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以下是今天《华尔街时报》亚洲版头条的文章，讲述了灾区一个家庭因为不是身处核心受灾地区而没有能够得到政府救助的故事。

此次大灾，那么多无辜的生命悄然逝去，每一个活着的中国人心里都是沉重的。华尔街时报的这篇文章不顾大局，有意忽略中国政府和人民正在做出的巨大努力和牺牲，利用一个失去亲人的家庭来片面强调救灾工作的失误，实在是有失平衡。更过分的是，本文的英文版的标题和中文版竟然不同。英文版标题为“一个母亲抢救自己的爱子，没有受到任何帮助”。在标题下还有一行引文“地震后一个家庭独自挖了几天, (救助)队员不愿帮助”不要小看这个区别，以华尔街时报在美国的影响力，足以影响很多人对中国的看法。这一做法与之前CNN裁照片没有什么两样！！这篇报道无疑将引发西方大众对中国政府产生更多误解。

我原来也觉得西方媒体很公正，现在发现我太天真。这就是一场角逐，你强他就弱，你弱他就强。在西方媒体上，但凡世界出问题，跟中国有关系的总是怪中国。其实，中国很多时候是哑巴吃黄连。主流媒体谈到世界粮价上涨，居然一个原因是中国人要吃得更多，更好，还要喝牛奶。你看看西方人生活得多么富裕，中国上亿农民刚吃饱肚子。这样的主流媒体居然说中国人要求吃得更好是导致世界粮价上涨的原因之一。他们怎么不从自己身上找原因？粮价上涨很复杂，中国人吃饱饭也成了一个潜在的威胁。对，他没有歪曲事实，但他总是挑不利于中国的那一点点事实，而有意忽略整个事件的复杂和多元性。

救灾抢险，有限的力量要用到最需要的地方。没有人可以评判救谁，不救谁。但这样在数万人的死亡现场用一个无辜的亡灵来攻击整个救灾行动，实在令人发指！

《华尔街时报》的这篇文章用如此不平衡的态度对这场灾难的报道实在有违新闻道德。我们应该坚决抵制，严正抗议！CNN向中国政府的的正式道歉也说明在国际舞台上只有我们团结一心，才能让那些坐惯了大爷位置的西方主流真正尊重我们的诉求。战场上，没有会把弱者真正放在眼里。

l投诉这篇文章的作者 Gordon Fairclough（居然还有个中国人帮着写了叫Bai Lin)。 这里是《华尔街时报》的主编，和其他主要负责人的email. 我们必须让自己的思想和意见发声！有你我每个人的努力，中国人的声音才不会被忽视！

a.murray@wsj.com                        (主编)

wsj.ltrs@wsj.com                        (责编)
feedback@wsj.com                        (读者来信)
Gordon.fairclough@wsj.com                (作者)


同时让我们为所有遇难的同胞默哀，为幸存者祝福。
（以下附该文中，英文全文）

中文版：http://chinese.wsj.com/gb/20080515/bch100537.asp?source=forward
英文版：http://online.wsj.com/article_em ... MTEwNTgxMDU1Wj.html

更新：无助母亲无力救爱子
英 | 大 | 中 | 小
2008年05月15日09:56
在周一的强震将自家房屋夷平后的两天时间里，邓一珍（音）一直和亲人奋力在瓦砾中挖掘并解救她唯一的孩子，34岁的邓宇健（音）。

他们曾试图拦下路过的救援队伍和起重车辆，但没有人停下来施以援手。所有救灾人员都是开往别处的。

邓宇健在最初几个小时里还曾呼喊救命。他的妻子秦可（音）说，被压在沉重水泥板下的邓宇健当时和她以及邓一珍都对上了话。秦可说，我告诉他我会把他救出来的，但他说自己受伤太重，挺不住了；他告诉我不要再等他了。秦可的腿在挖掘废墟的过程严重受伤。

由于此次地震灾害涉及范围太广，中国的营救人员在施救时只能有所取舍，将救援重点放在了坍塌的学校等伤亡人员密集的地方。因此像邓一珍这样同处受灾地区的居民只得主要依靠自救了，他们只能指望家人和亲戚的帮助。

当地震发生时，52岁的邓一珍正和几个牌友在自家楼房的一层打麻将，他们在房子坍塌前都逃了出来。邓一珍当卡车司机的丈夫从二层的窗户跳了出来，背部严重受伤，由一辆私家车送去了医院。而当建筑承包商的邓宇健被压在了废墟深处。

地震发生时，秦可刚把六岁的儿子送到学校，正在返家的路上。她儿子就读的学校受损不太严重，他们的孩子也安然无恙，不过他有一个同班同学被地震夺去了生命。

邓一珍和秦可说她们曾经设法拦住了一队救援人员，但这些人说他们受命赶往一所倒塌的学校，不能停留。秦可的母亲和姑姑赶来帮忙。但用于建造他家房屋的钢筋水泥板实在太沉，根本无法抬起。秦可的妈妈王意林（音）说，没人帮助我们，只有家人可以帮上忙。

