A Heart for Freedom (34 page)

Finally my friend had had enough. “Are you finished now?” my friend asked me one evening. “Your mom died not because you did anything wrong or because she wanted you to be crushed. She wanted you to be strong, to overcome. So get up and show her that her life was not in vain.”

It took a while for the message to sink in; but the next morning, I got out of bed, washed away the tearstains, and was ready to face the day. But one question still lingered in my mind: What would happen to the rest of us who had gone on living? Would we all be crushed?

“No!” I declared. “I will not be crushed. I will not lie down like they hope I will. I will fight back. I will rescue the rest of my family before the government can destroy them. They will not win! I am not giving up. I will not be crushed.” From that point on, I became focused and determined. I’ve always been at my best when I’m in action.

29

American Dream

When I first came to America, I didn’t feel like a survivor. I felt more like a dead person having an out-of-body experience. America was a strange, new country, and I felt disconnected, isolated, and overwhelmed. I had learned a bit of English in college, but I’d forgotten most of it. And I couldn’t speak it. The way we’d learned to pass tests such as the TOEFL was by memorizing the dictionary.

By the time I graduated from Princeton in 1993, I had learned a great deal. I had purchased a car and driven to Florida and back, participated in a work-study program at the United Nations, and interned on Capitol Hill for Senators Edward Kennedy of Massachusetts and Malcolm Wallop of Wyoming.

In 1992 I attended the Republican convention and the Democratic convention, where Li Lu and I were together at the podium to celebrate and affirm Bill Clinton’s support for human rights in China. I later went to the White House Rose Garden to watch President Clinton sign a Most Favored Nation Treaty with China, replete with human rights caveats. I also went to Taiwan, where taxi drivers and other people recognized me—mostly by my voice—and showed me warmth and love.

By the day of my graduation, I felt confident and whole again. My life in America had become rich with activity, friendships, discovery, and joy. From my experiences at the UN and the Senate, I was already fed up with government bureaucracy, so I pursued opportunities in the private sector. I sent applications to several management consulting and investment banking firms. I was not prepared for some of the responses I received.

More than once I was told, “The partners discussed your qualifications, which are excellent, but they’re concerned that hiring you might endanger the Chinese portion of our business. Therefore, we’re not able to extend an offer at this time.” Despite my hope for freedom and a fresh start, it soon became apparent I could not just leave the past behind. Nevertheless, I eventually received two offers—one in Boston, the other in New York—both starting in the fall.

On the flight back from one of the interviews, with a job offer in hand, I felt a rush of euphoria. After all the years of studying and volunteer work, I was finally worth a decent salary, and I could be independent and self-sufficient. The little black hole of self-doubt disappeared, and I felt accepted in mainstream society. I was no longer a dissident; I was a young professional. Now it was simply a matter of deciding which offer to accept.

Eager to apply my new understanding of public policy, I moved to Washington, DC, for the summer to work with a foundation dedicated to moving China toward a Taiwanese model of democracy, with free media and local elections. The summer passed quickly, and the day soon arrived when I had to decide whether to accept one of the job offers or continue my work for China.

To make the China program work, I needed funding, so I approached the new director of the National Endowment for Democracy and told her my plans. I said, “I have a good job offer in Boston, and I plan to volunteer my time for the China foundation, but I need some grant money to fund the program.”

Without hesitation the director replied, “Our programs are focused inside China now, not with overseas Chinese. There’s no funding available. Go take the job.”

* * *

The next morning I flew to Boston and accepted a junior associate position with a prestigious consulting firm. A few weeks later, I was on my way to a beautiful resort on Cape Cod for intensive training. With five other young professionals from around the world, I went to class from 8:00 to 5:00 each day, followed by a real-life case study after dinner. Our assignment was to work together to figure out the problem and present our solution the next morning to the teaching partners.

Although some complained that the workload was grueling, I instantly felt at home. After years of feeling out of control, the exacting schedule felt routine and normal. I enjoyed the structure and rigor of the program, the challenge to push myself and work hard, and the opportunity to work alongside others with similar talents. As I worked to improve my teamwork, leadership, problem-solving, and organizational abilities, I knew I was made to thrive in this fast-paced, demanding environment.

When the training ended, I flew back to Princeton to prepare for the move to Boston. By then I also needed to update my visa, so I asked for a few weeks off to get everything squared away. On the plane to New Jersey, I felt on top of the world. With a stable job, I had a better chance of getting my father and siblings out of China to join me in the United States, and I was looking forward to writing a book about Tiananmen Square and how to save China. For the first time in a long time, I felt back in control. All the trauma and madness were behind me, and the future looked bright with promise.

When I returned to Boston with my renewed papers, I was ready to get to work. Instead I was greeted by yet another setback. While I was gone, an officer in the company’s Hong Kong office had expressed concern about my hiring. He said if I continued working for the firm, he might be arrested on a business trip to Beijing. A few months after I had turned down another job to take the one in Boston, the company wanted to rescind its offer. I was devastated.

During the next six months, as I continued to negotiate with the company in Boston and waited for their final decision, I explored other options in other cities with other firms. But jobs were either not offered or were not what I wanted to pursue. The days dragged on, with my bank account dwindling and rent checks going out every month. I became fearful I’d soon be living on the street. I knew nobody in Boston and had nothing to do during the day except wait for a decision. It was the loneliest time of my life in exile.

