What a Crackdown Looks Like From Jail

Luo Huining, the most senior mainland political official based in Hong Kong, delivered fiery remarks at a morning ceremony to kick off the festivities, decrying foreign forces attempting to use Hong Kong as a “pawn,” adding that anyone who tried to exploit the city would be met with “impactful countermeasures.” His speech was a battle cry and an ominous warning that the reconfiguring of Hong Kong is far from complete. The national-security law, he said, provided authorities with a “sword,” and the election changes were a “shield.” Now armed and protected, they could press on with their campaign of rectification. (Notably, Luo spoke, as most of the guests of honor did, in Mandarin, rather than the local language, Cantonese.)

Much of the day focused on students. Since 1997, when Hong Kong was handed back to China from Britain, the Chinese identity Beijing had hoped to see flourish has largely failed to take hold, particularly among young people. Instead, a distinct Hong Kong identity has risen. In 2014 and again in 2019, students played a major role in demonstrations; teenage activists such as Joshua Wong captivated the media. What wasn’t taking root organically would thus need some outside assistance, so students as young as 6 have been subject to cartoons in their classrooms about the importance of national security and upholding Chinese values.

At Hong Kong’s police college, kids in school uniforms were treated to a field day of militarized policing. A few pointed mock automatic weapons at one another. Photos showed one young boy in a striped tie and crisp white shirt at a booth on bomb disposal, shouldering a replica rocket-propelled grenade with his finger wrapped around the trigger. Teddy bears dressed in tactical police uniforms were for sale, a cuddly commodification of state-backed violence. The toys came complete with tiny signs that warned of imminent tear gas or of demonstrators’ possible violation of the national-security law, replicas of those carried by police during the 2019 and 2020 protests. Police for the first time goose-stepped their way through parade drills, their legs swinging high and unbending in a marching style most closely associated with the rise of fascism and the militarism of World War II. Unsatisfied with tightening their control only over the future, authorities continued their selective revision of history as well. Speaking with reporters, Hong Kong’s police commissioner conspiratorially declared that prodemocracy protests had not been sparked by an extradition bill, as was actually the case, but rather by the actions of U.S. agents.

As for Tam, the imprisoned activist I was meeting, none of the charges against him involve violence, but he looks to very much be getting the sword. At visitor’s booth No. 28, he sat opposite his assistant and me, separated from us by a pane of glass foggy with scratches and a row of gray bars. He was skinnier than when I last spoke with him, when he was free, his slightly chubby face now considerably more narrow. His hair, normally spiked in the front, was longer and flopped across his brow as he excitedly started chatting with me via the phones connecting us through the barrier. Despite what has been a lengthy pretrial detention, he was remarkably upbeat. He had recently started folding envelopes as part of a prison work scheme, and his wife had visited with updates about his much-loved but aging dog, Cream. (Still “very greedy for treats,” his assistant told me.) He had thought of a new catchphrase for National Security Education Day that he was excited to share. “To me, the slogan should be ‘Uphold national security, destroy free speech and liberty in Hong Kong,’” he said smiling.