A Letter to Hong Kong Civil Rights Activist Ms. Chow Hang-tung

(On the history and connections between Mainland China and Hong Kong over the past century, reflections on life, the plight of vulnerable groups, the situation of women and feminism in mainland China, the worsening and reconsideration of relations between mainlanders and Hongkongers, the issues of Hong Kong independence and localism, a review of the revolutionary history of both regions, expectations for the future, and personal words)

Dear Ms. Chow Hang-tung:

I am Wang Qingmin, a writer living in Europe. Two years ago, I once wrote you a relatively brief letter to express my support for you. I do not know whether you received or read it. Perhaps there were too many letters sent to you, and with the many restrictions of Hong Kong’s prison system, you were unable to read it. But that is fine.

Two more years have now passed. You have been sentenced by the judiciary controlled by the CCP and the Hong Kong government, and you remain in detention. As for me, I too have been in a state of wandering, resistance, confusion, and reflection. I think I should write you another letter, and this is it. I also do not know whether you will ever read it. Regardless, I will write it.

As a rising figure of the Hong Kong Alliance in Support of Patriotic Democratic Movements of China, a new star of Hong Kong’s social movements, you were supposed to inherit the legacy of Mr. Szeto Wah, take up the mantle of Mr. Lee Cheuk-yan who fought for decades, and become a new leader of Hong Kong’s patriotic democratic movement. You were also set to make great achievements in the field of law.

However, the countercurrents after the Anti-Extradition Movement interrupted Hong Kong’s democratic progress. You, together with Mr. Lee Cheuk-yan, Mr. Albert Ho, Mr. Leung Kwok-hung, and others, all suffered imprisonment. The CCP, like the giant invader Goliath, has trampled upon Hong Kong’s rule of law and prosperity, and like Leviathan has suppressed the freedom and democracy of the Pearl of the Orient. From the violent repression by police forces to the enactment of the National Security Law, Hong Kong’s civil society disappeared overnight, and Hongkongers were struck dumb with fear.

In such a cruel environment, you not only refused to yield, refusing to betray those who helped Hong Kong’s patriotic democratic movement, but also spoke eloquently in court, explaining the meaning of commemorating June Fourth and denouncing the shamelessness of totalitarian tyranny. This is precisely the backbone of the nation, the model of womanhood.

The current situation of mainland China and Hong Kong makes clear to us that there may still be a long darkness ahead. You still must endure torment in prison, and even after release you will hardly be able to leave Hong Kong, continuing to face suppression and silencing.

In such a situation, you must be in pain, depressed, and sorrowful. I may perhaps share your feelings. Some years ago, I was once confined in the Western District Police Station and the psychiatric ward of Eastern Hospital in Hong Kong, and personally experienced the loss of freedom. Prison is hard to endure; it is a place where one longs for freedom day and night.

Yet these painful experiences, the many injustices and uglinesses witnessed and heard, can objectively enrich the knowledge and thought of those who undergo them. If one can endure them with resilience, and later receive some support and protection, then the suffering becomes a source of empathy, fuel for sublimation, and motivation for progress.

In mainland China, Hong Kong, and many countries and regions, between individuals, between classes, and between groups, there exist various tangible separations and intangible barriers. People born into the elite class often find it hard to truly empathize with the common people and the underclass. For example, Hong Kong tycoon and former legislator Michael Tien once personally experienced two days of a janitor’s daily work and life before realizing how arduous the lives of Hong Kong’s underclass really are.

But such “experience” can never fully convey empathy. Because it is only an “experience,” not a true and permanent immersion into underclass life in one’s birth, official profession, and daily food, clothing, shelter, and livelihood. Moreover, Michael Tien did not persist until the end but ended his experience early. Clearly, he had the privilege of voluntary choice. Only when one is truly forced, without power to resist, into the underclass society or into special environments (such as prison, psychiatric hospitals, or rehabilitation centers), can one fully understand the hardships and suffering of commoners, the vulnerable, and the underclass.

For instance, I once had a stage of life when I did not have to worry about food, clothing, or shelter. At that time, my understanding of the dark side of society came only from books and films. Seeing the poverty and injustice of the world was like viewing flowers through fog—remote, detached, and separated from the underclass.

Only later, because of family misfortunes, campus bullying, online harassment, various forms of violation, later rights defense and exile—especially the time I was confined in a police station and psychiatric ward—did I come to deeply experience what suffering and despair truly are.

