Overseas Chinese Democracy Coalition News and Article Release
Release Date: November 20, 2003
Topic: In Memorial of my Father (Ciping Huang's diary on November 20,
In Memorial of My Father (Ciping Huang's diary on November 20, 2003)
It has been a busy and tiring day. Nevertheless, I want to write down
something for today. The third anniversary of daddy's departure has
Yesterday, I was too busy to write down anything, or even eat lunch.
But the evening was occupied by dining treated by friends then coming
back to work on the long overdue newsletters until about 2am. Ate too
much to stay awake. I guess I must be one of the most weird animals in
its food consumption living on this world - covering the whole
spectrum of possible food from the state level banquets, to (like the
old time monks) a lot of free meals and dinners offered by all sorts
of people when I was with Wei Jingsheng, down to 12 cents a bag
instant noodle. Much more instant noodles. I surely miss my good old
days when I was on business trips for American companies, to eat
whatever I wanted, and to do whatever I wanted.
I got up very early to take care of the newsletters' distribution and
also prepare for foundation's board meeting. I also called mom and
sister to make sure they are ok. Mom asked again: "Will you be able to
come home for a visit?" I answered: "Of course." She asked: "When?"
Another standard reply: "soon".
At 10:30 am, I ran to the US Senate to attend the Robert F. Kennedy
Memorial human rights Award ceremony with Wei Jingsheng, for which Wei
is one of the Laureates. Then more errands in DC, getting frustrated
with simply business but poor service. Handle the ongoing board
meeting. Pay bills. Reply e-mails that request immediately attention
with the promise of getting back to them tomorrow. Run to the airport
for the last flight. The gate door was already closed. But they
reopened the door to let me get on the airplane. Tired. Fall into
Saw father standing in front of my eyes...
It has been three years since my father passed away. Three years is
supposed to mark an end for the mourning. Yet, for me, it does not.
Three years have passed, not only was I not allowed to attend my
father's funeral, nor am I able to visit his tomb in China.
In the last three years, I barely talk about my father in public,
although I often thought of him and dreamed of him - on my birthdays,
on his birthdays, on the anniversary of his decease, on Chinese New
Year Days, on Western New Year Days, on Mid-Autumn Festivals, on his
favorite (Chinese) September 9's days, on the 100 degree hot summer
days when my niece preparing for her college entrance exams would also
make me recall my moderate father who quietly fanned my back in the
hot room without an electric fan, not to mention air conditioning, so
I could study... all the time, all the days...
I avoid to talk about him in front of people, for I do not want be
overwhelmed by great sadness, but when I am writing about him now,
when I am even thinking of him, especially when I think of the last
time we were together, I could not control my tears...
There were times I would have the impulse to call him, and then
realize that he is not there anymore. We never really said goodbye. We
never really parted. Really. Don't you say?
Three years past, yet it never comes to come to a closure. Rationally,
maybe. Emotionally never, to accept the fact that my father has gone
to the other world.
Just three weeks ago, I saw the latest photos of Wei ZiLin, Mr. Wei
Jingsheng's father. At the age of 83, he looked so fragile and his
eyes struggled. I know how much he wishes to see his children; all of
them are in exile and separated in three different countries. And I
have no confidence that he could make his days to see any of them
Tears streamed down to my face when I saw Wei's photos, for I would
not want to see anyone go through what I went through, even though I
know many who would not give up their beliefs and actions for freedom
and democracy in China.
My father's name is HUANG QinMao. Born into a several hundred year old
intellectual family in HuangYan, ZheJiang Province. To me, my father
always was the "poster boy" of a traditional Chinese man. He was
humble and modest with a very good temper, adequate attitude, yet
self-conscious, with excellent calligraphy (see link of his last
calligraphy for me: http://weijingsheng.org/pic/newsletters/newsletters2003/calligraphy9910dad-4.jpg)
and other intellectual capacities - an important reason that my
grandfather agreed to and was happy with his daughter's marriage to my
father. Like other Chinese, my father struggled all his life to avoid
political persecution. Yet, he was still unable to escape the
misfortune of his life at the end. (Links for my parents' wedding
and our family together: http://weijingsheng.org/pic/newsletters/newsletters2003/family7103HCP-5.jpg)。
My father was not a brave man, and he become even shyer after his
stroke in the 1980's that disabled parts of his capacities and even
paralyzed half of his body for some period. He never fully recovered.
