The Not-So-Good
Book
Lai Kwong-keung
is a God-fearing man, and that spooks Beijing - which is why
the Hong Kong trader faces the death penalty in a mainland court.
China's devout are learning that Bibles can bring big trouble
JANUARY
21, 2002 VOL.159 NO.2 TIME
BY HANNAH BEECH Beijing
In the crowded stalls of Beijing's Book Street,
Bibles compete openly for space with self-help manuals and guides
to getting into American M.B.A. programs. Selling the holy book
is perfectly legal in China, certainly more legitimate than
the peddling of skin magazines. (Look under the stack of computer
journals.) So when Lai Kwong-keung, a 38-year-old Hong Kong
trader, was indicted last month in Fujian province for bringing
33,000 Bibles into China, his mainland-born wife was puzzled.
"How can you arrest someone," she asks, "for
bringing in books that are available all over China?"
In fact, Lai's books weren't the kind of Bibles the People's
Republic condones. His New Testament Recovery version, unlike
the text officially sanctioned in China, contains footnotes
that try to explain particularly tricky parts of the scriptures.
By using Lai's edition, underground evangelical worshippers
can further their understanding of Christianity without the
aid of preachers. That might sound innocuous enough, but not
in the Chinese context. If you want to study the Bible in China,
you are supposed to do so through either the Protestant Three-Self
Patriotic Movement or the Catholic Patriotic Association, which
follow state-sponsored liturgy. If you have doctrinal questions,
those churches provide the only approved answers. If you're
interested in such taboo topics as the Second Coming of Christ,
you are defying the state. "Lai was just trying to help
people explore all parts of Christianity," says a friend
of Lai's, who worships at the same church in Hong Kong. "But
Beijing does not want anyone learning about Christianity without
its guidance."
Lai's arrest highlights
China's rough crackdown on religion. While previous Bible couriers
have been deported for their secret work, Lai could face the
death penalty for smuggling "cult publications" and
will be up for trial as early as this week. In a worrisome precedent
set last month, leaders of a Protestant denomination similar
to Lai's were sentenced to death for holding underground meetings.
Last fall, more than a dozen secret churches in eastern China
were razed, leaving piles of rubble and crucifixes scattered
throughout Fujian and Jiangsu provinces.
Lai's plight has become an international concern. He is a Hong
Kong resident, not a mainland Chinese citizen, and Hong Kongers
still enjoy religious freedom even though the territory reverted
to Chinese rule in 1997. Last week U.S. President George W.
Bush expressed concern about Lai's case, which has chilled relations
that had turned almost chummy after the Sept. 11 attacks. Beijing
responded by telling Washington to stop meddling in its judicial
affairs. Foreign Ministry spokesman Sun Yuxi claimed Lai's transgression
wasn't just bringing in Bibles, but also passing them to a fast-growing
evangelical Christian sect called the Shouters, banned in the
mid-'90s as an "evil cult."
The 500,000-strong Shouters,
who yell out a condensed version of the Lord's Prayer during
their services, are one of many underground Protestant groups
that have flourished in China in recent years, circumventing
the state-supported Catholic and Protestant churches. That makes
their meetings (often in basements or abandoned buildings) illegal,
but many of the devout want little to do with "patriotic"
churches. "How can I believe in a Jesus who has to listen
to leaders in Beijing?" asks an underground preacher from
Henan province, who leads a group of Shouters. "My Jesus
does not have any masters."
That sentiment is precisely what worries Beijing. As China
gears up for an expected succession struggle in the Politburo
later this year, the Communist Party wants to ensure that no
group nibbles away at its hold on power. Thus Beijing's severe
crackdown on Falun Gong, the Buddhist-exercise movement that
spooked China's leaders by getting 10,000 followers to protest
in front of Beijing's leadership compound three years ago. The
demonstration prompted the hasty passage of a law dictating
harsh punishment to anyone involved in a cult—while conveniently
failing to define what exactly constitutes one. "Anytime
a religious group gathers strength, it's at risk of a crackdown,"
says Frank Lu, head of the Information Center for Human Rights
and Democracy in Hong Kong. "Yesterday, it was Falun Gong.
Today, it's the Shouters. Who knows which group it will be tomorrow?"
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