Resisting Oblivion: Remnants of Hong Kong's Pro-Democracy Spirit

A decade of pro-democracy protests in Hong Kong has given way to a pervasive sense of loss and silencing, as activists reflect on the erasure of their political identity in the wake of Beijing's tight grip. Although many now live under constant surveillance, the fight to remember an era of resistance continues, as individuals cling to traces of hope and community amidst an increasingly controlled environment.

In the heart of Victoria Park, a somber air hangs over what used to be a spirited hub for pro-democracy discourse in Hong Kong. Kenneth, reflecting on his formative years, recalls buying calligraphy posters and participating in protest marches. But with the recent crackdown by Beijing, the vibrant life he once knew has morphed into a mere shadow. "People still carry on with life… but you can feel the change bit by bit,” says Kenneth, who has opted to conceal his identity while grappling with the city's lost essence.

While daily life appears unchanged with bustling trams and neon-lit streets, the shifts in collective sentiment are palpable. The imposition of the National Security Law has driven a wedge between the people and their aspirations for greater freedoms. Over the past decade, protests stemming from 2014's Umbrella Movement to the violent outpouring in 2019 have waned, as activists face jail and exile. The character of the city, once celebrated for its unique identity, now grapples with an identity crisis reflected in language and social interaction.

Historically rooted in a promise of autonomy following British rule, Hong Kong was to maintain its freedoms for 50 years. Yet as Beijing’s influence grows, so do the anxiety and frustrations of its citizens. Public figures like Benny Tai and Joshua Wong emerged as voices of a generation, igniting momentum for democratic change. However, the violence of 2019's protests led to a harsh backlash, leaving many feeling despondent and betrayed.

In Taiwan, Chan Kin-man, a prominent figure from the Occupy Central movement, reflects on this trajectory with a heavy heart. “After 2014, there was still hope. Now, a lot has become impossible," he notes, having moved after serving time for his activism. Meanwhile, pro-democracy leaders like Wong continue to face harsh sentences, their voice echoing the sentiment, “I love Hong Kong,” even in the face of brutal repression.

Kenneth, still positioned in his home city, finds solace in the forgotten corners that reveal the scars of past conflicts. He spends time exploring places linked to memories of struggle but acknowledges the ongoing, stifling reality of existing under stringent surveillance. As he navigates the changed terrain of his once-free city, he expresses determination, saying, “Forgetting the past is a form of betrayal.” And while signs of the pro-democracy movement are diligently rewritten from public memory, significant echoes remain among the wedged bricks of PolyU and the quiet streets of Victoria Park.

Migration stories further depict the emotional toll of change: Kasumi Law’s family, recently relocated to the UK, grapples with memories of home amidst ongoing adaptations to their new life. Yet despite these challenges, their cultural roots remain vibrant, stemming hope for a future generation who will embrace the essence of being a "Hongkonger."

As the advocacy for freedom transforms into muted gestures like letters and whispers of dissent, echoes of the past remain indelible. Though the reality has shifted dramatically, the spirit of resistance continues to simmer beneath the surface, showcasing a deeply embedded hope. The story of Hong Kong is far from over as its people persist, holding onto their identity and history against overwhelming odds.