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From
the back seat of the gypsy cab, Ming-Chuan “Joseph” Kung watched
Beijing blur by. Everything had been pre-arranged. Everything. As the
hired driver steered through the streets of the capital city of the
People’s Republic of China, the seven passengers – a small delegation
of Americans in town for a human rights conference – rode mostly in
silence. Only periodic, superficial chitchat and the heavy breathing of
the car’s heater broke the stillness of that wintry January 8 in 1994.
Soon,
the touristy section stacked with American-style hotels, designed for the
comfort of Westerners spoiled by Capitalism, melted into the background.
The well-lighted streets and sidewalks packed with people eating,
drinking, laughing that Saturday evening gave way to another reality.
Within
a span of only a few minutes, a few miles, the cabbie maneuvered through
the outer sections of the ancient city that very few foreigners ever get
to see – the native Chinese area ravaged by fanatics fueled with
Communist revolutionary ideology. The scenery turned bleak. The streets
turned dark. Very few lights. Even fewer people.
In
front of a dilapidated apartment building the car rolled to a stop. Even
if the mercury hadn’t stalled below freezing, fear mixed with a
foreboding dread would have chilled the visitors. From the safety of the
cab, Kung took a quick look around, over his shoulder and into the
shadows. Necessary to look for any sign of a spy – anyone who could
possibly report (for a reward, of course) to officials the appearance of
the foreign visitors.
This
is not a joke. This is Communism.
Onto
the sidewalk, Kung with the Americans stepped and entered the building.
The cabbie remained with his coach. With only the dimmest light leaking
from unknown sources, the group fumbled forward and found the main
staircase. The building had no elevator. Up they climbed, ascending the
dark six, seven or eight flights, stepping over the debris, mostly food,
that littered the hallways and landings. What looked like Chinese cabbage
– half rotten, half dried, splayed on bare floors – emanated a
distinct, pungent odor. Without refrigeration, the residents needed to
resort to archaic preservation through drying.
Finally,
the foreigners found the right apartment and knocked.
A
woman opened the door and welcomed them inside the main room, no bigger
than a walk-in closet. The name of the woman was neither offered nor
asked. In Communist China, information is a dangerous possession.
Ignorance is encouraged, even among family members – just in case one is
picked up by police and interrogated, for whatever reason. For
security’s sake, it’s definitely better and safer not to know.
Remember, this is Communism.
Cramped
to begin with, the room had few inches to spare with an impromptu
table-turned-altar taking up most of the space. Some of the guests sat.
Others stood. Among them were U.S. Rep. Christopher Smith (R-NJ) and Kung,
founder of the Cardinal Kung Foundation in honor of his uncle, the late
Cardinal Pin-Mei “Ignatius” Kung, Bishop of Shanghai, who suffered
persecution in prison for the Faith for 30 years.
All
waited for another invited guest: Bishop Zhi-Ming “Jacobus” Su.
Minutes passed. Uncomfortable silence settled on the crowd. Finally,
another knock.
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The
woman opened the door and let in Su, Bishop of Baoding, who greeted
each of the Americans with a handshake and a humble smile. That
night back in 1994 was to be a special night. Special, indeed. It
was the first time a bishop from the underground Roman Catholic
Church in China would not only meet face to face with a member of
the United States Congress, but he would also celebrate the holy
Mass for the high-ranking government official, a Roman Catholic. |
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However,
there was one tiny problem. In Communist China, this secret meeting
between the bishop and the Americans was (and still would be today)
highly illegal – considered nothing less than a threat to the
unity of Chinese society. |
Officially,
China is an atheist country and permits no religious practice outside
government-approved organizations, such as the Chinese Catholic Patriotic
Association. Notice the nomenclature: the Chinese, not Roman,
Catholic Patriotic Association.
Even
though the association’s Communist-approved and Communist-regulated
churches may look Catholic, even though the priests may wear Roman
collars, even though a portrait of the Pope may hang on the walls and even
though the Mass may have the same rites and rubrics, this pseudo-religious
club is not Roman Catholic. This is a non-Catholic catholicism, a la
Communist style – with allegiance to the government, not the Vicar of
Christ.
