were mothers whom Heaven ignored, or still ignores...

This is for Mommy and for all mothers like her.

I learned early on that some lives end abruptly, but I didnt know why. The elementary school I attended was across the street from a funeral home. The sound of blaring trumpets and popping firecrackers from the funeral services punctuated our classroom lessons. I was reminded of death almost daily. Would it happen to me? Who decided when a life should end? Soon, death became a routine part of my school life, no different from standing up straight to greet the teacher when she walked into the classroom.

One day, I saw a weeping mother standing outside the funeral home holding in her trembling hands a picture of a beautiful little girl. The girls innocent eyes and cheerful face lingered in my head that night as I stared at the dusty lightbulb shining dimly from our concrete ceiling.

Whats eating you? Nothing could escape the eyes of my mother, whom I called Mommy, as she tucked the mosquito netting under my mattress. She did it every night. Several mosquitoes had been buzzing outside it, looking for a way to get in to suck my blood.

Mommy, what will happen to me when I die?

Mommy and I in Hong Kong, 1949.

Youre too young to ask this question.

I want to know.

Is the funeral home bothering you? Thats the only issue I have with your school.

Today it was a little girl, Mommy.

Death comes to all ages.

Who decides when a person should die?

Mommy paused, Who else? Heaven. Heaven decides.

When will it happen to me?

Now youre scaring me. Mommy loosened the taut netting and sat on the edge of my bed. Youve said something like this before.

What did I say?

I was carrying your youngest sister. One night, you told me, Mommy, Ill die if I have a brother.

Did I say that? No, I didnt. I couldnt believe it.

Yes, you did. You were serious, and I couldnt sleep that night.

Was I being bad? I didnt want to be bad. Mommy always told others that I was a good boy.

No. You just surprised me. I thought it might be Heaven talking to me.

How can Heaven talk to you? Its in the sky.

By dreams, or maybe by way of your mouth.

By Buddha, too?

Ive never heard it said that way. But why not? Heaven has Buddha to tell the Chinese what to do, and God to tell the foreigners.

But Buddha doesnt talk. See? I tricked you. I chuckled.

Then by a fortune-teller. Mommy was getting impatient.

Can I ask a fortune-teller?

No, you cant. You talk to Mommy.

I want to tell the fortune-teller that Heaven isnt fair.

The world isnt fair. But Heaven will watch over you and protect you.

I want It to protect you too, Mommy.

Mommy smiled. Yes, It has. It has also given me a good boy. A good boy who needs a good nights sleep.

Fortunately, no more little girls or little boys passed through the funeral home that I was aware of, but the sounds of screeching trumpets and popping firecrackers remained throughout my elementary school days.

Mommy was right. Heaven must have been watching over me, for I had another sister, four in all, and no brother.

I was not bothered again by the thought of my own death until fourteen years later, when I reached the lowest point in my life and when I was pushedby Heaven, I wanted to believeto set aside my fear of dying and join the hundreds of thousands of men and women from my generation to escape our home in China in a desperate grasp at freedom in Hong Kong. After a tortuous path that tested my will to succeed, Heaven gave me Its blessing through the mouth of a fortune-teller, a friend of my family.

Its your time to fly away, Mommy told me through tears on the eve of my first escape attempt. Heaven will bless you.

Heaven did bless me by keeping me alive, but It didnt bless me with success. It took me two years of struggle and two failures. All the while, I wondered why Heaven had closed Its eyes to me. I wondered if I had to be pushed to the edge early in life in order to achieve a bigger goal in the New World. Before Heaven grants a man great responsibility, It must frustrate his spirit and will, put his flesh and bones through toil, deprive him of food and wealth, ruin his actions and efforts. This ancient Chinese poem rings true for me.

For several decades, my American friends have encouraged me to write a book recounting my story of growing up in China and my multiple attempts to flee the Maoist regime. I hesitated. I am not trained as a writer. Im a scientist, trained in medicine. So, I waited, believing that some other freedom swimmers would tell a story that mirrored mine. More than forty years have passed, and I am still waiting.