A Stand Against Steel

Written by Amy Hou from Massachusetts, USA

In that moment, he became the tank man. A single unarmed man, standing against the relentless machinery of oppression. Around him, the cacophony of voices rose, crowded with students shouting and blaming, while he stood alone, frozen in the center, his heart trembling. He watched the metal tank crawling inches closer, his mind a mix of fear and determination. He had never been one for politics, but today he felt different, important, as the weight positioned itself down upon his shoulder.

***

The morning of June 4, 1989, Tiananmen Square had an air about it unlike any day before.  Typically, Beijing’s decorated square would host daily, morning ceremonies. Every single note of the national anthem would echo through the square; flags fluttered proudly, with swathes of tourists snapping photographs. This was the picture of Tiananmen Square’s prosperity. As those morning ceremonies began, the usual brigades of soldiers marched in perfect synchrony, each gesture made in their most precise and disciplined way. But this day, June 4th, would become an exception and a nightmare. 

Children, parents, students, and elders—every single person gathered, and millions of voices resonated throughout the square. Banners filled the gate with determined headlines: “Give me democracy or give me death….” 

Howling and uproar, tumult and pandemonium— Tiananmen Square now filled with pro-democracy reformers demanding greater freedoms. But THEY are not the protestors the army was coming for. 

Right under Mao Zedong’s self-portrait—the ominous centerpiece of the square—men wearing long cháng shān robes, and women wearing small-sleeved coats with skirts, sat in  meditation poses, well-arranged in the center of the square. Their attire, steeped in tradition, reflected the custom that has been passed down through generations. Cháng shān, a sign of purity and clarity of thought, evokes the youth’s growing spirit towards modern society. There was an unusual calmness among them. No turbulence, no yelling. It was almost like they could not hear what the crowd shouted; they were on their own in quiet, calm, meditative protest. 

He was one of them, in there. He also wore a long cháng shān with a deep, navy blue hue; lightly wrinkled but unblemished, soft yet sturdy, falling under his knees. The collar tightly framed his neck with only one pán kòu, but defined sharp edges. His meticulous attention towards a single pán kòu hinted at him having a high academic background. Around his neck, a light scarf in soft beige draped down in gentle folds. 

While his peers continued their meditation protest, he slowly stood up, and stepped forward. Though his face reflected a serious and commanding demeanor, a sense of innocence lay hidden deep under the surface. Perhaps it was untested idealism. 

At the same time, Xu Feng, commander of the 39th group army, led one of the tanks heading towards the square. 

“Listen up! We are commanded to clean the square of these reckless university students; get ready for each of your positions.” He was indeed experienced, having been in the army for more than 30 years. Both of his arms bore the scars of that history, and one of them was still wrapped in bandages. 

“Commander, are… Are we sure we start…?” 

“Begin.”

He had been trained for years to restore balance, to follow orders; to him, there’s nothing more important than order. 

With his commands, the first sound of tanks cracking and rumbling over life reverberated through the entire square. Every single one of them witnessed the ruin left behind by the mechanical engine. As its rumble grew louder, the hush was overtaken by reverberating screams; intimidated children began to wail. Banners lowered in abject confusion.

The inexperienced soldier who drove the tank was just barely out of his teens; having just experienced the terrible power of “killing” an immediate nausea gripped his body. For a moment, he slowed the tank…

“Keep going. Do not stop.” A cold voice  came from behind him.

“Yes… sir…”

His hands trembled on the controls; he glanced through the crowds, faces filled with despair, anger, and determination. He had joined the military with hopes and dreams to save his country, but now he realized the position he held here– he had no choice. 

He put his foot against the gas, moving the fierce, angry armadillo forward when a figure suddenly emerged from the crowd—a man in a long cháng shān standing defiantly on the path of the tank. Yes, it was that man; he was finally there. He had no armor, no gun, just humanity. 

Unarmed. 

He stared desperately ahead, watching the tanks roll forward. Yet, despite how close they continued to crawl, he stood straight, unmoving. 

Commander Xu Feng saw his young soldier’s hesitation, but he himself felt unmoved by the man in their path. The mission was clear, and there’s no room for doubt. He turned to his troops and announced again, “Keep moving forward.” This time, he was more commanding in his demeanor. 

The tank rolled onward, and they were now close enough that both men on either side of the glass saw clearly through each other's faces. Commander Xu recognized the determination on the young man’s face, but on top of that, he also saw his naivety and innocence. Just at that moment, he felt him. He felt that dilemma. And suddenly, 30 years of experience could not silence the rising doubt now taking space within the tank from all the men inside it.

The order the commander held so firmly loosened. Would they be remembered as protectors or oppressors? And this moment was not the first time the question had been on Xu's mind. Many years earlier, he had witnessed an incident of oppression at the same age as this young man now standing before his tank. He had seen his parents treated as livestock, falling victim to the government’s hardships. Once, he had dreamed of wearing the cháng shān of the university student, and embarking on his most precious period of life. But that dream faded. Years of revolution forced him into the military, deadened his mind, and imprisoned his soul. It molded him into a prisoner of the system that he once vowed to challenge. 

Now, Commander Xu Feng hesitated, then...

“Move aside!” These were the first words spoken after an interminable pause, and they resonated through the speaker of the tank.

But the man resisted, stood firm, faced the tank. To the world, he appeared determined. Resolute. Yet only he himself knew the fear that gripped him. The thundering pulse of his own heartbeat shrouded the cries of the crowd. He even questioned himself: was it bravery or desperation that had led him to stand here?

The military pressed on, their relentless march marked the path with bloodshed. Commander Xu felt the pull of an impending choice, a choice between obeying the order that had drilled him for years or obeying the call of his conscience. 

Both men found themselves at a crossroad. Their choices ultimately lay beyond their control.

“Tank 006, 006, respond if you hear, 006 006…” The urgency crackled around them. Yes, the time had come; the government would wait no longer. 

Silence took root as the people held their breath, a collective stillness enveloping them. Some closed their eyes; they knew what was coming.   

The determined eye finally had a sense of fear. 

***

“This is from the central broadcasting station. A young girl, only 14, has been discovered with a bullet in her skull, her eyes left widely open at that last moment of her life… This is just a case of one tragic loss; a more representative example of the “consequence” of this incident is marked by “a maximum of 16 students being cracked in a single row…” 

This was a battle that occurred not on a battlefield, but on the most prosperous landscape where the ground was now stained with the bones and blood of the innocent. 

As the smoke cleared on Tiananmen Square, two distinct questions could be heard above the infinite questions that would color this brutal moment of history forever.  

Where was the tank man? And who was he?

This piece was inspired by Jeff Widener's iconic "Tank Man" photo, taken on June 5, 1989, in Tiananmen Square, Beijing