Time flies so fast. Today marks 36 years since a popular uprising in Beijing was crushed with brutal force. Several hundred young Chinese—perhaps even thousands—were killed. But what happened to those who survived?
Many were arrested and imprisoned; others were sent for re-education. But some—a minority—managed to evade the grip of the police and were eventually smuggled out of the country. Behind the secretive “Operation Yellowbird” stood a network of sympathizers, Western intelligence agencies, and the Chinese mafia. Several years later, more than 400 wanted Chinese activists had been successfully smuggled out.
The protests in 1989 had lasted for six weeks when Deng Xiaoping, the country’s strongman, gave the army the order to intervene. The demonstrators who still held out in Tiananmen Square fled in all directions. Among them was 23-year-old Chai Ling, the psychology student who had emerged as the uprising’s “commander-in-chief.” Miraculously, she managed to slip out of Beijing and go into hiding elsewhere in the country.
But wherever she went, she lived in constant danger. Immediately after the crackdown, Chai and twenty other student leaders were declared wanted on radio and television. Posters with their photos were hung everywhere. “As soon as they are recognized, they are to be arrested and immediately handed over to the Public Security Bureau in Beijing!”
There was no doubt—only by escaping the country could they save themselves.
At the time, Hong Kong was still a British colony. Western diplomats and intelligence agents quickly realized the uprising would be crushed, and that the most prominent activists would need help. In Hong Kong, the demonstrators had many sympathizers, including wealthy Chinese, but in practice only the triads—China’s notorious mafia—had the means to act. The crime lords of the Crown Colony had good connections with their counterparts in China, and being as pragmatic as they were ruthless, they were willing to do anything—for the right price.
Thus arose a strange alliance of vastly different forces. Secret meetings were held, and in a short time, millions began flowing through the operation’s various channels. According to Szeto Wah, a prominent pro-democracy leader in Hong Kong at the time, the operation was primarily financed by the colony’s rich and famous. But the colonial government, the British intelligence agency MI6, and the American CIA also contributed in various ways. And so did the mafia.
The first task was to locate and identify the persecuted student leaders. Days after the uprising was crushed, they had fled across hills and mountains. Only by employing a large number of loyal helpers could the operation succeed—and all of them were to be well rewarded. In retrospect, the cost of locating and bringing each wanted student to safety was estimated at 64,000 US dollars.
The most expensive mission was the dramatic escape of student leader Wu’er Kaixi, who had stood out with his eloquence and charisma. Wu was easily recognizable and thus hard to protect. Only on his third attempt did he manage to swim in the darkness of night from a beach near Zhuhai—a coastal city not far from Hong Kong—to a waiting boat. The bill for getting him out of China and on to the United States came to 85,000 US dollars.
The full story of how so many were eventually located and rescued has yet to be written. But it was clear they had to be helped south through the country by bus, train, or car. Since they risked being stopped by police, they needed fake ID cards, money, and other necessities. Secret signals and rendezvous points were also part of the plan. The tension couldn’t have been higher.
Closest to Hong Kong was Guangdong Province, densely populated and for decades a springboard for Chinese seeking to flee the country. Most students were, under the cover of darkness, brought to remote beaches as close to Hong Kong as possible, where the mafia’s speedboats picked them up and ferried them to safety.
Chai Ling was hauled aboard a nameless and rather slow boat and shoved into a cramped space below deck. Someone handed her two bottles of water, a loaf of bread, and a matchbox. She was told she would arrive in “another world” the next morning. But hours and days passed, and nothing happened. From time to time, it seemed like the boat stopped, and she heard voices and noises from above deck. Chinese police?
Chai later described the claustrophobic compartment as a tomb.
Finally, the hatch was opened.
“We’re there,” said a calm voice.
“The journey had taken four days and five nights,” Chai wrote later. “When my feet again stood on solid ground, I knew I was free. It had been a long journey. I felt neither overjoyed nor overwhelmed. I just felt an inner peace, the kind you feel after an exhausting exam.”
In Hong Kong, she was offered the chance to go to the U.S. or France. She chose the latter. After receiving a French passport, she was driven to the airport with a French diplomat who accompanied her all the way to Paris.
Once on French soil, she was bombarded with interview requests from French and international media. Everyone wanted to know what had happened during the ten months she had been on the run. How had she escaped? Who had protected her? And how would she continue her fight for a free China?
Eventually, she agreed to hold a press conference. Her answers had to remain vague for understandable reasons—many activists were still in hiding.
After some time, Chai Ling traveled to the United States, where she wished to continue her studies. The flashes from press cameras were almost unbearable. “There goes the Goddess of Democracy,” people whispered wherever she appeared.
Before she had a chance to collect herself, she was informed she would go on a seven-week tour arranged by the U.S. Congressional Human Rights Commission. The attention proved overwhelming for a fragile and exhausted young woman, and wherever she went, the same difficult questions awaited her.
For the next two years, she continued traveling from place to place. In 1991, she came to Oslo to attend a conference on “The Anatomy of Hatred.” Among the participants were political leaders and Nobel laureates from around the world. Chai had grown up in a China so isolated from the rest of the world that when she suddenly found herself next to former President Jimmy Carter, she had no idea who he was.
“Who are you, and where are you from?” she asked.
“I build homes for the homeless,” he replied.
“But what did you do before that?” she wondered.
“I was the President of the United States.”
For many Chinese dissidents, the encounter with the West was a cultural shock—including for the commander-in-chief of the student movement in Tiananmen Square. But Chai and most others eventually managed to overcome all barriers.
Chai Ling still lives in the United States, where she has distinguished herself as a businesswoman and human rights activist. In 2009, she came forward as a Christian, and the following year, she founded the organization All Girls Allowed, which works to support Chinese women and girls.
“Operation Yellowbird” continued more or less uninterrupted until 1997, when Hong Kong was handed over to the People’s Republic of China. “Birds can fly, and yellow birds are both beautiful and lucky,” one refugee wrote years later. But the longing for the parents, siblings, and everything dear they left behind never fades.
MY READING TIPS:
Chai Ling: A Heart for Freedom. The Remarkable Journey of a Young Dissident, her Daring Escape, and her Quest to Free China’s Daughters, Tyndale House, London 2011.
Louisa Lim: The People’s Republic of Amnesia, Oxford University Press, London 2014.
Shiu-Hing Sonny Lo: Competing Chinese Political Visions. Hong Kong v. Beijing on Democracy, Bloomsbury, London 2010.
Zhang Boli: Escape from China. The Long Journey from Tiananmen to Freedom, Washington Square Press, New York 1998.
