[Congressional Record Volume 143, Number 75 (Wednesday, June 4, 1997)]
[Extensions of Remarks]
[Page E1120]
From the Congressional Record Online through the Government Publishing Office [www.gpo.gov]


[[Page E1120]]


                          IF MY SON WERE ALIVE

                                 ______
                                 

                           HON. NANCY PELOSI

                             of california

                    in the house of representatives

                        Wednesday, June 4, 1997

  Ms. PELOSI. Mr. Speaker, today, as we mark the eighth anniversary of 
the Tiananmen Square massacre, I rise to bring to the attention of my 
colleagues a moving memorial statement by Ding Zilin, the mother of one 
of the young men killed by Chinese soldiers. This statement, which is 
being read at Tiananmen Square memorials in the United States, is an 
eloquent testament to the courage of Jiang Jielian, a 17-year-old high 
school student, and his mother, who has struggled to make sense of his 
tragic loss. I urge my colleagues to read this statement and to 
remember those who have given their lives and those who continue the 
struggle to promote democratic reform and basic human rights in China.

   If My Son Were Alive . . . On the 8th Anniversary of the June 4th

                            (By Ding Zilin)

       ``If my son were alive . . .'' For eight years I have been 
     preoccupied with this thought, which cut deeper whenever I 
     saw youths of his age. I would be struck with an empty 
     feeling, a sensation that I was falling into an abyss. If he 
     were alive, he would be 25 years old. At that time he was 
     only 17, yet he stood more than six feet. Now, he would be 
     taller.
       On the evening eight years ago, that most sinister moment, 
     he left home, determined. He went to a most dangerous place. 
     He never came home again.
       ``If you fall, we will take your place!'' This was the 
     slogan they held up while marching in support of the college 
     students on the hunger strike. The date was May 17, 1989. 
     Those characters were written in black ink on a white 
     background and were eye-catching. He was marching in the 
     front row, holding the banner of ``People's University High 
     School'' and followed by all his schoolmates. He did fall, 
     fulfilling his promise with his young life.
       I often think: what is a person living for after all? If my 
     son were still alive, I would give him all my love. I would 
     do everything to support him to put him through college, get 
     degrees, and go abroad for further studies, just like many 
     other mothers of my generation. He died, however, taking with 
     him all my love and hope. Does life truly end up in 
     ``nothingness''?
       But I cannot forget what he said to me on that evening 
     before leaving home: ``If all the parents in the world were 
     as selfish as you are now, would our country and our nation 
     have any hope?'' Indeed, what we adults dared not or would 
     not take responsibility for was placed on the shoulders of 
     our young children. Perhaps his was only a momentary passion 
     generated by idealism. However, why don't we adults give 
     something for ideals?
       A friend once tried to comfort me. She said: if a person 
     lives just to be alive, his life would be meaningless even if 
     he reached seventies. Although your son lived for only 17 
     years, he achieved a life full of value. I am not sure if my 
     son's death was meaningful, because so-called meaning can 
     only mean something to the living; some day the living might 
     be talking about the ``June 4th'' and make only small talk 
     about those who died on that day! But I still believe that 
     people should not sustain a meager life, for such a life can 
     only be sustained by compromising one's dignity.
       I know my son. If he had not died during that massacre, if 
     he were alive today, I believe he would not give up his 
     pursuit for liberty. He would be fulfilling his duties to 
     this era by plunging himself into the surging tide of 
     democratization.
       Here it suddenly occurs to me: what would I be if my son 
     were still alive? After the ``June 4th'' disaster, perhaps I 
     would be like a scared hen, to be more careful in protecting 
     my son, to constrain his freedom in both thought and action 
     with all the instinctive love of a mother, ``making'' him an 
     obedient citizen. It is almost certain that such an attitude 
     would give rise to conflict between mother and son, because 
     he would not tolerate selfishness and cowardice. He would not 
     despise me or sever the ties with me, because he loves his 
     mother deeply, but he would take the road chosen by himself. 
     In the end, I would have to go along.
       It is often said that children are the continuation of 
     parents' lives, which has been reversed in our family. I am 
     still alive today. Moreover, I have awakened from ignorance 
     and slumber, and have regained my dignity, but this rebirth 
     has been achieved at the expense of my son's life. My breath, 
     my voice, and my whole being are the continuation of my son's 
     life, forever . . . 

     

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