Divine Intervention The two guards took off the handcuffs as soon as we exited the elevator on the second floor. Their English was limited to about a dozen basic words including “Stop”, “Go”, and “This Way” along with “Yes, “No”, “Shut-Up” and “Fuck You”. Thus, they guided me down the blue and white hallway lined with 12 large cells for about 20 yards before I heard “Stop” and “New Home” None of the cells had bars – only thick steel doors with a small glass window. Of course, this being China, there were no shortage of cameras. As the door was opened, I saw that the cell measured about 20 feet by 15 feet and was occupied with only Chinese prisoners whose hostile glares fell upon me with I could feel burning a hole in my heart and filled my soul with enough anxiety to make Peyton Manning think a sixman rush was coming his way led by Dick Butkus, Ray Lewis, and Lyle Alzado. I didn’t’ expect a room full of smiling faces but I never felt such silent animosity in my life. And it was not because of their proud nationalism as I soon found out. As I heard and felt the loud thud of the heavy door behind me, I prayed those cameras were all working and the guard assigned to monitor them was sober. I decided to introduce myself and be Mr. Social in hopes of winning a friend or two. But no sooner than I cranked out by Chinese greetings “Hello Gentlemen, my name is Anthony and I…” I was cut off by the only guy in this cell of sixteen that spoke English… “We know who you are, you are the American pedophile they told us was coaching Little League baseball in Haidian District. You are not welcome here, but don’t worry, you will not be here long”. I was almost speechless but if I didn’t contest his statement I would soon be in a hospital. “I am no fucking pedophile my friend, I am father of four children myself and am a political prisoner from America like your Ai Wei Wei (A famous Chinese artist I actually got to meet at my art exhibit in 2014 at the famous 798 art district in Beijing. This man in his midthirties translated my comments to the others including one who spit at my feet. They demanded to see my papers and told me this would be my last day on Earth if the papers said I was arrested for molesting any children. Although I could speak Mandarin, 1115
Star stamp didn’t accuse me of such a heinous crime. As the translating prison snatched the paper from my hand, I asked him where he heard that lie about me molesting kids. He readily replied that one of the guards named Zhou told them about an hour before I arrived. I would later find out the same guard told them that the cameras’ “Would be down for maintenance from 7pm to 9pm”. Since it was about 5pm now, I had roughly two hours to clear up this “miscommunication” and I would still have to overcome the fact that I was an American although the guard had told them I was wanted in both Canada and the U.S. Although most Chinese admire and silently support protesters and whistle-blowers, these guys were Still focused on that pedophile allegation. It did not help matters that an English Teacher from the UK was in fact arrested recently for molesting a 10-year-old girl not long after and American French teacher was accused of raping some students at the private Lycée School in Beijing. Needless to say, these two incidents were making every foreign teacher working in China suspect of being a perverted predator. The only reason these guys were even listening to what I had to say was because, their translating colleague read my detention order aloud verbatim… “You Bruce Anthony Gorcyca DiMarco, an American citizen with passport No. XXXXXXXXXX and date of birth XXXXXX are 1116
without a valid passport nor visa within the PRC for more than 30 days past the expiration date. Your punishment is to pay a Y10,000 rmb fine plus 15 days administrative. Detention. You will be released on April 29, 2018” Thankfully, there were no mention of any crimes at all. The translator was asked to read it again by one of our fellow-prisoners and he did so. They then began speaking amongst themselves and hollering out the small window for Zhou the guard. Understandably they wanted to know why he told them I was a wanted pedophile when my papers said something else. I was starting to feel semi-safe for the moment but they continued mumbling amongst themselves and every so often I could hear and make out “Fucking American” or “job stealing foreigner” and one of the guys asked me if my girlfriend was Chinese, something they really don’t like because there is a large shortage of women in China which outnumber men by 20% since the previous two generations would throw hundreds of female babies in the river at that time when only one-child per couple was permitted by the government. And for Chinese women in China, having a foreign boy-friend or husband was a status symbol of sorts and an exit ticket from China to a better life abroad in most cases. I made sure they understood that my wife was Korean and lived with my kids in Toronto. But that did not shut them up as they now asked me how many Chinese girls I made pregnant? I thought they were joking but they were not. I decided to try a little humor to