Meanwhile in Hong Kong

China’s Censorship Widens to Hong Kong’s Vaunted Film Industry, With Global Implications

The city’s government said it would block the distribution of films that are deemed to undermine national security, bringing the territory more in line with mainland Chinese rules.

June 11, 2021

For decades, Hong Kong’s movie industry has enthralled global audiences with balletic shoot-em-ups, epic martial-arts fantasies, chopsocky comedies and shadow-drenched romances. Now, under orders from Beijing, local officials will scrutinize such works with an eye toward safeguarding the People’s Republic of China.

The city’s government on Friday said it would begin blocking the distribution of films that are deemed to undermine national security, marking the official arrival of mainland Chinese-style censorship in one of Asia’s most celebrated filmmaking hubs.

The new guidelines, which apply to both domestically produced and foreign films, come as a sharp slap to the artistic spirit of Hong Kong, where government-protected freedoms of expression and an irreverent local culture had imbued the city with a cultural vibrancy that set it apart from mainland megacities.

They also represent a broadening of the Chinese government’s hold on the global film industry. China’s booming box office has been irresistible to Hollywood studios. Big-budget productions go to great lengths to avoid offending Chinese audiences and Communist Party censors, while others discover the expensive way what happens when they do not.

Hong Kong’s storied movie industry is as much a pillar of its identity as its food, its soaring skyline or its financial services sector.

During its peak as a filmmaking capital in the decades after World War II, the city churned out immensely popular genre flicks and nurtured auteurs like Wong Kar-wai and Ann Hui. It has minted international stars such as Jackie Chan, Chow Yun-fat, Andy Lau and Tony Leung. The influence of Hong Kong cinema can be seen in the work of Hollywood directors including Quentin Tarantino and Martin Scorsese, and in blockbusters such as “The Matrix.”

Censorship worries have loomed large over Hong Kong’s creative industries ever since the former British colony was returned to China in 1997. But concerns that once felt theoretical have become frighteningly real since Beijing enacted a national security law last year to quash the antigovernment protests that shook the city in 2019.

So while few in the local movie industry said they felt caught totally off guard by the new censorship guidelines issued Friday, they still expressed concern that the sweeping scope of the rules would affect not just which movies are screened in Hong Kong, but also how they get produced and whether they get made at all.

“How do you raise funds?” asked Evans Chan, a filmmaker who has faced problems screening his work in the city. “Can you openly crowdsource and say that this is a film about certain points of view, certain activities?”

Even feature filmmakers, he said, will be left to wonder in tense anticipation whether their movies will fall afoul of the security law. “It’s not just a matter of activist filmmaking or political filmmaking, but the overall scene of filmmaking in Hong Kong.”

The censorship directives are the latest sign of how thoroughly Hong Kong is being reshaped by Beijing’s security law, which took aim at the city’s pro-democracy protest movement but has had crushing implications for aspects of its very character.

With the blessing of the Communist government, the Hong Kong authorities have changed school curriculums, pulled books off library shelves and moved to overhaul elections. The police have arrested pro-democracy activists and politicians as well as a high-profile newspaper publisher.

And in the arts, the law has created an atmosphere of fear.

The updated rules announced Friday require Hong Kong censors considering a film for distribution to look out not only for violent, sexual and vulgar content, but also for how the film portrays acts “which may amount to an offense endangering national security.”

Anything that is “objectively and reasonably capable of being perceived as endorsing, supporting, promoting, glorifying, encouraging or inciting” such acts is potential grounds for deeming a film unfit for exhibition, the rules now say.

The new rules do not limit the scope of a censor’s verdict to a film’s content alone.

“When considering the effect of the film as a whole and its likely effect on the persons likely to view the film,” the guidelines say, “the censor should have regard to the duties to prevent and suppress act or activity endangering national security.”

A Hong Kong government statement on Friday said: “The film censorship regulatory framework is built on the premise of a balance between protection of individual rights and freedoms on the one hand, and the protection of legitimate societal interests on the other.”

The vagueness of the new provisions is in keeping with what the security law’s critics say are its ambiguously defined offenses, which give the authorities wide latitude to target activists and critics.

Tin Kai-man, of the Federation of Hong Kong Filmmakers, told the local broadcaster TVB that the industry needed to better understand whether the censors’ decisions could be appealed — after, for instance, they had ruled that a movie could not be shown in Hong Kong because of national security risks.

“All of this must first be made clear,” Mr. Tin said. “We don’t want this thing to come in and grow out of control so we start worrying about the impact on movie production.”

