Prologue Journal

After three years of absence in the public eye, I am finally able to share my experience personally. As I publish this statement, I have safely arrived in the United Kingdom and have formally applied for political asylum upon entry.

On 5th June this year, I was officially released from Tai Lam Correctional Institution after completing my sentence, regaining freedom outside the walls. However, this marks only the beginning of stringent surveillance. A week before the scheduled release, I lived with the constant worry that the National Security police might visit in the name of an official visit, informing me of additional charges.

Ultimately, as anticipated, they appeared to caution me and inquire whether I would continue to participate in events related to secession. They reminded me not to leave the country in the coming year and indicated regular meetings with them would take place after my release. A month before my planned release date, the Security Unit and Rehabilitation Unit of the Correctional Services Department (CSD) and the supervisors had already requested that I refrain from publicly disclosing the date of my release. Consequently, on the 5th June, only a handful of individuals were informed of my release.

As I was sentenced before turning 21, I am obligated to adhere to the CSD Supervision Services for one year post-release. Initially, the terms of my supervision were no different from those imposed on an average person: requiring me to pursue education or employment. As my release from jail was close to summer, I secured a temporary summer job during this period. However, shortly thereafter, the higher-ups at the CSD informed me that I was not allowed to be employed in “specific businesses”, though such restriction was not stipulated in the Supervision Services terms. Consequently, in the last month of the summer holiday, I had no choice but to wait for the school year to commence. Their demands effectively stripped me of financial autonomy, paving the way for the financial inducements later offered by the National Security Department of the Hong Kong Police Force.

Then, I received a call from the CSD, notifying me of a decision to alter the terms under my Supervision Services, and that I needed to meet with the more senior staff from the Rehabilitation Unit. I was compelled to sign a revised Supervision order that has added the following terms: (1) prohibition on publishing any content related to my convicted offences, including through public statements and interviews; (2) a ban on disseminating any content deemed “objectively and reasonably considered as endangering national security”; and (3) prohibition on public speaking.

Starting from June, the national security police officers began requesting meetings every two to four weeks, leaving me with no option but to comply. Each meeting involved meeting at random locations, being ordered to board a seven-seater vehicle with closed curtains, and transported to unknown destinations. During these meetings, I was interrogated about my activities in the preceding weeks, asked about individuals I had met, required to provide full Chinese names even for primary school classmates, and detailed information about visits to restaurants or bars, along with the content of conversations.

Upon resuming my studies in September, they demanded to take a photo of my student ID, insisted on being notified of any applications for student financial aid, and required disclosure of bank account information. If I did not meet their demands, they would give me a round of lectures, warning me that they had already got hold of all my whereabouts, and wanted me to confess to them – a way to blackmail me into complying with their orders.

In the past six months with no income from any work, the national security police officers kept on coercing and inducing me to join them. My speculation is that they have learnt about my financial struggles through my bank account information, so they proposed providing informant fees, urging me to supply information about others as proof of my reformation and willingness to cooperate.

In a regular meeting with the National Security Department in early September, two national security police officers suggested a trip to Mainland China. I was very alert immediately, fearing extradition to China. Yet, over the past three months, I understand that I could not reject anything they proposed – so I avoided a direct response and asked instead, “It would not be possible for me to apply for a Home Return Permit (Mainland Travel Permit for Hong Kong and Macao Residents), right?” they assured me it could be arranged as long as I wished, with an accompanying party for the journey north. As I remained silent, they questioned what considerations I had, to which I truthfully responded that I did not want to go. They then inquired the reason for my hesitation was that I was still engaging in activities harmful to national security. Subsequently, they demanded a response at our next meeting. Fortunately, until my departure from Hong Kong, they did not bring up this request again. Yet, I am aware that such demands may resurface in the future.

From October onwards until the present day, I have intermittently fallen ill. During this period, I sought medical consultations from both Western and Chinese doctors, all of whom diagnosed my condition as a result of significant mental stress and psychological factors, leading to a weakened immune system. They recommended that I seek psychological counselling in the long run.

On July 29, 2020, I was suddenly approached by around 10 national security police officers in Yuen Long, who subdued me from behind and confiscated my phone. Since my release from imprisonment, I have lived in daily fear of a recurrence of similar incidents. I feared stepping out of my home, feared using the phone in public, and worried about the possibility of being detained again by national security police officers on the streets. Every meeting with the national security police officers filled me with dread, fearing that they may accuse me of endangering national security and would demand me to prove my innocence. Occasionally, their intermittent communication blackouts exacerbate my concerns, making me worry whether they are planning to arrest me again with new charges, hence eliminating the necessity for further meetings.

However, as they demanded me to sign a document related to Article 63 of the National Security Law, prohibiting me from disclosing any content of communication between us to anyone, I am neither able to seek legal assistance nor disclose my predicament to anyone. Under such immense pressure and fear, I can only silently endure.

I once fantasised that the national security police might uphold their promises and grant me the freedom to enter and exit Hong Kong in June 2024, ceasing interference in my life — but I understand deep inside my heart that these are fake promises, and they are more likely to delay any resolution until after the enactment of Article 23 of the Basic Law next year, continuing to impose additional charges on me. After careful consideration, I persuaded the Correctional Services Department to allow me to leave the country for Christmas travel on the grounds of emotional adjustment. I chose Okinawa as the destination, considering the location is less politically sensitive and that it suited my financial situation. Days before the trip, I submitted my flight and accommodation details to them, successfully obtaining the approval from CSD.

On the day before my departure, I pondered deeply on whether this decision was appropriate, given a lot has happened in Hong Kong this month. However, the rare approval from the CSD convinced me that this was the best moment to leave. On that day, I departed for Hong Kong airport with only HKD 40,000, worrying until the last second before takeoff about whether I could safely leave. It was only at the moment of the plane’s departure that I breathed a sigh of relief.

However, as the itinerary and accommodation details were reported to the authorities, I did not dare to be complacent. During my stay in Okinawa, I sought assistance from relevant individuals and organisations I knew from the UK, the US, and Canada, discussing and obtaining information on local immigration policies and political asylum assessment conditions. After considering the situation of these three countries, and given that more protesters I knew had been granted asylum in the UK, coupled with its recent clearer stance on China, we unanimously agreed that entering the UK through the political asylum process was the safest and most appropriate path.

Therefore, I hurriedly purchased a flight ticket to the UK before the deadline for returning to Hong Kong, and arrived in the UK on the evening of 27th December (UK time). This also means that in the foreseeable future, it is impossible for me to return to my home Hong Kong. Although I had anticipated this day in the past, at the moment that I made up my mind, my heart still sank. Since I dedicated my life to social movements at 14, I have always believed that Hong Kong is the only home of our nation, we shouldn’t be the ones leaving.

In the days ahead, I will continue my studies, hoping to contribute everything I can as a Hong Kong exile, as I have always been, to the best of my ability. I believe that only with the collective efforts of the Hong Kong people can Hong Kong once again become a home that we can be proud of. I believe that as long as the Hong Kong people never give up, the seeds of freedom and democracy will sprout alive again. There will be a day in the future where we will meet under LegCo in Hong Kong.