A thief, me, and the PSB (Public Security Bureau)

Five officers disembarked, and proceeded to look over the protective barrier at the river. That was the extent of their professional response at that time. They didn't look too happy, either. In fact, I overheard one of them remark to his colleague: “Dammit, this will mean trouble for us.” At that time, I didn’t know what he was talking about.

When my wife arrived, we were driven (in convoy) to a small police station nearby. We entered the office, and were asked to take a seat.

Next minute, the office was full of police. As polite as Mary Poppins in church they were, but I don’t take any notice of this kind of false courtesy anymore. These were bored and curious apparatchiks who had little work to do, and who appreciated a diversion. Not much emphasis on crime and criminals here, folks. Their primary responsibility is to protect the state, not the state’s citizens.

The first thing I did was to thank them for their efforts on my behalf. The second thing I did was to tell them that if they could catch the thief that would be good, and that I knew the direction he had taken in his retreat. If necessary, I would go with them to show them personally.

I added, however, that it would probably be a useless exercise, because by now he would be halfway to his village somewhere in the countryside, and would be unlikely to return to the scene of his crime. He was obviously poor and desperate for a feed. A torn blue shirt, dirty white shorts, and yellow plastic slippers tell their own tale (I got his slippers later as a consolation prize). I told the officer that I did not want to put them to the trouble of a formal investigation because I had searched the river myself and I would like to go home now, thank you very much.

No way. A process had begun and it had to be followed through. Here. Now.

Then an interpreter from a central office arrived, as well as the officer-in-charge of the station … a sharp-eyed woman in civvies who had been called back to work on a Saturday evening to take charge. A foreigner was involved, so she had to be there. Her superiors would want to know everything.

Then it twigged: these guys are investigating me, not the crime!

Did I have my passport with me? Did I have my work-permit? Etc., etc. Would my wife go to our home and bring back my passport? Me, stopping this rubbish, telling them that I was registered in the local PSB, that all my details and ID were online on their system, and that all they had to do was retrieve that information from the computer on the desk in front of them.

My wife, telling them that I was a friend of China who had taught for three years in the Chongqing Medical University, and who was currently providing psychological assistance to survivors of the Sichuan earthquake. No response. Irrelevant information.

Then the officer-in-charge pressed my wife for her personal details. My wife, God bless her courageous Chinese heart, refused to respond to these questions saying: “Why do you ask me these questions? You already have my details online.”

The penny was dropping: These instruments of state power were protecting their collective arses. There would be reports to write about this incident, and they would write what their superiors wanted to read. Their superiors in turn would add their own politically correct bias to the story before passing it further up the chain of command.