Something happened in Tiananmen Square in 1989, five years before I was born

A nameless man had his back to me. He was dressed in a white shirt with a pair of black, straight pants. A white shirt with black pants were common work clothes for Chinese people in 1980s. I wondered if he just came back from work. Instead of heading home, the man decided to stop here in Tiananmen Square for some reason, or try to help with somebody who needed help. But I wasn't sure. He was thin and the white shirt seemed a little big for him. He was tiny compared with the giant ferric machine-a tank in front of him: I guess a big shirt doesn't help. A red star was painted on the surface of the tank. The red spot looked awkward and it didn’t match the other colors in the gloomy scene. A dark green bag was in the nameless man’s left hand. The man raised his right arm; his right foot stepped forward. I guess he was walking toward the tank. I didn't know if he was trying to stop the giant machine. Or, he just wanted to have a conversation with the person who was operating the tank.

I had no idea about what the nameless man looked like, how old he was and anything about him. I didn’t know if he had a decent job, he had children or if his salary was enough to feed his family. The photo which was shown on the cover of TIME magazine on the June 19 issue in 1989 did not tell me all the information I wanted to know.

My father frowned and asked me why I wanted to go to Tiananmen Square. I said I just felt like it and it would be a meaningful place to hang out during my last night in Beijing before I headed back to northern Minnesota. I wasn’t sure if the reason convinced my father. He wasn’t a big fan of visiting any famous scenic spots in big cities. But I knew that no matter where I wanted to go, he and my mother would come with me. My parents wanted to spend as much as time they could with me. They didn’t know when the next time to see me in person. I didn’t know when the next time I would come back to China.

Mom came to ask me if I had any plans in the morning of my last day in Beijing. She said we could dine out. We could hang out at the huge mall, which was an hour drive away from our apartment. We could also go get milk tea, which was something I loved a lot and I couldn’t get in northern Minnesota. I politely refused all the suggestions she gave to me. Her recommendations were good and reasonable, but I just didn’t want to do any of them. I told my mom I wanted to eat home and asked my father to make the Noodles with Soy Bean Paste, which was my favorite traditional Beijing food. I wasn’t interested in shopping in a mall since my two suitcases were already full. I wanted to go to Tiananmen instead.

Many years ago, when I was attending Beijing Youth Politics College (BJYPC), my friend Wen-an there told me that Tiananmen Square was the symbol of my hometown. Going to BJYPC was the first time having a lot of classmates who were not from Beijing, including Wen-an. She came from a small town and had never been to Beijing before college. I still remembered the night during our National Day vacation, Wen-an asked me very nicely if I could take her to travel around Tiananmen. We had a 7-day vacation from October 1st to 7th, so she wanted to take this opportunity to have a day trip with me. I was down for the idea of traveling with her since I didn’t have any plans for the vacation. And, I would like to travel with friends. The only thing that bothered me was the place she chose. I tried my best to avoid getting close to the Tiananmen Square area due to the crowds and terrible traffic. However, compared with other famous scenic spots in Beijing, which were asking for tickets, Tiananmen Square was free to public. That was a good deal for two broke college students, I guess.

Wen-an set an alarm on her phone the night before our trip. She planned to get up early to catch the train. We transferred three times and eventually got there. Then, we joined in the “life-long” line to the security check. By the time we got to the security checkpoint, we took off our bags, and put them into the detector. I had my water bottle with me; that was my habit-brought myself water. The clerk there asked me to take a drink of the liquid in my bottle to make sure it was water-as I told him, not anything else. I drank. Wen-an and I passed the security door, then got our bags. The police officers there asked us to show our IDs. They asked everyone who was planning to enter in Tiananmen Square to show their IDs. We did what the officer asked. The process of security checking wasn’t unfamiliar to me. I experienced that every day when I took the train to school. Every train station in Beijing was like that, except the ID checking part. Sometimes, police officers might have random checks in the stations. Most of the time, no one in the train stations asked passengers to show their IDs.

We felt free when we finished the long process of security checking and eventually got into the Square. There were no more lines in there. We could walk around, except some places that were off limits.