When I graduated from Princeton, I thought my journey to freedom was complete. I had the education and the job—I had even done the training and loved it. But now my career was being taken away before it even started. I knew if I missed the opportunity to start consulting at an entry level, I would never have a chance to pursue that career track. I knew it would be hard to find a similar job because these firms are structured to recruit only new graduates. The longer I was without work, the worse my chances became. How would I explain the gap? And how did I know the next company wouldn’t also balk at hiring me with my worldwide notoriety?

The worst part was realizing my Tiananmen nightmare wasn’t over. If the fear and repression could find me and imprison me in free America, then I would never be truly safe or free anywhere. The persecution hadn’t ended when I left China; it had only become more subtle, but every bit as vicious and effective. I had already lost my country, my sense of identity, and my network of friends. If I couldn’t hold a job and have a dependable income, I would lose my family, too, because I could never keep the promise I’d made to rescue them from China. I had never realized that freedom was such a hard goal to achieve.

The ultimate irony was that I was rejected because of my involvement in a movement to improve China’s overall human rights conditions. In 1997 Hong Kong would be returned to China, and unless the human rights movement continued and succeeded, the people in Hong Kong would suffer too, and the Hong Kong officer’s constitutional rights would be deprived by the Chinese regime. Instead of spreading fear, he should have stood with me in solidarity.

The stress during this time was enormous—and it was all on me. Gone was the media spotlight. Gone were the comrades I had rallied with on the Square. The pressure manifested itself in a sleeping disorder characterized by nightmares in which I relived the horror of the crackdown and the emotions of being hunted down. I awoke feeling cornered, convinced the police were approaching my door to arrest me.

* * *

Many years later I learned that my case was no small matter for the Boston company, either. By honoring or dishonoring their offer to a young associate like me, they would set an important precedent defining their important corporate values.

In a high-level meeting at the company’s headquarters, the partners discussed the situation. After acknowledging the safety and business concerns expressed by the Hong Kong officer and noting that several of their competitors had not offered me a job for the same reason, they agreed they would not have made me an offer if they had anticipated the problem. Still, they
had
made me an offer, and what was at stake now was the integrity of their corporate values.

One partner said they should let me go since they were the only firm that had hired me. That argument was put to rest by the news that I had turned down an offer from a similar firm in order to take this job. Another partner said it was simply a business decision—and they were in business to make a profit, not to support a cause. “Whatever happened in China is their problem, not ours.”

Finally, a partner who had recently returned after several years in Asia, spoke. “Let’s think about where we’ve come from as a country,” he said. “All our ancestors came here as refugees like Chai Ling, driven by political, economic, or social pressures. Our founding fathers fought a war to achieve liberty. If we abandon Chai Ling for her courageous work in China, will we be ashamed of our conduct as a company? Is it only business and profit we’re pursuing every day and not the core values that define us as a nation? There’s no way we can let her go.”

The other partners mulled over this latest argument. After further discussion, Barry, the managing director, said, “I agree. We will not give up our principles even in the pursuit of business and profit. We will honor our offer and deal with the China matter in another way.”

* * *

While I waited for a decision, I met a successful attorney who volunteered to give me advice. He told me to be patient and not talk to the media, as others had suggested.

“The folks in Boston are a successful and powerful group,” he said. “If you take your story to the media, it will make some influential people nervous. It’s not good to burn bridges. Those things have a way of coming back to bite you. Go back and negotiate with them again. They extended a valid offer and should honor it.”

Around this same time, I received word that the Clinton Administration had helped negotiate my family’s release from China. Now I really needed to know whether I could have my job back so I could support myself and my family. I went to see the firm’s HR director again and sensed the situation had changed. Though it was still a long time before I got a definitive answer, I held on to that glimmer of hope.

Then one day he called and said, “Come in tomorrow and sign the paperwork. You’ll work here under a different name.”

I was thrilled. This was the end of a long, hard battle. In many ways it reminded me of the experience of going back repeatedly to the campus security department to get my watch back. When I arrived at the office, the HR director had a few conditions to review with me.

“While you’re working here,” he said, “we don’t expect you’ll continue your high-profile work for Chinese democracy, for obvious reasons. When your work here is done, we don’t expect you’ll mention to any media outlet that you’ve ever worked here.”

I looked at him in stunned silence. How could I agree not to speak out on behalf of the Chinese people? It seemed like something that might be imposed on a person being released from a Chinese prison. What I was signing was not a legally enforceable contract, and I’m sure I could have argued for my constitutional right to free speech, but I didn’t have the strength to fight another battle. With my family soon to arrive in America, I needed a steady job to provide for them and to spare them the suffering I had undergone as a new immigrant. Swallowing the pain and humiliation, I took the pen and signed “Elizabeth Lee.”

The long wait and the struggle for justice made me appreciate the job even more. But I didn’t realize the damage it had done to my spirit. At work I became a different person. Changing one’s name is never a casual thing, and burying my passion for China changed who I was. The joy I’d experienced during training had long since evaporated. I sealed up my emotions and immersed myself in the task at hand, like I had in high school when I was preparing to test into college and run away from my parents. I was assigned to a turnaround case at a major computer firm in Massachusetts, which meant I didn’t have to travel much. During the day, I enjoyed research and learning the high-tech industry. At night, I worked on my writing. My life was settling into a normal rhythm.

30

Culture Shock

“I am coming to you now. I will see you soon.” Over the phone came the excited voice of my little sister, whom I had not seen in five years. She was on her way to America.

The night before Little Sister’s arrival, I could not fall asleep. It was hard to believe I would finally be reunited with my family. At the airport, many other families were waiting as well. I realized I was looking into the unknown. What would Little Sister look like? Would she be the same sweet, shy, and timid girl I once knew?