The Chatou chief suddenly walked into the Back Yard cell smiling faintly one day in February, 2003. That was the first time I saw her not wearing a hostile expression when facing a Dafa practitioner.
Upon saying a few meaningless words, she asked me, “Do you resent us for treating you like this?”
“No, I don’t. If I did, I wouldn’t be smiling at you.”
“I can see that.”
I really didn’t resent them, just felt pathetic for them choosing to aid and abet evil.
But that I didn’t resent them didn’t mean I acknowledged their persecution. I had made up my mind: If anyone came to visit me, I must expose to him what the forced labor camp had done.