There was a huge display standing in the Square saying, “Happy National Day”. The characters on the poster were printed in red color. We were here on October 3rd; I still could feel the festive atmosphere there. On October 1st, there are usually a lot of events to celebrate the founding of this country. We wanted to avoid the “rush day”, that was why we picked two days after those celebrations. Wen-an asked me to take photos for her. We joined in another line nearby the Rostrum to wait for the best spot: to take a photo to have the full view of the Rostrum and Wen-an in the shot.

“Wen-an, could you please move to your right a bit?” I made sure her head did not block the view of Mao’s portrait, which was hanging in the central position of the Tiananmen Rostrum, before I pressed the shutter.

Something happened in Tiananmen Square in 1989, 40 years after the country was founded

The student-looking young man looked shy, but he was still brave enough to speak in front of the camera. His light grey suit fit him very well. It matched the white shirt he wore under the suit. The young man’s English speaking wasn’t fluent, but I totally understood what he said. Now China is lack of democracy, lack of freedom. Especially freedom of press. I felt he wanted to tell people what he thought by making full use of the precise words he had learned from school. He spoke slowly and carefully to make sure every single word could be heard. He looked sincere.

There was another young man in the video who was wearing a denim jacket with a pair of sun glasses. His eyes were hidden behind the dark lens, but I could see his right eye’s corner. I remembered my father used to tell me that was the trend in the 1980s to 1990s. We used the word “Cool”(酷) to describe people who dressed like that. The man wore a high neck shirt under his jacket. The weather between the ending of spring and the beginning of summer in my hometown, Beijing, was still a little bit chilly, I guess. He wasn’t as shy as the young man in the grey suit. Instead, he looked confident facing the interviewers. The way he was speaking was impassioned. I heard he said, I do not want to challenge our government. We just want to ask our government to talk with delegation. I knew he believed what he said.

I had no idea of either of the two men’s names or occupations. But I learned from the 10-minute and 40-second documentary called Tiananmen Square: What happened in the protests of 1989? from BBC News that people in China expected something that my country lacked and the government denied.

Another nameless young in the documentary, wearing a dark blue uniform was riding his bicycle. His rimless glasses were too big to fit his thin face. A red headband tied around his forehead. He told the interviewer that he was heading to Tiananmen Square. The interviewer asked him why. He said, I think it is my duty.

I was very busy during the first two weeks after I was back to China. I helped my parents to pack. They decided to move to a smaller apartment after my grandpa passed away. And I visited a lot family members and met up with my old friends. Of course, I hung out with my friend Wen-an. She took me to a new hot pot restaurant nearby our college that opened during the two years while I lived in America. She still remembered my nickname-Hot Pot Addict, which she gave me. Wen-an lived nearby our college after we graduated. She decided to get a job in Beijing instead of moving back to her hometown. She told me a lot of interesting stores had opened during the time I was in America. The road in front of our college was restructured. It was wider than before. In my memories, the road used to be old and narrow. It allowed street parking; it always made the traffic even worse.

Upon walking around the neighborhoods near our college, Wen-an took me to try the mint and chocolate flavored ice-cream at the new desert shop. I saw she greeted the owner there and had small talk. Wen-an said she loved the ice-cream there, and she told me the strawberry ice-cream was good too. She promised that she would take me to here again next time I am back to Beijing. I somehow felt like I was a guest here in my hometown.

Something happened in Tiananmen Square in 1989, two years before my parents got married

I heard my mom once say that she should have chosen some other day to get married. My parents got married on June 4, 1991. I guess it was a good summer day. Early June in Beijing was wonderful: the weather got warm, and it wasn’t as humid as July or August. Not like May, people could hang out without a light jacket or windbreaker in the morning of a June day. The ice on the lakes in Beijing was completely melted. People could rent a small duck-boat to have a boat trip on the lakes. My parents looked very young from the photos on their marriage certificate. Both them had beautiful smiles in front of the camera. I guess they must have been very excited about their marriage. My mother had long hair at the time. She wore a red suit. Red means lucky and good in China. People tend to wear red shirts on those happy days, like weddings, the spring festival and New Year. My father wore a formal white shirt. I saw the dimples on both sides of his cheeks. He has dimples when he is smiling. That is something I don’t have.