For example, when accompanying my father, I had to sleep on the hospital floor, the hard cement tiles making it impossible to fall asleep, turning over again and again; during rights defense journeys when I had to ride long-distance buses for over ten hours at a stretch, on the one hand unbearably exhausted, on the other hand unable to lie down because of the cramped seats, nearly breaking down mentally, several times lying down directly in the aisle between the rows of seats, being scolded by the driver threatening to throw me out; in Hong Kong’s closed psychiatric ward, where nurses ordered me around arrogantly, I could only endure and obey; when I first arrived, I refused to eat meals because I disliked sweets, and after a whole day of hunger and anxiety, the next day I wolfed down whatever food was offered; after discharge, back in the mainland, unable to return home because of family conflict, drifting through many places, sweating profusely in the blazing summer heat, dizzy and faint, my phone lost. The saying “when the roof leaks it rains all night,” or “misfortune seeks out the unfortunate,” is no coincidence—for when weak and wounded, without support or help, a series of aftershocks inevitably follow.

Besides personal experience, I have also heard, witnessed, and seen the lives and stories of many underclass and marginalized people. In Hong Kong, I saw elderly people living alone in “cage homes” without air conditioning and in stinking environments; psychiatric patients screaming, or dull and stupefied, even incontinent for long periods; in immigration detention cells, I saw suspected mainland stowaways and sex workers… In Shenzhen, mainland China, I saw innocent and kind children in schools for migrant workers’ children; in the same city, I also saw a mobile sales office worker eating plain rice soup while working hard for a living; in Shaanxi, in the home of a friend I lodged with, I saw a poor but virtuous rural woman who remained kind, skillful in running her household, dutiful as a wife and mother, without seeking any return.

And when one falls into the underclass, like a tiger fallen to flatland, suffering adversity, one encounters all kinds of ugly faces and shameless behaviors of people: contempt, insults, cold indifference, mockery, abuse… Such things are only fully displayed toward the weak, or when you yourself are weak. If you are in the middle or upper class, without weaknesses for them to exploit, you will not see or feel such evils, bullying, and harm—everywhere you go will seem full of warmth and smiles. At such times, you often cannot believe that there exist such wicked people, such shameless and bottomless acts. Even if prepared, you still feel they cannot possibly go so far. Yet they do go so far. If one has never fallen into the underclass, even when witnessing others being bullied, one cannot truly feel and understand the depth of the pain, humiliation, and despair. And in such desperate circumstances, one becomes even more deeply moved by the goodness of those who bring warmth in the snow. Especially when it comes from fellow underclass people, or from strangers who have no ties of interest with you, who do not seek to control or use you—their help is exceedingly precious, warming the unfortunate, bringing even a single ray of light like a lighthouse in a cruel world.

Such people and such things cannot be seen or are ignored when living long in the middle or upper class; even if seen, they elicit only shallow sympathy for others. Only when oneself has fallen, becoming one of them, sharing the same suffering, or standing on the same plane, do various feelings and empathy surge into the heart. Especially when one has lost freedom, is at others’ disposal, powerless to resist, can one truly experience the despair and indignation of the underclass, and understand more fully the compulsion behind the wicked among the marginalized, the preciousness of the good, and the necessity and urgency of changing all this injustice and unrighteousness.

Moreover, experiencing the loss of freedom, poverty, and despair brings reflection on many things one would never otherwise consider, or would know of only partially and shallowly, without deep thought. For example, the issues of death and the value of life, the balance of freedom and order, the deviation between experience and reason. Only after thinking on these can one roughly clarify what one should do while alive, and how not to waste a short life that is limited yet precious.

Of course, most of these reflections come only after regaining freedom, peace, and relatively less deprivation—when one looks back on those earlier times of downfall and despair, and then thinks systematically and soundly. If there is only poverty and violence, without breaking free afterward, then first, one simply has no energy to think carefully, only to feel pain; and second, even if one does think, one cannot express, write, or spread it.

But without those experiences, if there were only tranquility and peace, one would of course never be able to feel and reflect upon all this.

What I am saying here may count as the experience of one who has gone before. Ms. Chow, you are now trapped in prison, and after release will still have a long time in which you will not be fully free. This reality is difficult to change for now. Perhaps, only within this suffering can you experience and reflect, directly feel what it is like for those who lose freedom, for the vulnerable, for the deprived; to seek within adversity the enrichment of thought and the sublimation of the spirit.

