I wrote this article two years ago but I think it is just as relevant today, if not more.

I had just finished a quick two-week teaching gig in a hectic Chinese suburb called Jinhua and I was on my way to Hangzhou to visit a friend of mine. The Chinese have a saying: shang you tian tang, xia you su hang – “above there is heaven, below there is Suzhou and Hangzhou”. Hangzhou was the capital of China a thousand years ago during the Song Dynasty, the Golden Age of China. Hangzhou is well known for its abounding natural beauty, gorgeous women and hot, humid heat.

Upon meeting my friend she hooked me up with a dormitory room to stay for the night. I would be sharing it with two Chinese students. When I first entered the room it was empty, so I just placed down my bags, took a shower and split. After dinner with my friend I came back to the room and met my two bunkmates for the night. One of them excitedly exclaimed that he knew I would turn out to be a foreigner because I had so much stuff (and I thought I had packed light!) Their English names were Draco and, interestingly enough, Galaxy. They told me they didn’t want to choose “ordinary” English names.

Within a few minutes after the introductory formalities I had a feeling that I might have a good yuan – “predestined relationship” – with these two. They told me, in a very Chinese fashion of modesty, that their English wasn’t good. They attributed their lack of proficiency to an ignorance of American culture but that they were eager to learn. I told them they should ask me about anything they like, then I threw out this disclaimer: “But I don’t really like American culture. I think it’s too materialistic.”

We almost immediately started chatting about Deng Xiaoping’s liberalization of the economy in 1978. I was astounded by their openness and readiness to discuss such an academic matter. After all, we had just met. Deng allowed businesses and individuals to have freedoms which were previously forbidden under Mao’s rigid Communist ideology, helping China to rapidly become the economic powerhouse which we regard it as today, as well as lifting millions out of extreme poverty. Galaxy told me that he thought such policies were good for China because they raised the standard of living for the Chinese, although he thought they should slow down the growth within a short period, mainly because of the drastic side effects of such rapid development. Draco, however, was more cynical. He was wary about this “so-called freedom,” as he put it. It turns out their English wasn’t too bad, by the way.

They listened with fascination as I told them what really happened at Tiananmen Square in 1989, about the student protests and the government-led massacre. They told me that despite the government suppressing anyone from having open dialogues about it and that their parents never discussed it with them they still retained their suspicions.

Not wanting to give them false information, I took out a pamphlet I’d acquired from some pushy Falun Gong members at the LAX airport in Los Angeles a few weeks previous: “The CCP [Chinese Communist Party]: A History of Violence.” They scoffed when they saw it was from Falun Gong but they read it anyway. Despite its questionable source, perhaps it was closer to the truth than anything they’d known.

“Why do they scoff at Falun Gong?” I wondered. I told them that I didn’t know much about it but that I did know that it was surrounded in controversy.

“Falun Gong is crazy,” said Draco. “They don’t go to doctors when they get sick.”

I told them about Veggie Heaven in Austin and about all the Falun Gong “propaganda” that cover their walls and windows.

“They are probably controlled by the Falun Gong,” he answered.

“You mean the Falun Gong paid for the opening of the restaurant?” I asked.

“Maybe, but I meant Falun Gong controls their minds.”

“Why do you think the CCP is so concerned about Falun Gong?”

I already knew the answer to this. Throughout China’s long history, it has been religious uprisings that have continuously posed a threat to the dynasties and governments. The CCP represses organized religion and definitely is not happy about a “cult” that boasts of millions of members, claiming to have even more than the CCP itself.

“Because they threaten the CCP’s power. Any government would do the same.”

“What about the pictures in Veggie Heaven depicting people being tortured and beaten in the street?”

“It’s not true. That doesn’t happen.” He believed that although the CCP has killed a “few” Falun Gong members, they only do what is minimally necessary to maintain their power to ultimately keep stability in the country. “Falun Gong people hurt themselves. It’s justified that the government controls them,” he said.

I asked Draco if maybe that what he claimed to know about the Falun Gong was similar to his knowledge of the Tiananmen Square incident, in that many truths had been censored and distorted by the government. He seemed annoyed by this question so I didn’t press the issue. By this time it was past midnight and they had to wake up early for class, so we all said good night, turned out the lights and retired to sleep.

In no time at all the Chinese desire for the material comforts of capitalism became dangerously apparent. I was being eaten alive by mosquitoes. The shoddy sealing of the walls and windows was more porous than the US-Mexican border. No matter which way I tossed and turned, no matter how I covered myself with my inadequately sized blanket, the mosquitoes would not stop. My arms, shoulders, neck, ears and face were all covered with itchy bites. After nearly an hour of vainly suffering in silence, I noticed that Galaxy was tossing and turning too.

“Psst. Are you awake?” I whispered.

“Yes.”

“Are the mosquitoes biting you too?”

“Yes!”

Then Draco shot out of bed. We were all being bitten. We turned on the lights and started swatting at them. I almost broke my bedpost because I angrily smacked two gigantic ones. Soon we were all out of our bunks, hopping around the room like mad, making sure every last one of them was dead. We each must have killed at least twenty. My hands were gooey with blood and exoskeleton. At this point I realized that the red spots all around the room on the walls and ceiling weren’t part of a bad paint job. I asked them if this was the first time that this had happened here.

“We just moved in.”