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[2013-05-29] 孙维多名同学天涯账号密码外泄

Posted by woodinwind on May 29, 2013

http://epaper.oeeee.com/A/html/2013-05/29/content_1866511.htm

孙维多名同学天涯账号密码外泄

事起两年前天涯数千万明文密码大泄露,ID印证此前匿名黑客提供的邮件真实性
日期:[2013年5月29日] 版次:[AA21] 版名:[网眼] 稿源:[南方都市报]

多年来,天涯社区有关孙维的讨论此起彼伏,越发像个迷局。

昨日,南都报道了天涯ID“孙维声明”疑因2011年12月互联网密码大泄露而被盗用,当时天涯数千万用户的明文密码与注册邮箱被发在网上(详见南都昨日A 32版)。南都记者在当初泄露的数据中进一步检索发现,10多名2006年参与天涯朱令案讨论的清华物化2班同学的天涯ID信息,均在泄露之列。

至少12名同学参与七年前讨论

根据物化2班同学2006年在天涯朱令案讨论中的相互印证,共有31人的物化2班,至少有包括孙维在内的12人参与了这次大讨论。在2011年12月泄露的天涯社区密码库中,这12名同学的天涯ID、明文密码和注册邮箱都可查到,部分当事人对南都记者确认了所泄露密码、邮箱的真实性。

这些注册邮箱,又部分印证了一名匿名黑客此前提供给南都记者的孙维与同学的邮件通信记录。

这位自称为“追铊”的黑客2013年4月提供给南都记者数十封邮件。他称,曾在2006年入侵孙维等人的邮箱,获取大量邮件。这数十封邮件的内容包括孙维发表天涯声明前与同学金亚、高菲、王琪、李含琳商讨修改声明内容、孙维发给她们的网络回帖指南、对朱令家的评价、对网络骚扰的批评以及其他同学因此事而起的怀疑和争执等内容。邮件中,高菲与李含琳的邮件地址与天涯社区注册邮件地址相同。

邮件中已有两位发件人对南都记者确认所涉及邮件的真实性。

这名黑客对南都记者称,从2005年就开始关注朱令被投毒案,此次接受采访只是为了吸引舆论对朱令案的关注,“我希望推动案件调查重启,只要努力了,就会有希望。我一直在做我能做的。”他承认这些邮件中并没有直接证据可以指证孙维,“但可以供更专业的人士进行分析。”根据邮件的内容,孙维和同学从2006年1月29日开始察觉邮箱被黑,到2月初相继更换为谷歌邮箱后,邮件内容中断。

根据邮件内容,孙维在2005年12月18日开始计划到天涯发帖,她告诉4位要好的女同学,“我这些天很不好。我很难再保持沉默,我在考虑澄清。我现在把我所有的闲暇时间都用来起草这个澄清了。在发布前,我想发给你们看看,你们到时有时间看吗?”

困扰孙维的原因,是网友“skyoneline”2005年11月30日发表在天涯的帖子《天妒红颜:十年前的清华女生被毒事件》。帖子称,孙维是同班同学朱令铊中毒案最大嫌疑人,曾经被警方调查,“可是因为一些干扰,真相从未被晓之天下,嫌犯依旧消遥法外。”孙维的求助得到那4位女同学的悉数支持,在一起修改好澄清声明后,孙维决定“上刑场”:“不管怎样,我们等着看…希望不会给你们带来太多麻烦。”

2005年12月30日晚,孙维用账号“孙维声明”在天涯发表声明《孙维的声明———驳斥朱令铊中毒案件引发的谣言》,由此引发2006年最瞩目的一场网络风暴。与此同时,“追铊”提供的邮件内容显示,2006年,物化2班同学童宇峰还曾发起过一次公开信联名,“请求公安机关重新侦查该案。”

同学间的私下“交锋”

这封《清华大学化学系物化2班同学关于请求公安机关侦破朱令铊中毒案件的公开信》写道,朱令被北京市职业病卫生防治所的陈震阳教授化验确诊为两次大剂量铊盐中毒。多年来,公安机关从未公布这起投毒案件的明确结论,“物化2班同学请求北京市公安局启动停滞多年的侦查程序,找出真正凶手。”

童宇峰告诉南都记者,“我(2006年)1月3日的时候,提出一起写一份联名信,让北京市公安局重查此案并公布当年的卷宗,并希望大家能共同努力,找到真凶,同时为物化2班除去一块心病。”童宇峰说,由于国内同学有顾虑,所以联名以海外的同学为主,计划公开信在当年全国两会前完成再交有关部门。

但该公开信计划最后草草了事,童宇峰归咎于同学金亚、薛刚等人。

他告诉南都记者,“2月23日的时候,一直没有发言的高菲在校园网上突然提出:1、我觉得不应该分国内、海外同学。希望公安重查此案,是国内外同学也包括孙维的共同意愿。应该让尽可能多的同学签名。2、既然是以物化2班的名义发公开信,应该大家一起讨论、最后确定内容,以确保内容的严谨性。然后,原先没有参与讨论的金亚、薛刚、潘峰等人,均在校友网上提出需要修改各种细节。”

根据当时的邮件通信记录,薛刚对童宇峰说,“我也看到了高菲的帖子,我基本同意,没必要分在国内和在国外的同学。我觉得不会弱化这个声明。”邮件中童宇峰也曾就回帖指南向薛刚等人求证真伪,薛刚没有回应,只是辩称“只有心理黑暗的人才会编出那样的文件”。在这份回帖指南中,孙维详细指导几名同学如何从人品、社团状况、学校管理等方面,跟帖支持她将要在天涯社区发布的声明,并提出了“最好不要用自己家的电脑、IP”、“不要给朱家提供额外的信息”以及拒绝记者采访要求等注意事项。

