作者：张致君
对于我来说，真正的政治启蒙运动便是2019年的香港“反送中”。也正是港版国安法的颁布，让我毅然决然的走上政治异见者的道路，此后经年，这些在港人一直激励着我在反对中共专政道路上的前行。而今看着那些为守护民主自由的香港人锒铛入狱，从何桂蓝的坦然无惧到邹幸彤面对判决时的微笑，这种力量给了我足够的勇气面对中共极权。结束中共一党专政，势在必行。
二百多页的判词，最终围绕着一句并不复杂的话展开：“结束一党专政。”
2026年8月21日，香港高等法院裁定邹幸彤、李卓人以及已经解散的支联会“煽动颠覆国家政权罪”成立。法院认为，“结束一党专政”针对的是中国共产党的领导地位，而这种领导地位又被现行中国宪法规定为国家根本制度的一部分，因此，推动结束一党专政，可以构成对国家根本制度的“推翻”或“破坏”。
表面上是一起国家安全案件，把所有繁复的法律语言拨开，案件最后留下的是一个比刑法更古老、也更根本的问题：中国究竟是谁的中国？
如果中国属于人民，那么人民当然有权讨论共产党应不应该继续执政；如果人民是国家主权的来源，那么人民当然有权主张改变政治制度；如果所谓“一切权力属于人民”不是一句装饰性的口号，那么人民至少必须拥有一种最基本的权利——对掌握国家权力的人说“不”。
反过来说，如果人民没有权利要求执政党下台，没有权利要求政党轮替，没有权利主张改变现行政治制度，那么所谓“人民主权”，便存在一个无法解释的悖论：
人民被宣布为国家的主人，却不能决定谁管理这个国家。
邹幸彤质问的不是一个法条的技术解释，而是权力的来源。任何政党都可以相信自己最适合执政，可以宣称自己的历史贡献，可以努力争取人民支持；但是没有任何政党能够通过自己的意志，把自己变成国家永久的主人。
中共不能自己宣布“我代表人民”，然后再以“人民的名义”规定人民必须永远接受它。如果它可以这样做，那么逻辑就变成：共产党因为代表人民，所以共产党必须执政；共产党必须执政，又证明共产党代表人民；而任何要求共产党下台的人，因为反对“代表人民的共产党”，便被定义为反对人民、反对国家。
这是一个封闭的政治循环。在这个循环里，权力不再需要来自人民不断的授权，它已经预先宣布自己拥有永恒的授权。这不是民主政治中的“执政”，是一种对政治选择权的垄断。
一部宪法，能不能规定一个政党永远不能下台？
邹幸彤案最值得思考的，不是中国宪法现在有没有规定共产党的领导地位，这个事实并没有多少争议。真正的问题是：一项宪法规定的存在，是否就足以证明这项规定永远正当，而且人民永远不能主张改变它？
如果答案是肯定的，那么人类历史上的许多专制制度都可以获得最完美的法律辩护。因为专制从来不一定意味着“没有法律”。很多专制制度同样有宪法、有法院、有刑法、有法官、有复杂的司法程序。真正区分法治和专制的，不是国家有没有一本法律，而是法律究竟在限制权力，还是在替权力证明自己永远正确。
所谓法治，不是把掌权者的意志写进法条以后，就宣布一切服从这种意志的行为叫“守法”。法治的核心，是权力本身也受到约束。
如果宪法可以规定某一个政党必须永远领导国家，同时刑法又禁止人民和平要求改变这种规定，那么宪法就不再只是限制政府的最高法律，也可能变成了保护统治者不受人民挑战的政治堡垒。
因此，问题从来不只是：“结束一党专政是否违反现行制度？”更根本的问题应该是：人民有没有权利主张改变现行制度？
如果连“主张改变”本身都被禁止，制度实际上已经宣告自己不可改革、不可替换，也不可经由人民重新授权。而一个不允许人民和平改变的制度，最终只剩下两种可能：永久服从，或者暴力断裂。真正有智慧的政治制度恰恰应该避免这一点。
民主制度之所以允许反对党存在、允许批评宪法、允许推动修宪甚至主张彻底改变政治制度，不是因为民主软弱，是因为它明白：让人民拥有和平改变制度的道路，恰恰是防止社会走向暴力最可靠的安全阀。
“我们不是在审判信念”，为什么仍然让人感到信念正在受审？
港府强调，法院判的是行为，而不是政治信念；当局的立场是，被告不是因为相信民主而受审，而是因为其行为已经越过合法表达的界线，构成以非法手段煽动颠覆国家权力。这当然是理解案件时必须承认的官方立场。
但邹幸彤提出了一个更尖锐的问题：如果一个人的行为之所以成为犯罪，恰恰是因为这些行为持续表达了“结束一党专政”的政治目标，那么所谓“不是审判信念”，究竟还剩下多少实质区别？这就像一个国家说：你完全可以相信资本主义比社会主义好；但是如果你公开宣传废除社会主义，就构成颠覆。形式上，它没有禁止你“在心里想”。但政治信念如果只能存在于人的脑中，而不能被说出来、写出来、组织起来、和平传播，那么所谓思想自由只剩下一种极其贫乏的含义：
