Unity Amidst Division
Reflections of a young journalist in Hong Kong
The smell of burnt rubber — that stinging, burning sensation from the tear gas and pepper spray. Most might struggle to imagine the type of pain that crowd control munitions bring about. For a select few, it’s all too familiar.
For folks who marched in the name of democratic reform — it was all too familiar.
For veteran journalists, who covered what was the biggest story in the world — they felt the burning sensation almost daily for an entire year.
And then there are people like myself — a journalist-in-training who started his career at the same time the 2019 Hong Kong protests erupted.
It would be remiss for me to neglect the desperate cries for help and blood. During the rare moments of peace, you could easily feel the tension in the air. Some wept, others simply stared into the distance. It was in these moments of quiet one would easily understand:
everything was at stake.
Unity amidst division.
Regardless of all that, I still find myself missing those days — where despite the blood, sweat, and tears shed on the battlegrounds of Hong Kong, things seemed better. In a weird, dark and morbid way.
The raw emotion, the adrenaline rush, the no-bullshit attitude everyone had. The sense of purpose I found during that time. The sense of identity I finally found after years of indifference (and sometimes, shame).
I miss the chaos. The fight. That feeling of all-out war that possessed most of Hong Kong for that period of time. Because the truth is:
“The rush of battle is a potent and often lethal addiction, for war is a drug.” — Chris Hedges
A drug. Even now I find myself missing the action. When I had to leave Hong Kong in September 2019, I had friends who were in some of the worst conflict zones of the protests: Prince Edward, Yuen Long, Chinese University, Polytechnic University, the list goes on. I felt like I was letting them down by not being next to them, not working and reporting with them. I wasn’t there suffering with them. But perhaps most importantly: there was nothing more I wanted more than to be there with my friends, right in the middle of all the action.
I miss the camaraderie. Journalists looking out for one another. Frontliners looking out for one another. Frontliners looking out for journalists. At times, it felt as though for the first time, we really took the time and effort to take care of each other.
It’s weird — how in a time where the city had never been so divided, there was also this feeling of unity. But it’s also kinda funny. That’s probably the most united I’ve ever seen Hong Kong be.
Rule by fear
“You’re not sad. You’re just flat. You start to lust for the feelings to which you didn’t realize you were addicted, but required the worst experience of your life to achieve. You grow resentful of those who go about their lives indifferent to your experiences and the sacrifices of the brothers and sisters with whom you’ve served. The little pleasures and achievements that drive most people’s lives and the challenges they claim to have overcome all seem inconsequential. You see reflections of your wartime experience in every part of life, and you wonder, knowing what you know now, how those around you can live the way they do.” — Nolan Peterson
It was a time when there was still a glimmer of hope for the people of Hong Kong. A time when Hong Kongers were able to say whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted. A time when people were able to demonstrate and protest the government and its policies.
No longer.
The National Security Law put an end to the mass demonstrations. People became scared.
Collusion.
Secession.
Sedition.
Subversion.
Treason.
All of a sudden, it felt as though the fate of this city was sealed.
Folks who were once happy to talk to the media started to distance themselves from international news organizations. People didn’t feel comfortable expressing themselves anymore. As one journalist put it: “The passage of the law has had an immediate and chilling impact.”
The Office for Safeguarding National Security was established just days after the new law was put in place.
Pro-democracy politicians started to leave the city on self-imposed exile.
The government and police arrested anyone who’s ever had a significant voice in the pan-democratic coalition, charging them for subversion under the National Security Law.
And last (but definitely not least), Hong Kong was placed 80th in the 2020 World Press Freedom Index, compared to 61st in 2014.
Almost two years after the first mass protests, I find myself here — sat in bed.
“It’s just a bad dream. You’re safe. Remember where you are. Look around you. You’re good.” I’d have to tell myself.
I find myself scared of going back to bed.
The same recurring nightmares appear over and over again. The same hellish scenarios pop into my head: being separated from my family, friends, and loved ones because of the career I chose to pursue; being excommunicated for what I chose to do for a living; friends would stop checking up on me once they knew of my profession. People I once considered my closest ones would suddenly never speak to me again.
And before you know it, these nightmares eventually became reality.
The people who remain close to me often ask: “Why did you do it? Why did you have to go out then? Of all the careers, why did you have to choose THIS one?”
It doesn’t matter how many times you explain it to them though. I’d have to tell myself: “They’ll never get it. How could they? They weren’t there.”
And so, almost two years on, we find ourselves in an unprecedented situation.
So where do we go from here?
As friends and ex-colleagues start to pack their bags and make their way to the airport for their one-way trips, I asked myself:
“Is it really safe for me to stay here? As a journalist?”
I was lucky enough to be able to speak to a well-known journalist briefly when they spoke to our class as a guest speaker. I asked them:
“I think a lot of us in this room want to stay here and work in Hong Kong as a journalist. But let’s be real: with the ever-changing climate of the news industry and the awful job market because of the pandemic, alongside the introduction of the National Security Law, there’s a huge element of concern and worry for those of us who want to stay and work here. Do you have any words of wisdom and encouragement for us?”
I’ll never forget their answer.
“The fact that you’re even seriously considering this career says volume about you guys. And the fact that you want to stay here despite everything going on is so important — you guys have are going to be the change in the way people receive journalism and you guys get to change the system.”
So that’s where I’m at now. Would it be safer and better if I decided to move to the UK or Canada and start a new life there? Almost definitely.
But how can I? How can I leave the city that gave me everything — the city that shaped me into who I am today?
I could never.
So we have to keep doing what we can as journalists. Despite the challenges we face in a city with declining press freedom, despite the risks that come with the job, we have only one thing to do.
We keep reporting.
