作者：毛一炜
编辑：李堃 责任编辑：张娜 校对：熊辩 翻译：刘芳
香港的问题，从来不是经济数字的起伏，也不是楼市的涨跌，而是香港人曾经拥有、如今却正在失去的尊严、自由与信念。
在很长一段时间里，香港是华语世界最罕见的自由之地：可以批评政府、可以集会、可以自由出版，也可以把新闻当作真正的新闻，而不是宣传品。香港人相信制度会保护他们，相信只要按照规则生活，就不必畏惧权力。而这一切的核心，就是自由。
北京曾向香港承诺普选、承诺自治、承诺“五十年不变”，但这些承诺从未兑现，反而不断收回。所谓“循序渐进”停滞不前，所谓“高度自治”持续被侵蚀。中国共产党一再出尔反尔，规则随时可以被改写，而香港人只能一再承担后果。
因此，反送中运动并不是突然爆发，而是多年累积的愤怒被点燃。当北京推动《逃犯条例》修订时，香港人立即意识到那是一条通往黑暗司法体系的通道。修例意味着任何人都可能被送往大陆，一个缺乏制衡、缺乏透明度，甚至可能让人“失踪”的司法系统。反送中从来不是“一宗案件的争议”，而是香港社会对长期被背叛的集体反抗——北京声称不干预，却不断干预；声称保障自治，却持续削弱；声称五十年不变，却二十多年便已改变。
修例只是导火索，而真正的火药，是中国共产党长期不守承诺。反送中之后，北京没有选择沟通，而是选择全面压制。国安法落地后，香港的空气从自由变成沉默。街头标语消失，媒体被迫关停，民选议员被取消资格，学者、记者、律师陆续被捕。普通人可能因为一句口号、一个贴纸、或一条留言就被问话；自我审查像雾一样笼罩整座城市。
最令人心碎的是，连悼念都成了罪行。
香港曾是全中国唯一可以公开纪念“六四”的地方。维园的烛光，是几代香港人的良知象征，也是华语世界最珍贵的公民记忆。但如今，维园被封锁，主办者被逮捕；点一支蜡烛、发一张贴纸、穿一件黑衣，都可能被指控为“煽动”或“颠覆”。人们不敢悼念，不敢聚集，不敢提起那段历史。
从一座敢于点亮烛光的城市，到如今连烛光的影子都被视为危险，这不是秩序，而是恐怖的统治。
然而，自由并没有完全消失。有人记录时代，有人保存档案，有人把真相带出香港，也有人继续告诉下一代：“我们曾经拥有自由，也依然值得拥有自由。”专制可以封口，却封不住记忆；可以摧毁组织，却摧不毁心中那一点不愿屈服的火光。
香港的意义，不仅属于香港人。它提醒整个华语世界：当权力不受制衡、当承诺可以被随意推翻，一个社会可能以惊人的速度坠入黑暗。从制度到新闻自由，从司法到教育，从悼念到历史记忆，只要权力愿意，一切都可以被清空。
无论北京如何删改历史、封锁媒体、制造恐惧，都改变不了一个事实：中国共产党从未打算兑现对香港的承诺。从普选到自治，从司法独立到言论自由，每一项都被它亲手撕碎。香港走到今天，并非因为“动乱”，而是因为专制政权无法容忍一座拥有自由灵魂的城市。
真正让他们恐惧的，是一个事实：没有共产党，中国一样可以繁荣、文明、自由，而香港正是最鲜明的证据。也正因为如此，香港必须被记住。记住这段历史，是对独裁最直接的否定；记住香港的抗争，是对自由最顽强的坚持；记住中共的背叛，是对世人的提醒——一个不守承诺、以谎言治国的政权，无法带来未来，也无法带来真正的安全。
只要记忆还在，只要有人愿意说出真相，只要我们不放弃对自由的追求，那么终有一天，专制会被扫入历史，而香港将再次点亮属于自己的光。
Why Hong Kong Must Be Remembered
Author: Mao Yiwei
Editor: Li Kun Executive Editor: Zhang Na Proofreader: Xiong Bian Translator: Liu Fang
Abstract: The core problem in Hong Kong has never been economics, but the erosion of freedom and autonomy by Beijing. The Anti-Extradition Movement was the result of years of broken promises, and the National Security Law has since extinguished free speech, the press, public assembly, and even public mourning. Hong Kong has transformed from a land of freedom into a society ruled by fear. Its fate warns the entire Chinese-speaking world: once power escapes checks and balances, institutions and freedoms can collapse with astonishing speed. Only memory and persistence can resist authoritarianism.
