["People's Democratic Republic"? You're having a laugh!]
Beijing crushes a student group
Beliefs tested in saga of sacrifice, betrayal
http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/4809910/
By Philip P. Pan
April 23, 2004
On a Saturday morning in the summer of 2000, eight young people met in
a shabby apartment near Beijing University and started a study group
to debate the need for political reform in China. Some were students.
Others were recent graduates. Not one was over 30.
They were still friends back then, brought together by a shared desire
to change their country for the better. After lunch, the group --
seven men and one woman -- took a stroll across campus, earnestly
discussing the nation's problems under the willow trees surrounding a
green lake.
Two days later, one of the students recorded the day's events on a
sheet of lined paper under his university's letterhead.
"I attended a meeting of the New Youth Study Group," Li Yuzhou, a
philosophy major at People's University, wrote in a hurried script. He
noted the time of the gathering -- 10 a.m., Aug. 19 -- and the names
of all the participants. He described their views on political change,
asserting that some favored "violent methods." He added that his
friends wanted to keep the group confidential.
And then he delivered the report to the Ministry of State Security.
Three and a half years later, four members of the study group are in
prison, serving eight- to 10-year sentences on subversion charges. Two
are free but living with the shame of implicating the others when
interrogated by police. And Li has fled to Thailand, where one recent
afternoon he leafed through some of his reports and struggled to
explain why he became an informer and betrayed his friends.
Nearly 15 years after the Tiananmen Square massacre and 13 since the
fall of the Soviet Union, the Chinese Communist Party is engaged in
the largest and perhaps most successful experiment in authoritarianism
in the world. What happened to the New Youth Study Group offers a
glimpse into the methods the party uses to maintain its monopoly on
power and the difficult moral choices faced by those caught in its
grip.
The fate of the study group also illustrates the thoroughness with
which the party applies one of its most basic rules of survival:
Consider any independent organization a potential threat and crush it.
The eight members of the New Youth Study Group never agreed on a
political platform and had no real source of funds. They never set up
branches in other cities or recruited any other members. They never
even managed to hold another meeting with full attendance; someone was
always too busy.
And yet they attracted the attention of China's two main security
ministries. Reports about their activities reached officials at the
highest levels of the party, including Luo Gan, the Politburo member
responsible for internal security. Even the president then, Jiang
Zemin, referred to the investigation as one of the most important in
the nation, according to people who have seen an internal memo
summarizing the comments of senior officials about the case.
The leadership's interest in such a ragtag group reflects a deep
insecurity about its grip on power. The party has delivered two
decades of rapid growth, defying those who believe economic reform
must lead to political liberalization. But it is struggling to manage
rising social tension and popular discontent and remains especially
wary of student activism, which sparked the 1989 pro-democracy
demonstrations in Tiananmen Square.
So the party moved quickly to eliminate the New Youth Study Group. In
doing so, it forced eight young people to consider how much they were
willing to sacrifice for their beliefs -- and for their friends.
This account is based on interviews with the four members of the study
group who escaped arrest, relatives and friends of those imprisoned,
and others who attended the group's meetings, as well as documents
presented in court in the case.
A forum is born
Lu Kun remembers standing over a stove in the alley outside her
one-room house, making dinner as she lectured her husband, Yang Zili.
He was inside, sitting in front of the computer they had purchased as
a wedding present for themselves, tinkering with an essay on democracy
he planned to post on the Internet.
"You don't have to do all this," she recalled admonishing him, her
voice carrying through the open doorway. "With your education, you
could have a better future. You should think of your parents, your
family, our economic situation. We don't even have a real apartment!"
But Yang brushed aside the complaint. "He told me that someone had to
stand up and work for social progress, and he had decided to stand
up," Lu said.
"I knew he was right," she added. "But I was worried."
A slim, outgoing computer whiz with a youthful, angular face, Yang
developed his political views at Beijing University, where he earned a
master's degree in mechanics but was inspired by reading Vaclav Havel,
Friedrich Hayek and Samuel P. Huntington. As the eldest son of farmers
so poor they gave his brothers up for adoption, he was especially
interested in rural poverty and often traveled to the countryside to
investigate the abuse of power by local officials.
After graduating in 1998, Yang found work as a programmer and set up a
popular Web site, "Yangzi's Home of Ideas," where he posted forceful
essays condemning communism and arguing for democratic reform. "I am a
liberal," he wrote, "and what I care about are human rights, freedom
and democracy."
