Archive for April, 2012

The Chongqing Sino Circus: The Last Two Acts

April 11, 2012

Despite having to drive in from the piney woods to access the internet at my local library (a brilliant resource), life is good.

Last night BBC reported that Gu Kailai- The Deranged Red Queen of Chongqing, wife of loser Bo Xilai and mother of that piece of human excrement son Guagua – has been arrested for the murder of British confident/Bo family financial fixer Neil Haywood, which apparently took place in a Chongqing hotel last November.

Arrested for investigation. Forget it! Gu is already painted guilty as pig shit. This verdict is pre-ordained, signed, sealed and delivered, despite the editorial cant by the China Daily that nobody is above the law.

All that is left is to envision the last couple of acts in this CCTV mini-series.

So here goes.

Gu will be given a short clinical trial and, after evidence by Wang Ligun and a few other formerly-close family flunkies, will be sentenced to death by lead. On the appointed day, she will be paraded around Chongqing in the back of a rusty Liberator truck. Up hill and down dale in the full butterfly position and wearing a dunces cap. Possibly a few banners proclaiming her crimes at variance with the PRC’s legal code. A necklace of ping pong balls would add some fitting retro CR significance.

When the good citizens of Chongqing had sufficiently imbided the political lessons of this street theatre, the truck will head for the outskirts of Chongqing where the apartments meet the rice paddies. Without further ado, Gu will be unceremoniously bundled from the truck into a shallow grave dug in a pile of landfill and rapidly dispatched with a couple into the back of the brain pan. Earthmoving equipment will then cover her mortal remains, and the PLA officer in charge of the detail will finally distribute red envelopes to all participants.

Curtain closes.

Postscript Meanwhile, Young Guagua, having been sent down from Oxford, decides to apply for political assylum. The British authorities decide however that his case in without merit.

“Son. You have run out of visa time, know nothing about Premier League, so it is time for you to return to your Motherland”.

He decides to make a low key reentry via Louhu, but is red flagged at Mainland passport control. Since all members of the Bo family are now deemed national security risks, the Shenzhen authorities wishing to wash their hands of the whole affair, bundle him into a Santana and dump him outside the city limits.
Guagua, now bereft of friends who treat him as the equivalent of Ebola, joins the transient world of the prostitute, the migrant worker and the street peddler, drifting from city to city.

One morning after a hightime in a low dive, he wakes up under a formica table covered in a rich effluvia of spit, vomit and Pearl River Lager. Slowly in his return to consciousness, he begins an assessment of his skill set but not a lot is forthcoming, until he recalls that quaint practice of the British upper classes – cottaging.

That’s it, he decides. I must make my own way in this vale of tears now that Mummies monthly allowance is no longer forthcoming. I will become a male prostitute until something better turns up.

Alas, Young Guagua is not made of the right stuff. In his first attempt to corall a customer, he was beaten to a pulp by a retired duck farmer from Guizhou province in a public lavatary in a third tier city. The Chengguan duly arrive, check IDs, pocket everybodies loose change, and promptly dispatch Guagua to No.3 Juvenile Reeducation Centre for an indefinite term.

Some months later, the local paper devotes a single paragraph to his passing. There was no mention of the shower stall, the bar of soap and the sharpened toothbrush.

So ends the mad dreams of the Great Helmsman.

And no, any references to KMs remarks about tragedy and farce will be deleted with extreme prejudice.