秦可说她在周一下午5:30，即地震发生后三小时还和丈夫说过话，鼓励他要坚持住。但当她半小时后再试图和邓宇健说话时，就已经没有回音了。

邓家人开始担心最坏的结果已经无法避免。他们一直奋战到深夜，直到瓢泼大雨迫使他们停止了解救，因为再继续下去实在太危险了。他们有的睡在了车里，有的则在房前支起的一块油布下将就了一宿。

周二，雨下得更大了，气温急剧下降。家庭成员挤在一起取暖，秦可则在努力安抚自己的儿子。亲人们没能拦住经过的起重机，只有这类设备才有可能挪动大块的房屋残骸。他们继续努力挖掘。

邓一珍调动了更多的家庭成员。邓一珍的兄弟在中国东北城市哈尔滨的一家空调公司工作，他周二晚间乘飞机赶回甘肃武都的家中。其他亲戚也前来帮忙。村里的食物和饮水越来越少。

周三早晨，天空开始放晴。在邓一珍和王意林的陪同下，几个人开始用镐和撬棒捣碎邓家倒塌房屋的大块水泥板。

邓家隔壁那家也已成为一片废墟。30岁的李新伟（音）仍在和家人一起寻找自己的母亲，她像邓宇健一样被埋在了倒塌的房屋下。从深圳乘飞机并搭军车赶到灾区的李新伟说，已经两天了，救援人员还没有来；他们不停地从我们身边经过；我们没有工具，怎么才能把家人挖出来？李家人曾经拦下了一辆起重机，但在仅施救了几分钟、挖起一些水泥块后，救援人员就坚持表示他们必须得走了。

到了周三下午3点，邓家传来呼喊声。家人发现了压在水泥板下的邓宇健，但他已经没有了呼吸。又花了一个小时的时间，家人终于把遗 从废墟中拽了出来。

当邓宇健的舅舅、岳母和其他亲人把他蒙着白灰的残破遗体抱出来放在房前一块床单上时，他的母亲和妻子痛哭失声。

邓一珍哽噎着说，这里死了这么多人，政府不管，可我没法不管，他可是我儿子啊。她拿了一块湿布，轻轻拂去邓宇健脸上的灰尘。

由于没有车可以运邓宇健的遗 去下葬，家人只好把他放在一块木板上，木板两边用从废墟中刨出的电缆绑上两根长木棍，由四个男人用肩膀把将邓宇健抬去安葬。

邓宇健的遗 用传统方式装裹着，他的身后有一小队亲属为他送葬。他们绕开倒塌的农舍前行，穿过了几块新耕的农田，来到了埋葬着邓宇健祖父母的自家田地；远处是围绕着武都的崇山峻岭。

在人们为邓宇健挖墓穴的时候，邓家其他几个亲戚表达了对这一惨剧的看法。秦可的姑姑秦少惠（音）说，如果能有人在最初几个小时帮忙的话，我想邓宇健能活下来。

邓一珍的衣服上仍占满了灰尘，现在她在说到这件事时措辞谨慎了一些。她说，政府必须要去考虑其他事情，而我只是想着我儿子。正在她说话的同时，又一场强余震袭来，地面好似掀起了波浪，大树也摇晃不已。但是邓一珍一点都没有惊慌，她说，我累得已经不会害怕了。

邓宇健的遗孀秦可表示，我必须坚强，我现在要照顾两位母亲和我的儿子。

由于中国的计划生育政策，秦可和已故的邓宇健都是独生子女，他们也只有一个儿子。秦可的姑姑觉得，中国严格执行计划生育政策的结果就是家庭结构变脆弱了。她说，如果你不止有一个孩子，这种情况下你至少还能有些安慰。

当夕阳西沉时，邓宇健的遗体被安放进了家族墓地中为他挖就的墓穴中。他的亲人们用从瓦砾中拖出的残破大衣柜给他草草拚就了一口棺材。亲人们堆起一座新坟，焚香、烧纸、点 烛，保佑他来生幸福平安。

邓一珍对着她儿子的坟墓说道：“你走得太早了。你该怪我。我怪自己没能早点把你挖出来。”

Gordon Fairclough













A Mother's Search 
For Trapped Son 
Goes Unaided
Family Digs for Days
After China Earthquake;
Crews Won't Lend Hand
By GORDON FAIRCLOUGH
May 15, 2008; Page A1