Lu, a magazine editor with long, straight hair and sad eyes, never
read her husband's essays and poems. She wanted a quiet life and urged
him to be more like classmates who were chasing riches and settling
into China's new middle class. Yang refused.
Instead, he found a circle of friends who shared his concern about
those left behind by the booming economy. They were college kids and
recent graduates, people like himself who had come to Beijing from the
provinces for university and who enjoyed arguing about what could be
done to change China and help its less fortunate.
Yang signed up immediately when a few of his friends proposed setting
up a club to provide structure to their discussions. They named it the
New Youth Study Group after an influential journal published during
China's celebrated May 4th Movement, when students and intellectuals
passionately debated the country's future after the fall of the last
emperor in 1911.
'We didn't want to be ordinary people. We wanted to do something for
society.'
- Zhang Yanhua
"We didn't want to be ordinary people. We wanted to do something for
society," recalled Zhang Yanhua, a soft-spoken graduate who took a
civil service job in the nearby city of Tianjin but made the two-hour
trip back to Beijing for the group's meetings. They met on different
college campuses, in dorm rooms, classrooms or just outside, and they
welcomed friends and classmates to join them. Sometimes, they had tea
or shared a meal, but usually they would just sit and talk, for hours
at a time, about government corruption, the plight of laid-off factory
workers or the tax burden on peasant families.
"We talked a lot about the indifference of our generation," said Fan
Erjun, a short, spiky-haired graduate of Beihang University who was
working as a tutor there. "We felt other young people were too
materialistic and didn't worry about the right things."
They often disagreed, debating whether political change should begin
inside or outside the party, for example, or how fast elections should
be introduced. But they all believed that the Chinese people were
suffering, that the party's limits on speech prevented discussion of
pressing problems, and that democratic reform was necessary.
Yang, then 28, was the oldest member of the club and also the group's
most consistent proponent of Western liberalism. At the opposite end
of the ideological spectrum was his friend, Xu Wei, 26, a tall,
bookish newspaper reporter and Communist Party member who clung to a
Marxist ideology. They were the most mature and even-tempered members
of the club, and Xu was elected its president.
There were four others.
Zhang Honghai, 27, a graduate of the Beijing Broadcasting Institute,
had a friendly smile, but was the most emotional member of the group,
the one most likely to raise his voice or resort to cursing.
Jin Haike, 24, a high school classmate of Fan's with a mop of dark
hair and a habit of dressing sloppily, was the most outgoing member.
He was put in charge of distributing members' essays because he had
access to a computer at the Internet firm where he worked.
Huang Haixia, a petite college senior, was the only woman in the group
and at 22 its youngest member. She was so sensitive she had nightmares
about the children she saw begging on the streets.
And then there was Li Yuzhou.
Recruiting a spy
Li was a junior when the Ministry of State Security first approached
him. His pager chirped one afternoon, and a number he didn't recognize
flashed on its screen. When he called, a man answered, introduced
himself as a ministry official and asked if Li would meet him at a
downtown hotel.
It was May 1999. Colleges across Beijing were seething over the NATO
bombing of the Chinese Embassy in Belgrade, which many Chinese refused
to believe was accidental. Li was among the thousands of students who
had participated in protests outside the U.S. Embassy. But he was
confident he had done nothing wrong, and agreed to see the agent.
"I didn't think it was a big deal," recalled Li, then 27, a
broad-shouldered, square-jawed man with a crew cut. "I wasn't afraid
of anything then. And I was curious, because the Ministry of State
Security is so mysterious and secretive."
Two men met him in the lobby of the hotel and thanked him for coming.
They were young, he recalled, perhaps in their thirties, and explained
they were investigating an unemployed teacher who had been delivering
angry speeches on college campuses, denouncing the United States and
blasting the Communist Party for not standing up to it.
Li knew who the agents were talking about and helped them, because he
believed the man might be dangerous.
But the agents continued calling him and began asking questions about
the general situation on campus and what students were saying about
various issues. Again, Li agreed to help them.
"At the time, my thinking was very simple," he said. "I thought it was
a good thing, because I was helping the nation. It was like they were
taking a poll and trying to understand political trends on campus."
