Disclaimer: I wrote this blog several months ago, during our time in China. The event I talk about is not for the faint of heart. I hesitated in sharing, but have received permission from our contact to now tell. I believe that God allowed me to witness the following for a purpose. Whether to bring awareness, relate to certain people, or cry out for justice, I'm not sure. It is a story that changed my Race, my heart, and my life. It changed the way I look at the absolute urgency of the Gospel & the way my heart yearns for these people, this country, these lives.
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We found out a few days ago that a man in our small town had poured gasoline over his body and set himself on fire.
"Yikes," I thought, thinking it was an isolated incidence.
Two days later, we approach a road block as we are driving to work in a taxi. Police are everywhere. We get out and walk the rest of the way.
We are a 3 minute walk from a huge monastery, home to about 2,500 monks. You can see the beginning of it from the balcony here. We walk up and look out. Several military trucks are parked down the road and there is a blockade of soldiers with guns and shields blocking the entrance.
We wonder what has happened, but we it isn't long before we find out.
Isaac, as we have affectionately nicknamed our monk friend because of his great laugh, calls and delivers the news. Someone had set themself on fire inside the monastery that morning. He didn't think he'd be able to see us that day, but he didn't say anything else on the phone.
We hang up and pray. What darkness is in this country! We don't really know what to do.
We keep an eye on the soldiers, they rotate every few hours. Police officers and soldiers cover the streets.
Isaac comes to see us later that afternoon. Safer to talk in person than on the phone, he says, but we are not so sure. He explains it to us. Says there have been 3 people who have set themselves on fire in the past week here. They are protesting the oppression of the Tibetans. Many are imprisoned. He says that out of 100 prisoners in jail, 80 or 90 of them are Tibetan. People are not happy. He tells us that it is not a good idea for us to spend time together today. We all vocalize our hope for tomorrow, and he leaves.
We find out that night the true extent of things in regards to how they may affect us. We could be asked to leave. They fear that foreigners will repeat the story and draw the attention of the world. We are safe, and worst case scenario seems to be that they make us pack up our stuff and leave without any warning. I am in awe that this is really my life sometimes.
The next morning we cross our fingers that the internet still works, hop in a taxi, and question if the road blocks will still be there. No road blocks, but as we pull up in front of our building, there are 3 huge military trucks that are parked directly in front of it.
Act normal, act normal, act normal.
We hurry up the steps. Looking towards the monastery, the soldiers are still there. It seems they have multiplied overnight.
A few minutes later, 3 soldiers come up the stairs, walk past our workplace, then immediately turn around, pass us again, and walk down. We hold our breaths. Maybe they were finding out where we were. Maybe not.
Fast forward to the afternoon. We're finishing up our daily grind, minutes from heading home. We see soldiers outside start to run towards something. I walk outside with one of my teammates. We glance up the street.
I freeze.
A man. In the middle of the road. His body on fire. Engulfed in flames. Soldiers run up with fire extinguishers and spray him and he falls to the ground. A few seconds later, all you can see is smoke from the blaze and residue from the extinguisher. People swarm. Yelling. More like howling.
Soliders run and form a circle around the body, shields out. Probably giving him a lethal injection, which is what we were told happens if the person isn't already dead when they get to him. After several minutes, people continue screaming and start pushing.
I see the soldiers retaliate. The have batons and they put them to use. People are throwing things. Trying to get to the body, we think, but we aren't sure why. They bring out the tear gas and start using it with frequency. A huge military truck comes and hoses everyone in the area.
We are ushered back inside. Shocked. Confused. Distinctly thinking, "I should not have just seen that. That happens on the news. Far away. Not in person. Not a mere couple of hundred feet from where I am standing."
A few minutes later, I peek out and am not ready for what I see.
Four men run the opposite direction carrying the charred corpse, each holding onto a limb.
We see a Chinese soldier, face bloody, carried into a police car.
People are yelling everywhere, throwing things, locals and soldiers alike are running.
We go inside, slam the metal barrier down and lock the doors.
We sit in stunned silence, listening to the riots carrying on outside.
For what feels like days, we sit. Barricaded inside. We pray. We cry. We listen. We have no idea what to do. We must get home. One of our teammates is there, and she has no idea what is going on. Our manager, who speaks very little English, will have to tell us when it is safe enough for six American girls to pop out of a building not even a hundred yards from where this happened, with soldiers and police officers still patroling the streets, and jump into a taxi that we are praying is there to pick us up and drive down the road a mile or two to our apartment.
Three hours later we get the thumbs-up, pack up, and head out. The second our feet hit the bottom of the stairs, time seems to stand still and speed up all at the same time. People from every direction turn to stare. I can only imagine what their thoughts were. Soliders and police start yelling at us in Chinese. They are waving wildly, though no one looks long enough to see whether they are summoning us or shoo-ing us to leave and LEAVE NOW. A taxi driver spots us and speeds to the curb. People begin to surround the car as we attempt to squeeze 6 of us and a guitar into it. Our taxi driver is yelling at us to hurry up (we assume) and he hits the gas as soon as the last door is even remotely shut. Someone throws a chunk of concrete and it hits the backseat passenger door as we speed away.
I had nightmares that night. My mind replayed what I saw over & over & over again. (I later learned that when you see something traumatic, your mind often replays the images to try to "normalize" them.) We packed up and left the next morning. Our month was cut short and we didn't get to say bye to Isaac. I had a hard time wrapping my mind around what we had just experienced. I had an even harder time wrapping my mind around what these people experience often. People who experience events such as this with no promise of hope or freedom like I have in Christ.
"In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world." -John 16:33
I did not write this post for pity. I did not write it for accolades, for encouragement, for sympathy, or for you to know how extreme the things are that we see and live through on the mission field. In the big scope of things, I have seen & lived through very little. I have seen less than most. But still, I have seen.
Instead, this post is to let you know that persecution is real. Injustice is real. Oppression is real. We, as believers, have a message of HOPE that can make many people's burdens so much lighter.
"Is not this the kind of fasting I have chosen: to loose the chains of injustice and untie the cords of the yoke, to set the oppressed free and break every yoke?" -Isaiah 58:6
Are we proclaiming that message?