The new censorship guidelines announced Friday seem directed in part at one specific kind of movie. They say censors should give extra scrutiny to any film that “purports to be a documentary” or to report on “real events with immediate connection to the circumstances in Hong Kong.”

Why? “The local audience may likely feel more strongly about the contents of the film.”

Censors, according to the guidelines, “should carefully examine whether the film contains any biased, unverified, false or misleading narratives or presentation of commentaries.”

That could spell tougher scrutiny for movies like “Ten Years,” a low-budget independent production from 2015 that offered dystopian tales of life in a 2025 Hong Kong that is crumpling under Beijing’s grip. It might also put a chill on documentarians’ efforts to chronicle Hong Kong’s political turmoil.

A short documentary about the 2019 protests, “Do Not Split,” was nominated for an Academy Award this year, raising global awareness about China’s crackdown in the city. (The film’s nomination may have played a role in Hong Kong broadcasters’ deciding not to air the Oscar broadcast this year for the first time in decades, although one station called it a commercial decision.)

Efforts to bring other politically themed documentaries before audiences in Hong Kong in recent months have become engulfed in bitter controversy.

A screening of a documentary about the 2019 protests was canceled at the last minute this year after a pro-Beijing newspaper said the film encouraged subversion. The University of Hong Kong urged its student union to cancel a showing of a film about a jailed activist.

The screening went on as planned. But a few months later, the university said it would stop collecting membership fees on the organization’s behalf and would stop managing its finances as punishment for its “radical acts.”

Mainland China has long restricted the number of films made outside China that can be shown in local cinemas. But Hong Kong has operated much like any other movie market around the world, with cinema operators booking whatever might sell tickets.

The city’s expanded censorship could therefore take a small but meaningful bite out of Hollywood’s overseas box office returns.

“Joker,” the Warner Bros. supervillain film from 2019, was not cleared for release in mainland Chinese cinemas, for instance. But it collected more than $7 million in Hong Kong, according to the entertainment industry database IMDBpro.

China has become more important to Hollywood in recent years because it is one of the few countries where moviegoing is growing. Ticket sales in the United States and Canada, which make up the world’s No. 1 movie market, were flat between 2016 and 2019, at $11.4 billion, according to the Motion Picture Association. Over that period, ticket sales in China increased 41 percent, to $9.3 billion.

As a result, American studios have stepped up their efforts to work within China’s censorship system.

Last year, PEN America, the free-speech advocacy group, excoriated Hollywood executives for voluntarily censoring films to placate China, with “content, casting, plot, dialogue and settings” tailored “to avoid antagonizing Chinese officials.” In some instances, PEN said, studios have been “directly inviting Chinese government censors onto their film sets to advise them on how to avoid tripping the censors’ wires.”

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A response to the film censorship developments from Angelica Oung (journalist and commentator in Taiwan):

Guy

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More than a dozen police cars showed up at the Apple Daily HK building early this morning and conduct another search of the building.
Five high-level executives, including the CEO and editor in chief were all arrested under the article 5 of NSL.

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Things getting worse there.

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Terrible!

Guy

Last year, officials in China and Hong Kong all claimed the NSL is not going to be retroactive, but today, they cited articles from 2019 as the “strong evidence” that Apple Daily HK has conspired with foreign powers to impose sanctions on HK and Beijing.

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Well, it’s not like you can trust the CCP to do anything that they have claimed they would, or to tell the truth, or to stick to their promises.

We all knew this was coming. Still sucks, of course.

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Nothing that comes out of the CCP’s mouth is true.

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Officials of Taipei Economic and Cultural Office in Hong Kong are returning.

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why would they need visas if they are supposedly “Chinese”? Lol.

I wonder what happens to Taiwan edition…

running out of hope.

Just the way the venal HK authorities would like it.

Guy

2 posts were merged into an existing topic: Apple Daily to close in HK - end of an era

Fung Wai-kong was arrested at airport.

Crossing the Red Line: Behind China’s Takeover of Hong Kong

Crossing the Red Line: Behind China’s Takeover of Hong Kong

One year ago, the city’s freedoms were curtailed with breathtaking speed. But the clampdown was years in the making, and many signals were missed.

Installing China’s national emblem last July at the Metropark Hotel Causeway Bay in Hong Kong, which became a Chinese security agency’s base of operations.

Hong Kong’s march toward an authoritarian future began with a single phrase in a dry policy paper. Beijing, the document declared, would wield “comprehensive jurisdiction” over the territory.

