Before and After

[Permission for use of this article granted by Karen Trimbath and King Publishing. It originally appeared in the August 2002 issue of State College Magazine.]

A working machine. That's how Judy Chen describes her old self--the one stressed by the 10-hour days she put in at the Panda House Restaurant, which she and her husband Joe have owned for a decade. The one who hoped she wouldn't snap at one of her three kids again. The one who unwound from her hectic schedule by inhaling another cigarette, downing another beer.

"My husband and I suffered from the pressures of business life. We were all about success," she remembers. "We worked hard, played hard, we didn't care about anybody's feelings."

Then Judy discovered Falun Dafa, and she became another person. Falun Dafa, pronounced "Fah-lahn Dah-fah," is a spiritual practice from China that combines slow-moving exercises and meditation. Also known as Falun Gong, it's supposed to relieve stress and promote spiritual growth.

The turning point for Judy came eight months ago when a new customer, a slender, bespectacled woman, entered the restaurant. Judy felt compelled to approach her: "she was smiling and looking so happy, I had to ask her why."

The stranger turned out to be geophysicist Kuan-yuan "Corina" Hsieh, who, like Judy, is from Taiwan. Once physically frail, Corina attributed her renewed strength and positive attitude to Falun Dafa. She mentioned that she belonged to the Penn State Falun Dafa Club, which gave free lessons. Right then and there, Judy decided to give Falun Dafa a try.

Two weeks after learning the basics from Corina, Judy says she quit drinking and smoking for good. Her once-dry complexion has became as soft as a baby's. She no longer flips out on her kids.

Judy credits these changes to a restored sense of balance within herself, an "improvement of both the mind and the heart." A profound connection to her Chinese heritage also germinated within her, a feeling that she had become grounded at last. Joe and their children caught her enthusiasm, and today the entire family practices together.

"I've been practicing Falun Dafa for five months, and already I feel more relaxed," says Joe. He's in charge of the Panda House kitchen, and he's always on the move. Like Judy, he once tried to forget the physical intensity of his job through alcohol and cigarettes. He says he quit those vices thanks to Falun Dafa, adding, "I've learned to look inside myself first."

What exactly is Falun Dafa? A martial art? A religion? Or, as some detractors would claim, a cult that must be stopped? The real answer may be "none of the above," according to practitioners. "It's not a martial art, but a way of developing wisdom," notes Judy.

Falun Dafa appears to be a uniquely Chinese discipline, akin to the slow-moving exercises tai chi and qigong, but with a moral twist. While many initially join Falun Dafa for health reasons, those who deepen their involvement study the movement's precepts of truth, compassion and forbearance. They follow the teachings developed in the late eighties by founder Li Hongzhi, a two-time Nobel Peace Prize nominee now living in the United States.

Falun Dafa spread rapidly throughout China during the nineties and is now followed by millions worldwide. However, it is illegal in China. Initially the Chinese government promoted Falun Dafa as an alternative way to improve health, but later it banned this practice in 1999, according to American journalist Danny Schechter, in his book Falun Dafa's Challenge to China. By the end of that year, writes Schechter, an estimated 35,000 followers had been arrested in China. Tales of Chinese practitioners suffering unjust imprisonment, torture, even murder have spread throughout the international community.

In May, the U.S. Commission on International Religious Freedom issued a report on China, stating that "As part of its violent repression of the Falun Gong, the [Chinese] government has pressured individuals to condemn Falun Gong adherents and renounce that group's beliefs. The U.S. government should continue to strengthen its efforts to oppose these and other abusive practices that constitute the Chinese government's crackdown on religious and spiritual believers."

[...]

Local practitioners share the commission's concerns--they've collected the signatures of 5,000 State College residents and sent them to the United Nations and Congressman John Petersen. Judy proudly displays in her restaurant a proclamation signed by the Centre County commissioners affirming that "Falun Dafa encompasses the values fundamental to the founding of our nation, including freedom of belief, speech, and assembly."

