Officers take high road to guard nation’s border
Police at China’s highest security facility beat lack of oxygen, altitude sickness to patrol mountains, save lives. Yang Zekun reports.
Driving for hours across uninhabited grassland to reach isolated settlements and solve residents’ problems, and patrolling a glacier more than 5,600 meters above sea level every month is hard work.
But that’s life for Sonam Daje and his fellow police officers of the National Immigration Administration, who are never deterred by low levels of oxygen, the cold, windy weather or strong ultraviolet radiation.
Instead, they are proud to work at the Pumaqangtang border police station in Nakarze county, Lhokha city, Tibet autonomous region. It’s China’s highest police station.
The facility — established in 2012 at 5,373 meters above sea level — has nine officers. As the only law enforcement body in the area, the officers are required to undertake public security work, such as checking ID cards, in addition to their border duties.
Pumaqangtang covers 1,200 square kilometers and has a permanent population of 1,100, with most residents involved in animal husbandry. The residents of the onceimpoverished town are scattered over a wide area, which presents challenges for the officers.
Sonam Daje became station chief in June 2016 after eight years working at other high-altitude police stations.
Though he is a member of the Tibetan ethnic group and was born and raised in the region, it still took him months to get used to the lack of oxygen and regular altitude sickness.
Last year, he became deputy chief of the Nakarze border management team, which oversees the police station.
Change of life
The 35-year-old’s parents both died in 2003 when he was in junior high school, leaving him introverted and with low self-esteem. Later, he was admitted to a high school in Lhasa, Tibet’s capital, where he met Yang Hua, his adoptive mother.
“At one time I thought my life was over and I would have to become a farmer like many of my peers, but I was not reconciled to that and was eager to change my situation. Then, my adoptive mother appeared in my life,” he said.
Yang adopted Sonam Daje in 2005 and introduced him to her family. She realized that the young man’s biggest problem was that he was diffident and lacked confidence, so she urged him to change his life and embrace the world, saying she and her family would support him.
“My biological parents were great; they gave me life and raised me until junior high school. My adoptive mother and her family are great, too. I appreciate them from the bottom of my heart. They encouraged me when I was down, helping me feel the warmth of a family. I will never forget the day my adoptive mother introduced me to her relatives,” Sonam Daje said.
As being surrounded by people had helped him overcome his problems, Sonam Daje was determined to try his best to help those in need.
After graduating from Southwest Minzu University in Sichuan province in 2009, he applied to join the immigration police, which he saw as a good way to serve society.
To help local residents improve their incomes, he guided herders to connect with supermarkets and sell beef, mutton, ghee and other agricultural products. He also funded two
girls from impoverished families so they could finish junior high school, and helped 75 residents get new jobs.
Glacier rescues
The Kampug glacier, located near Pumaqangtang at an altitude of more than 5,600 meters, attracts hundreds of tourists every year. However, visitors often become trapped in the glacier’s steep, intricate crevasses, enduring frostbite and even dying.
Glacier rescue missions are important tasks for the police officers.
There are no roads, location signs or mobile phone signals near the glacier. Self-driving tourists may face severe consequences, including death, if their cars break down or they
slip into ice seams. It usually takes the officers about two hours to drive to the glacier from the station, but in winter the journey can last much longer as the grassland is covered by heavy snow.
Sonam Daje recalled a rescue mission in March 2017, when a 61-yearold member of a tour group from Shanghai got lost on the glacier.
After being alerted, Sonam Daje and four colleagues drove to the spot immediately, arriving at about 10 pm.
Later, about 30 local people — including doctors and firefighters — were dispatched to join the mission.
They searched for four days, eating instant meals and keeping warm by burning dung.
When they finally found the man’s frozen body in an ice cave, where the temperature was -25 C, Sonam Daje and the other rescue workers had varying degrees of frostbite.
He has attended more than 100 rescue missions during his time at the border police station, and hundreds of rescued tourists have sent thank-you letters to the officers.
This year, there have been far fewer visitors because of the COVID-19 pandemic and local policies to protect the environment. Those factors have resulted in a sharp fall in the number of rescue missions.
“I hope there are no more rescue missions on the glacier — then everyone would be safe,” Sonam Daje said.
Sense of duty
Liu Weiqiang, 38, is deputy captain with the second team of the Wuhan Exit and Entry Border Inspection Station, Hubei province. He and his colleagues have stuck to their duties at the Wuhan Tianhe International Airport inspection station since the start of the pandemic.
Liu, who joined the immigration police in 2005, hasn’t spent Spring Festival with his parents in Heilongjiang province for about 10 years.
This year, his plans to spend Spring Festival with his wife and children in Wuhan were disrupted by the novel coronavirus outbreak, which he said will probably be the most memorable experience of his career.
On Jan 23, Wuhan was locked down, meaning only official vehicles could enter or exit the city and all residents were required to self-quarantine at home.
However, the airport was still receiving a small number of inbound international flights, so Liu and several officers who were heading home for the holiday returned to their posts.
As Liu had asked to join the first deployment, he faced unknown risks because the main features of the virus had yet to be identified.
On the morning of Jan 24, Liu and his team inspected the airport’s first inbound suspected patient.
“We were scared and under huge pressure. I didn’t know whether the passenger was infected or not, but I had to check his face and passport. I asked him to hold his breath for a while. I also held my breath, though I was wearing a mask and a face shield — it was the longest moment I’ve ever experienced,” Liu said.
By the end of May, Liu’s team had inspected numerous inbound chartered flights, and of 161 passengers identified as suspected cases, 18 were later confirmed to be infected.
Family dues
After working at the inspection station and staying in the officers’ quarters for more than 80 days, Liu returned home on April 12. His 3-yearold son was shocked when he opened the door, and Liu said he cried when the boy rushed up and hugged him.
He feels he owes his family a lot because he wasn’t around when they needed him most.
“In January, my wife sent me a long text message saying she had symptoms similar to those of COVID-19 and asking me to take good care of our son if she became infected,” he recalled. “That made me extremely anxious. I called to calm her down and said I would head back home, but she stopped me, saying I could be in danger if I returned. She insisted I stay safe. Luckily, she just had a very heavy cold.”
Liu cherishes every hour with his family, despite having to answer endless work calls even when he is off duty. His wife used to complain when he answered many calls during holiday periods, but she gradually got used to it. Now, when he returns home every weekend, Liu watches cartoons with his son to make up for the time they missed together.
Burden
Sonam Daje married in 2013. He has two children, who live with his parents-in-law in Lhasa. He often smiles when talking about his children and has many pictures of them stored in his phone. His wife, Sonam Dekyi, works at a post office in Lhokha’s downtown, more than 300 kilometers from Pumaqangtang, and can only return to Lhasa at weekends.
The police officer is saddened that he, his wife and children live in different places and can only be together at weekends and during holidays.
“After we married, my wife and her parents shouldered a huge burden. I even didn’t visit in February when she gave birth to our second child. I owe them so much. Of course, I want to enjoy life with my family, but if everyone stays at home, who will guard the border? All I can do is love them with all my heart,” he said.