孙维也很警惕童宇峰对案件讨论的热衷,她在2006年1月23日的邮件中告诉同学王琪:“以后不要给他任何回复,不要回邮件,不要打电话,不要泄露任何信息。我确信,他在为朱令家搜集信息。”这天童宇峰给金亚发邮件说,“王琪看了《新民周刊》的报道后给我写信说,朱令父亲说的面包一事不对,说电话是朱家打给你们宿舍的,但是她说她没接到。那么这个电话是不是你接的?”邮件被金亚转发到了孙维等人的邮件组里。

童宇峰告诉南都记者,金亚、潘峰、薛刚等人先后提出各种公开信版本,直到全国人大会议已经召开,最后他只能将公开信交给朱令父母。“我和张利在2006年5月中旬一共收集到海外同学7份签名,国内同学6份签名。高菲、金亚、薛刚等人在拖延公开信之后销声匿迹,没有参与签名。”

“就差一点,突然泄了劲”

张利曾是物化2班班长,参与了公开信的撰写,他向南都记者确认了联名一事,“当时感觉就差那么一点就能终于推动了,然后突然就泄了劲。”

2006年,张利用网名“百合之春”参与了在天涯上关于朱令案的讨论,这场迄今为止最热烈的朱令案讨论终结在2006年1月19日。在天涯管理员发布了《暂停“朱令铊中毒事件”讨论的通知》后,相关讨论开始受限。当时天涯的两名负责人对南都记者回忆,暂停讨论是因为接到了有关方面的通知。

张利2004年在小区遛弯时,看到坐在轮椅上的朱令,这是毕业后他们首度重逢。此后,每年他都会去朱令家坐坐。2005年朱令中毒十年时,张利写下《十年一梦间》:“我曾以为这样的故事应当只出现在文学作品中,但是它却真切地发生在身边,如此真实,纤毫毕现,让人心痛,让人期望它永远只是一个梦。”

南都记者 张书舟 实习生 唐骏垚

Posted in 物化2班, 确认的物化2同学, 媒体报道 | Comments Off on [2013-05-29] 孙维多名同学天涯账号密码外泄

[2013-05-28] 孙维天涯账号不是真身

Posted by woodinwind on May 28, 2013

http://epaper.oeeee.com/A/html/2013-05/28/content_1865827.htm

一改七年前语言风格,再度发声后与网友频繁互动
孙维天涯账号不是真身
日期:[2013年5月28日]  版次:[AA32]  版名:[网眼]  稿源:[南方都市报]  

    南都讯 记者张书舟 因为曾在一桩陈年疑案中被警方列为嫌疑人,清华毕业生孙维一直是网络红人。沉寂七年后,其在天涯社区的ID“孙维声明”于4月18日再度发帖。目前,这个帖子的点击量已近850万。与七年前缄默不同,此次“孙维声明”与网友频繁互动,引来不少人声讨。但与孙维有联系的一名同学对南都记者称,该账号是被盗了。南都记者也核实到,这个账号今年多次发言时不在孙维常住城市登录。

    再度发声掀网络热议

    “孙维声明”于4月18日11点09分,发表在天涯社区的帖子《这么多年,和很多人一样,等待真相水落石出的那一天》,内容只有15个字:“去去醉吟高卧,独唱何须和。笑骂由人。”

    天涯账号“孙维声明”注册于2005年12月27日,曾在2005年12月30日发帖《孙维的声明———驳斥朱令铊中毒案件引发的谣言》,2006年1月13日发帖《声明:要求重新侦查,为“窃听器”错误向网友和公安道歉》。孙维的父亲2006年在接受《青年周末》采访时,确认了这一账号为孙维所有,并且上述两篇帖子确为孙维所发。此后这个账号未再被登录过,直到2013年4月18日。

    孙维因为曾是1995年清华朱令被投毒案的嫌疑人,多年来一直是网络上争议的对象。“孙维声明”分别于2005、2006年在天涯社区所发的帖子曾引发当时互联网上最热烈的讨论。不过,讨论从2006年1月19日开始受限,当时天涯社区的一名负责人向南都记者回忆,暂停讨论是因为接到了有关方面的通知,另一名当时的负责人也证实了该说法,“这么大的热点,天涯怎么可能主动去禁止?”

    两个月回帖达67则

    在2005年、2006年发布的两篇帖子中,“孙维声明”共有4个回帖,都与清华投毒案有关。而“孙维声明”从2013年4月18日至今一共有67个回帖,风格与此前迥然不同。

    在天涯广州版上的帖子《我真的成名人了吗?》中,“孙维声明”曾在4月21日回帖:“然后呢?楼主去拿数据线,上厕所?还是冲动啊,脸蛋疼。”在天涯娱乐八卦的帖子《朋友找了个条件比自己差的男友,然后超爱摆高姿态》中,“孙维声明”4月22日回帖:“楼主,应该把‘朋友’改成‘闺蜜’。”

    在大多数与清华投毒案有关的回帖中,“孙维声明”的语言风格也引起不少网友怀疑。例如4月21日,在一篇网友建议“网民的力量应当是用于让事件真相大白,而不是传扬我们认为的事实,结论应该是找到凶手,而不是认定谁是凶手”的帖子中,“孙维声明”回复“楼主,5毛拿好,感谢啊。”

    孙维同学证实账号被盗

    “孙维声明”最近一次在天涯的登录时间为2013年5月27日7时40分。南都记者多次通过天涯站内短信与其联系,但未获回复。一名与孙维有联系的同学对南都记者证实,天涯账号“孙维声明”确实是被盗了。其称,“更需要说明的是,天涯上很多ID和帖子都是盗名和虚假的,尤其是以‘物化二’名义的。”

    孙维和朱令所在的清华大学化学系92级物理化学及仪器分析专业,按清华命名传统简称“物化2班”。

    一名熟悉天涯社区的知情人告诉南都记者,此次“孙维声明”登录的地址的确与2005年、2006年的登录地址不同,显示不在孙维常住的城市,而在广东中山。这位知情人透露,2011年12月,数千万2009年11月之前注册的天涯用户明文密码被黑客获取后泄露,这个账号的密码可能正是因此被盗的。

Posted in 媒体报道 | Comments Off on [2013-05-28] 孙维天涯账号不是真身

[2013-05-16] The heartbreaking saga of Zhu Ling

Posted by woodinwind on May 16, 2013

http://www.dailydot.com/society/zhu-ling-sun-wei-petition-case/

By Kevin Morris on May 16, 2013Email

In a grainy, black-and-white video of her final performance, Zhu Ling sweeps across the stage in a black skirt and white blouse before taking a seat behind a guqin, the six-stringed Chinese zither. She’s been feeling sick recently, and you can tell she’s a little nervous. But her fingers are precise. They pluck out a cautious melody.