Of course, suffering is suffering—it does not cease to be suffering just because it may bring special experiences and reflections. Nor do I believe that in order to gain some experience and sublimation, one should “enjoy” suffering, or take suffering as joy. For you, Ms. Chow, I still hope that you will be released as soon as possible, to regain freedom, and eventually to be completely rid of all shackles and shadows.

I also deeply hope that you will hold fast to your ideals, struggling unceasingly not only for Hong Kong, but also for the dignity, rights, and well-being of the people of mainland China.

I understand the hardships of Hongkongers, the pain of facing persecution from the CCP and the Hong Kong government. But in truth, what the people of mainland China have suffered is a hundred or a thousand times worse than what Hongkongers endure. After all, Hongkongers once had partial freedom and democracy, and today still enjoy a weakened but still existent rule of law, and a material life far superior to the vast majority of mainland cities and villages. But in mainland China, freedom and democracy are utterly absent, and the rule of law is in a state where “you speak of law, and I find it laughable.” Materially, former Premier Li Keqiang once said: there are 600 million people in China whose monthly income does not exceed 1,000 yuan (RMB).

And among the impoverished, the humiliated, those without security, women make up more than half—they are the weakest among the weak. In a cruel social-Darwinist environment, within a patriarchal system of resource distribution and discourse, it is the girls and women of the middle and lower classes, especially the underclass, who are the greatest victims.

Many women on the mainland of your age grew up in poor, patriarchal, violent families, while schools and society were equally harsh and cold. Domestic violence, campus bullying, discrimination and harassment all occurred widely. Sexual assault was also not uncommon, and more often than not, people scorned the victimized girl rather than the rapist or molester.

Some dropped out after finishing primary and middle school. They had to work on farms, or in factories and workshops. If they had brothers, their labor often supported the brothers’ schooling. By around the age of 20, many were already married. Their new families were often even worse than their natal homes. Serving their husbands and parents-in-law occupied most of their time and energy. As for feminism, many had never even heard of it. While you were writing brilliantly at Ying Wa and Cambridge, they were hoeing the fields, nursing their babies, facing violent husbands, and being forced to painfully fulfill certain obligations as wives.

Some fared slightly better, attending high school or even university. But most of them, after graduation, could only choose among limited job options, earning meager wages. Their marriages might indeed be somewhat better than those of women who dropped out early and married young, but not by much. In a male-dominated social environment and discourse system, without democracy and the rule of law, discrimination, bullying, sexual harassment, and violations were almost unavoidable.

Even women with considerable social status are not immune from humiliation. There was a female lawyer on the mainland, Sun Shihua—perhaps you have heard of her or even know her. While investigating a case, the police made an excuse to strip her naked for a body search (though it was conducted by female officers). Reports emerged afterward, but the matter was still left unresolved. Similarly, teacher He Siyun, who exposed a male teacher’s sexual assault of female students, was forcibly subjected by railway police to blood and urine tests under the pretext of checking whether she used drugs. As for the experiences of the wives of the 709 lawyers, you surely know them even better.

Clearly, public authority not only fails to serve as a shield protecting women, it itself infringes upon women’s dignity and freedom. In such an environment, Chinese women cannot even secure basic safety—misfortunes may occur at any moment. Even when they are not directly harmed, the ever-present possibility of violation, and the impunity of perpetrators proven by countless precedents and realities, creates a sense of insecurity that itself constitutes a lasting and hidden harm to women.

And not only women: laborers, peasants, the elderly, LGBT people, children, the physically and mentally disabled… the vast majority of China’s vulnerable groups live in poverty, harm, insecurity, and without dignity—conditions similar to those of women. Taken together, women and other vulnerable groups make up at least 80% of China’s population. They have been struggling and enduring in pain.

Because of the strength of authoritarianism and their own weakness, trapped in poverty and insecurity, and subjected to long-term brainwashing education and information blockade, the majority of people in mainland China have lost the awareness and ability to think about the roots of their suffering, to voice themselves, and to seek a way out.

Like the migrant girl working on an assembly line, sweating in the factory; the migrant boy carrying bricks and mud on construction sites; the housewife soothing crying children every day, caring for husband and parents-in-law—each is overwhelmed every day, with no time or energy to think, read, or travel, much less to express themselves completely and powerfully.

In theory, they are the insulted and the injured of this society, those who are bound and bullied, the ones most in need of awakening and liberation. But in reality, though they are the ones most in need of awakening and liberation, they are the ones least able to awaken, least able to break free from the many shackles. Even when they speak out, like Gao Yanmin and Ma Panyan, abducted by traffickers, raped and imprisoned, they still live in suffering today, and have long been harassed and attacked both by the government and by malicious actors online. More unknown women rights defenders, after resisting, suffered torture, were locked in black jails and psychiatric hospitals—their voices and resistance brought them even greater persecution.