The paper, published in June 2014, signaled the Chinese leader Xi Jinping’s determination to tame political defiance in the former British colony, which had kept its own laws and freedoms. But the words were dismissed by many as intimidating swagger that the city’s robust legal system and democratic opposition could face down.

Hong Kong now knows Mr. Xi’s ambitions with a stunned clarity. The paper marked the opening of a contest for control in the city, culminating in the sweeping national security law that few saw coming.

Since that law took force one year ago, Beijing has unleashed a stampede of actions to bring Hong Kong into political lock step with the Chinese Communist Party: arresting activists, seizing assets, firing government workers, detaining newspaper editors and rewriting school curriculums.

While the clampdown seemed to arrive with startling speed, it was the culmination of yearslong efforts in Beijing. Interviews with insiders and advisers, as well as speeches, policy papers and state-funded studies, reveal Chinese officials’ growing alarm over protests in Hong Kong; their impatience with wavering among the city’s pro-Beijing ruling elite; and their growing conviction that Hong Kong had become a haven for Western-backed subversion.

In the years following the white paper’s release, Beijing laid the groundwork for a security counteroffensive. Officials attacked the assumption that Hong Kong’s autonomy was set in stone under the framework negotiated with Britain near the end of colonial rule. They pushed back against demands for democratic rights, while influential advisers audaciously proposed that Beijing could impose a security law if Hong Kong legislators failed to act.

Hong Kong’s Legislative Council in November. Pro-democracy lawmakers had resigned en masse after four of their number were ousted.

There were clues to indicate that positions in Beijing were hardening. It was only the final push, in the months before the security law came down, that was muffled in near-total secrecy.

Those signals, often conveyed with the Communist Party’s usual calculated opacity, failed to cut through the political tumult in Hong Kong. The city’s opposition had envisioned grinding, shifting political battles against Chinese government encroachment over decades, not a lightning war. Given the risk of a global backlash, and the territory’s vital financial role, many assumed that Mr. Xi would move cautiously. Even Beijing’s closest loyalists in Hong Kong underestimated how far he was ultimately willing to go.

China’s offensive has dramatically accelerated its absorption of Hong Kong, portending deeper changes that could end the city’s status as Asia’s cosmopolitan capital.

“The whole process developed or evolved gradually, until a couple years ago, then it sped up very quickly,” said Lau Siu-kai, a Hong Kong scholar who advises Beijing on policy. “The problem is that the national security law came about very suddenly and many people were caught by surprise, including the so called pro-Beijing people in Hong Kong.”

A firewall vanishes

Xi Jinping, newly appointed as China’s top leader, in November 2012. His hardline agenda was not immediately apparent.

Mr. Xi came to power in 2012 amid expectations in Hong Kong that he might be a pragmatic overseer, content to rely on the politicians and tycoons who had long served as Beijing’s surrogates.

His father had been a liberalizing leader in neighboring Guangdong Province, and Mr. Xi at first cultivated a relatively mild image. He told Leung Chun-ying, then Hong Kong’s top official, that China’s approach to the territory “will not change.”

But as he settled into power, Mr. Xi revealed an iron-fisted ideological agenda. In mainland China, he stifled dissent and denounced ideas like judicial independence and civil society — values that to many defined Hong Kong.

The 2014 policy paper signaled Mr. Xi’s rejection of the idea that laws and treaties insulated Hong Kong from Chinese state power. Many in Hong Kong had long worried that the city’s autonomy was brittle, but previous Chinese leaders had preferred to exercise influence indirectly and covertly.

The paper’s new phrase, “comprehensive jurisdiction,” suggested that Beijing no longer saw a legal “firewall” encasing Hong Kong, said Michael C. Davis, a former professor of law at the University of Hong Kong and author of “Making Hong Kong China.”

While the term ignited protest by lawyers in Hong Kong, many considered it an intimidating political statement without legal foundation, one that would goad the opposition rather than deter it.

“This avowed posture of ‘crushing a crab to death with a boulder’ is a foolish move,” Chan Kin-man, an academic at the forefront of Hong Kong’s pro-democracy campaign, said at the time. “It will only prompt an even bigger social reaction.”

Beijing soon made clear that it was serious about setting new rules for Hong Kong.

Mr. Xi’s predecessor, Hu Jintao, had raised the possibility of fulfilling China’s repeatedly delayed promise to let the public directly elect the chief executive, Hong Kong’s top official. In August 2014, the Chinese government revealed a narrow proposal to allow a direct vote starting in 2017, but only from among a handful of candidates approved by Beijing.