Su
and the other Catholics filling the ranks of the Church Militant in the
underground Roman Catholic Church in China are those faithful who will not
deny the authority of the Pope by registering with the Patriotic
Association, despite the constant threat of detainment, arrest,
imprisonment, forced labor, torture, even death.
Indeed,
the Constitution of the People’s Republic of China, specifically Article
36, guarantees “freedom of religious belief,” but this does not mean
freedom of religion. Anyone and everyone who wants to practice their
Catholic faith must register with the Patriotic Association that oversees,
regulates and approves or denies all goings-on in the
government-sanctioned churches, for “religious bodies and religious
affairs are not subject to any foreign domination.”
Freedom
of religion in China? No such thing.
Religious
and personal freedom for the people of China began to disintegrate back in
1949 (after the end of the three-year Chinese Nationalist-Communist Civil
War that followed in the wake of World War II), when the Communists
defeated the Kuomintang – the Chinese Nationalist Party that fled to and
settled in Taiwan.
Disdainful
of anything that smacks of the democratic West, xenophobic Communists —
the single-party power — have not and will not accept any outside
influence, which most definitely includes the Vatican. Communists condemn
and declare those faithful to the Bishop of Rome as
counter-revolutionaries, political enemies who form a subversive
organization, an illegal society using the cloak of religion to cover
their treasonous deeds.
Being
patriotic in China means being a revolutionary, which means being
anti-imperialist and anti-papal, therefore anti-Roman Catholic. Roman
Catholics are believed to be pro-imperialist and pro-papal; therefore,
those who profess belief in the one, holy, catholic, apostolic Church
receive the politically incorrect “hat” of unpatriotic
counter-revolutionary.
Try
as they did, Communists found it difficult to destroy the Church from
within. So they attempted to destroy it from without by establishing a
government-controlled church to replace the Roman Catholic Church. As
early as 1949, in an attempt to break with the Holy See, the People’s
Republic of China established the Three-Self Reform Movement, so-called
for its aim to be Self-governing, Self-supporting and Self-propagating.
Relations
between the Vatican and China officially broke in 1951 after the
Communists kicked out apostolic nuncio Archbishop Antonio Riberi. For the
next couple years, they rounded up and expelled all foreign clergy and
religious. Next, they began arresting and imprisoning Chinese priests and
religious. Then the laity.
In
1957, the Three-Self Reform Movement was replaced by and integrated into
the Chinese Catholic Patriotic Association, officially founded on July 15
of that year. During the subsequent Cultural Revolution (1966-76), all
religious activities were banned and labeled as evil cults.
Since
then, priests and bishops who refuse to register with the Patriotic
Association but who offer Mass and the sacraments are said to be setting
up illegal organizations and conducting illegal, counter-revolutionary
activities, thus in violation of the nation’s Constitution, specifically
Article 28, which decrees: “The state maintains public order and
suppresses treasonable and other counter-revolutionary activities; it
penalizes actions that endanger public security and disrupt the socialist
economy and other criminal activities, and punishes and reforms
criminals.”
For
this reason, underground bishops, priests, nuns and laity who remain true
to the Pope are often singled out and persecuted. For conducting
counter-revolutionary activities, it is not unusual for non-registered
Catholics to receive three-year sentences (for starters) in
reform-through-labor camps, which have been compared to the legendary
gulags of the former Union of Soviet Socialist Republics and the
concentration camps favored by World War II Nazis.
Yet,
despite the longa manus, the long-reaching hand of the Communists,
the Church has not only continued to survive, it flourishes. In 1949, the
Catholic Church had around 3 million faithful. Now, the estimate is about
10 million.
Bishop
Su remained one of the faithful ones. For this reason, in 1994, by the
time he was 60 years old, he had already spent almost 25 years in prisons
and labor camps. He was arrested no fewer than five times. And despite the
ever-present threat and danger that night in Beijing, he met with the
Americans. A calm joy mixed with excitement settled over all those sitting
in the small apartment. Two more guests were expected. Two of the
approximate 50 underground bishops in China were thought to be on their
way. The plan for the evening: To celebrate the Mass for the foreign
guests.
Everyone
sat and waited.