Generations, hundreds of millions of compatriots, have lived and died in such confusion. Even occasional resisters end more tragically, dying under the violence of oppressors and the mockery of bystanders.

Existence does not equal legitimacy. Injustice and unrighteousness must be changed. Especially Chinese women and all other oppressed groups must awaken and be liberated. Since they themselves find it hard to break free from the shackles, they need the strength of others even more.

And Hong Kong is precisely the hope of the mainland; you and many other righteous Hongkongers are the hope of the mainland people. Your knowledge, vision, sense of responsibility, and ideals are things that the people of the mainland can scarcely attain.

Although today’s Hong Kong is also under Leviathan’s oppression, and you and many other righteous men and women are imprisoned, still, the tangible and intangible resources, wealth, insight, and courage that you possess remain incomparable to the generally ignorant and cowardly mainlanders, and in the future will surely shine again and benefit the people of the mainland.

Even if, to take the most pessimistic view, within the next century the CCP dictatorship cannot be overthrown, there will still be hope and infinite possibility in the longer future. You and your friends, relatives, comrades, and colleagues can pass the sparks to the next generation, and the next, and countless generations.

The voices of street resistance have been extinguished, but whispers on the pillow can still be passed on;

Published works have been banned and destroyed, but retellings by word of mouth cannot be cut off;

The “Pillar of Shame” has been removed, but the proof of memory remains rooted in the brain and the heart;

Victoria Park can no longer host June Fourth vigils, but mourning and solidarity in small rooms and on mountain rocks cannot be erased;

The surge of a million people in Central has ebbed away, but the sparks in thousands of households cannot be extinguished…

But none of this will happen naturally. It must be done by people, and must echo with one another in spirit and even in reality, flowing together like streams into rivers and seas, connecting and strengthening, becoming the source and foundation of future renewal.

Ms. Chow, think about the life trajectories of those mainland Chinese women of your generation. The same human beings, but because of different environments and systems, their fates have been utterly different. Yet they too should have self-respect, freedom, autonomy, and the right to live happily throughout their lives. They have no power to speak, cannot make impassioned statements, and even their basic understanding of the motherland and the world has been stripped and distorted by authoritarianism. Others must speak and struggle on their behalf.

The language, culture, and history of Hong Kong are inseparably bound with Han civilization and the historical changes of the mainland. From the Opium Wars to the Xinhai Revolution, from the surges of the Canton–Hong Kong Strike to the waves of the National Revolution, from resisting Japanese aggression to the joint liberation of the mainland and Hong Kong, from the Chinese Civil War to the Cultural Revolution and the extended 1967 Riots, from Reform and Opening to Hong Kong’s return, and then to the Beijing Olympics, the Wenchuan Earthquake, political reform and Occupy Central, to Xi’s retrogression and the Anti-Extradition Movement in Hong Kong—whether glory or disaster, mainland and Hong Kong have been inseparable. Though there have at times been quarrels between the peoples of the two sides, these have mostly been incited by the regime and vile elements. Some Hongkongers have indeed been extremely anti-mainland, but upon reflection, this too is understandable.

The future of Hong Kong and the mainland will still be closely linked, sharing the same rises and falls. Hong Kong once awakened the slumbering and closed mainland, connected it to the world, facilitated the victory of the Chinese national democratic revolution, contributed to the economic rise of mainland China, spread Chinese culture, and magnified Han civilization.

Archimedes said: “Give me a place to stand, and I can move the earth.” Hong Kong is precisely the “fulcrum” for the revival of the mainland, the Han nation, and Chinese civilization. It was so in the past; it should be, will be, and must be so in the future.

Mainland China needs democracy, human rights, and women’s rights. The heroes of the past—Sun Yat-sen, Huang Xing, Zou Rong, Zhang Taiyan, Wu Yue, Peng Jiazhen… though their lives are gone, their lofty aspirations remain unchanged. There were also many heroines—Qiu Jin, Tang Qunying, Zheng Yuxiu, Xiang Jingyu, He Xiangning, Lin Zhao, Zhang Zhixin, Gao Yaojie, Guo Jianmei… You must remember their names and deeds, so that China’s democracy, human rights, and women’s liberation may truly be realized.