Zhu has no idea she’s been poisoned.

A heavy metal is coursing through her body, brutalizing her neurological system. By the time the rare element is finally diagnosed and purged, Zhu will be physically ruined, her brilliant mind permanently damaged, her mental capacities reduced to that of a 6-year-old. She will forever be trapped in 1995, believing she’s a student at China’s most prestigious technical university.

She will miss everything that happens next.

Zhu’s story has straddled and defined two ends of the Internet revolution, connecting two decades, two continents, and two generations. She was probably the first person whose life was saved thanks to crowdsourced medical advice.

Nearly two decades later, her case has become the subject of what may be the largest amateur online manhunt in history, as millions of strangers in two countries unite on message boards and social media to scour the world for the only suspect in her poisoning, a woman barely seen or heard from since 1995—her college roommate.


Photo via CCTV/YouTube

It all began with an SOS made of ones and zeroes.

Dr. John Aldis was sitting in his home office in Washington, D.C., on April 10, 1995, when the message popped up on his computer screen.

“Docs in China unable to diagnose this disease. HELP!!”

Aldis had served 20 years as a doctor in embassies around the world, from Jakarta to Lagos and eventually Beijing. Towards the end of his four-year tenure in Beijing, he’d taken a tour of Peking Union Medical College Hospital (PUMC) with his friend Dr. Chen Dechang, head of the critical care unit. Chen told him about a patient who suffered from mysterious symptoms they were struggling to diagnose.

The Usenet message had his attention immediately.

This is Peking University in China, a place of those dreams of freedom and democracy. However, a young, 21-year-old student has become very sick and is dying. The illness is very rare. Though they have tried, doctors at the best hospitals in Beijing cannot cure her; many do not even know what illness it is. So now we are asking the world—can somebody help us?

My god, Aldis remembers thinking. That’s the same girl. He was no expert in toxicology, but Aldis knew people who were. He printed out the message and marched it straight to work at the state department the next day.

Aldis wasn’t the only one digging into the mystery. First posted to thesci.med Usenet group on April 10, the message was jumping across phone lines and satellites at light speed, popping up on computer screens belonging to complete strangers across the world. In years to come, a thousand memes would propagate with the same kind of viral intensity. But to doctors poking around on the proto-Internet, this was an entirely new phenomenon. And it was deadly serious.

In Los Angeles, toxicologist Ashok Jain would learn of the case from the teenage son of his department’s chair. Fellows at New York city’s world-famous poison control center, including 33-year-old Richard Hamilton, printed out the message and discussed it as an academic case study. At UCLA’s School of Medicine, Xin Li, a China-born graduate student studying the untested field of telemedicine—sharing medical information over phone lines and the Internet—replied to the message.

Keep me informed of what happened next, he said.

He might be able to help.

A month earlier, Beijing University student Bei Zhicheng had received a phone call from an old friend. He’d better go visit Zhu, the friend said, because it might be the last chance to see her alive. Zhu and Bei had had grown apart after graduating high school and attending different universities, but Bei had fond memories of her. She was sweet and kind, a whiz at math and science, and a gifted musician.

Stepping into her hospital room, Bei’s first reaction was to flee. His former classmate was half-naked, strung up with so many tubes she hung like a puppet. Her eyes bulged out in an expression of unbelievable pain. “I was terrified,” he later recalled.


Photo via CCTV/YouTube

He paced the halls, trying to think of what he could do. Then he had an idea. His friend Cai Quanqing was experimenting with a new technology, just introduced to top universities and research institutions in China. Cai was one of the few students at Beijing University with an email address and access to Usenet groups.

He asked Zhu’s parents if they would object to sending a message over the Internet, to spread her story to people all over the world.

“Please try if you can,” her mother said.

On April 10, the pair copied their digital SOS into a window on the sci.med board. Then they clicked “enter.”

In Los Angeles, Doctor Jain immediately suspected thallium poisoning. The same answer came to Hamilton and the fellows at New York’s poison control center. And when Dr. Aldis heard back from his trusted colleague at the state department, the answer was clear: thallium.

More than 1,500 other replies, many from top toxicologists around the world, poured in. Bei and Cai had turned on a faucet that they couldn’t control. The information was coming so fast they could barely translate a message before another two or three appeared. But even as the responses overwhelmed them, they couldn’t help but notice that one alien word appearing again and again.

Thallium.


Photo by W. Oelen/Flickr

The 81st element on the periodic table looks like how you might imagine frozen mercury. Silver and delicate with a sharp metallic sheen, thallium is soft and malleable, giving with the ease of butter when cut. Called ta in Chinese, the metal does not exist free in nature, and it was unknown to science until 1861, when English chemist William Crookes noticed a strange residue left behind after making a batch of sulfuric acid. A year later, another chemist, Frenchman Claude-Auguste Lamy, figured out how to isolate the new element. Neither man had any idea they’d just discovered one of the most dangerous poisons in history.

One gram of the stuff will kill you—slowly, painfully, over the course of two weeks. Since it’s odorless and tasteless, you can add a pinch to a drink and your victim will never know.

Thallium competes with potassium, a key nutrient, replacing functioning ions with duds that just don’t work. “It blocks energy production in the body at just about every level,” Hamilton told me. “In neurons, in the gastrointestinal tract, in every organ system.

“There’s nothing it doesn’t poison.”