Minutes
ticked by. No knock at the door. The two bishops still did not arrive. As
time passed, an uneasiness that had settled in Kung’s heart since
arriving in front of the apartment building began to make him believe that
something was not right. Increasingly nervous, after about 15 minutes, he
asked Su to start and not to wait for the others.
The
decision was made.
Kung
struck a match and lit the two Mass candles on the altar. The soft tones
of Su’s voice lifted the prayers heavenward. Kung, who was born in China
but immigrated to the United States in 1955, translated for the others.
That small group of faithful prayed that night, kneeling on the bare
concrete floor, not only for the persecuted, but also for the persecutors.
During
the Mass, the following Bible passage, Isaias 42:6-7, was read: “I have
given thee for a covenant of the people, for a light of the Gentiles: that
thou mightest open the eyes of the blind, and bring forth the prisoner out
of prison, and them that sit in the darkness out of the prison house.”
As
the Mass ended and the evening wound down, everyone dug deep into their
pockets for donations to give to Su. Plans were gently confirmed for
the following day for Sunday Mass.
The
other two bishops never arrived that night. It was not a total surprise
when Kung heard much later that while on their way to the apartment,
public security police for the Communist Party picked them up, detained
them, interrogated them and released them later. This is a frequent, and
not unexpected, occurrence for members of the underground Church in China.
On
Sunday, mid-morning just after breakfast, the same gypsy cab driver – a
trusted member of the underground Church – picked up Kung and two other
Americans in front of their Beijing luxury lodgings – Shangri-La’s
China World Hotel.
As
the car rolled through China’s bleak countryside, the driver steered
ahead for about a ninety-minute ride outside of Beijing and into the
Baoding village, where they picked up Su. The bishop directed the driver.
Ahead. Pull up ahead. The car moved forward.
Stationed
at stealth positions, women and men of the underground church stood and
watched and permitted the car to continue. The sentinels kept alert to the
approach of Communists on the prowl for actions subversive to the Party.
Unimpeded, the cab putt-putted toward the parking area, where the driver
found a spot somewhere in the midst of the hundreds of bicycles, a popular
mode of transportation. The Mass, offered by an elderly priest of the
underground, had already begun.
Since
it was in the dead of winter, there was neither a leaf on a tree nor a
blade of grass on the ground. Kung, dressed only in a light overcoat, felt
the sting of the wind. Nonetheless, he found a vacant piece of frozen
earth and knelt beside the others. He looked around. Thousands of miles
from his home in Connecticut, there he was kneeling with 450 underground
Roman Catholics at an illegal gathering, in China.
Overwhelmed,
he marveled at the outdoor Mass celebrated in a barnyard, transformed into
a holy sanctuary. How appropriate. It was the Feast of the Epiphany, the
celebration of the day the Magi arrived in Bethlehem to adore the newborn.
To
the left, he noticed a donkey stable, which doubled that day as the
sacristy, where the priest changed into and out of his vestments. To the
right, a brick fire pit used to burn the village trash, with charred
remains scattered in the heap: lanky sticks of discarded bamboo, singed
wires, blackened metal poking through the ashes.
The
altar, a wooden table, stood in the center, with a white canopy draped
over and above to protect the sacrifice to be offered. A small crucifix
– retrieved from its hiding place – was tacked to the wall. Also
retrieved from its special secret place, the chalice shone in the morning
light that penetrated the haze.
For
communion, altar boys unrolled a bolt of long, white cloth over a
makeshift rail. There, parishioners knelt to receive on their tongues,
old-Church style, the smuggled hosts, made by underground nuns.
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After
the Mass, Su invited Kung for lunch at his home, a traditional
one-story dried-mud structure, with a dried-mud floor, a half-broken
door and a small, inadequate coal stove. But it was neat, tidy and
welcoming. On a table between two chairs were two bowls filled with
fruit. One with oranges. One with red and green freckled apples. The
kitchen, so rudimentary, it only had a hole in the roof through
which the smoke from the coal-burning stove could escape. Su
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Kung
sought privacy in a small side room where they talked about
confidential Church matters. Before leaving, Kung knelt before the
bishop and received a blessing. |
In
the afternoon, the two men walked out of the house, into the yard and
toward the car. The driver, who had waited outside, started the motor and
Kung took his seat. Su remained in the yard. As the car drove off, Kung
looked back. The bishop continued to stand, waving goodbye.
