For nearly 16 years, from 1989 until his death in 2005, former Communist Party chief Zhao Ziyang spent most of his time behind the high walls of a courtyard house in Beijing, always under the watchful eye of a state security team. Zhao’s upcoming memoir offers a rare glimpse into his daily life under unofficial “house arrest.”

For much of the first several years of Zhao’s detention, he was officially under investigation as the Party leadership – including former mentor and protector Deng Xiaoping - tried to decide what to do with him post-Tiananmen (Zhao ironically terms the process his “special treatment”). A “Special Investigative Group” was formed, which occasionally interviewed or wrote to Zhao to collect information that could be used to prosecute him.

Zhao said that he never received an official notice of his detention, so one day he decided to test the limits of his freedom by going out to play golf. When security officials learned of his plan, they tried to stop him with their quirky logic.

“They said, ‘It has never been said that going out was permitted.’ I replied that no one had ever told me I was not permitted to go out,” Zhao recalled. They ordered Zhao’s chauffeur not to drive him, and Zhao threatened to take a public bus instead. “Finally, the Security Bureau allowed the chauffer to drive and sent a police car to escort us,” Zhao said. But after foreign media reported on Zhao’s excursion, the top leadership demanded further restriction of Zhao’s movements.

“Concern over the alleged ‘impact’ [of any outings] was the excuse they made to cover their plan that I never again appear in public – so people would gradually forget me, consigning me to oblivion through silence.” Zhao said. “The so-called ‘fear of impact’ implied that the very sound of my name would cause social instability.”

Ultimately, there was no definitive conclusion to the investigation of Zhao, perhaps out of concern that publicly charging HIM would only stir up old feelings about the Tiananmen crackdown just as the government was seeking to move the nation on.

Yet Zhao remained mostly confined to his home under a set of oddly detailed rules governing his activities. Guests could come to his home, as long as they were not foreigners or journalists. Walks in suburban parks were permitted (under escort, of course) while crowded places were off-limits. Golf courses were okay since all the players at the time were foreigners or from Hong Kong or Macau (presumably he wasn't allowed to chat with these potential golf buddies). Travel outside Beijing could be arranged with permission from above, but only to safe inland regions. “Coastal or sensitive areas should be avoided,” the book says. When Zhao wants to head south during one of Beijing’s notoriously cold winters, he was advised against going to Guangdong province because it borders Hong Kong, where the British colonial governor at the time was supportive of democratic reforms. Instead, he is offered a choice of Guangxi, Yunnan or Guizhou.

In practice, Zhao claimed that his contacts and travels were even more strictly limited than the rules imply – visitors to his home were often rejected and his trips out of Beijing were kept under wraps to all but a few on a need-to-know basis.

As the years under detention dragged on, Zhao launched a letter-writing campaign, beseeching Jiang Zemin and other leaders to restore his freedom, appealing to the rule of law and justice. (Several of the letters are published in the book.) The response? “All these letters of mine fell like stones dropped into the sea, disappearing without a trace. Their tactic was simply never to respond.”

However, one plea for a reevaluation of the Tiananmen incident, written to Zhao’s former colleagues after Deng Xiaoping’s death in 1997, did receive a response of sorts, albeit harsh. The letter was apparently interpreted by Jiang Zemin, who came to power after 1989, as a direct challenge to his authority, and resulted in more subtly punitive restrictions on Zhao’s activities.

“No visitors or other outings were permitted,” Zhao says in the book. “However, for the sake of some good publicity, I was allowed to go play golf and attend funerals. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at such tactics. I simply refused to play golf and refused to go out; nor did I attend any funerals.”

After a couple of years, Zhao noted, the conditions were once again relaxed to the original rules.