Your predecessors in Hong Kong—Szeto Wah, Lee Cheuk-yan, Albert Ho, Anita Mui, Anson Chan, Fang Ailing—also strove unceasingly for the democratic progress of both Hong Kong and the mainland. Mr. Szeto Wah and Ms. Anita Mui have already passed away, but their spirit does not perish; they set a sincere and upright example for later generations and pointed the way forward.

You are familiar with the many predecessors who struggled in Hong Kong and Kowloon for decades; you surely understand their determination and dreams. They would never resign themselves to having everything cut off; they surely hoped for another resurgence of both Hong Kong and the mainland. This requires inheritance and perseverance. You have already done much, and they must be gratified. But there is still a long road ahead. The harassment of thorns, the slanders of flies and mosquitoes, at times erode the will even more than Leviathan’s shackles. Yet the more this is so, the more one must persist, and not let the wicked triumph.

An isolated individual’s influence is inevitably limited, and one day will also fade (though of course every person will reach life’s end, whether sooner or later). Therefore, one must continue sowing, expanding, passing on. Behind you, there must also be new torchbearers. Though this may seem like a matter far in the future, in the long river of history, a few decades are but the blink of an eye. Moreover, the many uncertainties of the times make people even more uneasy. If the fire is not to be extinguished, the torches must never be exhausted; generation after generation, there must be light-bearers and watchmen. There must be as many comrades and close friends as possible, linked together into a network that cannot be destroyed.

Many of your Hong Kong contemporaries and juniors—such as Joshua Wong, Nathan Law, Yau Wai-ching, Tiffany Yuen—have gone down paths both convergent and divergent. I used to resent them, but now I understand. Who forced them to choose localism or even Hong Kong independence? It was those beasts in the halls of power and scoundrels in the marketplace who turned the mainland into filth, plundered Hong Kong, and incited conflict between the mainland and Hong Kong. “When the ruler is without the Way, the people turn to other lands; when one is utterly without support, even relatives turn against him”—this is in accord with the principles of Chinese civilization.

But the ideals of Joshua Wong and his fellows are ultimately narrow. The people of the mainland have even less freedom and democracy, and need freedom and liberation even more. “When the great Way prevails, the world is for all. One does not love only one’s own parents, nor care only for one’s own children.” The recovery of one city and one corner is less than the resurgence of a nation and a vast land. What is more, Hong Kong’s prosperity, nestled in rivers and bays, its material wealth and cultural flourishing, have all rested on the Nanling and the Xi River, and indeed on the broader Jiangnan, Central South, Central Plains, and beyond the frontier. For a century, Hong Kong’s prosperity as a “front shop” and the benefits Hongkongers enjoyed came from the toil of hundreds of millions of mainland workers and peasants in the “back factory.” “Flying snow shooting white deer through the sky, laughingly writing of heroes leaning on jade mandarin ducks”—all are cultural legacies of the Central Plains, carrying on the spirit of the Han nation and extending the course of Chinese history.

How can the stability and happiness of 6 million compare with the freedom and liberation of 1.4 billion? Indeed, the democracy and rule of law of mainland China are also another cornerstone and step toward the universal fraternity and equality of the world. Whether the bright prosperity of economic globalization and the universalization of human rights, or the crisis pressures of climate change and terrorism, and the long-standing reality of imbalanced political and economic development and influence among nations, all require peace, progress, integration, cooperation, shared wealth, and unity across the world.

Some mainlanders, in their values and behavior, seem to share in the CCP’s evils. But apart from a small number of elite power-holders, most are merely brainwashed and deceived. No one is born with low quality or an ugly soul—it is environment and system that shape them. The people of China need enlightenment and change, and Hongkongers should also show more communication and understanding toward them.

The once-famous “Democratic Songs Dedicated to China”—those mainlanders with conscience have not forgotten. The rushing toil of Lee Cheuk-yan and other righteous men, risking their lives, remains remembered with gratitude by people who understand history. We must let more people know these things, their causes and consequences, their origins and developments.

If in the 2019 Anti-Extradition Movement, the slogans had not been “Anti-Send to China” and “Liberate Hong Kong, Revolution of Our Times,” but had been “Patriotic Democratic Movement” like in 1989, or “Love and Peace” like in Occupy Central, might the outcome have been different?

