Kai Chen - One In A Billion: Journey Toward Freedom

This book is a work of non-fiction. Unless otherwise noted, the author and the publisher make no explicit guarantees as to the accuracy of the information contained in this book and in some cases, names of people and places have been altered to protect their privacy.

2010 Kai Chen. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 7/2/2010

ISBN: 978-1-4259-8503-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4259-8502-8 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4520-6069-9 (e)

Printed in the United States of America

Bloomington, Indiana

This book is printed on acid-free paper.

DEDICATION

To those who are alone, to those who are capable of being creative, to those who want to be happy and have the courage to be free.

ACKNOWLEDGMENT

I would like to thank my wife and my mother. They have given me help in my daily life so I could write this book. My wife even helped me smooth my English - not an easy task. I also want to thank my father. Although he had already passed away when I wrote the book, he inspired me because he was a thinking man.

AUTHORS FOREWORDS

The coincidence of my fathers death and the Tiananmen Square Massacre in 1989 provided me with the critical mass I needed to get started. I was faced with the reality that I wouldnt live forever and pummeled by media image of the Chinese Revolution - a revolution I thought tragically resembled just another dynastic change. I started this book.

A single individual died and an entire nation went mad. The two became linked in my mind because I believed in the potential of the individual, not in the power of the masses to control the individual.

The China I have known is one where everybody claims to be the representative of his race, his culture and his nation and acts as such in order to evade individual freedom and responsibility. The China I would like to see is based on individual choice and responsibility. I have found that one must work to be free. We, as individuals, can choose what we want and create a free and just world for ourselves.

Every one of us is responsible for building a nation. This book is my effort to express my passionate belief in the power of the human spirit to achieve the impossible. Sharing my story is my contribution to a new China, and to others seeking the power within to achieve their dreams.

When I was growing up in China, I was taught that the nation gave me the meaning of my life, but I came to believe that the individual gives meaning to the nation. I focused my anger and frustration on my own goals, not on hurting others. In a similar way, I want to use my outrage and indignation to create a positive effect on people, and through these individuals, on nations.

I do not believe in obscure language and fancy words. I do not like indirectness and ambiguity. At first, I tried to write this book in English directly. I failed because language differences broke my train of thought. I tried to collaborate with an American writer, but the communication gap defeated us. Finally I decided to write this book myself in Chinese first and then translate it into English. Following is the result.

Kai Chen June 4, 1995

TABLE OF CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

It was a full flight.

Mother and I were on board an Air China Boeing 747 headed for Shanghai from Los Angeles via San Francisco. After a short stop at the San Francisco Airport, we had re-boarded the airplane. Mother looked around impatiently, talking with a passenger nearby.

Its so suffocating inside. Why dont they turn on the air conditioning?

I dont know. Maybe it wont work while the airplanes on the ground.

Its been already two hours since we were back in here. What is going on?

I am not sure. Something has happened, thats for sure

Right behind us was a delegation of Chinese farm workers. They had just boarded in San Francisco. After talking with a few members of the delegation, I learned that they had been sent by the Chinese government to work in the United States in the Spring of 1988. Now they were ready to go home after a year. Most of the money they had made would be turned over to the Chinese government. But they told me that even though they would only keep about one quarter of what they had made, it was still substantially more than what they could have made in China in the same amount of time.

Only 17 hours from home, only 17 hours from their loved ones, their mood was cheerful and relieved. They talked light-heartedly behind us. Someone made jokes. All of them burst into laughter.

The cheerful laughs were abruptly silenced by a stern voice. Hey! Hey! Shut up and be quiet, you fools. If you want to talk, go home and talk! If you want to laugh, go home and laugh!

I looked toward the source of the contemptuous voice. It was a flight attendant, dressed in a bluish-gray uniform. There were no special marks on his uniform, other than two red pins on the chest, one was that of Air China, the other printed with five familiar gilded characters of Maos hand writing: Serve The People. He didnt wear a cap. But in this stifling hot compartment, his uniform jacket was buttoned up all the way to his neck. He had a young and handsome face with all the right features in the right places. His eyes were dim and shallow, and the corners smooth. From that tightly closed mouth with its droopy corners, a trace of senseless acrimony leaked out. I could tell from the way the other attendants looked at him that he was the man in charge.

The farm workers laughs, to my dismay, were thus terminally extinguished. People lowered their heads, lowered their voices, and the chatting turned into whispers.

A little later, several men in uniform hurried into the compartment. They roamed among the farm workers behind us, muttering something in serious but hushed tones, discussing something secretively with several of the passengers. Then two of the farm workers walked out with them docilely and quietly.

I turned around to ask one of the farm workers what happened.

One guy in our group escaped. He already checked in his luggage. He even bought a few packs of cigarettes at the airport to take home. But apparently he changed his mind. We have to send someone to help pick out his luggage, because there is an airline rule about it

I didnt hear the rest. I didnt want to ask any more questions either. A powerful surge of nostalgia overwhelmed me. I was choked with intense emotions aroused by ghostly images - an alluring lantern cruelly designed to blind my eyes, a delicious meal maliciously cooked to poison my stomach, a warm blanket intricately woven to smother me to death My eyes went out of focus. My head whirled in a silent storm that blocked out every morsel of my consciousness. I sat blank-minded, without a word, without a movement.

We stayed on the ground for another hour. My feet started to swell. I took off my shoes and socks, and stretched my long legs into the aisle to try to reduce the swelling.