The jeepney driver sizes us up the minute we climb in. My research assistant is a healthy, young Israeli dude, so I must be the one with the money. He addresses his broken English to me: "Girl?"
"You know, we care so much about you. So we are taking you to get a physical. Look how well the party treats you. Normally, this kind of thing never happens in a labor camp."
Yet as her resistance dragged on, the police said: "If you don't transform, we'll send you away. The path you have chosen is the path of death."
"I'm not dead. So why should I sign a death certificate?"
They kept repeating: "If you still won't transform, what waits for you is a path to death."
"Chen, your life is going to be taken away. I'm not kidding you. We've been here together all this time, we've made at least some sort of connection by now. I can't bear to see this ~ a living person in front of my eyes about to be wiped out."
"If people came in on a stretcher, they were given cursory treatment. In good health, a comprehensive exam. . . . They needed healthy people, young people. If you were an auntie in your 60s or 70s they wouldn't pay attention to you."
"There was common knowledge of organ harvesting in the prison.. Even before you die, your organs are already reserved."