In the entranceway to the Fu Xing No. 2 Primary School, two rows of sobbing parents stood shoulder to shoulder, holding framed pictures of their children, ages 10 to 13, who had died.
Most neighboring buildings had sustained only minor damage, but the white-tiled primary school was reduced to rubble. The parents' vigil soon became a prime example of the anger bubbling up over what many believe was shoddy construction that contributed to the deaths of thousands of children.
Parents are casting about for whom to blame, with some faulting local officials. Beijing has ordered an investigation.
I drove north to tiny Wufu from Chengdu on Monday, a week after the Sichuan earthquake. Marking the road turnoff were colorful paper funeral wreaths and white banners with black Chinese characters that said, 'The children did not die in a natural disaster.'
As I entered the gates of the Fu Xing No. 2 school, some of the parents, noticing a foreigner, made their way toward me. Then, the entire group of 100 or so people parted to either side of the pavement. As the murmur of sobs picked up, I proceeded toward the rubble pile.
I felt a need to acknowledge a parent's loss more intimately. I approached a man wearing a yellow construction helmet, and I noticed he was wearing his daughter's school ID card around his neck. Initially I thought he had said through his tears that his daughter had been 'almost three,' and my mind wandered to my own young daughter. Just as I realized he had actually said 'almost 13,' the man was on his knees, gripping my arms and wailing.
Suddenly, all the other parents followed his lead by dropping to their knees. I was one of the only people in the school grounds standing. Feebly, I turned in circles, asking them to stand and saying I was sorry.
The man in the yellow helmet addressed me. He was Wang Zhengguo. His child was Wang Xiaoxue. The construction of the school was bad, like tofu, he said.
Shortly, many more parents were gripping my elbow, holding their photos at chest level with their other hands. They told me their stories and hurled accusations about problems with the school and a possible government cover-up.
Then, the crowd parted again. A woman wearing a bright white track suit approached, her eyes reddened. 'I'm a parent too,' she said. The woman, Zhang Qin, explained that the local government had been reorganized several months ago and she was now the deputy chief of the area, in charge of health and education.
The parents were soon pelting her with demands for information.
'Why was the support bar so thin?' 'Why did the school have only one entrance?' 'Why are nearby buildings still standing?'
Ms. Zhang had answers for none of it. 'As a government official, I can't say anything before it is investigated,' Ms. Zhang said. She said she felt as bad as any of the parents and would give up her own life if it would bring the students back.
Her eyes often welling up, Ms. Zhang stood face to face with upset citizens in a way I had never seen a government official in China do. As Ms. Zhang spoke, Mr. Wang made a record of the event by snapping pictures of Ms. Zhang with the camera in his cellphone.
One man shouted, 'Was this a natural disaster or a man-made disaster?' In unison, the parents shouted back: 'Man-made!'
Most neighboring buildings had sustained only minor damage, but the white-tiled primary school was reduced to rubble. The parents' vigil soon became a prime example of the anger bubbling up over what many believe was shoddy construction that contributed to the deaths of thousands of children.
Parents are casting about for whom to blame, with some faulting local officials. Beijing has ordered an investigation.
I drove north to tiny Wufu from Chengdu on Monday, a week after the Sichuan earthquake. Marking the road turnoff were colorful paper funeral wreaths and white banners with black Chinese characters that said, 'The children did not die in a natural disaster.'
As I entered the gates of the Fu Xing No. 2 school, some of the parents, noticing a foreigner, made their way toward me. Then, the entire group of 100 or so people parted to either side of the pavement. As the murmur of sobs picked up, I proceeded toward the rubble pile.
I felt a need to acknowledge a parent's loss more intimately. I approached a man wearing a yellow construction helmet, and I noticed he was wearing his daughter's school ID card around his neck. Initially I thought he had said through his tears that his daughter had been 'almost three,' and my mind wandered to my own young daughter. Just as I realized he had actually said 'almost 13,' the man was on his knees, gripping my arms and wailing.
Suddenly, all the other parents followed his lead by dropping to their knees. I was one of the only people in the school grounds standing. Feebly, I turned in circles, asking them to stand and saying I was sorry.
The man in the yellow helmet addressed me. He was Wang Zhengguo. His child was Wang Xiaoxue. The construction of the school was bad, like tofu, he said.
Shortly, many more parents were gripping my elbow, holding their photos at chest level with their other hands. They told me their stories and hurled accusations about problems with the school and a possible government cover-up.
Then, the crowd parted again. A woman wearing a bright white track suit approached, her eyes reddened. 'I'm a parent too,' she said. The woman, Zhang Qin, explained that the local government had been reorganized several months ago and she was now the deputy chief of the area, in charge of health and education.
The parents were soon pelting her with demands for information.
'Why was the support bar so thin?' 'Why did the school have only one entrance?' 'Why are nearby buildings still standing?'
Ms. Zhang had answers for none of it. 'As a government official, I can't say anything before it is investigated,' Ms. Zhang said. She said she felt as bad as any of the parents and would give up her own life if it would bring the students back.
Her eyes often welling up, Ms. Zhang stood face to face with upset citizens in a way I had never seen a government official in China do. As Ms. Zhang spoke, Mr. Wang made a record of the event by snapping pictures of Ms. Zhang with the camera in his cellphone.
One man shouted, 'Was this a natural disaster or a man-made disaster?' In unison, the parents shouted back: 'Man-made!'