Dubbed the “poisoner’s poison,” thallium has long a been a favorite weapon for assassins and creative killers looking for a quiet murder weapon. It was Saddam Hussein’s assassination tool of choice and a favorite of the KGB, too. For a long time, thallium sulfate was a common ingredient in rat poison, and murderous housewives baked it into treats or dropped a serving in tea. Between 1948 and 1953 in Australia, thallium poisoning almost became a fad; Sydney hospitals were overwhelmed with more than 103 cases of poisoning during the time period.

Authorities slowly wisened up. Now thallium is illegal in most countries, its use restricted to a select few chemistry labs where researchers study its application in computer hardware and other high-tech fields. In 1995, only a few students and professors at Qingua University had access to thallium.

Zhu wasn’t one of them.

As the poison continued to ravage Zhu’s body, Bei and Cai rushed to deliver their messages to the hospitalBut the doctors were hesitant to believe diagnoses gathered from strangers over the Internet. Since Zhu didn’t have access to thallium, how could it possibly be the problem? They seemed unwilling to entertain the notion Zhu had been deliberately poisoned.


For Zhu’s parents, the crescendo of voices from around the world was too much to ignore. They collected samples of their daughter’s blood and hair and sent them to a toxicology expert elsewhere in Beijing.

Aldis remembers receiving the phone call April 28 from either Bei or Cai (18 years later, he can’t remember which) while he was at a medical conference in Hawaii.

“It is thallium poisoning!” the voice shouted over the receiver. More than 1,000 times the normal amount.

Now the PUMC doctors were willing to admit they needed urgent help: How should they treat her? UCLA grad student Xin Li ,27, stepped up as an impromptu coordinator, reaching out to Jain and Hamilton, of the Los Angeles and New York poison control centers, and translating their instructions for Beijing. He set up a website to track the case, (still available on the Internet archive) where he uploaded a rolling set of updates on her condition, as well as MRI scans of her brain and other medical documents.

The American doctors urged administering the antidote immediately: Prussian Blue, a pigment frequently used in painting and inks.

There was no medical Prussian Blue in the entire capital, the Chinese doctors soon discovered. Could they use the industrial dye from local factories? Yes, the Americans responded. On May 3, nearly a month after Bei and Cai’s Usenet plea for help, doctors finally began administering the antidote. Thallium levels plummeted and then rose and then plummeted again.

At one point, Zhu’s mother noticed beads of blue sweat forming across Zhu’s skin. But the Americans said that was not unusual. She was sweating out Prussian Blue—and with it, the thallium. On May 9, the poison’s levels were 21 milligrams per liter of blood, down from a high of 33. By May 12, the levels had dropped to almost zero.

Zhu was cured.

But the help had come too late.

“She’s a girl with no brain and one lung,” Aldis said. “She will never tie her shoelaces. She’s severely neurologically bad off. Did we succeed?”

Zhu was left nearly blind, permanently brain-damaged, confined to a wheelchair. For the rest of her life, she would depend entirely on her parents’ care.

For her family and everyone who had helped her, one question still lingered: Who poisoned Zhu?


There’s no real American parallel for Tianya. Launched in 1999, China’s largest Web forum has dominated the country’s Web culture for more than a decade, a petri dish for Internet subcultures but also a hub for China’s mainstream Internet: Imagine 4chan and Reddit spliced with the old AOL launch page. In the 2000s, Tianya achieved a certain level of fame and notoriety for something called the “human flesh search engine,” a somewhat grotesque term used to describe China’s unique brand of crowdsourced online detective work.

In 2005, the human flesh search engine was let loose on Zhu’s case. It began on Tianya, with a single post from a user calling herself Skyoneline: “Ten years ago, while I was still in college, I heard about Zhu Ling’s story on the news.”

The case laid out by Skyoneline told a story of jealousy, corruption, and cover up, all pointing a finger at a woman named Sun Wei.

Sun Wei was Zhu Ling’s classmate, roommate, and teammate on the college folk music team. According to some Tsinghua students, Sun was doing a research with her professor at that time, and was the only student that had access to thallium. Besides, due to her close relationship with Zhu, she had the best chance and time to poison Zhu. (Translation via China Daily)

The story was a lot more than hearsay. Police really did question Sun Wei in August 1995, but they released her after eight hours. In 1998, they dropped the case, citing lack of evidence

Speculation on Tianya suggested something more sinister at play: Sun Wei had powerful family connections. Her father’s cousin had once been deputy mayor of Beijing, and her grandfather was a close acquaintance of Jiang Zemin, China’s president at the time. In China, guanxi, or personal connections, are a powerful cultural force, encouraging nepotism and favoritism, and perpetuating class disparities. In Sun’s case, Tianya users alleged, guanxi was enough to help Sun get away with murder.

As the Skyoneline post set Tianya alight with conspiracy theories, old names resurfaced. Bei Zhicheng posted to the forum, asserting his own suspicions: “The police’s suspicion was based on facts presented by Qinghua University: Sun Wei was the only student with access to thallium, and Zhu Ling’s back-up on the Folk Music Team,” Bei wrote.

He continued:

According to a retired officer with the Beijing Municipal Police Station, Zhu Ling’s cup was found in a box under Sun Wei’ s bed. The other thing I want to mention is the apathy shown by Zhu Ling’s classmates. Nobody offered a hand when I asked them for help in translating the emails on Zhu Ling’s illness we got from the foreign experts.

Here was word from someone who had firsthand knowledge of the events, hinting both of a motive and perhaps conspiracy. Sun was jealous of her beautiful and talented roommate. And her friends refused to help the campaign to save Zhu’s life.

Strangers began calling Sun’s family home. They hounded her old friends, too, the ones Bei accused of apathy: her former roommate, Jin Ya, her next-door neighbor, Li Hanlin, and Li’s husband, Xue Gang. The tireless human flesh search engine appeared to be weighing Sun Wei down. After talking over the situation with her friends, she finally broke her 10-year public silence. She issued a statement—on Tianya:

“I am innocent, and also a victim of the case,” Sun began, before suggesting that thallium was very easy to access at the university. “Sometimes, the laboratory was even left unlocked.”