In April 1998, when I "disappeared" with a group of unknown people
(big and strong ones from the secret police) from home, in front of
him yet unable to tell him who they were and where I was sent to, he
was terrified. As he saw me get escorted into one of the waiting
automobiles where more police were, he went to panic. He immediately
had my sister to call every place he thought I could be, where of
course I was not there.
On the day of my deportation, not sure if they were sending me to jail
or kicking me out of the country, I got 20 minutes to pack for the
departure and say good bye to my parents at home. Knowing that could
be our last moment together, I tried to reach my father in the
presence of the police team that had squeezed him into a corner of the
As I walked toward to my father, trailed with the police, he moved
further toward the wall. I tried to give him a hug and say something
good, but he was so frightened that he moved away to the wall. So I
grabbed his hand and told him that things will be just fine and asked
him to take care of himself. I looked into his eyes, but they were
full of fear, and he turned his head away.
This is the scene that I have played so many times in my head ever
since. Virtually every time I thought of my poor father, my heart
bleeds and my tears drop! Since my childhood, with one political wave
after another, I had came to know that I must be careful of not bring
my family trouble and my father was not someone who could protect me.
That did give me a better chance to be strong and independent.
Nevertheless, as the famed "parent-respecting daughter" that my
parents were always proud of that finally caused all the turmoil to
the home, I do not want to picture the tremendous pressure my father
had to endure. Of special sadness is for him to look at the "obey the
4 Communist Party Principles" plaque every time he got out the door.
The plaque was placed after I was gone, if it has the function of
With such a tremendous change, not surprisingly, soon my father got
ill. On September 1999, he was rushed to the hospital and remained in
critical condition. As I flew back to China, I was stopped by dozens
of police right at Shanghai Airport - they were carrying out their
promise of punishment for me not doing what they wanted. As they
stated that I could be damaging the national security for coming back
to my country, I pleaded to see my father on humanitarian grounds and
to let them monitor me as they wished. But these pleas only served as
the great bargain chip for them to force me "behave". So I was turned
Although my dad was so sick with late stage liver cancer, he did not
die immediately as the doctors' diagnosed. For the rest of the 14
months of his life, he pulled back several times from the edge of
death (see the last photo of my father in October 1999: http://weijingsheng.org/pic/newsletters/newsletters2003/last0010dad.jpg).
I know how much he had hoped to see me even though he was short of
expression, especially due to his stroke. I still have a handwritten
letter my father had written to me after my deportation. When I
received it, I was really surprised, for he had not written letters to
me for nearly 10 years. From the letter, you could tell how much he
had worried about me, instead of himself.
Every time I wanted to go back to visit him, the National Security
Police would put out their conditions and requests. After my father
died, the conditions were presented again for attending his funeral
and burial. To the end, I did not see my father alive, nor at his
The old Chinese verses talked about the difficulty to keep the moral
life, especially between one's loyalty to the country and to the
family. It was easy to say, but difficult to endure. On one end, it
never came to a closure for me, to accept the fact that I would never
see my dad again. On the other end, this great sadness does encourage
me to work harder for fairness and justice, human rights and democracy
in China, so the other people would not have endure what I had to.
This is the only comfort I could get from my father's departure.
This is my eulogy for the day. Rest peacefully, daddy.
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Overseas Chinese Democracy Coalition News and Article Release Issue:
Release Date: November 20, 2003
Topic: In Memorial of my Father (Ciping Huang's diary on November 20,
Original Language Version: Chinese
(English at beginning, Chinese version at the end)
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