This
is Kung’s last memory of Su.
Then
it was time for Kung to return to the United States, but not before he
received a more-than-firm handshake and a farewell warning from one of the
highest-ranking Communist officials in the Religious Affairs Bureau, none
other than Liu “Anthony” Bainian, the vice-chairman of the Patriotic
Association. Bainian’s nickname? “China’s Pope.”
“You
are here with an official delegation, so we give you face. But next time,
if you come here again, alone by yourself, we will not stand on ceremony
with you,” Bainian said in Chinese.
Kung
understood. The Communists found out that the Americans had met with
members of the underground Church. The Communists always find out
everything.
Shortly
after Kung arrived home, he received an urgent call from Baoding. Su had
been arrested.
On
January 20, eleven days after Kung, the Congressman and the others
departed from China, Hebei Province police officers stormed into Su’s
village home, picked him up and held him for interrogation.
Su’s
whereabouts – unknown.
Frantic,
Kung immediately telephoned Smith. Su needed help. Outraged, Smith
notified colleagues in Congress. A letter-writing campaign to officials in
the Chinese embassy soon began, vociferously defending the religious
freedom of Su and demanding his release. After being detained for nine
days, the bishop – who still refused to register with the Patriotic
Association – was released on January 29.
For
Su, life was relatively calm, for a while.
Two
years later, the bishop had some unexpected guests drop in at his home. In
February 1996, members of the security bureau “visited” Su and forced
him into house arrest. This means that he was not free to come and go as
he pleased, and he was definitely not allowed to meet with his
parishioners or offer Mass or any of the sacraments.
Also
under strict surveillance was his auxiliary bishop the Rev. Shuxin An,
who, like Su, was watched at all times by security officers.
In
April 1996, Su escaped, with the help of a few of the faithful in the
underground Church. During this period of “freedom” he penned a letter
to the Standing Committee of the People’s National Congress.
“Thoroughly investigate the serious unlawful encroachment on the
citizen’s rights,” he wrote. “Administer corrective measures to
restore order and control to ensure that the civil rights and interests of
the vast number of religious believers are protected.”
They
investigated, all right – Su.
They
administered corrective measures, all right – to Su. On October 8, 1997,
authorities with the Public Security Bureau hunted down the bishop, found
out that he had been hiding in the city of Xinji, in Hebei Province,
approximately 280 kilometers south of Beijing. They wasted no time and
arrested him.
That
was the last time he was seen publicly. Yet, people still petition for
information of the whereabouts of Su, who, if still alive, would be 73
years old this year. But in China, it’s not so easy to voice concerns.
It’s easier for those outside the Communist death grip.
In
Italy, the Rev. Bernardo Cervellera, a 54-year-old priest with the
Rome-based Pontifical Institute for Foreign Missions (Pontificium
Institutum pro Missionibus Exteris), does all he can do to keep in the
news the plight of the persecuted Chinese of the underground Church.
In
March 1999, Cervellera, a newsman and then-editor of International Fides
News Service, wrote an editorial asking that China’s president release
Su and An or at least reveal where the two men were being held and under
what charges.
In
reaction to Cervellera’s plea, the Vatican issued its statement through
Joaquin Navarro Valls, the 69-year-old Spaniard who recently (and finally)
handed in his resignation as director of the Vatican press office, a post
he’s held since 1984.
Valls,
reportedly a devoted member of the controversial “secret”
organization, Opus Dei, since the early 1970s, couldn’t do enough to
distance the Holy See from Cervellera. He reportedly released this public
statement found on the Internet. “The Secretariat of State up until now
has taken no step concerning the liberation of the two bishops of Baoding.
The circulation of such news was a personal initiative of Fr. Bernardo
Cervellera, not agreed on by authorities at the Secretariat of
State…Therefore, the ideas raised in the International Fides Service are
Fr. Cervellera’s personal opinions for which he assumes full
responsibility.”
Undaunted,
Cervellera continued with his mission to help those persecuted in China.
In February 2002, he published on the Fides Web site a list of missing
bishops and priests. Incredibly, rather than backing Cervellera, the
Vatican disciplined the missionary, this time with a pink slip. In April
2002, he reportedly was forced to clean out his desk, shown the door and
told never to return to that newsroom. Ever.