She added: “On the Internet, even though everyone has just a virtual identity, one should still be rational, objective and responsible for their own words and actions.”

Around the same time, a hacker broke into Sun’s email account andposted her conversations with her friends online. The emails revealed a sense of helplessness and a desire to to fight back, but Zhu’s supporters saw the discussion as a conspiracy to whitewash Sun’s image.

Sun was fighting an impossible public relations battle: One woman and her friends against pretty much all of China’s Internet. After posting once more to Tianya, she apparently gave up. In the years that followed, she allegedly changed her name to Sun Shiyan and fled to the United States, where she goes by the name Jasmine Sun.

Despite the groundswell of public interest in the case, it never reopened. It went cold as it was in 1995.

The longer Zhu Ling’s poisoner remains unpunished, the deeper anger settles into the bones of China’s Internet.

“The intelligent, diligent, multi talented, and beautiful Zhu Ling … represents every Chinese parent’s dream and is every young Chinese student’s role model,” ChinaFiles Sun Yunfan wrote last week. “For 19 years many people in China have believed that her dreams were shattered by someone with a powerful family, and that justice could not be served because the ‘ruling class’ was above the rules.”

Few things inspire Chinese populist rage as much as corruption; the case symbolizes the helplessness many Chinese feel in the face of a judicial and political system that bends to the will of the powerful.

These tensions have always simmered under the surface, but the Internet provides a platform for anyone to sidestep censors and reach audiences in the millions. Private companies likeSina Weibo, China’s Twitter-like social media giant, employ small armies ofcensors to comply with government directives, but sometimes information simply moves too fast. Last year, social media exposed a half dozen sex and corruption scandals among Chinese officials. And in 2011, it proved a powerful force in revealing how graft and corruption helped cause a train derailment that killed 37 people.

On April 15, 2013, a graduate student at Shanghai’s prestigious Fudan University fell ill and died. The similarities with Zhu’s 20-year-old cold case ago were obvious, except for one key detail: In Shanghai, police moved swiftly to arrest the murdered student’s roommate.

A switch clicked in the Chinese Internet. Overnight Zhu’s name dominated conversation. The Beijing Security Bureau’s Sina Weibo page became a lightning rod for online fury, as netizens littered it with invectives and complaints and demands to reopen the case. Celebrities with millions of followers helped fuel the fire, and soon Sina Weibo censors stepped in with a ham handed censorship campaign, deleting high-profile posts about Zhu Ling. That only spurred conspiracy—a sense of dread that the government was once more shirking justice in favor of the powerful. Wrote one Sina Weibo user:

A powerful force has decided that microblogging related to Zhu Ling has become worthy of censoring and controlling, including those tweets written by celebrities and the People’s Daily. The force is so powerful it can withstand millions of microbloggers in pursuit of justice. (Translation viaBloomberg)

By April 30, Zhu’s name was a trending topic on Weibo, before suddenly disappearing. It’s not clear if Sina Weibo was acting on its own or if the government itself was directing censorship. A leaked memo acquired by China Digital Times, however, revealed Chinese officials were taking online chatter about the case seriously. The directives from the state’s propaganda department demanded that Chinese media official police accounts of events be trusted implicitly:

If producing reports concerning the thallium poisoning of Qinghua University student Zhu Ling, all media and website coverage must without exception accord authoritative information from the relevant Beijing municipal departments. Do not challenge [the information from the authorities] and do not sensationalize the story.

As the state’s stranglehold began to settle in, it was almost natural for Chinese to once again look overseas for help.

Occasionally blocked in China and little known to most Americans,Huaren.us is a bustling message board catering to the the U.S.’s sizable Chinese population. Members have followed Zhu for years, but discussion heated up a few days after the Shanghai poisoning incident.

Leaping off trailheads from mainland China, Huaren users trawled through the online footprints of Sun’s alleged accomplices (the “Thallium Party”). Li Hanlin and Xue Gang had long ago married and moved to the United States, launching successful careers in big pharmaceutical companies. Hanlin was formerly a principal scientist at Pfizer; Xue Gang recently began work Amgen.

On the Huaren boards, details from the trio’s social media profiles trickled in at constant pace: home addresses, phone numbers, emails, satellite photos of their houses, photographs of the couple and their young child. Their employers were hit with a deluge of phone calls and emails, most of which were some variation of this:

I know Mr. Gang XUE through this crime and I know your company, Amgen, through this crime. I feel deeply sorry to see that your company, a prestigious image preciously created and maintained, is linked to this cruel, cold-blooded crime through Mr. Gang XUE, a dishonest, low morale and manipulating person.

(Amgen declined to speak to the Daily Dot, saying it does not speak on the private affairs of its employees.)

When Huaren users discovered the couple was posting their $400,000 Waterford, Conn., house for sale, they peppered the listing company with emails. Within a few days the listing agent had dumped it from the website. Both Xue and Li have since worked to scrub their trail from the Internet.

“Although I’m a bit younger, Zhu Ling and I are from the same generation,” Huaren user chitchat told me. She’s been deeply involved in the campaign and told me she’s a naturalized U.S. citizen and a professor at an American university. “We could have shared similar personal joys [and] and dreams and professional ambitions.

“Zhu Ling’s aging yet resilient and respectable parents could have been mine.”

Another branch of the Huaren campaign focused on publicizing the case to a U.S. audience, like a crowdsourced America’s Most Wanted.

They battled over Zhu Ling’s Wikipedia page, eventually prevailing in ensuring that Sun Wei’s role in the case was included. A dozen other Huaren users worked feverishly to translate a famous CCTV news report on Zhu Ling’s case, hoping it might hit the front page of YouTube. That never happened, but the video has been viewed more than 90,000 times and does provide one of the best English-language introductions to the case.

“The production group doesn’t want to create a wrong impression of a ‘Internet witch hunt,’” chitchat told me. The goal, she suggested, was to “push Sun and/or her accomplices to confess,” so their statements would stand as evidence for reopening the investigation.