Li said he met with them every two or three weeks. The agents asked
what students thought of the 2000 presidential election in Taiwan and
Beijing's bid for the 2008 Summer Olympics. They also asked how
students would react if Jiang Zemin decided not to retire. Li said
later that he was not the only student helping the Ministry of State
Security, though he was never introduced to any others. The two agents
told him there was an entire department in the ministry devoted to
monitoring universities, and said they were responsible only for
People's University.
Still, Li appeared to be among the ministry's best sources on student
activities. He said the government began paying him a stipend the
equivalent of $60 to $75 per month and asking him to turn in written
reports. After several months, he said, the ministry also asked for
his résumé and decided to make him a full-time employee after
graduation.
In many ways, the ministry had recruited an ideal agent. Li had a wide
circle of friends because he ran a popular Internet cafe and helped
start a student organization.
In many ways, the ministry had recruited an ideal agent. Li had a wide
circle of friends because he ran a popular Internet cafe and helped
start a student organization. He also seemed enthusiastic about the
work. Growing up in a poor village, he dreamed of becoming a police
officer and often heard his father complain about Mao Zedong's
destructive Cultural Revolution. Li said he saw a job with the
Ministry of State Security as a chance to fight such injustice.
He said he believed the Chinese government needed to change, and he
hoped to promote reform from within. "Even in high school, I knew the
Communist Party was no good," he said. "I knew it was a problem with
the political system, that it was a dictatorship."
When he met Yang Zili and the others, they quickly became friends. He
admired them for their idealism and commitment and saw them almost
every week. "We were like brothers," he said. "We had the same ideas."
But when the state security agents asked him to provide information
about his new friends, Li agreed. Of the 30 or so reports he wrote for
the ministry, he said, four or five focused on his friends and the
study group he established with them.
Li told himself it was better for them to have someone inside the
ministry looking out for them. If he quit, it would only ruin his
career and draw attention to his friends, he reasoned. But by
investigating them himself, he could protect them.
In any case, Li said he was convinced that nothing would come of his
reports. After all, he said, Yang and the others weren't doing
anything wrong.
Troubles begin
The New Youth Study Group never lived up to its founders'
expectations. They tried to make it formal, signing an oath, writing a
charter dedicating themselves to "studying, researching and solving
social problems," even coming up with a system of dues. But when it
came to meetings and activities, everybody was busy with school or
work or their personal lives. It was rare for more than three or four
of them to find the time to get together.
Occasionally, the group managed to organize seminars. At one event in
the fall of 2000, two liberal-minded scholars who had been banned from
publishing in state media attended, criticized the Communist
government and argued for democratic reform. Li said a member of the
banned China Democracy Party showed up at the session, too.
A few weeks later, the Ministry of Public Security, China's main
police agency, began to harass one of the study group's members, Jin
Haike. They detained him for questioning several times, asking about
the New Youth Study Group and its ties with the China Democracy Party.
They also informed his employer that he was under investigation and
tried to persuade him to spy on his friends.
Instead, Jin told the others what happened. Li was surprised police
were investigating the group, but not alarmed, and he informed his
superiors in the Ministry of State Security. The others were more
concerned.
Jin "told us he had given our names to the police," recalled Zhang
Yanhua, the study group member in Tianjin. "We weren't angry; we knew
he was trying to protect us. But we were nervous."
In January, Jin lost his job, apparently because of the police
pressure. His friends agreed to shut down the New Youth Study Group.
Two months later, Jin visited his high school classmate, Fan Erjun. He
was agitated, Fan recalled, and wanted to call an urgent meeting of
the study group because he believed police were preparing a wave of
arrests.
Fan said the conversation left him shaken. Instead of going to the
meeting, he hesitated, then sought advice from a party official at his
university whom he considered a mentor. That night, the man summoned
Fan to his office. Three agents from the Ministry of State Security
were waiting for him.
"I tried to explain everything to them, but I couldn't remember a lot,
and they weren't satisfied," Fan said. At 3 a.m., the agents let him
go home. But they told him they'd be back.
Four days later, on March 13, 2001, state security agents detained
five study group members: Jin Haike, Yang Zili, Xu Wei, Zhang Honghai
and Zhang Yanhua. A group of agents also grabbed Yang's wife, Lu Kun,
forced her into a small car and took her to one of the ministry's
detention houses with her head covered by a cloth bag.