break the ice and showed them my right hand and as I made stroking motions I said “This is my lover in China”. Although I did manage to get a laugh out of some of them, I still could sense I was not wanted here, if for no other reason, I was an American and jobs in Beijing were in short supply. Besides most of these prisoners were only high school grads and were brain-washed by years of effective daily propaganda that “Yankee Devils” and “Greedy American Pigs” were only interested in exploiting and conquering China. Seeing American warships ply up and down their Eastern shore every month certainly did not dispel those claims of American aggression While they were debating my status and fate, the smell of some food wafted through the air and minute later the door opened with the arrival of a five-gallon paint can filled with a liquid that looked and smelled like chicken broth and a garbage bag of “Mantou” (steamed buns) were deposited inside the door with a plastic ladle and pair of thin plastic gloves 1117
“Goliath” was the first to fill his bowl and grab two buns to the protests of all the others who insisted there was only one bun per person. He simply replied “The foreigner doesn’t want it”. Being the only laowai in the cell I was not pleased to have half of my dinner stolen from me. The guard handed me a bowl and spoon and it was clear to see that both were well-used and they did not bother with disposable utensils for the sake of hygiene. All I could do was rinse them off and hope my immune system was in good shape since 12% of Chinese population has Hepatitis. Some of the prisoners were still asking to see Zhou the guard but This guard named Yang told them Zhou left for the day. I too wanted to see this fellow Zhou and see why he was trying to get me killed with his false allegations. I had a gut feeling someone put him up to that deadly mission. Being the new guy, I was the last to be served and although it did not look nor smell appetizing, I was hungry and had not even had my breakfast since my day was began with a rude interruption by a sneaky cop on a mission. To get me locked up for reasons that still remained very suspicious. Being employed by the Chinese government academy was a very prestigious job for any professor and I know my release would be immediate if I was allowed to call my boss, General Ma, or one of my other executive students, any one of which had enough pull to get my morning visitor fired and sent back to their home town. It was not easy for “Wei di ren” (outsiders) to get a job in Beijing where life was good and salaries double and triple of what was earned in second and third tier cities. had already heard the false rumor the D5 agents told the jail guards “DiMarco was a Fully 40% of Beijing residents were internal immigrants from all parts of China, and they would never do anything to risk their coveted jobs in the Capitol city. Almost 1 million of these residents were students of 63 different universities that were my neighbors in Haidian District which consumed the Western half of Beijing and was also aptly called “The University District” which was also home to the Summer Palace, Fragrant Mountain, and the old Palace on the Qing Dynasty that was repeatedly invaded and looted by 8 different nation sin the 1800s, and was home to China’s last woman emperor Cixi, Hadian also 1118
small farms, a splattering of military bases and barracks, and even a missile site and military airstrip nestled in, and between some mountains. I often rode my bicycle the 65 miles out to the are Fragrant Mountain, and then go hiking in an area famous for 8 Temple mountain, which is a sacred meditation, and prayer destination for the 30% of Chinese that are fervent Buddhists. The tooth of Buddha is one of the relics found at this site, but I went to enjoy nature, the tranquility of the mountains, and to work on my book project. One day I found out by accident that missiles were actually embedded in the backside of those mountains with silos that were so well camouflaged that I tripped over the lid of one and then noticed the concrete structures that secured the underground silos in place. I was shocked that I did not see a single warning sign as we have all over America as soon as you are within five miles of any missile facility. I was even more shocked when no military swooped down on me despite there being a few The 3,000 foot cable car ride to the top of Fragrant Mountain was fun for me but apparently not for this young lady who was terrified of heights. cameras mounted in the area. I decided to vacate the area on my own, but actually came down off the mountain right into a 10,000 square foot radar center complete with a few PLA soldiers strolling by enjoying a cigarette. I located the gate and made my way to it casually not wanting to draw attention to myself. I was getting a lot of stares, but unbelievably not one of about 30 soldiers that saw me in my Jeans and No., 13 Dan Marino Dolphins Jersey bothered to stop and question me. Only when I got to the gate, was I asked to sign the exit log! Apparently the gate sentry just assumed that if I was already on the base and leaving it, I must have been authorized to visit someone there! Only as he began to open the gate for me did a sergeant come running over and asked me who I was. I told him I was a tourist coming from the Temple but he freaked when he saw my American passport, and actually asked me if I was a spy? I gave him 1119