The pressure on Sun boiled over on May 3, when her name landed on the White House’s front steps. Thousands had flocked to anonline petition started by Huaren user Y.Z., demanding the U.S. investigate and deport Sun Wei. (There’s still little solid evidence she lives in the United States. Sun has been an online ghost since 2006.) With more than 100,000 signatures, the petition easily gathered enough supporters to pass the White House’s threshold for an official response. It’s not clear the Obama administration can do much of anything, however, beyond making a public statement; the Justice Department has no jurisdiction over foreign criminal cases.

The campaign was always more about raising awareness than somehow forcing Obama’s hand, however. Back in the mainland, agitation from the public finally forced the Beijing Public Safety Bureau to release a feckless statement on its official Weibo account about the case. The police claimed Zhu’s poisoning case was simply too old to effectively reopen, and things were handled correctly the first time around: “The dedicated investigation team worked according to law, and the investigation was never compromised or interfered with in any way.” Around the same time Sina Weibo finally lifted its censorship of Zhu Ling’s name.


For Americans, the Zhu Ling campaign may recall uncomfortable similarities to the vigilantism after the Boston Marathon bombing, when thousands of amateur Internet detectives scoured public footage of the attack and misidentified the bombers—twice. But China’s judicial system works behind a veil made murky by political sensitivity and corruption. As Motherboard’s Alex Pasternack put it:

Of course there is a risk to the vigilantism that Zhu’s case has inspired. Crowdsourcing may be useful for diagnosing a disease, but as America’s failed attempt to crowd-source the Boston bomber’s identity demonstrated, it’s not necessarily a very good way to solve a crime.

In the wake of crimes like the Boston bombing, Americans can speculate about the power of the crowd to do that sort of thing; in China, sometimes there’s no other option.

There is another option.

A private investigator is now on the hunt. Earlier this month, Huaren members chipped in  $1,500 to hire to hire the U.S.-based PI, hoping he might be able to discover Sun Wei’s location and uncover alleged tax fraud she committed with her husband.

Zhu Ling is now 40 years old. Her septuagenarian parents still take care of her everyday, flushing sputum from her lungs, massaging her legs, hooking her up to a respirator.

“Things used to be so different,” her mother told China Daily. “Before the tragedy all she brought me was joy. Her life would have been so promising if her plans had worked out. But now all that is lost. There’s nothing left.”

Sun Wei will probably never receive a fair trial. But most of the Chinese-speaking world is making sure she’ll be a fugitive the rest of her life.
Donations to Zhu Ling’s family can be sent via the Help Zhu Ling Foundation. For an excellent contemporary account of the case, check out Malcolm McConnell’s 1996 Reader’s Digest article, “Rescue on the Internet,” which provided some of the background information for this article. Check it out here (pages 12, and 3).

Illustration by Fernando Alfonso III

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[2013-05-16] 一桩投毒案,民众不信任 陈年疑案:公开和监督如何破题 – 南方周末

Posted by woodinwind on May 16, 2013

http://www.infzm.com/content/90402

一桩投毒案,民众不信任
陈年疑案:公开和监督如何破题

作者: 南方周末记者 林战

发自:北京 2013-05-16 11:34:42 来源:南方周末

年迈的受害者父母还在苦苦奔波,他们的信息公开申请一直碰壁。 (CFP/图)

假想一:在进行保密审查的前提下,向受害人家属公开不涉密的侦查信息,不对社会公众公开。

假想二:人大组成特定问题调查委员会,查证是否有影响侦查工作的外来因素,不直接处理案件。

十多年累积发酵之后,2013年5月8日,北京市公安局挂出了一条600字的长微博,回应发生在19年前的朱令案。

北京市公安局称,由于“相关场所没有监控设施”、“犯罪痕迹物证灭失”、“未获取认定犯罪嫌疑人的直接证据”等原因,最终导致朱令案“无法侦破”。

重启侦查和公开侦查信息的呼声不断。

案件的状态:可终止侦查某人,但继续侦查

根据《公安机关办理刑事案件程序规定》(下称“刑事程序规定”),刑事案件立案后的案件,只有“撤案”和“侦查终结”两种走向。

“结办”并不是一个刑事法律词汇,在刑事诉讼法和刑事程序规定中,均没有案件“结办”之说。在立案侦查后,案件要么撤案,要么“侦查终结”后撤案或移交检察机关审查起诉。

根据《公安机关办理刑事案件程序规定》,只要认为有犯罪事实需要追究刑事责任,就要立案侦查;而撤案有六种情形,包括没有犯罪事实的、已过追诉时效的、经特赦令免除刑罚的等。

中国政法大学刑事司法学院教授洪道德认为,不符合这六种情形中的任何一种,就不具备撤案的条件;如果公安机关已撤案,便属于违法。

值得注意的是,2013年1月1日开始实施修订后的《公安机关办理刑事案件程序规定》,特别补充一项内容:发现有犯罪事实需要追究刑责,但不是被立案侦查的嫌疑人实施的,应当对有关嫌疑人终止侦查,并对该案件继续侦查。

“继续侦查”是案件没有侦破时的持续性状态,在司法实践中,无法侦破的案件并不鲜见。公安部公开发布的数据显示,2012年,杀人案件的侦破率为94.5%。中国官方公布的刑事案件破案率一般在40%左右,高于不少国家。

依照“刑事程序规定”,对于犯罪嫌疑人终止侦查后又发现新的事实或者证据,认为有犯罪事实需要追究刑事责任的,应当继续侦查;即便合法撤销的案件,如果又发现新的事实或者证据,且需要追究刑事责任的,也应当重新立案侦查。

