Re: Chink With No Armor (News)
Author: Loflyer
Email: loflyer@hotmail.com
Date: 1998/10/06
Forums: alt.tasteless
uncle@omen.net.au wrote:
>
> > >But the really nice touch is that they send a bill for the bullets to
> > >the next-of-kin. And they pay the bill. Really.
> > >
> Jes' wondering, how MUCH do they bill 'em for?
Okay, y'all have had this one bouncing around for a few days, and I've
been pretty patient, perfectly content to lurk and wait for someone to
pop up and scream, "UL!" or "Bullshit!" so I could have a good laugh,
but it seems I gotta do the myth debunking. Sheesh.
I lived in China for a couple extended periods of time (years), and the
subject of executions, being near and dear to my cold, right-wing heart,
was of particular interest to me because the local execution grounds was
right next to the facility I was building.
Every time they had a truckload of prisoners slated for the golden
headache pill, the festivities began. A large contingent of green-clad
motorcycle outriders, jeeps with more uniformed monkeys, then a
truckload of soldiers in the bed, a truck with the lucky contestants,
another truck of soldiers, more jeeps and then more cycles, makes a
complete pass through town. Every damn one of them with sirens
a-screamin' and lights a-flashin'. The procession travels at about 5
mph through town, stopping at every major intersection for 3-5 minutes
so that the local citizenry can gawk at their unfortunate brethren who
got caught, then continues on to the next intersection.
I gotta add here that the prisoners were all standing up in the bed of
the trucks, hands tied behind their backs (couldn't tell if it was cheap
Chinese rope or the nicer plastic cuffs the yoo-ess oinkers use, but
certainly not handcuffs), facing outward, a scarf tied over their
foreheads (never found out the significance of the scarf), and a
chalkboard sign hung around their necks with the tale of their exploits
written on it. Being gwaylo (that's Chinese for honkey muthafuckah), I
couldn't read the chicken-scratchings on the boards, but my assistant
would fill me in on what she read after the trucks left.
Our facility was at the last intersection of the usual procession route,
so we had a rather unique experience in that we knew, with dead (heh,
heh) certainty, every single person we were looking at in the bed of
that truck was going to die in a very few minutes. They knew it too.
Most `em would have a glassy stare, like they were lookin' right through
ya as they shat their jammies, but others had the trapped rat look, eyes
darting from side to side, looking, searching, hoping for something,
anything, to happen that would/could/might stave off the inevitable.
Never happened.
The parade would lurch off after a few minutes and make the turn into
the last unpaved road before the river into a copse of woods on the
other side of our building site. From the roof of our facility, we
could see partially over some of the trees and made out that there was a
clearing, probably about 1/2 an acre of ground, and the stack of the
crematory just peeking out over the branches. If we timed it correctly,
about 25-30 minutes after seeing the trucks stopped out front, we could
be on the roof, hiding behind the air-handlers and hear the shots, faint
as they were (I think they actually use a .22 for the deed, not the
cheesy .32's they wore on their uniforms).
Now, being that we came from a country where executions aren't carried
out in such a public fashion, and certainly not with the frequency that
we witnessed in China, we rode our interpreters and assistants pretty
hard to glean all the gory details. It turns out that the criminal
justice system is pretty swift over there (gee, no shit). Trials are
held very quickly, and sentencing happens right then and there at the
end of the trial if found guilty (about 75% are found guilty, so we were
told). There is a review period of several days immediately after the
guilty verdict where any appeals may be lodged, but typically the review
is a rubber-stamp thing. The prisoners are then housed until a suitable
number (a truckload?) can be assembled for the trip out to the edge of
town. Makes no difference which gender you happen to be - if found
guilty of a capitol crime (prostitution counts here, folks, I shit you
not), it's off to the trees with ya. And, NO, the family does NOT pay
for the bullet or the cost of the trial. All costs are born by Grandpa
(the Chinese equivalent of our Uncle Sam) in the Land of the Iron
Ricebowl.
After the prisoners are hauled off the trucks and made to kneel, the
officer in charge walks behind them and pops them in the back of the
head as he goes down the row. One of the interpreters told us that he
understood that each lucky contestant got two slugs apiece, but we
couldn't get anybody to confirm this. The families of the
condemned are allowed to come and pick up the bodies of papa, sister or
brother after the deed, but because of the loss of face associated with
having brother Chan or sister Wo executed for slipping a little cash
from the till or giving blowjobs to gwaylos, usually opt not to. If a
body is not picked up by dusk, they fire up the ovens and do the crispy
critter thing with the ashes used for fertilizer.
There ya have it folks. Ain't cultural diversity grand?
Loflyer
ObT: National Festival moon cakes.
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