But
Cervellera never gave up. In November 2003 he joined the staff of Asia
News, a monthly magazine that began publishing in 1986. Now, he’s the
editor of AsiaNews.it, the tri-lingual (Chinese, English, and Italian) Web
site version he created of the magazine. AsiaNews.it, a European-based
pipeline of information from the East to the West, is a must-read that has
documented the abuses inflicted by the Communists upon the underground
Catholics.
The
same month that Cervellera joined Asia News, there was an update on Su.
According to a posting on Kung’s Web site,
www.cardinalkungfoundation.org, he had possibly been spotted around
November 15, 2003. “Bishop Su was taken to the Officers’ Ward of the
Baoding Central Hospital in Baoding, Hebei, for an eye operation and for
heart ailments. He was heavily guarded by approximately twenty
plainclothes government security personnel, including Mr. Jia Ruiqi, who
is a high-ranking officer of the public security bureau of Baoding. It was
reported that the name of Su is not officially registered in the hospital
record.”
However,
that was 2003. This is 2006, and Su’s whereabouts – unknown. Still.
But Kung, 73, the same age as Su, has not given up. Neither has Cervellera.
Nor Smith. Smith would like to return to China before the year is
over. He wants to find Su, who during their meeting gave the politician a
rosary, which the Congressman still uses to pray. “The government claims
that he’s missing or can’t be found. That is so not believable.
They know exactly where he is, and we believe, we can’t say absolutely,
that they have him,” Smith said over the telephone from his D.C. office.
Smith,
a 53-year-old member of the House of Representatives, has done plenty for
human rights. He was a chairman on the House Subcommittee on International
Operations and Human Rights when the International Religious Freedom Act
of 1998, authored by Rep. Frank Wolf (R-VA), was introduced and passed.
The
subsequent International Religious Freedom Report 2005, released Nov. 8,
2005 by the Bureau of Democracy, Human Rights and Labor, stated that
reports have suggested that Su “had been held in a form of ‘house
arrest.’ The government continued to deny having taken ‘any coercive
measures’ against him and stated he was ‘traveling as a
missionary.’”
Still,
the search for Su continues.
Meanwhile,
even though there’s been much political jibber-jabbering back and forth
between China and the Vatican regarding the question of “diplomatic
relations,” it seems as if the question of human rights has been lost in
this pointless posturing.
Why
isn’t the Vatican doing more to locate the bishop?
Last
fall, Roger Mahony, the 70-year-old Cardinal of the Los Angeles
Archdiocese, traveled to China, visiting various churches registered with
the Chinese Catholic Patriotic Association. He posed with various
“priests” for snapshots as souvenirs of those joyful days. He even
wrote two travel essays published in a couple November issues of the
archdiocesan weekly tabloid, The Tidings.
Mahony
wrote that he met bishops of the Patriotic Association, but he never
mentioned meeting any underground bishop. Could that possibly be true? I
had to find out.
Someone
tipped me off that after the Sunday 10 a.m. Mass, Mahony meets and greets
parishioners in the patio area outside the Cathedral of Our Lady of the
Angels, located in downtown Los Angeles. I found a spot and lingered.
Mahony
exited the cathedral from a side exit and headed joyfully toward those of
us standing beneath a potted tree, obviously waiting for him. “I read
about your trip to China,” I said as I walked toward him, smiling.
“Did you meet with any of the underground bishops? Did you request the
whereabouts of Bishop Su of Baoding, who’s been missing since 1997?”
“No.
I was there for a very special purpose. It wasn’t to stir up trouble.
They wouldn’t have let me in.” He chuckled.
In
what appeared to be an attempt to shake me off, he walked toward a
parishioner holding two life-sized photos of the Cardinal to be
autographed. Taking a Sharpie pen from the man, Mahony asked, “Where
should I sign?”
I
persisted.
“So,
you weren’t able to find out any information, or even ask?”
“It
was an opportunity to meet with the emerging leadership of the church, the
young priests. They don’t know anything about it.”
The
Cardinal maneuvered around a group of parishoners in an effort to avoid
more questions.
But
still, one remains unanswered.
Where
is Bishop Su?
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