Lu said the agents interrogated her for three days, demanding
information about her husband's friends and their activities. When she
refused to give them any names, the agents scoffed, she said. "You're
in trouble today because of your friends," she quoted one of them as
saying. "Your friends betrayed you. They told us everything."
Zhang Yanhua said he was questioned for about 10 hours per day for
almost 30 days, and was released. He was held in Tianjin, where he
lived and worked, and because the agents focused their questions on
whether the group had done anything in that city, he managed to answer
without harming his friends.
Huang Haixia was not detained, but she was summoned by university
officials to meet with state security agents. She was questioned in
three long sessions, and she signed a statement after each. She said
the agents repeatedly raised the possibility of a long prison sentence
and urged her to consider her academic future.
In her first statement, Huang wrote that the New Youth Study Group
wanted to "change China into a better country." But in the second, she
said she regretted "staying with these young men who always thought
they were right" and "using radical words to attack our nation's
leaders." She thanked state security agents "for helping me recognize
my mistakes."
In her last statement, signed after six hours of questioning, she
wrote: "The New Youth Study Group is an organization that opposes the
current socialist system and the rule of the Chinese Communist Party.
. . . This organization is illegal. It tried to overthrow the party's
rule and shake the leadership and prestige of the party."
State security agents also questioned Fan repeatedly, twice in March
and twice in April. The last meeting took place in a city detention
center, he said.
"They showed me a transcript of my answers and asked me to sign it,"
he recalled. "I saw that I had said Yang wanted to change China into a
capitalist country and that Zhang Honghai favored a revolution. I did
say something like that, but those were just my impressions and I
didn't think they should use it as evidence."
He said the transcript also included statements he did not make, such
as a line that stated, "Our organization's final goal is to overthrow
the Chinese government."
But Fan said he was too afraid to object. "I was in a detention
center, surrounded by barbed wire and armed guards. It felt like they
were threatening me," he said. "They kept saying they were a state
organ, and that I must cooperate with them or face the consequences."
So he signed the paper.
Facing the consequences
Li Yuzhou recalled he felt sick when he heard his friends had been
arrested. He dialed their numbers, one after another, but couldn't get
through to any of them. A day later, he called his supervisor at the
Ministry of State Security.
The official confirmed the arrests, and told him to go into hiding for
a few days.
"I think he wanted me to know that I had made an important
contribution," Li said. "He also tried to comfort me. He said that if
we hadn't arrested them, someone else would have. Then he said they
would be jailed 15 to 20 years, and when they were released, they
wouldn't recognize me anymore. But that only made me feel worse."
Li said he was too confused to argue. That night, he told his
girlfriend what had happened and wept in his dorm room. In a moment of
rage, he burned his arm with a cigarette, leaving a scar to remind him
of the pain and guilt he felt.
Within a few days, Li said, he began using a pen name to post appeals
on behalf of his friends on the Internet.
But he did not disclose his role in the arrests. Nor did he break off
his relationship with the Ministry of State Security. He may have felt
guilty, but not enough to join his friends in prison. He said he
wanted to find another way to help them.
"It wasn't so simple," Li said, adding that he was frightened of the
agents. "I was afraid I wouldn't be able to graduate. They could have
arrested me for any reason."
Three weeks later, Li's supervisors at the Ministry of State Security
invited him to lunch. During the meal, Li shared a smoke with the
agents and didn't challenge their decision to detain his friends.
Afterward, they asked him to sign a written statement that was
supposed to represent his answers when questioned formally about the
case.
"I think the New Youth Study Group was an illegal organization and a
political organization," the statement said. "First, it wasn't
registered. Second, it had a strong political inclination, which I
believe was to overthrow the Chinese Communist Party and replace it
with a multi-party system and Western capitalism."
Li signed. He said he didn't study it closely.
A verdict is issued
Six months later, when prosecutors presented their case in court, they
relied heavily on the statements signed by Huang Haixia, Fan Erjun and
Li Yuzhou.
The four young men spoke in their own defense, according to notes
taken by relatives who attended the one-day trial. Dressed in the
clothes they wore when they were arrested -- sweatshirts, mostly --
each stood and addressed a panel of three judges.
Zhang Honghai asked how the study group could have overthrown the
party when it couldn't even raise enough money to set up a Web site.