Tens of thousands of people responded by occupying major streets for two and a half months. Chinese leaders began to worry that Hong Kong had become an ideological abscess that would need lancing.

Young demonstrators occupied a Hong Kong expressway in October 2014. Loyalists to Beijing depicted the protests as a Western-sponsored uprising.

Chinese media and pro-Beijing politicians began calling the protests a “color revolution,” the party’s term for Western-sponsored insurrection. Chinese officials intensified calls for the territory to pass security legislation, a commitment demanded by the Basic Law, Beijing’s framework of rules that give Hong Kong its special status.

The government began dismissing as a relic the joint declaration with Britain that laid out conditions for Hong Kong’s return to China in 1997. A Chinese diplomat in London said the declaration was “now void,” according to a British lawmaker.

But Mr. Xi was not yet ready to make dramatic incursions into Hong Kong. His policy shifted between warnings and reassuring economic gestures, lulling some into thinking that the party’s political bite would not match its rhetorical bark.

Mr. Xi’s hold over China’s own security apparatus was incomplete. Beijing also wanted to keep tensions with the United States in check and give Hong Kong time to repair its economy after the demonstrations, said Tian Feilong, an associate professor of law at Beihang University in Beijing who became a supporter of a tougher approach to protesters.

Given those considerations, he said, Chinese leaders “didn’t immediately set to work on solving the national security issue.”

‘Grab this hot potato’

Hong Kong judges at a ceremony in January 2020. The city’s judicial system is separate from mainland China’s.

Curtailing opposition in Hong Kong was more complicated than in other tense areas on China’s periphery, like Tibet and Xinjiang.

Hong Kong had its own British-derived legal system, a popular and well-organized democratic opposition and far greater global economic exposure. Bringing out Chinese troops to quell protests could spook financial markets.

Pro-Beijing politicians in Hong Kong were reluctant to push for national security legislation. A previous attempt had failed in 2003 after a massive protest.

“Nobody was willing to grab this hot potato,” Professor Tian said. “No one, including the Western countries, truly believed that Hong Kong locally had the ability to complete this legislation.”

After 2014, Mr. Xi’s calls for resurgent party power emboldened policy advisers to look for new ways to break the impasse over Hong Kong. Hawkish voices began advancing arguments that China could impose a security law on the city by constitutional fiat.

“Some people think that the central government can’t do anything,” Mo Jihong, a law professor at the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences, a state think tank, said at a 2016 meeting about security legislation for Hong Kong. “The central government has the power to deal with these matters.”

Some Chinese academics published studies arguing that the mainland’s own national security law could be extended to Hong Kong. Others proposed that China pass a law tailor-made for Hong Kong, bypassing political obstacles in the city.

Visiting Hong Kong in 2017 for the first time as China’s leader, Mr. Xi said challenges to the central government’s authority “would cross a red line and will never be permitted.

It was widely thought in Hong Kong that Mr. Xi would not go that far. When China adopted its own security law in 2015, the top security official in Hong Kong, Lai Tung-kwok, said the responsibility to enact laws in the city against crimes like treason and subversion would be “fulfilled by local legislation.” The administration, he said, “has no plan to enact” such laws. Insiders shook their heads at the idea that Beijing could impose one.

“I had never imagined that you could use this approach,” Tam Yiu-Chung, the sole Hong Kong member of the top committee of China’s legislature, said in a recent interview. “I’d heard about it, but there were so many difficulties with it.”

By July 2017, when Hong Kong’s elite gathered to celebrate the 20th anniversary of the territory’s return to Chinese sovereignty, Mr. Xi was ready to raise the stakes.

It was his first visit to Hong Kong as China’s top leader. Hours before tens of thousands kicked off an annual protest for greater democratic rights, Mr. Xi inserted a steely warning into his celebratory speech.

Threats to “national sovereignty and security,” or challenges to the central government’s authority in Hong Kong, “would cross a red line and will never be permitted,” Mr. Xi said.

In China’s top-down system, Mr. Xi’s words galvanized policymakers to look for new ways to defend that “red line.”

One influential adviser, Chen Duanhong, a professor of law at Peking University, submitted several internal reports about Hong Kong to Communist Party headquarters, including one about adopting security legislation. Around that same time, he wrote publicly that in a dire crisis, Chinese leaders could “take all necessary measures” to defend sovereignty, casting aside the fetters of lesser laws.

