Ma Jian
BY Ma Jian
For the past week, at home in London, I have been living in the Hong Kong time zone. At night I watch live feeds of pro-democracy protesters waking at dawn in an occupied street of Admiralty; the next morning, I turn my computer back on and see the same street filled with a swollen river of humanity chanting their political demands in unison and holding up luminous mobile phones to the night sky. These riveting scenes have filled me with profound admiration for the courage of the protesters, and renewed hope for democracy in both Hong Kong and mainland China. Whatever the eventual outcome of this movement, it marks a historic turning point. It is the largest and most concerted act of defiance against China’s totalitarian regime for the last 25 years.
As a Chinese exile and former resident of Hong Kong (I lived there for 10 years after my books were banned in China), these protests are particularly poignant for me. When the protesters opened their umbrellas against a torrential downpour four days ago, my mind flashed back to the rain-soaked night of 30 June 1997, when fellow artists and writers gathered in my studio in Sai Ying Pun to lament the territory’s handover to Chinese rule. Seventeen years later, this sense of betrayal is still strong, and it is the desire to assert their independence and regain their dignity that has driven Hong Kong’s people on to the streets.
When I saw the images last weekend of riot police in helmets and gas masks shooting canisters of teargas into crowds of peaceful, unarmed students, my thoughts travelled further back, to 4 June 1989, when 200,000 armed soldiers advanced on Beijing and attacked peaceful protesters with machine guns, bayonets, batons and teargas, leaving in their wake unknown numbers of corpses crushed by their armoured tanks. Those umbrellas reminded me of a torrential downpour in the spring of 1989 that for a few hours washed the crowds of protesters and hunger strikers from Tiananmen Square. Although motivated by a multitude of discontents, the strength of the “umbrella revolution” lies in its narrow focus on one demand: genuine universal suffrage and, more precisely, the scrapping of the Chinese government’s decision that a pro-Beijing committee vet the candidates allowed to run for Hong Kong’s next chief executive.
The Chinese authorities have condemned the protests as illegal acts, and stated that true democracy in Hong Kong would lead to social chaos. But it is clear the opposite is true: it is the refusal to grant genuine electoral freedom that is the cause of the current uprising. Rejecting demands to resign the chief executive, CY Leung, has promised the students talks with his second-in-command, no doubt hoping that the protests will peter out before he is forced to make any concessions.
The attacks launched on the protesters since then by organised mobs are both disturbing and predictable. But the Occupy movement must not be cowed by thuggery, and should continue to push for reform. For it is hard to imagine a people more equipped for democracy than the restrained, educated citizens of Hong Kong. These are protesters who, while calling for freedom, hand out biscuits and bottles of water, shield policemen from the rain and hang up notices apologising to local residents for “any inconvenience caused”.
The people of Hong Kong should take heart, and realise that although each one of them may be but a single drop of rain, they converged this week to become an unstoppable river of democracy. The river will flow again, despite efforts to block it, and will one day, perhaps this year or many years from now, surge across the border all the way to Tiananmen Square. `THE GUARDIAN
BY Ma Jian
For the past week, at home in London, I have been living in the Hong Kong time zone. At night I watch live feeds of pro-democracy protesters waking at dawn in an occupied street of Admiralty; the next morning, I turn my computer back on and see the same street filled with a swollen river of humanity chanting their political demands in unison and holding up luminous mobile phones to the night sky. These riveting scenes have filled me with profound admiration for the courage of the protesters, and renewed hope for democracy in both Hong Kong and mainland China. Whatever the eventual outcome of this movement, it marks a historic turning point. It is the largest and most concerted act of defiance against China’s totalitarian regime for the last 25 years.
As a Chinese exile and former resident of Hong Kong (I lived there for 10 years after my books were banned in China), these protests are particularly poignant for me. When the protesters opened their umbrellas against a torrential downpour four days ago, my mind flashed back to the rain-soaked night of 30 June 1997, when fellow artists and writers gathered in my studio in Sai Ying Pun to lament the territory’s handover to Chinese rule. Seventeen years later, this sense of betrayal is still strong, and it is the desire to assert their independence and regain their dignity that has driven Hong Kong’s people on to the streets.
When I saw the images last weekend of riot police in helmets and gas masks shooting canisters of teargas into crowds of peaceful, unarmed students, my thoughts travelled further back, to 4 June 1989, when 200,000 armed soldiers advanced on Beijing and attacked peaceful protesters with machine guns, bayonets, batons and teargas, leaving in their wake unknown numbers of corpses crushed by their armoured tanks. Those umbrellas reminded me of a torrential downpour in the spring of 1989 that for a few hours washed the crowds of protesters and hunger strikers from Tiananmen Square. Although motivated by a multitude of discontents, the strength of the “umbrella revolution” lies in its narrow focus on one demand: genuine universal suffrage and, more precisely, the scrapping of the Chinese government’s decision that a pro-Beijing committee vet the candidates allowed to run for Hong Kong’s next chief executive.
The Chinese authorities have condemned the protests as illegal acts, and stated that true democracy in Hong Kong would lead to social chaos. But it is clear the opposite is true: it is the refusal to grant genuine electoral freedom that is the cause of the current uprising. Rejecting demands to resign the chief executive, CY Leung, has promised the students talks with his second-in-command, no doubt hoping that the protests will peter out before he is forced to make any concessions.
The attacks launched on the protesters since then by organised mobs are both disturbing and predictable. But the Occupy movement must not be cowed by thuggery, and should continue to push for reform. For it is hard to imagine a people more equipped for democracy than the restrained, educated citizens of Hong Kong. These are protesters who, while calling for freedom, hand out biscuits and bottles of water, shield policemen from the rain and hang up notices apologising to local residents for “any inconvenience caused”.
The people of Hong Kong should take heart, and realise that although each one of them may be but a single drop of rain, they converged this week to become an unstoppable river of democracy. The river will flow again, despite efforts to block it, and will one day, perhaps this year or many years from now, surge across the border all the way to Tiananmen Square. `THE GUARDIAN
