Political protests: a Hong Kong experience

"The turn of the decade and the city calls for a new turn. The cacophony of political cries ache through flashing lights and worn out apartments.

A desperation echoes the streets, as men and women, armed with masks, flags and voices, create a current that moves the city like water.

Calm and steady, the waves of chants ripples into each crack and crevice.

The young sing and shout as they hold onto the life they know. The only nod in approval and admiration of the new generation that fights for their freedom. Together, they walk side by side, a river that cannot be parted.

Fear quivers in their hearts, but passion drives their voices and like waves, their sound crashes against the ageing bricks of police stations.

They fight with words, in peace, to protect the institutions that give them a voice. "

It was the eve of 2020. My family had just finished a tumultuous trip through Vietnam, with its own family dramas and logistical nightmares. We had a two-day stopover in Hong Kong and had finished our last day of the decade with a wholesome trip to Disneyland.

That night, in an attempt to keep the family trip exciting for one last time before heading home, we (like everyone else) had come to Avenue of Stars to watch whatever would end up being the New Year celebrations. The hotel had already warned us that there wasn't really much left of the fireworks after they were cancelled for 'security concerns'. Still, the mood of the evening across the city was a subtle defiance against any of these concerns, as an array of photographers, journalists and innocent tourists headed to the harbour to witness the commotion of this political protest unfold in front of them.

We dawdled from the bustling shopping hub of Mong Kok towards the harbour, seeing a growing number of locals reaching for their disposable face masks. From my past experience of travelling to other East Asian countries like South Korea, this was business as usual; for hygiene, to hide their insecurities, a post-surgery cover up, to simply hide in the crowd. But that night, I knew those masks were worn for a different reason.

Many began to stand beside bus stops, hand in hand, silent against the (arguably) complacent, who tried to busy themselves with the usual troubles of the night. Some were cooking at their restaurants, others were taking the night shift at the retail store, even homeless people looked on. Many locals and tourists would watch the silent, with an almost longing to stand with them. At times, you would catch someone break, lift their mask, and link their palms with a stranger, in silence.

No longer do protesters come with pitchforks and fire, but together they switch on their phone flashlights. What did this mean for them? Was it a metaphor to shine a light on the encroaching disempowerment of their political system? Was a symbol of collective action? Was it just too dark? The silent of Hong Kong did not intend to use violence; they showcased how a modern political protest of peace can evolve.

This evolution progressed when they raised their voices. The first time that I heard the crowd chant, I think my heart stopped for a second. It was jolt, almost electric, of political energy that woke up the city. In the past, I have witnessed and attended political protests in my hometown, Sydney, Australia, experiencing a similar commotion. But what was vastly different, was the desperation.

From previous experience, political protests in Sydney did not come with overly grievous consequences for the citizens who attended them. Often, it would be any cause of violence from participants that would see any serious police action. The nature of democracy encouraged the healthy challenging of ideas, which ultimately had protected citizens from police state dystopia.

The reality for Hong Kong citizens is clearly very different. Foreigners observing the protests could feel it. The crowd, including my family, looked onto the skyscrapers of Victoria Harbour from the edge of tape that separated us from police personnel; they stood opposite the crowd, watching for any signs of unrest or commotion as the protesters roared into the night. They securitised anyone that wasn't them, the crowd became the other, while they held the power. These were police officers who possibly neighboured with those shouting in the crowd, dressed head to toe in bulletproof suits, armed with tear gas and batons. How did these officers rationalize this?

The crowd crawled back onto the streets once the 'fireworks' had finished. The celebration of the New Year was the celebration of feeling a bit of freedom. Flags of different, but united agendas waved across the crowd. The only time the crowd would scowl was when they walked past the police station, a painful reminder of the brutality they faced previously. Their cries grew angry, from a pain similar to alcohol poured on an open wound, they wanted words they spoke to sting the egos of the elite.

That night, you could really feel how globalised this city was. We stumbled upon Caucasians, South Asians, Middle Easterners; all corners of the earth had of piece of themselves in Hong Kong. They all valued the taste of freedom that Hong Kong offered and were worrisome of change that would take this globalised identity away. They wanted to maintain a society that enabled a social conscience.

For those from more 'democratic' countries it put a lot of them, including myself, into introspection. Do we take our political freedom for granted? What injustice unfolds in our own country that we simply dismiss or ignore? How much of the information we consume is factual, political or straight out of the sh*tter? We, who have the political system to protect us, do we do enough to protect it?

I remember writing the quoted excerpt above, waiting for 2020 to settle in, sitting on the concrete floor of the Avenue of Stars with my brother next to me and the rest of my family standing behind us. We as foreigners were safe, untouchable almost. I wrote this excerpt in haste, to capture the moment, vainly uploading it onto my private Instagram account, in an attempt to pay homage to my appreciation for democracy, to those that suffer and fear without it.

Coming from the sheltered bubble that is Australia, we often take for granted what our democracy offers us. The option to openly think, criticize and take action. I felt and still feel bittersweet to witness the protests in Hong Kong. These people, are driven out of desperation to protect the life they know, and so many others around the world do the same in even more pressing circumstances. With what power they have, they fight. What witnessing this protest taught me, was to not fear in the face of injustice, despite the consequences.

Taking action, to protect the institutions that protect us is paramount in the politically contentious times we face. Complacency will only allow the exploitative to exploit. The people of Hong Kong were fed up with a greater power stepping on their toes. How much exploitation needs to happen in our own country before we are drawn to desperation?