“The will of the state must constantly respond to its environment of survival,” he wrote, “and then take decisive measures at crucial moments.”

‘Nobody in their wildest imagination’

In June 2019, vast numbers of Hong Kong residents protested a bill that would have allowed extradition to the mainland.

For Beijing, the crucial moment appeared to arrive on the night of July 21, 2019. Hundreds of protesters besieged the Central Liaison Office, China’s primary arm in Hong Kong, and splattered black ink on the red-and-gold Chinese national emblem over the entrance.

The demonstrations had begun in June as a largely peaceful outcry against a bill that would have allowed extraditions to mainland China. Within weeks they had become a massive movement, venting years of pent-up discontent over Beijing’s encroachments. Some radical protesters began calling for independence.

For many Hong Kongers, resistance was necessary even if victory was unlikely. “We had thought it would be a slow strangling,” said Jackie Chen, a social worker who supported pro-democracy protests in 2019. “We were thinking about how to slow their strangling, stop it, and then turn for the better.”

To Beijing, the national emblem’s defacement confirmed that the protests had become an assault on its very claim to Hong Kong.

Official media, mute on the protests for weeks, erupted. People’s Daily, the Communist Party’s main paper, said the incident “brazenly challenged the central government’s authority” and “crossed a red line,” echoing Mr. Xi’s warning two years earlier.

“Enough is enough,” Regina Ip, a pro-Beijing legislator in Hong Kong, said in a recent interview, recalling the authorities’ reaction to the vandalism.

“And the slogan of Hong Kong independence,” she added. “That’s gone too far.”

The clearest sign of how Beijing would respond came in October 2019. State television showed hundreds of top officials at a closed-door meeting, raising their hands to endorse a move to tighten law and order across China. The plan, published days later, proposed a “legal system and enforcement mechanism for national security” in Hong Kong.

After protesters defaced the national emblem at the Central Liaison Office in Hong Kong in July 2019, Chinese state media erupted.

That warning was widely misconstrued. While many Hong Kongers figured that Beijing would move to end the protests, most thought the steps would be familiar. Some expected fresh pressure on local lawmakers to enact security laws.

At the time, Ms. Ip, the lawmaker, doubted that Chief Executive Carrie Lam could make much progress on a security law. “It’s not something that can happen anytime soon,” she said in November 2019.

Notably absent was any talk of security legislation imposed directly by Beijing. The mainland scholars’ proposals had largely faded from view. Top loyalists and government advisers in Hong Kong were not briefed on the option, which might have risked inflaming the protests.

It had “not been discussed in the media,” said Albert Chen, a law professor at the University of Hong Kong who sits on a legal advisory committee to Beijing. “Not even mainland Chinese scholars talked about this possibility at that time.”

But China’s leaders had already reached beyond the offices that usually dealt with Hong Kong — their credibility wounded by the months of protest — and quietly recruited experts to prepare for the security intervention, said two people who were told about the deliberations by participants. Top Communist Party agencies steered the preparations, said both people, who spoke on the condition of anonymity, citing the sensitivity of the matter.

Mr. Xi would formally extend China’s formidable security apparatus to Hong Kong, creating an agency there that answered directly to the party.

Not even the most draconian public proposals for security legislation had envisioned this step.

“Nobody in their wildest imagination would have thought there would be a central agency in Hong Kong,” said Fu Hualing, the dean of the University of Hong Kong law school.

‘Welcoming and support’

Pro-democracy activists were ordered into a Hong Kong prison van in March.

The announcement stunned the city. Ahead of China’s annual legislative meeting, a spokesman said at a late-night news conference on May 21 that lawmakers would review a plan to impose a national security law on Hong Kong.

The law was quickly passed on June 30, laying out four offenses — separatism, subversion, terrorism and collusion with foreign powers — with penalties up to life imprisonment. It demanded oversight of schools and media.

And it created the new Chinese security agency in Hong Kong, virtually immune to legal challenges. It was empowered to investigate cases and bring defendants to trial on the mainland, where party-controlled courts rarely reject prosecutors’ charges.

City officials initially said the security law would be applied with scrupulous precision; instead, it unleashed a rolling campaign that has left few corners of society untouched.

The Hong Kong authorities have arrested more than 110 people in national security investigations over the past year, charging 64, including most of the city’s best-known pro-democracy activists.

A billboard promoted the national security law last June.