WUDU, China -- For two days after Monday's earthquake demolished her house and those around it, Deng Yizhen and her family tried to claw through the rubble and rescue her only child, 34-year-old Deng Yujian.
They tried to flag down rescue crews and cranes. None stopped to lend a hand, they said. All were rushing elsewhere to grapple with the disaster.
For the first few hours, Mr. Deng called for help. He spoke from under a deep pile of broken concrete slabs to his mother and his wife, Qin Ke. "I told him I would get him out," says Ms. Qin, whose legs were gashed as she dug in the debris. "But he said he was too badly hurt. He said he wouldn't make it. He told me not to wait for him."
Overwhelmed by the scale of the damage, China's emergency workers have engaged in triage, focusing resources on flattened schools and other places with large concentrations of casualties. That has forced many in the quake-ravaged region such as Ms. Deng largely to fend for themselves, relying for assistance only on that bedrock institution of rural Chinese society: the extended family.
When the quake hit, Ms. Deng, 52, was playing mah-jongg with friends on the first floor of her house. They got out before the building caved in. Her husband, a truck driver, jumped out a second-floor window, seriously injuring his back, and was taken to the hospital in a private car. Her son, a building contractor, was stuck inside.
Her son's wife was headed home from dropping their 6-year-old son, Deng Peng, off at school. She rushed to the family's house. The school wasn't as badly damaged, and their son was all right, though he said one of his classmates had been killed.
Ms. Deng and Ms. Qin managed to hail one group of rescuers, they say, but the men said that they had been ordered to a collapsed school. Ms. Qin's mother and aunt gathered to try to help. But the steel-reinforced concrete used to build the houses on the edge of their small village was too heavy to lift. "No one helped us. It was only family," says Ms. Qin's mother, Wang Yilin.
Ms. Qin says that she spoke with her husband at 5:30 p.m., three hours after the quake, urging him to hold on. When she called out to him again at about 6 p.m., there was no response.
The family began to fear the worst. They kept struggling into the night. Rain started falling and eventually became so heavy it was dangerous to dig. They slept in cars and under a tarp pitched in front of the house.
On Tuesday, the rain worsened and the temperature plunged. Family members huddled together for warmth. Ms. Qin tried to console her 6-year-old. Relatives sought unsuccessfully to commandeer passing cranes that could help lift the debris. They kept trying to dig.
Ms. Deng mobilized more family. Mr. Deng's uncle flew in from Harbin in distant northeastern China, where he works for an air-conditioner company, arriving late Tuesday night. Other relatives also gathered. Food and water in the village were getting scarce.
Wednesday morning, as the skies cleared, a handful of men, accompanied by Ms. Deng and Ms. Wang, started trying to pull away the rubble of the Dengs' house with pickaxes and pry bars.
Next door, in the ruins of another home, 30-year-old Li Xinwei and his family were still searching for his mother, trapped inside like Mr. Deng. "It's been two days, and the rescue people haven't come. They just keep driving past," said Mr. Li, who had flown from the southern city of Shenzhen and hitched a ride on an army truck to help the search. "We have no tools. How can we get them out?" As he dug, a strip of red cloth, a sign of mourning, fluttered from his shirt. In the afternoon, Mr. Li's family managed to get a crane to stop and lift out some concrete, but only for a few minutes. Then the crew insisted it had to move on.
At about 3 p.m., there were shouts from Mr. Deng's house. The family had caught a glimpse of his body under the rubble. He was dead. After about another hour, they were able to pull him from the wreckage.
Mr. Deng's mother and wife sobbed as his broken body, disfigured and covered in white concrete dust, was carried out by his uncle, mother-in-law and other relatives. They placed him on a striped bedsheet scavenged from the wreckage.
"So many people died here," cried Ms. Deng. "The government doesn't care. But I care. He's my son." She took a wet cloth and cleaned the dust from his face.
No car was available to carry Mr. Deng's body away for burial. The family placed him on a board, strung some salvaged cable around it and slung it from two wooden poles. Four men carried the poles on their shoulders.
A small procession of relatives followed Mr. Deng's body, covered in a traditional shroud along with the blue, green and yellow-striped sheet. They picked their way past wrecked farmhouses and stepped onto a path leading through fields of newly planted rice. They made their way to the family's ancestral farmland and the tombs of Mr. Deng's grandparents, with the craggy mountains that ring Wudu visible in the distance.
As some of the men dug a grave, other family members reflected on the tragedy. "If someone had helped in those first few hours, I think he'd still be alive," said Ms. Qin's aunt, Qin Shaohui.
Ms. Deng, her clothes covered in dust, was more circumspect now. "The government has to think about other things," she said. "I was only thinking about my son." As she was speaking, a strong aftershock struck, sending waves through the fields and shaking the trees. Ms. Deng barely flinched. "I'm too tired to be afraid anymore," she said.
Mr. Deng's widow said, "I need to be strong. I have two mothers to take care of now, and my son."
The late Mr. Deng and Ms. Qin are both only children, as is their son -- a consequence of China's policies restricting many families to one child. That can make family life precarious, observed Ms. Qin's aunt. "If you can have more than one child, if one dies, as a parent at least you can get some consolation," she said.
As the sun began to set, Mr. Deng's body was lowered into the grave. Family members cobbled together a rough coffin around him: planks from a broken wardrobe pulled from the village ruins, topped by a wooden door. Relatives heaped on dirt, lighted incense and candles and burned paper money, a ritual meant to ensure Mr. Deng's happiness in the afterlife.
"You died so young," said Ms. Deng, addressing her son. "You should blame me. I'm sorry I couldn't get you out in time."
--Bai Lin contributed to this article.
Write to Gordon Fairclough at gordon.fairclough@wsj.com