“After the Arrest, I Moved Further Forward.”

“Since arrested already, no matter one charge or two, that’s jail anyway.”

Over ten thousand people were arrested during the 2019 anti-extradition movement in Hong Kong, Ah Yip (a pseudonym) was one of them. He was arrested and then formally prosecuted quite early during the movement.

However, he did not back down. He thought that since he would eventually end up in prison anyway, and could no longer return to his old life, then it made no difference how many times he was arrested or charged. Better to do as much as he could before going to jail.

“At first, we were all very peaceful, until the people around me and I were hit by bean bag rounds. Then I realized that peaceful ways were useless.”

Ah Yip had always been a well-behaved youth. He had a tertiary education, and many people he served, in his job, were “double non” children (children whose parents were both non-permanent Hong Kong residents). His workplace also adapted to these children by using Mandarin as the main language.

Combined with the changes he witnessed in his daily life, Ah Yip felt that the lifestyle he had known for over twenty years was gradually disappearing. Joining the movement, for him, was about preserving Hong Kong’s unique culture and way of life.

In the beginning, he and his friends expressed their demands in moderate ways. But after personally experiencing the police’s disproportionate and violent suppression, his bottom line was crossed. He could no longer be content with just marching and chanting slogans. Gradually, he moved further and further to the frontlines of the protests, which ultimately led to his arrest and imprisonment.

“Even gangsters can have political stances. You don’t have to be a good kid or a brilliant student to be a ‘yellow ribbon.’”

When Ah Yip entered prison, many others were already jailed because of the movement. He thought he could find solidarity and support from fellow protesters inside. Yet, he discovered that some “yellow ribbons” would judge others based on how much they knew about the movement, what they had done, or even whether they swore. When Ah Yip showed friendliness toward inmates who were not jailed for protesting—some of them gang members—he was ostracized by certain fellow protesters who saw him as an outsider.

“While I was in prison, I never once got to look my family in the eye during visits.”

Despite these challenges, Ah Yip did not change his beliefs under pressure. On the contrary, he hoped to use his own ability to help his fellow protesters and inmates fight for basic prisoner rights. Many jailed protesters had complained about the poor quality of prison food, and expensive “private meals” while on remand. Moreover, it wasn’t truly “family-provided food”—the meals had to be chosen from a fixed menu of specific dishes at designated restaurants, and the quality remained poor. But for Ah Yip, the bigger issue was the visitation system.

During family visits, inmates and relatives had to talk through an intercom separated by glass. The speaker had to face the intercom directly, which meant they couldn’t look directly at their loved one while speaking. During his entire imprisonment, Ah Yip was never able to properly look his family in the eyes, which was especially painful given how close he was to them.

“My mom worried about me a lot and her emotional problems got. I feel really guilty about that.”

Ah Yip came from an ordinary family. His parents weren’t particularly political—they thought the government was useless, but also believed protesters went too far, and they didn’t want their son to get involved. Back in the 2014 Umbrella Movement, Ah Yip, then still a student, had held back partly because of his family. By 2019, he was already working and no longer bound by family restrictions, so he joined the protests and was arrested.

His mother, who had not supported the protests, changed her mind out of love for her son. She began watching live protest streams and cried whenever she saw protesters being attacked or abused. While Ah Yip was in prison, his family continually supported him through letters, and he deeply felt their love.

“After being released, I actually feel more pressure, because now I have to consider about my family’s feelings.”

In prison, Ah Yip could act without fear, doing what he believed was right. But now that he was “released from school” (a slang term for release from prison), even if he wanted to do something, he had to worry about the impact on his family. Still, for his family, and for the Hong Kong he loved, he never thought about leaving. Even though there was almost no space left for activism in Hong Kong, he hoped to stay—not seeking fame, recognition, or rewards, but quietly doing what he could for the city.

“I hope Hong Kong can return to the 1990s, when it had its own unique system, industries, and cultural identity.”

As for the future, beyond the democratic system protesters had always fought for, what Ah Yip hoped most was to bring back a Hong Kong with its distinct local character.

Story compiled and illustrated by @WL.AandD

Translated by L