The Chinese security agency itself has stayed largely out of view. Its most visible footprint has been its temporary headquarters at the 33-story Metropark Hotel Causeway Bay, overlooking Victoria Park, once the site of some of Hong Kong’s biggest protests.

But it has occasionally broken its silence, reminding residents that it looms behind the scenes.

It has pointedly praised the arrests of high-profile figures, including opposition politicians and top editors of Apple Daily, a brash pro-democracy tabloid ensnared by the law and forced to close last week. It has scrutinized museums for potentially subversive artwork, according to a local official. It has extolled the security law as a cure for Hong Kong’s political turbulence.

“I thank the Hong Kong people,” the agency’s chief, Zheng Yanxiong, said in a rare public speech on National Security Education Day, in April.

“They’ve gone through a very natural, reasonable process from unfamiliarity, guessing and wait-and-see about the Hong Kong National Security Law,” he said, “to acceptance, welcoming and support.”

A week later, the Hong Kong government announced that China’s security agency would build a permanent headquarters on the city’s waterfront, occupying a site about the size of two football fields.

Source:

Hong Kong National Security Law: What happened to the city’s activists

At the height of Hong Kong’s pro-democracy protests, activist Ventus Lau — just 25 then — put his name down as the organizer of multiple demonstrations, aware that he would take the fall if violence broke out.

Now behind bars, Lau wonders where his bravery came from.

“I am actually pretty useless,” he wrote in a letter to his girlfriend in April. “I’m afraid of heights and water and insects, and even traveling via planes and boats. I don’t know why I had the courage to do so many things and have ended up in jail now.”

Lau has been in jail since February, connected to the outside world only through the letters he writes and receives. In them, he describes the insects he sees, his sleep trouble and how he sometimes struggles to remain hopeful.

“He feels like he shares the same breath and same fate as Hong Kong,” his girlfriend, Emilia Wong, said.

In the year since Beijing imposed a national security law in Hong Kong, the city has been transformed. Slogans and songs are now banned. A newspaper was forced to shutter. Walls are devoid of the colorful pro-democracy protest notes that were once a spontaneous form of free expression.

But the new law has most poignantly affected the more than 100 people arrested under its draconian provisions, almost all of them for speech violations or political acts. They now face life in prison.

About half of them, including Lau, were charged and detained in just one day in February for trying to run in an election. Most have been denied bail ahead of trial.

The treatment of this group shows China’s resolve to defy the will of Hong Kong people — who rejected pro-Beijing candidates in local district elections in late 2019 — and bring the financial center to heel.

Beijing’s clampdown on Hong Kong

The prospect of life in prison has forced the activists to make excruciating choices. Some have shut down social media accounts, quit their political parties and pledged never to run for elections again in the hopes that courts will grant bail. Others have continued to write letters from jail — determined that their voices should still be heard and hopeful that they can provide some comfort to friends and supporters.

Gwyneth Ho

‘We need to toughen up’

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…In the past six months, I can see that there is still much space in the civil society that has yet to be opened, and many needs that have to be fulfilled. At the same time, resources are overflowing, and many good-hearted yet frustrated people are asking “what else can we do.”

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Wasn’t this our mind-set in 2019? The most important legacy of 2019 is that we each now know how to find our own positions and cooperate together to make things happen, asking for nothing in return. It’s true that our public spaces have shrunk a lot compared to that time, but it’s precisely because of that we need to toughen up.

In one of her pages-long missives, posted by friends to her social media pages, Gwyneth Ho recalled a conversation with family members visiting her in jail.

“They told me what was being reported [about me] and said, ‘You are facing a very serious matter. Can you be more serious?’ ” she wrote.

They were referencing news reports that Ho hummed a love song from Mirror, a Canto-pop boy band, during the few seconds that her microphone was on at the start of her bail hearing.

Friends who know the 30-year-old could only laugh, comforted that the prospect of jail had not changed her.

“I thought to myself, this is so her, so crazily tough and humorous," said Glacier Kwong, a close friend of Ho.

When Ho and Kwong first met, Ho was a journalist. But even in her early days as a reporter, first for the BBC Chinese-language service and then online outlet Stand News, Ho was interested in politics.

Circumstances propelled Ho to prominence on July 21, 2019, when a gang of white-clad men rampaged through a subway station, beating commuters and pro-democracy protesters with sticks. She was reporting live for Stand News, when they turned their force on her. Ho documented her own attack, capturing her screams and cries before she fell to the ground.

She realized then, friends say, that her name carried political weight and that she could do more for the movement. So she chose to stand in the primary election and won among the most votes.

