This ExPat Life: Wenzhou Violence

The Western world has a peculiar view of the Chinese as a very peaceful and obedient people. And so, readers have expressed surprise when I’ve written about how aggressive drivers are or how violent disputes over card games can be. I’ve warned travelers and expats that – as a pedestrian – even when you have the right of way, you never have the right of way. I’ve also written about how a card player, feeling cheated, went after a competitor with a metal pipe.

On my usual morning exercise walks, I often see groups of taxi drivers playing cards at little on-the-street restaurants (a card table & four chairs) to pass the time. I assume these are the night-shift drivers because: it’s usually between 5:30 and 7:00 a.m.; they are drinking lots of cheap beer; smoking tons of cigarettes; eating greasy food; playing gambling card games; and their taxis are all parked on the street with their “For Hire” signs on.

On Sunday morning, I was halfway into my city hike listening to Mexican music on my I-Pod when I was surprised out of my daydream by a man sprinting out of a gate about twenty feet in front of me. It was obvious that he was escaping someone because he kept looking over his shoulder for his pursuers.

Another man limped out behind him pausing only long enough to kick off his flip flops, which he left behind, and kept running while holding his injured head.

A dozen bulky men soon followed who seemed to be concentrated on something or someone in the middle. Suddenly one man separated himself from the group and escaped across the street. A fourth was not so lucky.

The group dispersed enough for me to see that the spectators formed an outer ring surrounding a group of men beating a man at the center of the formation. He was in his mid-twenties, weighed maybe 110 pounds, and was being held in place by his hair.

His aggressors outweighed him by at least 80 pounds each and were muscular – an advantage they used well as they hit him with the 16-inch wooden hilt of samurai-type swords, whacking him across the back and legs. One man who couldn’t get close enough to his prey used the sword to smash the front windshield of a taxi parked in front of the complex – likely the victim’s.

When the young man collapsed to the cement sidewalk, one thrasher kicked him in the small of his back while another stomped his booted foot on his head. A woman tried to intervene at this point but she was hit with the hilt of a sword by a man and, as she collapsed on the sidewalk, another criminal shoved her with his foot. That discouraged any other onlooker – and there were many – from interfering.

Her intervention, however, did seem to cool the warriors as did the fact that their prey was now lying unconscious in a semi-fetal position.

I initially felt surprise when the fight began right in front of me as I walked towards it. The rage the men felt and the severity of the beating shocked me. I didn’t know how to react – I’d never been faced with anything like this. What should I do: step in and get beaten? Call the police and – oh, yeah I don’t speak Chinese. So I continued to walk about half a block and then stopped to see whether anyone would try to help and had witnessed the woman stepping in.

When the beating stopped, I waited to see who would step forward to help the victim. "Anyone? You, guy in his skivvies who thought the fight was important enough to run out half naked? No."

I started walking back towards the group expecting I wouldn't make it all the way there before someone would assist the poor man. I looked at one spectator thinking: "You, the big guy hanging around to see whether the injured man was faking. Are you going to help? Of course not."

As I got closer to the victim, the big men – of all of them over 200 pounds – took their swords and left the scene. Still no one approached the man lying prone on the sidewalk.

As I crouched, I was naive enough to think that now they would help but no one did. I felt his pulse at his temple afraid that he might be dead. As I swept his hair away from his face a handful came away in my palm. There was a pulse.

I moistened my hankie and wiped his face including the cut on his nose and his face twitched in pain – I considered that a good sign.

A taxi pulled up to the curb. The driver and another man picked up the unconscious victim like a sack of rice and carried him to the car. He winced in pain. While I saw only two small cuts and no blood he likely had internal injuries and could have a concussion.

I left feeling disgusted at the two dozen people watching, none of whom did a thing to help the man. Half an hour later, when I retraced my steps in my walk I saw that the police and ambulance had arrived. I wondered whether the perpetrators had disappeared along with their weapons within their community and whether anyone would report having seen anything.

And I, who in my shock could identify none of the men who carried out the beating and could not speak to the police without an interpreter, went on home with a very heavy heart.