Although Judy's 10-hour days haven't changed, her attitude towards them has--dramatically. She floats serenely through her restaurant, ushering in customers, stopping by here and there to talk, or help with takeout orders. Nothing gets to her anymore, not the pressures of pleasing a crowd of strangers every night, the need to pay the bills, not even the obsessive worries over the occasional slow times.

"I'm not controlled by money anymore," she says. "I'm still a businessperson, but there are more important things in life."

Like peace of mind. Judy always makes time for that. For instance, earlier that morning, after only five hours of sleep, she donned a golden tracksuit and joined Corina and two other women in a 6 a.m. meditation session. They sat cross-legged around the giant armillary sphere gracing the front of Old Main at Penn State's University Park campus. But they never gazed upon the sphere, an antique instrument once used to chart the heavens. Instead, they shut their eyes and focused on cultivating their own inner heaven, a kind of positive energy they call gong.

Each of the five exercise sets bears an esoteric title such as "Buddha Showing a Thousand Hands," a series of gentle stretches, or "Penetrating the Cosmic Extremes," in which the hands glide through the air. The pace is natural and is infused with a subtle rhythm. Participants perform the movements with eyes closed, feet shoulder-width apart, the tongue tip curled against the upper palate, among others.

As the women meditated, they seemed to blend into their tranquil surroundings--a panorama of sun-kissed lawn, elm trees, an American flag fluttering in the breeze. This site is a favorite of the Penn State club during the summer; members often gather here to exercise and tell passersby stories about human rights violations in China.

The young woman seated across from Judy could write a novel based on her own experiences (she requested that she be called "Lisa" to protect her identity). Lisa's narrative begins in a park in her native China, where she observed a group of people performing an unfamiliar activity. Her parents-in-law, already practitioners, told her about Falun Dafa and how it had improved their ailing health. Convinced, she soon began to practice in the park everyday.

Then the troubles started. Lisa says that a government police officer visited her in-laws at their home. "He told them to sign papers promising they would stop practicing Falun Dafa," she said, looking off into the distance. "'If you don't,' he warned them, 'you'll lose your retirement money and health insurance.'"

Frightened, the old couple signed the papers and quit for good. But that wasn't all. After a volunteer Falun Dafa teacher was arrested, Lisa went to the government office to ask for his release. But no one would listen, she said.

Later, the police went to the park where she practiced; they beat up the men and dragged the women, including her, to a brainwashing session. Other officers visited her home to confiscate incriminating books and tapes. Yet Lisa continued to practice in secret. Eventually she joined her husband in the United States, where she's free to follow her beliefs.

"I felt the Chinese government's response was unreasonable." says Lisa, now a State College resident. "I felt pain in my heart. Being told that I can't practice something so important to me was spiritual torture. It was like sitting on a chair of nails."

Later, feeling refreshed, Judy headed over to the restaurant, ready for another day's hustle and bustle. There were windows to be polished, plants to be watered, not to mention hungry patrons to be fed.

The Panda House reflects her and Joe's devotion to Falun Dafa. A white sign prominently displayed near the canopied entrance calls for worldwide assistance to resolve the human rights controversy in China. Across from the cash register, Falun Dafa books, CDs, and videotapes--all of them featuring a rosy-cheeked Li Hongzhi demonstrating the exercises--are nestled among the artisan teapots and porcelain figurines inside a softly lit curio cabinet. Other related reading materials are stacked alongside a large statue of the Buddha.

Judy and her husband still possess a strong work ethic. The difference, says Judy, is that "I'm more relaxed. Customers tell me I've changed, and they want to know why." They want to share what they've learned with the growing number of Panda House regulars eager to learn more by giving free lessons at the restaurant.

The pace quickens as the dinner crowd shows up, but Judy doesn't mind. Soon she and Joe will lock up at 10 o'clock and head home. In the haven of their living room, accompanied by a tape of traditional Chinese music, the two of them will close their eyes and stretch their hands towards the ceiling, keeping their feet rooted to the floor. Each movement will erase their worries about the future and their aching muscles. Then midnight comes, and, with a smile, they'll go get ready for bed.