called his superiors and looked through a big Operational Manal to see what the official procedures were. A major showed up followed by a Colonel and they were not amused, but genuinely angry that their cameras in the area were not being monitored. They went through my camera to make sure I didn’t take any photos of their military facility and were relieved to see only pictures of the Temple and the Cable Car at Fragrant Mountain. I finally persuaded him to call my student General Ma and they were shocked to see I had his number. I spoke briefly with Ma and explained my predicament and he told me to pass the phone to the Colonel. Whatever was said took less than two minutes. The major was instructed to give me meal and a soda and then drive me home. So, we retrieved my Fuji bike secured it to the jeep and off we went. Once we arrived at my community, Major Li asked for a selfie with me and I obliged. And I left him with an American joke that did not sink in for over a minute before he caught the meaning and I finally got a good laugh out of him. We shook hands and I apologized for my surprise visit. Surprisingly, I would run into him 2 years later when I was playing Santa Claus for some elderly Seniors in Huairou as a favor for my Canadian friend John Harkness who owns a ranch near the Great Wall and his wife Amy did a lot of volunteer community work. Major Li was transferred to the base at Huairou and his 88 year old mother was at the Senior Center where I delivered some chocolates, socks, and slippers to the old folks there for Amy and listened to some incredible stories these seniors still talked about the war and 1949 revolution which was it seemed the highlight of their lives. Although Major Li did not think very highly of Mao his mother almost worshipped the man., It seems every nation has generational divides. I was very grateful for the assist I had gotten from General Ma who later became the head of the Wu Jing in Beijing before he retired. The Wu Jing is similar to the American National Guard and are often used for arresting corrupt police, military, and political officials. I thanked him the next time I saw him at the PLA logistics center at Tai Ping Lu and he told me I was lucky to have been working at the Academy because unbeknownst to me, I was given a security clearance to teach there which had required a background check so he didn’t think twice about vouching for me. Despite our teacher-student relationship he still had to be careful since some leaders like President Xi are paranoid about long-time 1120
later banned all foreign teachers from even entering the premises of the Government Academy – including me as the only American to ever teach there. Now sitting in Daxing Prison, I wish I could get access to a phone to get a message to Ma, or my Boss Dr. Lu, or Pan Gongsheng , or Xu Dong at SAFEA. I never was at the mercy of a potential mob before. My current colleagues in cell five were not educated enough to be independent thinkers and they may very well overlook what my official papers say and listen to their emotions and not their mind, especially in this group setting. I figured this was a great time for some prayers. I finished my bowl of soup that was totally devoid of any meat, eggs, or protein. Aside from chicken broth it had only 2 or three slices of potato, some chopped onions, and maybe a dozen rice noodles. The guy sitting across from me won the lotto that evening as he got to nibble on the only chicken foot that came out of the pail! I got down on my knees in a corner and began my prayers with an urgent S.O.S. sent direct God with no real explanation attached. I admittedly was fearful up until this point which I guess was mostly fear of the unknown and how this group of thieves, thugs, and predators would see me – as one of them or simply the “Ugly American” As I was praying and recalling Bible verses from my childhood Catholicism, a calm slowly came over me and I actually forgot where I was for the moment. The loud din of the cell was silenced as if I was wearing noise-canceling headphones. I reminded God I had a loving wife and kids at home who needed their father to remain alive to fulfill his role and of course in desperate times like these I asked for all my sins to be forgiven even the ones I no longer remembered. I could feel a connection and knew he was listening. But was he really obligated to help me, or even required to do me a favor? I began to doubt my own faith was too lacking for Him to take me seriously or as a true believer who had been sporadically absent for years. I began to sweat and even worry, when I suddenly heard a voice within me. “Be not like Thomas my son, I am here for all who believe, and even if you gave up on me, I never gave up on you,” It felt so good to hear these words. The voice continued “These men are not your greatest challenge and you have endured far worse before. Have I ever turned my back on you? I will not ever do so. Be strong and face your accusers with the truth and tell them directly I am with you. They do not know 1121
