The memories came flooding back for Kenneth as he walked through Victoria Park in Hong Kong, a former epicenter for the city’s resistance against China. As a child, he would buy calligraphy posters from pro-democracy politicians at the annual Lunar New Year fair. As a teenager, he participated in protest marches that always began in the park. By the age of 12, he was attending massive vigils for the Tiananmen massacre—an event forbidden in mainland China but openly commemorated in Hong Kong.
Now, those vigils have ceased, the political stalls are gone, protests have been silenced, and pro-democracy activists are jailed. Kenneth feels that both his political awakening and that of Hong Kong are being systematically erased. “Life goes on for many, but the changes are palpable,” he lamented, preferring to keep his identity concealed during our conversation. “The character of our city is fading.”
At first glance, Hong Kong may appear unchanged, with packed trams navigating energetic streets and vibrant neon lights illuminating the skyline. However, upon closer inspection, signs of transformation emerge—from skyscrapers adorned with messages of allegiance to China to the rising presence of Mandarin alongside the local Cantonese dialect.
The sentiments of Hong Kong’s more than seven million residents toward Beijing’s increasing control are unclear. Yet, hundreds of thousands have participated in protests over the past decade, particularly since the emergence of a pro-democracy movement in 2014. While not everyone supported the movement, few would dispute that Beijing decisively stifled it. As this turbulent decade draws to a close, hopes for a freer Hong Kong have dwindled.
Chinese authorities assert they have stabilized a once-volatile city. A sweeping national security law has led to the imprisonment of hundreds, driving many disenchanted Hongkongers, including activists, to seek refuge abroad. Others, like Kenneth, choose to remain and keep a low profile, holding onto memories of a freer Hong Kong—a place they are determined to remember despite Beijing’s efforts to reshape it.
When Hong Kong, a former British colony, was handed back to China in 1997, assurances of retaining certain rights, such as free speech and assembly, were made for 50 years. However, as Beijing’s influence grew, discomfort within the pro-democracy camp increased.
In September 2014, tens of thousands began mass sit-ins in downtown Hong Kong, demanding fully democratic elections. This movement brought new voices to the forefront, including Joshua Wong, then a 17-year-old student, and Benny Tai, a college professor, who initiated the campaign known as Occupy Central. It also set the foundation for the more explosive protests of 2019, sparked by a proposed extradition bill that ultimately intensified calls for democracy, becoming the strongest resistance to Beijing’s authority in the region.
“Without Benny Tai, there would have been no Occupy Central,” stated Chan Kin-man, a co-founder of the movement. “His scholarly temperament allowed him to push boldly for change. It’s individuals like him who reshape history.” Chan and Rev. Chu Yiu-ming have since fled to Taiwan, where Chan now works as a fellow at a research institute after serving 11 months in prison for his involvement in Occupy Central.
Tai remains in Hong Kong, recently sentenced to a decade in prison for subversion along with over 40 other pro-democracy activists, including Wong, many of whom have been incarcerated since their arrests in early 2021. As Wong left the courtroom, he declared, “I love Hong Kong.”
This month, 76-year-old Jimmy Lai, a prominent critic of China, testified in a trial accused of conspiring with foreign forces. Defiant yet frail, he asserted that his now-defunct newspaper, Apple Daily, represented the aspirations of the Hong Kong people: “the pursuit of democracy and freedom of speech.”
The legal proceedings have unfolded quietly, starkly contrasting the charged protests that preceded them. Small demonstrations outside the courthouse were swiftly suppressed, and a grieving mother was taken away by police after expressing sorrow over her son’s sentencing.
Beijing defends its restrictions, including the national security law, as necessary for stability. They assert that foreign powers have no right to question their laws or enforcement methods. However, critics argue that China has failed to uphold its commitments from 1997, weakening Hong Kong’s judicial integrity and silencing the once-resounding call for democracy.
Observing these developments from afar, Chan reflects on the disheartening reality. Despite a glimmer of hope for change in 2014, he believes, “many things have now become impossible… Hong Kong feels indistinguishable from other Chinese cities.”
After years of advocating for democracy, he humorously remarked, “You could say I have failed in everything I have done in my life,” while still expressing determination to persevere. Chan has turned his efforts towards educating others, writing a book about Occupy Central, preserving items for an archive of Hong Kong’s protest history, and conducting virtual lectures on democracy and politics. “These endeavors remind me that I haven’t given up on Hong Kong. I don’t feel like I have abandoned it,” he stated.
Yet, he grapples with the decision to leave. Although he finds comfort in Taiwan, he feels a profound “sense of loss.” “Am I still connected with other Hongkongers, facing the same challenges?” he pondered. Kenneth shared a similar sentiment as he continued his stroll through Victoria Park, noting, “If you aren’t living here, you fail to grasp what is happening… if you don’t feel the pulse, you might as well be gone.”
With friends leaving in increasing numbers over the past few years, Kenneth has lost count of the farewell parties he has attended. Nevertheless, he insists on staying: “This is where my roots are.” He feels frustrated by the rhetoric of those who claim that the Hong Kong of old has vanished. “Hong Kong continues to exist. Its people are still here! So how can they say that Hong Kong is dead?”