你可以拥有思想，条件是这个思想永远不能成为公共行动。可政治自由从来不是“允许人在心里保持沉默”。真正的思想自由必须包括表达的自由，表达自由必须包括说服他人的自由，而结社自由本身又意味着人们可以为了共同的政治目标组织起来。否则，“自由”最终不过是国家允许每个人在私人空间里偷偷拥有不同意见。这也解释了为什么“结束一党专政”六个字在这起案件中具有如此重要的象征意义。
因为它迫使人们面对一个无法回避的问题：在今天的香港，一个人还可不可以公开相信，中国应该拥有一个不由共产党永久垄断权力的未来？反对一个政党，不等于反对一个国家
专制政治最有效的一种叙事方式，就是不断模糊“党”“政府”“国家”“民族”和“人民”之间的界线。于是：
反对共产党，逐渐被解释成反华； 反对政府，被解释成反国家； 要求政治改革，被解释成危害国家安全； 批评领导人，被解释成攻击整个民族。
从现代政治理论看，这些概念必须被严格区分。国家比任何一个政党都古老，也应该比任何一个政党都长久。政党只是竞争公共权力的政治组织。中国不是因为1949年以后由共产党执政才成为中国，中国人民也不是因为共产党存在才成为中国人民。
一个人完全可以深爱自己的国家，同时强烈反对统治这个国家的政党。甚至可以说，正因为一个人认为国家属于所有人民，他才有理由反对任何政党把国家据为自己的永久政治资产。
“共产党下台”在逻辑上和“中国灭亡”之间，没有必然关系。
美国政府更替，美国仍然存在； 英国执政党轮替，英国仍然存在； 台湾实现政党轮替，台湾社会并没有因此消失。
政权和平更替本来就是现代政治文明的重要成果。把一个政党的领导地位同国家生存绑定起来，恰恰暴露出一种深层的不安全感：如果一个政党真正相信人民支持自己，它最不应该害怕的，就是让人民选择。选票比任何宣传都更能够证明政治合法性。
国家安全不能变成无限扩张的概念
所有国家都有保护国家安全的权利。没有一个自由社会会允许间谍活动、恐怖主义、武装叛乱或者外国军事破坏。但国家安全法最危险的地方，也正在于“国家安全”四个字具有极强的扩张能力。如果没有严格边界，保护国家安全可以慢慢变成保护政府安全，再从保护政府变成保护执政党安全，最终甚至变成保护某一种政治思想不受挑战。
到了最后：
一个政党的下台，被视为国家的灭亡； 一种政治制度受到批评，被视为国家安全受到攻击； 人民要求权力接受选择，被视为人民正在危害国家。
这时，国家安全的概念已经发生根本变化。它不再主要保护人民免受现实危险，而开始保护权力免受人民挑战。这也是为什么邹幸彤的案件具有远超她个人命运的意义。她没有在辩词中请求证明自己“其实不太反对共产党”，也没有试图解释“结束一党专政”只是一个无害口号。
恰恰相反，她直接承认：她就是认为一党专政应该结束。而她进一步坚持：相信这一点，本来不应该成为犯罪。这种辩护比技术性的法律争论更加彻底。因为她拒绝接受控方预设的前提——仿佛要求结束一党专政本身就是一种需要解释、需要道歉甚至需要减轻的政治过错。
法律真正的尊严，不来自让所有人服从
邹幸彤辩词中最值得留下的一句话也许是：“当法律执意要同良知作对，输的只会是法律，失去认受性的也只会是法律。”这句话触碰到了“合法性”和“合法律性”之间最古老的区别。一个行为违反成文法，并不能自动结束关于正义的讨论。否则奴隶制时代帮助奴隶逃亡的人是罪犯；种族隔离时代违反隔离法的人也是罪犯；许多历史上的异议人士、记者、民主运动者，都曾经是他们那个时代法律意义上的“违法者”。
历史后来评价这些人时，并没有只问一句：“他们当年有没有触犯法律？” 历史还会追问：那是一部什么样的法律？
法律当然需要稳定性，否则社会无法运行。但是法律之所以值得人服从，不只是因为法律背后站着警察、监狱和国家机器。法律真正深层的权威来自人们相信：它至少在努力维护某种高于权力本身的公平。如果一部法律只要求人民服从掌权者，却不要求掌权者接受人民的监督，那么这种法律越严厉，越可能暴露它与法治精神之间的距离。
这也是“依法治国”和“以法治权”最大的差别。前者可以仅仅意味着统治者使用法律治理人民。后者则意味着：法律首先是一条套在权力脖子上的缰绳。
“六·四”烛光真正令权力不安的，不只是历史