battle is coming but you need not battle all of your accusers, only the largest one. If you truly believe in me, you shall prevail and if you don’t then you have yet another lesson to learn. Now be strong, be loud, and introduce these heathens to the power of your faith.” There was now only silence as I tried to digest all that I was just told. “Thank you God – Amen.” I now once again felt eyes upon me but this time not in hate but derisions. I could now hear the residents of cell five mocking me. “American they called, are you begging your invisible God to save your life? How is any old man in the sky going to help you here on Earth – in this cell.? Does he have a key? If so, tell him to open the door and let us all go free” They laughed and I heard first one, and then another spit and felt the wet blobs hit the back of my neck and another fly over my shoulder. Without turning, I shouted out to them “Your ancestors once believed in God and one day you will too.” They erupted in laughter. Indeed, before the rise of Communism and the reign of Mao Ze Dong, more than half of Chinese believed in spiritual beings and an after-life. In fact their Buddhists still do, and pray as well. But these fine fellows of cell block five were truly non-believers. Just then, I felt something very warm hit and run down my back Did they throw soup on me? Within 2 seconds I recognized the smell of urine and it filled me with the rage of indignity as I jumped and turned to punish the aggressor. I have never been one afraid to fight and most Chinese men are frail and with no experience fighting unless they served in the military. But I was prepared to thrash the man who had the nerve to piss on me, I looked up to find a massive man almost blocking my view of the others. He had a huge groin on his face standing over six feet still holding his penis in his hand and laughing with great pride over his sneak attack. Although he easily weighed over 280 pounds, I felt no fear, only anger and kicked him as hard as I could in his groin – with enough force to make a 60-yard field goal. Needless to say, his laughter came to a sudden stop as he doubled over. I fully expected to be overwhelmed by the others in a second or two and would concentrate on protecting my head and eyes from the attack I was expecting. But instead, they began cheering for “Big Man” to “Kill Him”. 1122
giant man unfolded himself, my High school wrestling and military skills flashed back into my mind and I went for a take down, by shooting towards his ankles and wrapping myself around them. Then by leaning into the back of his knees, I used the weight of my torso for leverage. With his balance stolen from him, he had no choice but to fall. And when fighting someone bigger than yourself, the best equalizer is the floor. Just try to punch someone more than a foot taller than you! Although not impossible it is quite difficult. As he fell backward I heard his head “Clunk” against the concrete wall thinking to myself how much that must have hurt, and then was surprised to hear two more boinks as his head then hit the edge of one of the bunks about 18 inches off the floor, and finally the floor. Although the detour his head took on the way down did not knock him out, he was left a bit dazed and confused. I was not going to let this advantage go to waste now that I had Big Man“ on the floor. I immediately sat on his chest and began punching his face repeatedly- alternately left and right swings. He reached for my throat to strangle me but I was able to keep diverting one arm and laying in a punch and then the other. My adrenaline was pumping as I was virtually fighting for my life. Normally during any fight in a bar or parking lot the air is filled with the noise of the crowd, cheering, jeering, or placing bets, but at this moment there was dead silence other than the grunts and groans made by the two of us on the floor plus my involuntary hyperventilation. I was getting winded but had to keep punching away or maybe forfeit my life to this brute if he managed to get up. I heard his nose crack followed by the trickle of blood that joined up with the pool of blood accumulating on the floor coming from his right ear, a casualty created by the wall. I assumed. This blood was a blessing for me because Chinese are very much adverse to the sight of blood, even more so when it is their own. For some reason they think they will die when they start bleeding, even from a nose bleed. Granted you CAN and will die if one of your arteries are cut, but certainly not from a broken nose. Now some of the men began shouting for the guard claiming I was killing Big Man. Big Man didn’t know any English nor how to tap out of a fight, but when he saw the blood I heard the Chinese words “Zuguo d “ which means “Enough”. I was just so glad he said that because my knuckles were getting raw and my hands felt heavy like two bricks and were throbbing in pain. Still I 1123
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