Hong Kong’s struggle has never been about fluctuating economic indicators or the rise and fall of the housing market. It is about something far more fundamental—the dignity, freedom, and convictions that Hong Kong people once possessed, yet are now losing.
For a long time, Hong Kong was the rarest of places in the Chinese-speaking world: a city where one could criticize the government, assemble freely, publish freely, and read news that was truly news—not propaganda. Hong Kongers believed the system would protect them. They believed that living by the rules meant they did not need to fear power. At the heart of all this was one word: freedom.
Beijing once promised Hong Kong universal suffrage, autonomy, and “a high degree of autonomy,” along with the pledge of “fifty years unchanged.” Yet none of these promises were fulfilled. Instead, they were steadily withdrawn. The so-called “gradual progress” stagnated; the promised autonomy was systematically eroded. The Chinese Communist Party repeatedly broke its word—rules could be rewritten at any time, while Hong Kongers were left to bear the consequences again and again.
Thus, the Anti-Extradition Movement did not erupt out of nowhere. It was the ignition of anger accumulated over many years. When Beijing pushed the amendment to the Extradition Bill, Hong Kong people instantly understood what it meant—a direct pathway into a judicial system without transparency, without checks and balances, and where people could simply disappear. The movement was never about a single case; it was the collective resistance of a society betrayed time after time— Beijing claimed non-interference yet interfered constantly; claimed to safeguard autonomy yet continually dismantled it; claimed “fifty years unchanged” yet reshaped Hong Kong in barely twenty.
The amendment was merely the spark. The real explosives were Beijing’s long-term refusal to honor its commitments. After the Anti-Extradition Movement, Beijing chose not dialogue, but total suppression. With the imposition of the National Security Law, Hong Kong’s atmosphere shifted from free to suffocatingly silent. Street slogans vanished; independent media outlets were forced to shut down; elected legislators were disqualified; scholars, journalists, and lawyers were arrested one after another. Ordinary people could be questioned for a slogan, a sticker, or even a social-media comment. Self-censorship descended like a fog over the entire city.
Most heartbreaking of all is this: even mourning has become a crime.
Hong Kong was once the only place in China where June Fourth could be openly commemorated. The candlelight in Victoria Park symbolized the conscience of several generations of Hong Kongers—and the most precious civic memory in the Chinese-speaking world. Today, the park is barricaded; organizers have been arrested; lighting a candle, sharing a sticker, or wearing black can be denounced as “incitement” or “subversion.” People dare not mourn, dare not gather, dare not speak of history.
A city that once dared to shine with candlelight now fears even the shadow of a flame. This is not order. This is terror.
Yet freedom has not been extinguished entirely. There are still those who document the era, preserve archives, carry truth beyond Hong Kong’s borders, and tell the next generation: “We once had freedom—and we still deserve it.” Authoritarianism can silence voices, but it cannot erase memory. It can crush organizations, but it cannot extinguish the fire within the human heart.
Hong Kong’s significance reaches far beyond Hong Kong itself. It reminds the entire Chinese-speaking world: when power is unrestrained, when promises can be broken at will, a society can fall into darkness with astonishing speed. From institutions to press freedom, from the courts to education, from public mourning to historical memory—everything can be erased the moment the authorities decide so.
No amount of censorship, propaganda, or fear can change a fundamental truth: the Chinese Communist Party never intended to honor its promises to Hong Kong. From universal suffrage to autonomy, from judicial independence to freedom of expression—every commitment has been torn apart by the regime itself. Hong Kong’s condition today is not the result of “chaos,” but the inevitable outcome of an authoritarian regime incapable of tolerating a city with a free spirit.
What terrifies them most is this simple fact: China can be prosperous, civilized, and free without the Communist Party—and Hong Kong was the clearest proof. For this very reason, Hong Kong must be remembered.
To remember Hong Kong is to reject authoritarianism. To remember Hong Kong’s resistance is to affirm freedom. To remember the CCP’s betrayal is to warn the world: a regime that rules by lies and breaks its promises cannot provide a future, nor genuine safety.
As long as memory survives, as long as someone tells the truth, as long as we refuse to give up the pursuit of freedom— then one day, authoritarianism will pass into history, and Hong Kong will once again shine with its own light.
