My Brother, My Opposite: A Tale of Two Fates
Our parents, deeply scarred by the Cultural Revolution, gave us a childhood steeped in confusion and fear. That brutal movement led to the deaths of two million intellectuals. Our mother, a political science graduate from a prestigious university, was sent to work as a secretary in a car manufacturing plant. Our father, who dreamed of becoming a nuclear scientist, was forced into a coal mine thousands of miles from home for a decade. He was only transferred to a post near Mom when malnutrition-induced illness left him seriously ill.
In their eyes, academic brilliance was a curse—a mark for political persecution. Though Bill and I excelled in math and science, our parents feared for us. To protect us, they enrolled us in an underperforming high school, deliberately hiding our potential. At home, Dad punished us harshly for behaviors that would have been praised elsewhere. I still remember the day he saw me entertaining a group of neighborhood kids with stories. I was proud, but Dad panicked. He dragged me home and scolded me: “Don’t be a leader.”
We were kept isolated—often locked in our rooms, denied time with other children. Bill, more rebellious than I, would tinker with the door lock to sneak out and play. He often paid a steep price. The worst came in middle school when he created a mock courtroom game with friends. They assigned roles—judge, prosecutor, police—and even kept notes. A teacher discovered them and told our father. Bill was beaten so badly he had to miss school for three days, feverish and in pain.
Despite this harsh upbringing, Bill and I were close. I often pleaded with Dad during those beatings, trying to shield Bill. We were each other’s only companions. Bill, five years older, was assigned to babysit me when he was still in elementary school. I must have been a clingy little sister, but he was always patient. When he went to college, he brought me books. I cooked for him when he visited. On the streets, he held my hand and watched for traffic, still playing the big brother who’d once guarded me.
Bill was a mathematical prodigy. In a failing high school, he completed six years of coursework in four and entered college at 16 with a top national exam score. He could have gone to China’s top universities, but our parents forced him to stay close to home at a lesser college. He obeyed then, but not after earning his bachelor's. He defied them and entered a top Ph.D. program in Beijing.
That same year, I won a national science competition and secured admission to a prestigious university in another province. Bill stood up for me by telling our parents, “You ruined my college choice. Don’t do that to my sister.”
Our paths diverged sharply after that. I moved to a university where many students aimed to leave China. I did, too—coming to the U.S. for graduate school in the mid-90s. As I learned about the Tiananmen Square Massacre and the persecution of Falun Gong, I became a human rights activist.
Meanwhile, Bill thrived in Beijing’s political heart. He joined the Communist Party, rising through the ranks with intelligence and political savvy. He became a respected economist at China’s largest bank. Our family was proud. I was happy to see his success. But Bill stopped speaking with me—my “sensitive” background was a liability in his world. Still, we exchanged greetings indirectly through visiting relatives. My mother once told me that Bill envied my freedom. That comment alarmed his wife and our parents. After that, he stayed silent.
Then came the shock.
In January 2024, Bill was arrested—one of many targeted in China’s so-called “anti-corruption” campaign, a common method for purging political rivals. I knew nothing about his work over the past 30 years. My family warned me to stay out of it. Now, after 18 months in detention, Bill still hasn’t been granted a family visit. No formal charges have been released, just vague accusations of “breaking the law” and "not loyal to the Party."
A few months after his arrest, Bill was allowed a brief visit with his wife, under police supervision. He begged her to sell their Beijing home and turn the money over to the authorities in exchange for his release. She resisted at first, but gave in. The Party took the money, but broke its promise. Bill remained in detention. His captors then claimed he would face 10 to 20 years in prison.
Outraged, his wife hired a human rights lawyer. Ironically, a loyal Party member now needs the help of a dissident’s defender. But that is the nature of this regime—it functions like a mafia.
The impact has devastated my family. My father, now battling dementia, doesn’t understand what’s happening. Bill’s wife has suffered a mental breakdown. My nearly blind, 88-year-old mother is left to manage the household. I can’t return to China—not after my public activism and media interviews. Thankfully, kind relatives and friends have stepped in to help my mother survive this storm.
Bill joined the Party, but I doubt he ever truly believed in Communism. Like many brilliant young Chinese, he likely saw it as the only path to a decent life. Perhaps he even hoped to change the system from within. But he underestimated its cruelty. He thought that by staying apolitical and focusing on “technical” work, he’d be safe. That’s not how totalitarianism works. In China, even neutrality is dangerous.
In 2022, a cousin urged Bill to leave the country. She had fled Shanghai after witnessing the suffering during the COVID-zero lockdowns. “Look at how many of your colleagues were arrested. You might be next.” she warned. Bill didn’t listen. He was arrested at work. That cousin visited me recently and sighed, “He thought he knew the system too well.”
Bill’s birthday is July 4th—America’s Independence Day. A symbol of freedom. I believe he has quietly longed for that freedom for many years.
Happy Birthday, my dearest brother.
I remember a conversation from 35 years ago. I was in high school, and you were home from college. I cried, saying, “No matter how hard I study, Mom and Dad will never let us leave this town.” You looked up at the cloudy sky and said, “There is always hope.”
We both left that small town and saw the world. Now, this may be the darkest chapter of your life. But I still believe there is hope.
I remember the boy who protected his little sister, the brilliant mind who solved math problems with ease, the young man who wanted to build a better China. Maybe the Party changed you, but I believe that deep inside, the real Bill still exists.
And I believe he can find his way back.
(Photo: Me in 1996.)
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