However, he admitted there have been drastic changes, stating that Hongkongers now must think carefully about what they say. Many have adjusted to a “normalized state of surveillance.” He observed, “There are red lines, but it’s difficult to identify them.” Instead of overt campaigning, activists have started writing petition letters, as rallies and public protests have become effectively unfeasible. Fear of arrest looms large, and even harmless expressions like T-shirts, social media posts, and picture books have led to prosecutions for sedition.
These days, Kenneth ventures out less frequently. “The contrast is so stark now. I don’t want to be reminded of what happened in the past.” Yet, as he left the park and made his way to the Admiralty district, memories flooded back.
When he approached the site of government headquarters, he pointed out where he first encountered tear gas on September 28, 2014. On that day, police unleashed 87 rounds of tear gas on unarmed protesters, an action that fueled outrage and propelled the pro-democracy movement into the spotlight. As protests escalated, tear gas became a common scourge, leading to the iconic image of demonstrators shielding themselves with umbrellas, coining the term the “Umbrella Movement.”
His final stop was the Hong Kong Polytechnic University, known as PolyU, which was a significant battleground during the 2019 protests, where students resisted police assaults using makeshift defenses.
Five years on, the entrance of PolyU, where students bravely clashed with law enforcement, has undergone reconstruction, and the site of fierce confrontations has been erased. Kenneth observed, “It feels like the university doesn’t want people to remember certain things.”
He then discovered a hidden corner beneath the bushes—a low wall marked with holes and crumbling concrete. While the true nature of those marks was indiscernible, Kenneth believed they bore witness to the battles that had escaped the memory purge. “We will not forget what has happened,” he asserted. “Forgetting the past is a betrayal.”
Simultaneously, in a Tesco café in Watford, UK, Kasumi Law reminisced about the things she misses about Hong Kong. “I never realized how much I cherished the sea there until I arrived in the UK,” she recounted while enjoying a traditional English breakfast. Unlike the cold and turbulent waters surrounding Britain, “in Hong Kong, the sea is shimmering, reflecting the multitude of buildings… I didn’t appreciate the beauty of our city enough.”
Kasumi’s decision to leave Hong Kong with her husband and young daughter stemmed from a growing sense of unease over the years. The Occupy Central protests erupted just months after her daughter was born in 2014. As Beijing tightened its grip—jailing student activists and forcing booksellers into hiding—her discomfort deepened.
“Staying in Hong Kong wasn’t exactly unsafe,” she reflected. “But day by day, a feeling crept in that something was amiss.” When mass protests reignited in 2019 and Beijing responded with increasing force, the UK’s offer of a visa program for Hongkongers born before the 1997 handover became a turning point for Kasumi and her husband. They decided it was time to leave for the sake of their daughter.
Settling in Watford, close to London, her husband found work in IT while Kasumi took on the role of a full-time mother. However, living abroad was a new experience for her, and she struggled with deep homesickness, which she documented in emotional YouTube video diaries. One video gained viral attention, resonating with some Hongkongers while drawing criticism from others who questioned her decision to emigrate.
Eventually, the weight of homesickness became overwhelming, prompting her to return to Hong Kong for a visit last year. During her two-month stay, she revisited cherished childhood spots, indulged in her mother’s home-cooked meals, and savored familiar treats like egg tarts and melon-flavored soy milk.
Yet, the Hong Kong she remembered had also undergone changes. Her mother appeared older, and beloved shops in the Ladies Market had closed their doors. Sitting by the harbor at Tsim Sha Tsui one evening, she relished the twinkling sea that she had missed so dearly. However, when she glanced around and noticed most people speaking Mandarin, tears streamed down her cheeks. “The sea felt familiar, but the people around me felt foreign,” she confessed, filled with a poignant sense of loss.
Kasumi now wonders when she might return again. With the introduction of a new security law—Article 23—she has been advised by friends to erase any online posts related to past protests before any return trip. This situation starkly contrasts the fearlessness she felt in 2019, when she marched alongside her daughter, united with thousands in defiance against Beijing’s influence. “It’s too late to turn back,” she reflected. “If I return to Hong Kong, I might not adapt to life there, to be honest.”
However, she finds solace in her daughter’s happiness in the UK. “When I see her thriving, I believe it’s worth it. I want her world to be larger,” Kasumi stated.
As her life expands in the UK, she is determined to keep the essence of being a Hongkonger alive. She and her husband exclusively speak Cantonese at home and often watch Cantonese films together. While her daughter is still too young to grasp the significance of the 2019 protests in which she participated, Kasumi plans to explain their importance when the time is right.
The seeds of pride in their heritage are already taking root. Kasumi beams with pride when she recounts how her daughter reacts to being called Chinese. “She gets upset and argues back, saying, ‘I’m not Chinese; I’m a Hongkonger,’” Kasumi said, a smile breaking on her face as she shares this anecdote.
Both Kenneth and Kasumi, despite their geographical distance and differing experiences, hold on to the hope that the spirit of Hong Kong will endure. Their memories of protests, camaraderie, and the vibrant culture of their hometown serve as powerful reminders of what they have fought for and what continues to inspire them from afar.
As they navigate their new realities, reminiscent of struggles and aspirations, both Kenneth and Kasumi retain a sense of identity tied intricately to Hong Kong. Even amid the silenced protests and changing tides, the resolve for freedom and democracy lives on through those who continue to remember, to cherish, and to hope for a future where their voices can once again echo in the streets of their beloved city.
Credit: BBC News
