NAME: HAN DONGFANG
HOME: HONG KONG, CHINA
DATE OF BIRTH: AUGUST 1963
OCCUPATION: CHINESE LABOR ACTIVIST
SURVIVOR TYPE: FIGHTER
ADVERSITY: POLITICAL PRISONER, TIANANMEN SQUARE PROTESTOR
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Han Dongfang was born in 1963, the Year of the Rabbit, which, by Chinese lore meant he was destined to be talented, ambitious, reserved, and to never lose his temper. These predictions describe Han, who is a soft spoken, eloquent, and a supremely kind man. But when he was 14-years-old, after enduring more than his share of bullying, he lost cool. He was the son of a low-caste farmer in the impoverished Shanxi province of northern China, and his parents were divorced, so other kids picked on him. Thin and quiet, Han had taken all he could stand. “I did a really, really bad fight,” he says years later. “I made myself stand up. That was a terrible fight. Nobody ever bullied me again.”
Years later, Han’s schoolyard brawl would become a source of inspiration as he fought for the first labor union in China, went underground as a dissident hunted by the authorities, and later found himself lying on a jail cell floor, quickly but not quietly succumbing to tuberculosis. Despite his understated exterior, Han is a Fighter with a fire inside that simply can’t be extinguished. Even as a young child, Han wanted to be like Lei Feng, the model Communist Chinese soldier who impressed and awed children. He read stories about Lei Feng and admired his bravery. With Lei Feng as his inspiration, Han was prepared to fight for his country and above all, fight for what was right.
Han’s mother was constantly reminding him to be an unrelenting dreamer. “To give up your dream is bad,” Han explains. “To be a dreamless person is even worse.” To begin fulfilling his dream he joined the Army, but was soon disillusioned with the lies, hypocrisy and what he calls the lack of honor. He left the Army and at 21 started working as a railroad electrician. The working conditions were brutal; high temperatures and constant exposure to chemicals sent Han straight to his supervisor. He demanded more wages and changes in the working conditions. But Han was reprimanded and ignored.
In April 1989, Han and his girlfriend Chen Jingyun were riding a bus past Tiananmen Square in Beijing. A group of people had gathered and Chen, now his wife, asked to get off. She was curious to see what was happening. Han was reluctant and tired and just wanted to get home but he agreed to stop briefly. That’s when he learned that students were chanting about democracy and corruption. They were talking about how Chinese workers were mistreated, how countries would not tolerate such abuse. Han had never heard the term “democracy” before. In Chinese the word means “people master” and he was soon transfixed by the notion that people could govern themselves. Communism was all he had known, but suddenly new ideas were all around him. Han barely left the square and spent days listening to speeches, participating in debates and relishing the exchange of ideas.
Han quickly became a leader. He started organizing teams of people, most of them students, each responsible for different elements of the protests. Just a month after he had gotten off the bus, Han was elected spokesperson for the crowd. At 26, he was one of the older protestors suddenly at the center of the uprising, as millions of people around the world watched protesters challenge the Chinese government which threatened to clear out the square with force. As a former member of the Army, Han couldn’t believe that any solider would kill a fellow citizen. But the shooting started in the middle of the night and young supporters who wanted to protect Han dragged him out of the square. Armed troops arrived on June 3, arrested many, and used guns and tanks to clear the square. Although the Chinese government still claims no lives were lost, estimates of the death toll range from 200 to 3,000.
After spending a few days on the outskirts of the city, he saw his face on TV. He had stopped at a small roadside store and learned the government was looking for him. He was at the top of their most wanted list. And so he did what he says any respectable citizen would have done: He turned himself in. Imprisoned without trial for 22 months, he was tortured and tormented almost every day. Shaken awake in the middle of the night, guards shined bright lights in his face. They wanted him to divulge information about other protestors and to admit that he had been wrong. They demanded a public apology that they could show the world. But Han refused to back down. He was beaten and exhausted but he would not let the guards break him. Motivated by a purpose greater than himself – worker’s rights and democracy for his fellow men – he was determined to preserve his dignity and resist until the very end.
Han was transferred from one prison to another and became seriously ill with a stomach problem He was denied treatment, but every few days he would cause a commotion and ask to see a doctor, yelling all the while. “In prison, if you keep asking for medical treatment it means you still have your dignity,” he explains. Eventually, he was taken to the prison clinic where a doctor told him he had the perfect antidote for his ailment. The doctor proceeded to take out a long needle, much like one used for acupuncture, and jammed it straight into Han’s palm all the way through to the other side. “Do you think you’re still sick?” the doctor asked with a menacing grin. Han was horrified and the pain was excruciating, but he decided, in just one moment, that he would not let this doctor see him in pain. And he started to laugh uncontrollably. It was the only way he could fight back. It was the only way he could show that he had not been defeated.
Han’s refusal to surrender angered the prison officials. They dragged him to the tuberculosis ward where he was put into a 14-square foot cell with 20 other prisoners, all sick and coughing blood. Han was left to rot, purposely exposed to the contagious and deadly disease. Three months later, he had a horrific fever and his body was shaking violently. He kept asking for medical treatment, and each time it was denied. But he kept demanding attention, hoping to get it for himself but also wishing to offer inspiration for the others around him. Han eventually became so weak he couldn’t speak or sit up. One day while he was lying on the floor of the cell, a prosecutor arrived to talk with him. Seeing his grave condition, the prosecutor transferred Han to a hospital. The Chinese government wanted to wrap up his case by officially charging him and moving on.
When Han reached the hospital, he weighed only 90 pounds and just one lung was still functioning. The government realized he was near death. They released him to his family, an action he believes was taken so that he would die at home rather than in government hands. A doctor with Human Rights Watch treated Han in China and then worked with doctors in the United States to bring him to Columbia University Medical Center in Manhattan for more treatment. His right lung was removed and he slowly recovered. “You can break people physically, but not mentally,” Han says. “It’s very important. Even though I lost my lung, even today, when I am talking to people who ask me in a pity way, ‘Oh, you lost your lung,” I say, ‘Do you know how much I gained?’”
To this day, Han still hasn’t stopped fighting. In 1993 when he returned to China after his treatments in the United States, he was exiled to Hong Kong where he lives and works. He is a trade unionist and commentator for Radio Free Asia and lectures around the world, advocating for worker rights and higher wages. This is the destiny predicted by the Year of the Rabbit. Han is a man of conscience who would never back out of a promise or give up a fight.
