From March 2019 to about May 2021, I did reportage sketching at Hong Kong’s pro-democracy demonstrations. I saw clashes between protestors and riot police get increasingly violent as our government gleefully turned their backs on us to accept orders from the CCP. I did it as part documentation and a reminder to myself of what we were losing. Because everyone in the fight, though they fought nobly from the beginning, always knew it was a losing battle. I did it to remind myself that we stood up for principles of freedom of speech, freedom of thought, freedom of the press, of education decoupled from nationalism, and morality decoupled from government propaganda. We stood up even against forces vastly more powerful.

With the international community also rallying behind us, many western countries opened their borders to Hong Kongers (though for some, it was only right (looking at you, British colonisers)). I genuinely believe that if we didn’t make so much of a fuss and organise ourselves as well as we did, there wouldn’t now be as many opportunities for us to leave.

But we still lost. And I’m here in London and for my own safety, I can’t go back. I was so determined to keep going to protests, keep drawing, spread the word about Hong Kong when I got here, but now I don’t feel like there’s a point. We lost – what more is there to say?

I don’t get to go back home. I just want to be happy.