There was the software engineering major who crouched behind umbrellas to dodge rubber bullets. The social worker who marched with other pro-democracy protesters. And the student who handed out leaflets and made speeches.
All three had joined the Hong Kong protests that erupted in 2019, hoping for more democracy. Instead, the movement was crushed, and they, like many others, were arrested, sentenced and sent to prison.
More than 10,000 people were arrested during the monthslong uprising that began as peaceful mass rallies but grew sometimes violent as the police responded with force. Almost a quarter of those were convicted of crimes that include rioting and national security offenses.
China’s national security crackdown on Hong Kong, which began five years ago, has quelled protests and effectively outlawed public dissent. Many of the protesters have moved overseas or gone back to their lives.
But for those convicted of crimes, moving on has been hard. Some have found themselves shut out from their former careers; others feel stranded as their peers have moved on.
Here are the stories of three of them:
A Career Derailed
Fung, the social worker, who asked to be identified only by part of her name, had been arrested at a largely peaceful street protest. A conviction and prison sentence for rioting brought her five-year career to a halt.
Prison brought other hardships too, as when her father’s cancer took a turn for the worse. She was told she could only see him on his deathbed or attend his funeral. The hospital visit she chose lasted only ten minutes. When her father reached for her handcuffed hands, the officers forbade contact and ushered her away.
She applied to restore her license as a social worker, both while in prison and after her release, but was rejected despite having referrals from former professors and colleagues.
“I feel I have shouldered my responsibility,” she said. “Now I want to move on and become a part of society again.”
She said she would keep trying, and has been working as a concierge for a luxury hotel in the meantime. While many of her friends have emigrated, Fung is determined to stay put. She has no regrets.
“I have very deep feelings for Hong Kong,” she said. “I have hope that it will get better.”
Missed Opportunities
Chan Chi Sum was 20 when he was arrested and sentenced to prison for conspiracy to incite subversion. He had been a leader in a student group that had drawn the attention of the authorities for running a street booth where they handed out fliers and warned that a government Covid contact-tracing app could be used for surveillance.
Since his release, he has been trying to make up for the two years he lost behind bars.
But some old friends have kept their distance. One who had plans to join the civil service sent him a text message but did not make plans to meet. Eventually, they stopped talking.
Many of his peers who had fought for democracy alongside him had moved on. He kept quiet at high school reunions when his former classmates discussed plans to buy property and have children.
“They all completed their degrees and became the people they wanted to be. But I didn’t get to become who I wanted to be,” Mr. Chan said.
In order to save up for further study, he worked as many odd jobs as he could find, including as a mover, a busboy and a video editor. He also earned a license to become a construction worker in case universities rejected him because of his record.
He is now pursuing a degree in media and culture and hopes to make videos and documentaries that would bear witness to the changing city. “I can show others the Hong Kong I see through my eyes,” he said.
Enforced Silence
Tsui, the software engineering major, left prison to find a city far different than the one he remembered.
Tsui, who asked to be identified only by his last name, served almost two and a half years for rioting. Upon his release, he had initially wanted to speak out about the poor prison conditions, but his friends warned him against it.
Tsui feels frustrated that many who joined him in protesting seem to have set aside their political ideals and were even traveling regularly to mainland China for work or fun.
He landed a job as an entry-level system administrator in a large private company. He has tried to keep his time in prison a secret from new acquaintances.
But office talk about movies and songs popular when he was in prison made him feel left out, and jokes comparing the work grind to prison did not seem funny. He also learned to dodge questions like why he avoided visiting mainland China or downloading Chinese apps like WeChat.
Now, he censors himself during conversations, and has started warning other friends to be careful about making comments critical of the government on social media.
“We have all learned how to dance within the red lines,” he said.
Tiffany May is a reporter based in Hong Kong, covering the politics, business and culture of the city and the broader region.
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