But I also understand: after so many years of CCP poisoning and harm, and the accumulation of contradictions between mainland and Hong Kong, it was difficult for Hongkongers, long suppressed, to continue to uphold patriotism and peace. And even if Hongkongers had raised the banner of patriotic democracy, at least at that time they would not have gained widespread sympathy or practical support from the mainland. Occupy Central was extremely peaceful, yet did it not still fail? As some of the “valiant” said: “It was you (the CCP and the Hong Kong government) who taught us that nonviolence is useless”—and indeed, they were not wrong.

Yet all the more because of this, communication, understanding, and tolerance have value and necessity. Hearts can change; mainlanders are not unfeeling grass or wood. My own attitude toward Hong Kong, localist thought, and its participants has greatly changed in just a few years. At the end of last year, in the “White Paper Revolution,” many mainlanders who once loathed Hong Kong protests themselves were forced onto the streets. Three years of lockdowns and widespread human rights abuses made them truly understand the preciousness of freedom and the rule of law.

And some Hongkongers in Hong Kong, raising blank papers in solidarity, formed one of the very few large-scale civic actions not banned under the National Security Law, proving as well the spiritual connection of mainland and Hong Kong people, and the value of solidarity and mutual aid. “Do not cut ties”—this should not only be between pan-democrats and localists, or between moderates and radicals, or among Hongkongers, but also between Hong Kong and the mainland, between the people of China, between all in the world who love peace and democracy.

Although the crackdown after the Anti-Extradition Movement and the prohibitions of the National Security Law have sent you and many other righteous men and women into prison, to trial, and into suffering, and although I too have endured hardships in my own resistance, if we trace back through history and recall the struggles of those who came before, we are in fact far more fortunate.

In the late Qing, the revolutionary martyr Shi Jianru, operating out of Hong Kong, assassinated Qing officials. After being captured, his fingernails were pulled out, he was subjected to endless torture, and was ultimately executed. Likewise, Lin Juemin and many other revolutionaries who used Hong Kong as a base and rose up in Guangdong against the Qing were tortured and slaughtered after their uprising failed. As for Qiu Jin and Zhang Zhixin, what they suffered is even harder to put into words. Compared with the brutal tortures and final sacrifices of those martyrs, what are our hardships worth?

What truly causes anxiety and pain is how to end CCP despotism and the present state of “stupefaction and violence” suffered by the people, so that they may gain freedom and democracy. And further, what kind of country should be built in the future? Totalitarianism reinforced by modern technology seems unshakable. The corruption of human hearts and the tearing apart of society make one pessimistic about the nation’s fate. Even if democratization comes, it may not necessarily be much better, and could even bring fiercer turmoil. So, how can we ensure that the China of the future will be not only free and democratic, but also peaceful and orderly?

These are questions requiring the thought of many people, to serve as guidance for future practice. Whether you are in prison or after you are released, perhaps you can think further about these matters. The treasury of thought, ancient and modern, Chinese and foreign—especially Chinese culture and historical humanities—is an inexhaustible library of resources for self-cultivation, family order, statecraft, and bringing peace to the world. For instance, one of your colleagues, a well-known barrister and former legislator, immersed himself in traditional calligraphy, using the ancients to express his aspirations, giving his emotions to poetry and verse. Yet it would be even better if there were more “practical application to the affairs of the world.”

What I have said here is merely personal suggestion. However you live is your own freedom. But I still hope you will think about the bitter plight of more than a billion compatriots, especially the countless unspoken or unspeakable sufferings of hundreds of millions of girls and women. Equality and fraternity have been the creed of revolutionaries since the French Revolution, the principle and vision of our founding father Sun Yat-sen, and are indeed the foundation and core of humanity’s civilizational progress. We must speak for those who cannot speak, be the voice for those who are silenced—“to give power to the powerless, to help the despairing move forward.”

Even if we cannot change the course of history or the direction of our nation’s destiny, still we must do what we can. Zhuge Liang, the Martial Marquis, “knowing it could not be done, yet did it,” launched six expeditions against Mount Qi, gave his life in devotion—though “success or failure cannot be foreseen,” he still left “a loyal heart to illuminate history.” “Though rivers and mountains fall, the principle remains.” Of course, what we uphold is not the “principle” of feudal rites or the hierarchy of ruler and subject, but the universal principle of the world, based on conscience and truth, with equality and justice as its core.

Here, I too “know not what I am saying.” There is still so much to say, but it cannot all be said. I hope you are well, and I look forward to the passing of this long dark night, and to the resurgence of light for both mainland and Hong Kong.

Wang Qingmin

April 16, 2023

Day of Autumn Peony, Month of Sprouting, Year 231 of the Republican Calendar