中国人民大学教授陈卫东建议,在科技条件已经进步的情况下,“警方可以再找找新的突破点。重新梳理一下案情,力所能及地对重大疑案再次进行侦查”。

缺位的监督:人大可调查特定问题

在警方对一些疑案进行回应后,对公安机关不信任的情绪依旧弥漫。

中国人民大学教授陈卫东认为,目前的问题是,在尚未侦破的案件中,缺乏相关法律规定监督和推动“悬案”的持续侦查工作。

按公检法分工,检察机关负有侦查监督职责,但实践中一般体现为审查批捕和审查起诉,在侦查终结前介入的情况较少,具体做法也尚未有统一规范。

也就是说,检察机关多在侦查终结后监督,还在侦查中的案件往往不在此列。“不该为而为可以监督,该为而不为却很难监督。”一名检察院人士告诉南方周末记者,检察机关难以监督公安机关的不作为。

行政和司法机关均必须接受人大的监督。根据宪法、人大组织法、监督法等法律的规定,人大的司法监督权主要包括质询权、特定问题的调查及决定权、特赦权及逮捕人大代表的许可权。

人大及其常委会可以对行政和司法机关工作上存在的重大问题或失误予以质问并要求其答复,即行使质询权。原全国人大常委会法工委副主任张春生说,质询一般是对某一类问题的集中询问,如对公安机关存在超期羁押或刑讯逼供等进行质询。

张春生特别指出,出于对司法行为独立性的尊重,人大监督一般不对个案进行监督,但也没有相关禁止性条款。

根据宪法,人大还可以组成关于特定问题的调查委员会,对特定问题进行调查,作出相应的决议。全国人大及其常委会从来没有启动过特定问题调查权,地方 人大曾有一些成功案例。2000年5月,安徽省合肥市人大常委会成立汪伦才故意伤害案件特定问题调查委员会,蒙冤入狱的汪伦才重获自由;2002年4月, 安徽省来安县人大常委会成立特定问题调查委员会,查清县法院占有当事人近40万元执行标的款问题,等等。

我国广东、广西、黑龙江等省区也规定,人大特定问题调查委员会可以询问有关人员、组织技术鉴定、调阅各种证据材料;广东省1997年明确四种案件可请求调查:群众提出的申诉控告案;人大常委会发现的违法案;人大代表提出监督的违法案;上下级人大转办或反映的违法案。

中国政法大学教授洪道德认为,应该根据相关法律法规,“利用好人大监督这一途径”。

纠结的公开:保密审查后或可有限公开

一些陈年刑案受害人的家属提出申请,要求公开“结办”案件的事实材料依据、规范性文件依据以及相关程序文书材料等信息,公开相关涉密材料的密级及保密期限。有的人提出另一些诉求:案件办理中涉及的物证、证言、鉴定、笔录、视听资料、法律文书、会议纪要及批示等。

实践中,以《政府信息公开条例》申请公开侦查信息,成功者极少。许多人会收到这样的告知书:经审查,您申请获知的政府信息,“属于法律、法规及相关规定不予公开的其他情形”,故根据《政府信息公开条例》的相关规定,不予公开。行政复议的成功率也极低。

侦查信息是否可以向社会或当事人公布?《政府信息公开条例》并未明确,实践中争议较大。条例称,应该公开的政府信息是指“行政机关在履行职责过程中制作或者获取的,以一定形式记录、保存的信息”。但在列举范围中却没有涉及公安机关的相关刑事侦查信息。

律师袁裕来援引国务院法制办的相关解释认为,这里的“政府信息是与履行行政管理职责密切相关的信息”,作为行政法规,《政府信息公开条例》无权调整刑事诉讼范围。

中国人民大学行政法教授莫于川也认为,公安机关虽然属于行政机关,但公安机关的履职行为却包括行政行为和刑事行为,公安机关的刑事侦查行为不包含在政府信息公开的范围内。

中国社科院法学所研究员周汉华则认为,《政府信息公开条例》并不区分行政还是刑事行为。公安机关作为行政机关,其行为理应受到行政法的调整。

近年来,公安机关一直在推进信息公开制度建设。但由于刑事诉讼法等基本法并没有纳入相关规定,侦查信息公开成果有限。

根据公安部最新出台并于2013年起开始实施的《公安机关执法公开规定》,向控告人、被害人及其家属等特定对象公开的执法信息,仅包括:办公单位名称和联系方式;刑事案件立案、破案、移送起诉等情况,对犯罪嫌疑人采取刑事强制措施的种类和期限;行政案件办理情况和结果。

陈卫东认为,司法信息有其特殊性,比如在案件侦查过程中,“公安机关使用的侦查手段,查获的线索,都需要保密。”但是,“能公开的部分要尽量公开”。

政府信息公开的前提是,建立相应的保密审查机制。参与保密法立法论证的周汉华表示,根据相关法律法规,当事人如果认为行政机关定密不当,可以申请同级或上级保密部门复核审查。

在实践中,公安机关针对当事人的信息公开诉求,多以“涉密”为由拒绝公开。在《公安机关执法公开规定》中,明确规定“公安机关不得公开涉及国家秘密,以及可能妨害正常执法活动或者影响社会稳定的执法信息”。这让公安机关操作空间极大。

“公开为原则,保密为例外。”周汉华提醒说,虽然刑事侦查信息的公开要权衡社会效果,但进一步扩展公众知情权的方向不能变。

网络编辑: 小碧 责任编辑: 苏永通 实习生 张雪彦

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[2013-05-10] 1990s Poisoning Case Re-emerges, Unleashing Fresh Chinese Fury

Posted by woodinwind on May 10, 2013

1990s Poisoning Case Re-emerges, Unleashing Fresh Chinese Fury

By 

Published: May 10, 2013

BEIJING — The mysterious illness began with crippling stomach pain, followed by blurry vision and sudden hair loss. By the time Zhu Ling, a talented musician and chemistry student at one of China’s top universities, emerged from a coma weeks later, she was partially paralyzed and nearly blind, her faculties reduced to those of a child.

The Help Zhu Ling Foundation

An undated photo of Zhu Ling, who was a 19-year-old student at one of China’s top universities when she was poisoned.