Xu Wei noted that Communist Party members made up half of the study
group. When prosecutors accused Jin Haike of advocating "an end to old
man politics," he retorted that Chinese leader Deng Xiaoping had used
the same phrase.
And Yang Zili argued that "liberalization of the social system," which
prosecutors had accused them of promoting, did not amount to
subversion. "Liberalization means expanding the level of freedom in
society through reform," he said. "The reforms of the past twenty
years, isn't that just a process of liberalization?"
Li Yuzhou had graduated by then. The Ministry of State Security was
preparing the paperwork to hire him and had asked him to begin
investigating and infiltrating other suspected dissident groups. But
he was no longer interested in working for them.
Instead, he embarked on a course of action suggesting how torn he felt
about what he had done. Li seemed desperate to help his friends, but
also unwilling to accept full responsibility for betraying them, or to
sacrifice his own freedom on their behalf.
First, Li wrote a letter to the judge defending his four friends and
renouncing his signed statement. But he did not disclose his
relationship with the ministry, and he told his supervisor about the
letter in advance, arguing that he needed to send it to enhance his
credibility in the dissident community, he said.
Later, he contacted Yang's wife, Lu Kun, and met with her at a
McDonald's restaurant. He showed her the scar caused by the cigarette
burn, but couldn't bring himself to confess his role in her husband's
arrest.
He also tried going to China's highest court to seek help for Yang and
the others. Again, he did not tell officials about his relationship
with the Ministry of State Security. But the ministry quickly
discovered what he was doing. While he was at the court, his
supervisor called his cell phone and told him to "get back here or
you'll be arrested," Li said.
Later that day, a department chief in the ministry took Li to a
teahouse and gently warned him not to go too far. "He said, 'We know
you feel terrible because your friends have been arrested. Go home and
rest,' " Li recalled. "But he also said I was an adult and must be
responsible for my actions. . . . He said, 'Don't think we can't catch
spies without you.' "
Li refused to do any more work for the ministry. Instead, he began
posting essays on the Internet about his four friends using the name
of a fake organization, the China Human Rights Party. In May 2002, his
supervisor called and asked if he had heard of the group. Li said no.
Two days later, the agent called again and recited a phone number. It
was his girlfriend's number, the one he had been using to sign on to
the Internet.
"He said if I had written those essays, there was nothing he could do
to help me," Li recalled. "I knew I was in trouble."
The next month, Li obtained a passport, and with the help of a friend
who works at a travel agency, he flew to Thailand on July 8 and
applied for refugee status at an office of the United Nations.
On April 20, 2003, more than two years after Yang and the others were
first arrested, the judge convened a second hearing to examine new
evidence in the case. For the first time, prosecutors presented four
handwritten reports submitted by Li Yuzhou while he was working for
the Ministry of State Security.
On May 18, 2003, the four defendants were led into a courtroom to hear
the verdict. Two security officers stood behind each of them. But
before the judge could announce the decision, Xu Wei leaped forward
and threw himself on the ground.
"I protest!" witnesses quoted him as shouting. "Beijing State Security
beat me! But I won't admit any crime! I won't falsely accuse anyone!"
He grabbed the leg of a table, and it took five or six officers to pry
him loose and carry him out of the room. The judge then announced the
conviction of all four defendants on subversion charges.
Xu and Jin Haike were sentenced to 10 years in prison. Yang Zili and
Zhang Honghai received eight-year sentences. The security officers
rushed the three remaining defendants out of the room before they
could say anything.
A world of regret
Several months later, Li Yuzhou studied the reports that had been
presented in court. He was wearing a white T-shirt with elephants on
front and sitting in a hotel lobby in Bangkok. It appeared he had not
shaved in several days.
"I wrote these," he said finally, looking up from the papers. His
forehead was creased in a slight frown, but his face betrayed no other
emotion. "I have some impression of them."
The first report was the longest. It focused on Xu Wei. It said he had
been busy planning a secret organization and believed violence could
not be ruled out as an option for political change. It also said that
he had concluded Li was "totally trustworthy."
"I can't remember why I wrote this," Li said, his deep voice trailing
off. "I didn't know the purpose of the investigation was to arrest
these people. . . ."
The second report was shorter. It described a meeting in which six
members of the New Youth Study Group were present. The report offered
a statement from each one criticizing the Communist Party.
Li dismissed the report as harmless. "Any Chinese citizen can say
these things," he said. "Teachers in class say these things, too."