Kwong describes Ho as always ready for the consequences, having reported on Chinese dissidents and their treatment on the mainland. In jail, Ho has written long letters that were posted to her public social media pages, weaving together her political stance, pop culture and the future of the pro-democracy movement.

“She firmly believes in freedom of speech, and she considers that to be her right,” Kwong said. “She sees it as her role, and she does have a lot that she wants to address and talk about.”

Tiffany Yuen

‘We can only hope for

the unknown future’

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I want to give you a big, big hug! I know how helpless you must feel about your mood disorders, and I hope to give you power with this reply.

My dear, this world is not a place about reasoning and logic. Facing all sorts of defects and flaws, we can only hope for the unknown future and learn to live with fear, so our hearts can be strong.

“In a shattered normal, we do not have space to hide,” pro-democracy activist Tiffany Yuen wrote on her Facebook page, five days before she was jailed in February. “What we can do is stand firm in our positions, and make the most of the remaining time.”

The 27-year-old has been active in social movements since her college days, fighting for causes like land reforms and universal suffrage, and later championing women’s rights and equality.

But she stands out in particular for her role as a Hong Kong district councilor, a local official. She was elected in a landslide in the 2019 elections, beating the fourth-term, pro-establishment incumbent.

The job is not glamorous, and she has had to deal with everything from rat issues and bus routes to gender-friendly application forms for public funds. She also became the first chairwoman of committees to promote equal opportunities, leading mostly older, male local officials despite her age and small frame.

Yuen was removed from her position after she was charged. In jail, she focuses on reading books on gender studies and feminism, and said she wanted to understand what life was like for female inmates. She also tries to care for the residents of her district from afar, responding to those who write her, sometimes with colorful drawings.

One of her letters was a drawing of a soup recipe that could help residents beat the summer heat. In another, she painted a tree in watercolor, encouraging a young woman who suffers from mood disorders.

“Our hearts will only be strong if we learn to co-live with fear,” Yuen wrote.

Ventus Lau

‘Without you to comfort me,

my fears have been amplified’

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Yesterday I didn’t sleep well because I was afraid of insects. I am actually pretty useless — I’m afraid of heights and water and insects, and even traveling via planes and boats. I don’t know why I had the courage to do so many things and have ended up in jail now. Without you to comfort me, my fears have been amplified, which easily affects my emotions.

I felt pretty happy with my pile of letters in my hands. Our letters are actually stapled in a big pile after inspection, and the process of having to remove each staple ourselves feels a bit like unwrapping presents.

Ventus Lau, 27, got his first taste of politics in college as the head of a “localist” group, which broadly supports a more radical form of autonomy for Hong Kong. Election officials disqualified him from running for Hong Kong’s legislature in 2018, citing his previous support for Hong Kong’s independence — a red line for China. When the protests against the extradition bill erupted, Lau stepped up to reflect the demands of Hong Kong people, his girlfriend, Emilia Wong, said.

“He knew how to better communicate with the police, so he was willing to bear this role,” Wong said.

Before he was also jailed in February, Lau in a Facebook post referenced another jailed activist who had said years ago that he did not want to leave the city because he wanted to prove that Hong Kongers were willing to sacrifice themselves for their political beliefs.

“Five years later, we no longer need to prove that many, many of us, are willing to give up everything in life for our ideals, for this city,” Lau wrote.

Wong and Lau lived together in a 400-square-foot apartment with their eight cats. Wong says they were soul mates more than partners. They write to each other frequently, honest about the difficulties, sadness and loss they are both facing.

Those emotions, she said, are reserved for letters. When she visits him in jail, allowed just 15 minutes to speak over the phone and separated by a plastic barrier worn out with scratches, they try to stick to only positive emotions.

“If you are happy during those 15 minutes, you will be happy for the whole day,” she said.

Tam Tak-chi

‘The passengers shouldn’t just

focus on the unknown ahead’

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“On this train that carries 47 people, the passengers shouldn’t just focus on the unknown ahead and forget to enjoy the scenery along the way.” (referring to the 47 people who were charged)

In the nine months since he has been in jail, Tam Tak-chi, a radio DJ, has been drawing.

In one, he sketched a faceless black-robed judge in crayon, asking whether Hong Kong still has the rule of law. Another is of a wailing penguin — the word for penguin is similar to that of “I” in Cantonese — that is asking to go home.

But the drawing that best reflects his personality, friends say, is one of a bus driving through a field of flowers. In it, Tam encourages his fellow passengers — the other 46 charged alongside him — to remember to “enjoy the scenery.”