The 19-year-old sophomore, doctors later determined, had been intentionally poisoned with thallium, a highly toxic heavy metal sometimes used in Chinese rat poison. A culprit was never found, though suspicions fell on a roommate from a well-connected family who was questioned by the police but then released.

Now, nearly two decades after Ms. Zhu was poisoned, with her name forgotten by all but a determined band of supporters, her case has ricocheted back into public consciousness, electrifying the nation with allegations of a bungled investigation and uncomfortable questions about the power of China’s political elite in a society where justice remains elusive.

In recent days, Chinese social media has been consumed by the case despite an earlier effort to quash the conversation through aggressive censorship, a move that only fueled wider interest — and greater fury. “Nineteen years ago, the young Zhu Ling was poisoned,” Yao Chen, a film star with 45 million followers, wrote on China’s equivalent of Twitter. “Nineteen years later, this name has again been poisoned.”

On Monday, an online petition was submitted to the White House’s “We the People” platform imploring the American government to intervene in the case. The petition, which had drawn more than 143,000 signatures by Friday, calls on the Obama administration to deport to China the primary suspect, despite a lack of evidence that she even lives in the United States.

“There was always anger and frustration over this case but it’s exploding right now,” said John Aldis, who has followed Ms. Zhu’s plight since his years as a doctor at the American Embassy in Beijing during the 1990s. “A new generation of Chinese young people are realizing that a terrible injustice was done, and they want their voices to be heard.”

The renewed interest was inspired by a lurid murder last month in Shanghai, where a medical student at the prestigious Fudan University was accused of spiking the water of his roommate with a toxic chemical. The police said the student, who has been charged with intentional homicide, was driven by a grudge described as “trivial.”

What began as an online conversation about the pressures of China’s cutthroat education system and the dearth of mental health services gave way to discussion of other cases of poisoning in China, many of them committed by students consumed with jealousy.

But it was the attempted murder of Zhu Ling — and the notion that the perpetrator was given a free pass because of her political pedigree — that dominated the discussion. Those suspicions tapped into the widely held belief that well-placed Communist Party officials and their relatives are above the law.

“We want what we’ve always wanted — truth and justice,” Wu Chengzhi, Ms. Zhu’s father, said in a brief phone interview.

Although the narrative of the case is riddled with unanswered questions and unsubstantiated allegations, Ms. Zhu’s family and supporters have latched onto the one known fact: that Ms. Zhu’s roommate at Tsinghua University, Sun Wei, had access to thallium and was questioned by the police, but was quickly released, according to accounts in the state media.

The police say they lacked evidence for an arrest. Critics have speculated without any proof that Ms. Sun’s grandfather, a senior official in the decades after the Communists came to power, and another relative, a former vice mayor of Beijing, had made the problem go away. As for a possible motive, they suggest that Ms. Sun was envious of the victim’s beauty, and of her musical and academic achievements.

Ms. Zhu’s friends say crucial evidence from her dorm room disappeared before the police began their investigation. According to Mr. Wu, the father, investigators closed the case in 1998 but did not tell the family for nearly a decade.

“If the investigation reopens, there should also be an investigation of police wrongdoings and who tried to intervene with the original investigation,” said Zhang Jie, a lawyer who represents Ms. Zhu’s family.

Despite the mounting pressure, the authorities are not keen to revisit the matter. On Wednesday, in a rare public response to media inquiries, the Beijing Public Security Bureau defended its investigation but said the passage of time and paucity of evidence limited its ability to reopen the case. The statement also rejected accusations that its inquiry had been influenced by outsiders. “The dedicated investigation team worked according to law, and the investigation was never compromised or interfered with in any way,” it said.

But in one encouraging sign for Zhu Ling’s supporters, the topic has been unblocked on Sina Weibo, China’s most popular microblog service, suggesting that high-level officials have decided that suppressing the controversy is counterproductive.

Still, the case has become something of a public relations challenge for China’s new leadership. In the five months since he was appointed Communist Party secretary, Xi Jinping has been trying to address rampant public cynicism by attacking official corruption and the abuse of power, although most of those efforts have so far been widely viewed as superficial.

In one especially ham-handed attempt to grapple with the controversy, Global Times, a bilingual tabloid published by the party-owned People’s Daily, said in an editorial that public indignation over the Zhu Ling case was largely the result of poor communication by the authorities. But the editorial acknowledged that the truly powerful can influence the criminal justice system by insisting that Ms. Sun’s family “was not distinguished enough” to have such sway.

The accused has remained out of public view these past two decades, although after her name began to spread across the ether in 2005, she posted a brief online defense, saying she was innocent and in fact also a victim because of the unfounded accusations against her. “On the Internet, even though everyone is just a virtual ID, one should still be rational, objective and responsible for their own words and actions,” she wrote.

The case has provided a fascinating showcase for the power of the Internet. It was in early 1995, after Ms. Zhu’s illness stumped doctors at one of Beijing’s premier hospitals, that a desperate high school classmate posted a cry for help on one of the few wired computer terminals then available in China. Amid the hundreds of replies from Western medical experts, most correctly identified the syndrome as thallium poisoning and suggested the antidote — a commercial dye known as Prussian blue.

The information saved Ms. Zhu’s life, but she remains severely disabled, her aging parents forced to tend to her round the clock. Despite the authorities’ refusal to reopen the investigation, her 72-year-old mother, Zhu Mingxin, has said she is not willing to give up. “In the prime of her youth she nearly lost her life and she’s been miserable ever since,” she told China National Radio earlier this week. “I hate the perpetrator.”

In recent years, the family has been receiving help from an American-based nonprofit that has been raising money and reminding people that the crime remains unsolved.

The renewed focus on her case has prompted a flood of contributions that recently surpassed $520,000. He Qing, a volunteer with the group, the Help Zhu Ling Foundation, has been moved by the response as well as by the frustration expressed online.

“It’s the lack of justice, the unfairness and the feeling that people with privilege can get away with anything,” said Ms. He, an automotive engineer from China who now lives in Michigan. “People have just had enough.”

Mia Li and Sue-Lin Wong contributed research.

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