The third report described the first meeting of the New Youth Study
Group. It was even shorter, with few details about what was said,
though it divided the participants into two groups, five members who
endorsed "violent methods" and two who supported "peaceful methods."
"The Ministry of State Security wasn't satisfied with this report," Li
said. "They said it was a big event, and I should add more details.
But I never did it because I was lazy. I always tried to write as
little as possible."
The fourth report described a meeting in Li's dorm room in which Jin
Haike told him the police had been harassing him. Zhang Honghai was
there, too, and it quoted him as arguing that they must try to expand
their organization.
"I was working for the Ministry of State Security at the time. I had
to write these," Li said. Asked if he was deceiving his friends, he
said he was only doing his job but added that the ministry had misused
the reports. "It would have been okay to use my reports to analyze
society, but not as evidence to convict people. . . . What if I was
making up the stories?"
Li said personal ambition appeared to drive the Ministry of State
Security's decision to arrest his friends. His supervisors wanted to
break a big case, justify their budget, and win promotions, and no
doubt their superiors wanted the same. As a result, Li said,
bureaucrats at each level exaggerated his friends' activities, perhaps
all the way to the top of the party. When a rival agency, the Ministry
of Public Security, began poking around, state security officials
decided to move to make sure they got the credit, Li said.
But Li denied his own ambition had driven him to inform on his friends
and exaggerate in his reports. Later, asked what he would say to his
friends now, he paused before answering. "I never imagined it would
hurt them," he said quietly. "I don't want to shift responsibility. I
do regret writing these reports. . . . They were used as evidence, and
it hurt them, and I'm very sorry."
One more reunion
They had not seen each other since the arrests. But last October,
after months of silence, the three other study group members who
escaped arrest mustered the courage to testify at an appeal hearing on
their friends' behalf.
Zhang Yanhua was still living in Tianjin. His words had not been used
against Yang and the others, but he had done little to stand up for
them afterward. He became interested in Christianity, prayed for his
friends every day, and agreed to testify when Yang's wife, Lu Kun,
tracked him down.
Huang Haixia knew her signed statements had hurt her friends, but had
tried to forget them. After the first trial, she wrote a careful
letter to the judge at the request of Xu Wei's girlfriend indicating
her answers had been "distorted to some extent" by state security
officers. Then she moved to Shanghai. Zhang found her there and
persuaded her to return to Beijing for the hearing.
Fan Erjun was still a tutor at Beihang University and for months he
had been too scared even to ask around about what happened to his
friends. Once, Lu Kun asked to see him, and he put her off, saying he
needed time to think. But weeks before the appeal hearing, Yang's
lawyer called him and reminded him of the statements he had signed. He
was surprised by the harshness of his words, and felt so terrible he
agreed to testify, too.
But the court refused to let any of them in. The three sat on the curb
and wrote a statement defending their friends and denying the New
Youth Study Group ever intended to overthrow the government. The court
refused to accept it.
Later, Lu said she had forgiven all three of them. "They're young,"
she said, "and they were pressured to do what they did."
But she would not forgive Li Yuzhou. She said his actions had been
voluntary. "He lied and betrayed his friends, then left the country
instead of staying to help them," she said. "He doesn't deserve
political asylum. . . . He should come back, even if it means going to
jail, because that's where he deserves to be. He should accept
responsibility for what he's done."
Once, Li called her from Bangkok and asked her to send him copies of
court papers so he could try to help her husband. She replied: "I hate
you."
In November 2003, the court rejected the four defendants' appeals.
Lu was allowed to visit her husband for the first time last month,
almost exactly three years after he was arrested. His head had been
shaved, and he was thin and pale, she said. The couple sat on opposite
sides of a glass panel and spoke through telephone handsets, but it
was difficult to hear each other because the room was full of other
prisoners and visitors.
Lu said she wept, telling her husband that she had finally read his
essays, that she understood now why he had insisted on writing them.
But Yang did most of the talking. He spoke slowly, expressing sadness
about letting his family down. He asked her to visit his parents, and
to take good care of herself in his absence.
"He said he had been falsely convicted," Lu said. "And he told me to
prepare myself. He said he wouldn't admit he was guilty to get
parole."
After only 20 minutes, the telephone line went dead. Their time was
up.
--
JimB
http://www.geocities.com/UAM01
Union Against Multi-Culty |