In BEIJING
THE fuzzy pictures of a woman standing atop a roof, a red blaze of fire ringing her neck, are hard to look at.
Even more haunting are the cries of “don’t, don’t” in jerky videos shot on mobile phones of businesswoman Tang Fuzhen’s impending self-immolation.
There was something familiar about the tragic footage of the 47-year-old Sichuan homeowner who later died from her burns sustained while trying to save her three-storey home.
Two years ago, as Beijing was prettying itself for the grand Olympics, older buildings were being torn down and new ones shooting up at amazing speed.
Evictions were the necessary collateral (damage).
I watched upclose, how one family lived out what they thought were going to be their final, harried hours of their life in a two-bedroom flat in the heart of the Chinese capital.
Like Tang Fuzhen, the Suns were prepared to fight tooth and nail to keep their beloved home – or get good compensation for it.
They were just about the last family holding out in their block in a compound about to be levelled to become part of the iconic CCTV towers, also known as the “big trousers” locally. A protracted quarrel with the local authorities and developer did not get the Suns what they wanted in compensation – given how property prices had skyrocketed in Beijing.
They had received notice that they were about to be forcefully thrown out of their flat that morning.
They knew from their neighbours’ experience, that the ‘enemy’ would likely launch a surprise attack early in the morning, grab the residents and then throw their furniture out.
The Suns and a couple of neighbours who had returned to help them put nails and machine oil on the stairs to trip the demolition crew. For their own access to their flat, they hammer-hacked man-size holes on each floor and cut through other now-vacant flats.
Mr Sun Defu, 70, a former state-employed mechanic who had been alloted the flat by his work unit more than 30 years earlier, armed himself for a final showdown.
His weapons of choice: brick shards, an LPG cylinder and a few matches.
The war plan: lob bricks over the roof and then light the LPG cylinder and kick it off the ledge.
Expecting the demolition crew any minute, the frail old man climbed – with his son’s help - onto the flat roof of the apartment block.
He paced the brick-littered roof.
I didn’t dare look down.
We waited for hours.
The demolition crew never came that day.
The Suns eventually got a better compensation and moved to a new flat far from downtown Beijing.
But at least their story did not end in violence.
Read Sim Chi Yin's report on eviction in China in The Sunday Times.
To view photos, click here.