On the 20th anniversary of June 4 massacre, over 150,000 Hong Kongers attended the candlelight vigil at Victoria Park to remember those who sacrificed their lives for the progress of China. It was a record-breaking turnout. The vigil went smoothly in fine weather: heart-felt speeches by local activists, the representative of the mainland mothers who lost their children in the massacre, and Hong Kong youths born in 1989 who swore to carry on the inheritance.
A 70-year-old mainland Chinese man flew in from Shanghai on June 4, just to be a part of this very special night. He came here by himself, without his family.
Our fellow countryman said it was the first time he ever participated in such an open event. When the grey-haired man asked if the June 4 massacre had an impact on him, our guest lamented the absence of freedom in China. "I greatly respect Hong Kong people's sentiments. This is outstanding," he said.
At the end of the vigil people flocked to the statue and posed for records of their moment of remembrance--here in Hong Kong, where we can still voice our opinions and feelings; mourn over the loss of young, passionate souls who wanted their country to improve out of love; and shout 'Freedom!' against oppression and show the world that, as Chinese, where our hearts are at about matters of liberty and human rights.
Now that I've relieved the memory of grief along with 150,000 kindred souls, I'll write down a few of my thoughts about June 4th and hope they'll reach distant friends and overseas readers. I was in primary school when the massacre took place--in the weeks preceding it, I followed news clips of the students' protests in Tiananmen Square and other mainland cities. In my child's mind, the protests seemed like a progression of menace--I was not afraid of, but for the students, because it was unlike anything I'd ever seen before and it had an incredible, larger than life momentum. And I'd been informed by random adults that China was a land known of massive persecutions--my mother already told me about the Communists' destruction of Chinese culture by and the Cultural Revolution. The young folks marching on the square and their supporters - young and old, including sympathetic army officers at the early stage of protests - was too touching, too good to be true. Their hunger strikes, the fasting away in thin cotton shirts under the Beijing summer sun, the music and passion in the air, the promise of change. Everything started to border on the surreal. Surely, this couldn't be China?
No, the Communists gave us a very clear answer. The fury and anguish following the massacre is almost a blur now. At that tender age, I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw a million Hong Kongers rallying down the streets, crying against the motherland we would be handed over to. What's the connection between these ruthless Chinese killers, and us? Was the 1997 handover truly going to happen? So the clock started to tick and our freedom, our autonomy and safety would be at stake any moment, if we rebelled against the Communist government. What did it mean to be Hong Kongers then, if our existence meant counting down to doomsday? Was there any meaning at all to being a Hong Konger, when there was no one we could turn to, leave alone trust? What was the point of thriving if all we fought for and achieved would be taken away, crushed and airbrushed out of history at someone else's whim? How could we live in this in-between-land?
(Believe it or not, such ideas could be born out of a child's mind at extraordinary turns of history. I had begun to read classic Chinese writers like Lu Hsun at that age, and wondered about the development of Chinese history and culture in the 20th century.)
Another scarring moment, which most other children my age probably did not share, was when I watched a tape of the massacre that was smuggled out of China. A copy fell into my uncle's hand. He was about to play it; he asked me if I'd like to watch. The hour-long tape was footages of killings that were not shown on TV, images that were even more violent which escalated to the absurd--monotonous replays of people being flattened by tanks, being shot; the wounded being stepped on, kicked around, covered in blood, soon buried by other bodies; the wounded left to die, slowly, their arms or legs torn off and lying on the ground like animals meat and organs. The light dimmed, but the gunshots grew louder and overwhelmed the scene until all was a dark shade of red. At the end even the colors faded.
Only the silence of my heart remained. For a fleeting second I tried to believe that China, the country we'd return to, would not do the same to us--she would improve, it would be history. But no--at that moment I knew I could not love her, would never love her.
In my adult years I have never said--not that I can remember--that I love my country. Now, know that I think a lot of criticism directed at China is biased, and I'm not one of those folks who wave banners and decry our President of Premier for being fake and petty. China is a huge country with her set of problems, and her current leaders have their flaws, but China has improved a great deal in recent years. Speaking as a Hong Konger, my primary concern is our liberty in this town. Will the government enforce the Article 23 that limits our freedom of speech and press and encourages secret surveillance? And, being a writer, I get extremely upset at the news of intellectuals, scholars, journalists and the like being locked up. When will China behave like a civilized country? When will she stop bringing such shame to her people?