I didn’t understand if there was anything wrong with the wedding day. So, I asked my mom. My curiosity always made me ask questions.

“June 4th, Six-Four, it’s hard to celebrate on that day,” said mom.

That was the first time I heard Six-Four. It didn’t exist in my vocabulary before. So, I kept asking, “What is Six-Four?”

My mom frowned, then told me, “You are too young to know.”

I was 16 and already started my senior high school life. I thought I was old enough to know a word which combined two numbers: Six and Four. I didn’t know what my mom was trying to hide. I typed “Six-Four” to search on the Internet. However, it showed nothing.

Then, I went to my grandpa to ask about Six-Four, as always when I had questions. He knew my country and the Party way more than my parents and I did.

“Why are you asking?” My grandpa asked me in return.

“I just want to know what it is…” I said.  

My grandpa told me Six-Four refers to an event where a bunch of college students gathered in Tiananmen Square in May till June 4th in 1989.

“What happened on June 4th?” I kept asking.

“The students left, back to their dorms.” My grandpa’s answer was short and simple.

I was wondering if the Six-Four thing would be as simple as my grandpa described. If so, why wouldn’t my mom tell me directly, and why wasn’t there anything shown on the Internet. Meanwhile, I wished Six-Four would be that simple: young people gathered in Tiananmen, asked our government for something, then got what they wanted, then went back home.

The last dinner home wasn’t fancy, but enjoyable. After two years in America, I had my father’s homemade Soy Bean Paste again, and it was tasty. The Chinese handmade noodle was still my favorite type of noodle. I ate two bowls. My mom was a bit upset about my going back to America while we were having dinner. I comforted her by telling her that I would be back again. My father brought up the topic about why I wanted to go to Tiananmen. I said I hadn’t been there for very long. And, a person used to tell me that was the symbol of Beijing. I thought I should go to visit there to prove I had been home.

The last night in Beijing was heavy. I was in the kitchen to help my mom wash dishes after  dinner. My father was taking care of the table in the living room. My mom started crying after she turned on the tap. She wanted the sounds of water flowing to hide the sounds of her crying. She knew my father would pick on her if he heard she was crying. My father wasn’t a mean person or anything like that. He just didn’t like cry in general. He always told me that there were so many ways to solve a problem instead of crying. I put down the dishes in the sink and came hugging my mom. I kept repeating that we still could see each other through video chatting. I didn’t know how long that took me to make my mom stop crying. She asked me if her eyes looked very red before we got out of the kitchen. I shook my head.

I listened to my father’s suggestion not to bring the water bottle and my backpack with me. I only had my phone and some cash for the public transportation. My father was in high myopia and he didn’t like driving at night. So, we three took a bus to Tiananmen. We made sure our IDs with us before we left home. A June night was enjoyable. The breeze which came from outside the window on the ride wasn’t as warm as the July’s. It wasn’t rush hour, so the traffic was okay before entered in downtown area.

The line of security check was still “life-long” even though that was a normal Wednesday night. My father complaint a little bit, but he later denied it because we didn’t wait a line here every single day. He said he even forgot when was the last time he visited here, the same as my mom.

The checking was fast since I didn’t have bags or water bottle. We started our aimless trip in Tiananmen Square after passed through the checkpoint. It wasn’t a holiday so there weren’t any big events or fancy posters around. It was almost 9 o’clock but the whole place was bright. The lights were everywhere. Here would be bright the whole night even if other part of Beijing got dark. The Rostrum was the brightest spot here. The building was painted by true red. Under the lights, it looked a bit orange. On October 1st, 1949, Chairman Mao Zedong announced the creation of People’s Republic of China at Tiananmen Rostrum.

My mom asked me if I wanted to take a picture with the Rostrum since no one occupied the best photo-taking spot. I nodded. Why not? I fixed my collar to make sure I looked tidy. My mom asked my father to take the photo: she thought my father was a better photographer. I agreed with her. I gave my father my phone, then walked toward the great spot.

“Move to your left a little bit, your head is blocking Mao’s portrait,” my father said, looking at the phone screen.

Sarah (Qiuqi) Bovold is a writer born and raised in Beijing, China. She mostly writes nonfiction.