“I was worried that his freedom-loving personality would make him too mentally stressed” in jail, said Terrence Chau, a business owner and friend of Tam. “But as time passed, I really realized that his optimism was not a disguise.”

Eloquent and chatty, Tam joined a local radio station as a host in 1995 and became known by his DJ name “Fastbeat.” The 48-year-old devout Christian and student of theology began his activism first by opposing unfair work policies at the station, Commercial Radio. He soon became more involved in political parties, including People Power, a more radical, populist wing of the traditional democratic parties.

Tam was first arrested last September, as police accused him of fomenting “hatred and contempt of the government” and raising “discontent and disaffection among Hong Kong people” in his speeches. He was denied bail. While already jailed, he was arrested again in detention and charged again under the security law in February.

Friends and colleagues say Tam has never concealed his fear of losing his freedom. He is especially concerned about his aging golden retriever, Cream, and worries he will not have a chance to hold her again.

But Tam has continued to write letters and post drawings on social media to encourage others in Hong Kong.

“His faith in democracy and his Christian spirit give him great strength,” Chau said.

Jimmy Sham

‘Everyone should be

born equal, born free’

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When I was a child, I was curious but couldn’t survive boredom or pain. It is much easier to give up. When did I become “persistent and strong-willed?” I joined the social movements because of my experiences striving for LGBTQ rights. I have been in the fight for over 10 years. As a homosexual man, I’ve faced countless unfair incidents and witnessed so many discriminatory acts. Everyone should be born equal, born free — values and beliefs that have been ingrained in my blood and bones. Am I persistent and strong-willed? Lately I have … gotten fatter. My friends and family told me to work out. I did a few jumps, then got tired and sat down again to read (cry). My will is too weak.

It was Hong Kong’s first formal gay parade in 2008. In the city center, packed with hundreds of people waving rainbow flags and banners, a then 21-year-old Jimmy Sham clasped hands with his boyfriend and kissed him.

The intimate gesture startled some in Hong Kong, where same-sex relationships remain controversial.

“He was very young [and] in a hip outfit back then,” recalled Sham’s friend, Yeo Wai-wai.

Yeo met Sham at Rainbow Action, a nonprofit advocating for LGBTQ rights. In legislative elections in 2016, the pair questioned candidates on their positions on LGBTQ issues, including implementing anti-discrimination laws and gender-neutral toilets. Sham was a rare talent, Yeo said, one of the few gay activists who understood Hong Kong’s political parties and had the right language to bridge the gap between sexual minorities and politicians.

That year “was when we had the most support for LGBTQ issues from [pro-democracy] political parties,” Yeo said.

Sham wears many hats: He is a district councilor, was the convener of the group that organized Hong Kong’s largest and most peaceful marches in 2019 and is a democracy activist with a talent for public speaking. Yeo describes him also as a patient listener.

“His heart is really with the most marginalized and the grass roots, the poorest, ugliest, the victims,” Yeo said.

During the 2019 pro-democracy protests, Sham was attacked by four masked men armed with hammers. He was hospitalized but returned to the streets days later.

In the primary election last year, Sham won the highest number of votes in his constituency. In February, he too was jailed along with the others who participated, and was denied bail.

Behind bars, he tries to remain positive by exercising, and writing letters and poems.

Hong Kong’s legislature now is overwhelmingly comprised of pro-establishment politicians, some of them conservative and anti-gay. One recently called for the government to cancel the upcoming Gay Games, branding it disgraceful.

With Sham and other pro-democracy activists now detained, Yeo said the future for LGBTQ rights is bleak.

“Not one of them will be able to join elections anymore,” she said. “This is the biggest loss toward the LGBTQ movement.”

Source: washingtonpost.com/world/interactive/2021/hong-kong-security-law-activists-prison/

I’m surprised that there is still a large percentage of “white” or to keep color out of it formally British or other nationallies still part of the Hong Kong establishment and are supporting pro-Bejing positions.

They are judges, police officers and media people.

I don’t want to criticize now. I want to learn what they believe, listen to their programs and see what makes them tick.

Who was that non Chinese Woman Judge who recently ruled against the protesters and I think a prominent business leader.
There seems to be still a 24/7 English radio and other media probably filed with non-Chinese expats…
We talk about democracy and other stuff at our cocktail parties. What do they talk about?
Here’s something interesting about Hong Kong Culture
Video: early days with ray

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