Students leaders and activists have said, June 4th was the downfall of moral standards in China. It gave out a clear signal that if you pursue democracy or rebel, the government will wipe you out in the most merciless manner. Once the public accepts the principle of oppression, they lose the autonomy of their mind. They will yield to the immoral--such as corruption--and give up on the possibility of real progress. Tonight the activists at vigil voiced the same sentiments. If only the Chinese government had responded to the calls of democracy in 1989 and dealt with the whole movement in a more open-minded, progressive way, Chinese people today could have led much freer, happier lives.
At that point I searched myself for any love I might have for my 'motherland'. My only answer was another question: When will China truly open up?
Since the 1997 handover, I've been asked by so many foreigners about the changes in Hong Kong and our reaction towards Chinese rule. They want to know if we've lost our freedom. The answer most of them seek is "Yes, it's worse now we're under the Chinese", because they have so many stereotypes about China. And when some expatriates living here, including a few who're very close to me, challenge the gradual loss of freedom in Hong Kong, I'm driven to tears to defend my hometown. Our government has tightened its control over us in subtle ways; and it has shamed us with its many totalitarian moves, like barring entry of intellectuals and activists. And yes, there's serious self-censorship in the media now and school curriculum is hopeless, it does not educate the young so much as brainwash them.
But how can I tell you that all these changes do not change what we feel? That we still believe in and fight for what we've always held onto--freedom, human rights, an open environment for its people to thrive, to work hard for their well-being and prosperity for the future generations? That even for materialistic folks like us, prosperity does not only mean money, but also a fair, happy place we're proud to call home? That home for us is Hong Kong and whatever happened with the handover, or whatever lies in our future with China, we believed in who we are: we are exceptional, and we'll accomplish what we wish for and all the while rally for our rights, our belief.
As a Hong Konger, I'm proud to say I live in the only Chinese city where we can openly fight for the vindication of June 4th victims, for the remote possibility of China improving in her human rights records and her moves towards democracy one day. We, the Hong Kong public and esp. some of our veteran journalists, are keepers of memories and trauma in our national history. And, before you raise another question about Hong Kong under China, the many threats we face, our presumed fall from grace--let me say to you, as a Hong Konger: "We're not afraid."
At the end of the vigil people flocked to the statue and posed for records of their moment of remembrance--here in Hong Kong, where we can still voice our opinions and feelings; mourn over the loss of young, passionate souls who wanted their country to improve out of love; and shout 'Freedom!' against oppression and show the world that, as Chinese, where our hearts are at about matters of liberty and human rights.Now that I've relieved the memory of grief along with 150,000 kindred souls, I'll write down a few of my thoughts about June 4th and hope they'll reach distant friends and overseas readers. I was in primary school when the massacre took place--in the weeks preceding it, I followed news clips of the students' protests in Tiananmen Square and other mainland cities. In my child's mind, the protests seemed like a progression of menace--I was not afraid of, but for the students, because it was unlike anything I'd ever seen before and it had an incredible, larger than life momentum. And I'd been informed by random adults that China was a land known of massive persecutions--my mother already told me about the Communists' destruction of Chinese culture by and the Cultural Revolution. The young folks marching on the square and their supporters - young and old, including sympathetic army officers at the early stage of protests - was too touching, too good to be true. Their hunger strikes, the fasting away in thin cotton shirts under the Beijing summer sun, the music and passion in the air, the promise of change. Everything started to border on the surreal. Surely, this couldn't be China?
No, the Communists gave us a very clear answer. The fury and anguish following the massacre is almost a blur now. At that tender age, I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw a million Hong Kongers rallying down the streets, crying against the motherland we would be handed over to. What's the connection between these ruthless Chinese killers, and us? Was the 1997 handover truly going to happen? So the clock started to tick and our freedom, our autonomy and safety would be at stake any moment, if we rebelled against the Communist government. What did it mean to be Hong Kongers then, if our existence meant counting down to doomsday? Was there any meaning at all to being a Hong Konger, when there was no one we could turn to, leave alone trust? What was the point of thriving if all we fought for and achieved would be taken away, crushed and airbrushed out of history at someone else's whim? How could we live in this in-between-land?
(Believe it or not, such ideas could be born out of a child's mind at extraordinary turns of history. I had begun to read classic Chinese writers like Lu Hsun at that age, and wondered about the development of Chinese history and culture in the 20th century.)
Another scarring moment, which most other children my age probably did not share, was when I watched a tape of the massacre that was smuggled out of China. A copy fell into my uncle's hand. He was about to play it; he asked me if I'd like to watch. The hour-long tape was footages of killings that were not shown on TV, images that were even more violent which escalated to the absurd--monotonous replays of people being flattened by tanks, being shot; the wounded being stepped on, kicked around, covered in blood, soon buried by other bodies; the wounded left to die, slowly, their arms or legs torn off and lying on the ground like animals meat and organs. The light dimmed, but the gunshots grew louder and overwhelmed the scene until all was a dark shade of red. At the end even the colors faded.
Only the silence of my heart remained. For a fleeting second I tried to believe that China, the country we'd return to, would not do the same to us--she would improve, it would be history. But no--at that moment I knew I could not love her, would never love her.
In my adult years I have never said--not that I can remember--that I love my country. Now, know that I think a lot of criticism directed at China is biased, and I'm not one of those folks who wave banners and decry our President of Premier for being fake and petty. China is a huge country with her set of problems, and her current leaders have their flaws, but China has improved a great deal in recent years. Speaking as a Hong Konger, my primary concern is our liberty in this town. Will the government enforce the Article 23 that limits our freedom of speech and press and encourages secret surveillance? And, being a writer, I get extremely upset at the news of intellectuals, scholars, journalists and the like being locked up. When will China behave like a civilized country? When will she stop bringing such shame to her people?
Students leaders and activists have said, June 4th was the downfall of moral standards in China. It gave out a clear signal that if you pursue democracy or rebel, the government will wipe you out in the most merciless manner. Once the public accepts the principle of oppression, they lose the autonomy of their mind. They will yield to the immoral--such as corruption--and give up on the possibility of real progress. Tonight the activists at vigil voiced the same sentiments. If only the Chinese government had responded to the calls of democracy in 1989 and dealt with the whole movement in a more open-minded, progressive way, Chinese people today could have led much freer, happier lives.
At that point I searched myself for any love I might have for my 'motherland'. My only answer was another question: When will China truly open up?
Since the 1997 handover, I've been asked by so many foreigners about the changes in Hong Kong and our reaction towards Chinese rule. They want to know if we've lost our freedom. The answer most of them seek is "Yes, it's worse now we're under the Chinese", because they have so many stereotypes about China. And when some expatriates living here, including a few who're very close to me, challenge the gradual loss of freedom in Hong Kong, I'm driven to tears to defend my hometown. Our government has tightened its control over us in subtle ways; and it has shamed us with its many totalitarian moves, like barring entry of intellectuals and activists. And yes, there's serious self-censorship in the media now and school curriculum is hopeless, it does not educate the young so much as brainwash them.
But how can I tell you that all these changes do not change what we feel? That we still believe in and fight for what we've always held onto--freedom, human rights, an open environment for its people to thrive, to work hard for their well-being and prosperity for the future generations? That even for materialistic folks like us, prosperity does not only mean money, but also a fair, happy place we're proud to call home? That home for us is Hong Kong and whatever happened with the handover, or whatever lies in our future with China, we believed in who we are: we are exceptional, and we'll accomplish what we wish for and all the while rally for our rights, our belief.
As a Hong Konger, I'm proud to say I live in the only Chinese city where we can openly fight for the vindication of June 4th victims, for the remote possibility of China improving in her human rights records and her moves towards democracy one day. We, the Hong Kong public and esp. some of our veteran journalists, are keepers of memories and trauma in our national history. And, before you raise another question about Hong Kong under China, the many threats we face, our presumed fall from grace--let me say to you, as a Hong Konger: "We're not afraid."
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