支联会三十多年举行“六·四”烛光晚会的意义，也不能仅仅理解为悼念死者。悼念本身就是一种政治行为，因为记忆意味着拒绝接受官方对历史的垄断。一个社会每年仍然有人点起蜡烛，就意味着国家可以控制教科书，可以控制电视，可以删除互联网信息，却仍然无法完全决定人民应该记住什么。
香港过去长期是中国境内能够大规模公开纪念1989年事件的唯一地方，而支联会每年的维园烛光晚会曾吸引大量公众参与。
为什么一支蜡烛会令人恐惧？因为它背后隐藏着一个权力最难回答的问题：如果政府当年的行为正确，为什么人民不能公开讨论？真正稳固的历史不需要靠禁止记忆来维持。同样，真正稳固的制度也不需要靠刑罚阻止人民讨论另一种制度。
邹幸彤案最后留下的，并非“谁赢了官司”
法院可以判一个人有罪。国家可以把一个人关进监狱。但是国家无法通过一纸判决解决一个政治哲学问题：共产党为什么拥有永远统治十四亿人的天然权利？“因为宪法这样规定”，不是最终答案。因为人民可以继续追问：那么宪法的权力来自哪里？如果答案是人民，那么人民为什么不能要求修改它？如果人民不能要求修改，那么究竟谁才是最高权力的拥有者？
这个逻辑链条最终只会回到最初的问题：国家到底属于人民，还是人民属于国家？邹幸彤选择了前一种答案。她认为国家权力必须“关回民主的牢笼”，认为人民不是国家机器的附属物，而应该是国家真正的主人。一个人当然可以不同意她。可以认为中国现在不适合民主，可以认为共产党治理得很好，可以认为一党体制更有效率，甚至可以公开与她辩论“结束一党专政”到底是不是一个好主张。
但文明社会解决这种分歧的方式应该是：让她说，也让反对她的人说。然后由人民判断。而不是让一方拥有麦克风，另一方拥有牢房。这才是邹幸彤案件最令人不安的地方。它真正触碰的不是一句政治口号，而是一条文明社会最基本的界线：人民究竟有没有权利和平地设想一个与今天不同的国家？
如果答案是否定的，那么所谓稳定的代价，就是禁止未来。如果一个制度必须规定人民不能想象它结束，不能宣传它结束，不能组织起来推动它结束，那么这种制度真正害怕的，也许从来不是所谓“颠覆”。它害怕的是选择。因为只要人民仍然拥有选择，“永久执政”就只能是一种愿望，而不能成为一种权利。所以，邹幸彤所坚持的真正命题，并不仅仅是“结束一党专政”。
更深一层，是：任何政党都没有资格宣布自己永远不可被人民取代。从香港法院目前对《国安法》的解释看，她的行为已经被判定为犯罪，这是今天的法律现实。但法律现实并不是历史讨论的终点。
从人民主权、政治表达自由以及现代法治最基本的原则来看，和平纪念“六·四”、和平批评执政党、和平主张民主制度和政党轮替，本应属于政治表达，而不应因为其目标触及执政党的统治地位，就自动转化为刑事犯罪。
一个国家最强大的证明，不是它能够让多少批评者沉默。而是即使有人站在街头要求执政者下台，国家依然有足够的自信回答：那就让人民决定。所以，邹幸彤真正坚持到最后的是一条极其简单的原则：国家可以有政党，但政党不能拥有国家。人民可以选择共产党，也必须拥有不选择共产党的权利。否则，“人民”两个字，就只剩下被权力反复使用的名义。而“民主”两个字，也就只剩下一个永远不能兑现的承诺。
附：邹幸彤法庭陈词
1. 206页判词，说来说去就是追求民主有罪。
2. 我不认为任何政党可以将国家的主权私相授受，自己说自己就是人民的选择，自己说自己就是唯一的领导，然后还要说每个人都有法律上的义务去拥护它这个自封的王位。这样的所谓法律，只是暴政的同义词。
3. 相信专政是错的，民主是对的，这不是信念又是什么呢？就算法庭和政府不停念咒，说我们不是在审判信念，也改变不了在这份判决之下，相信“结束一党专政”这个理念的人再无立足之地的事实。在这样的“法律”眼中，我们有这个思想就已经是违宪，是非法，是原罪。就算我们只是在做一件完全正当的事情，比如悼念六四，也会因为我们本身思想上的“不正确”而变成犯罪。
4. 但法律是控制不了任何人的思想的。不单控制不了，当法律执意要同良知作对，输的只会是法律，失去认受性的也只会是法律。
5. 做人要有底线，法律一样要有。而民主同专政之辨，就是其中最重要的一条底线，因为专政之下无法治。当法庭完全抽空“结束一党专政”这个诉求之所以出现的事实原因和是非对错，只盲目地去强调政权的意志，以及所谓守法的义务，其实就等同于说，活在纳粹德国之下就有义务去屠尽犹太人一般荒谬。这样的做法，只会令法律失去它彰显公平的灵魂，沦为任由权力驱使的傀儡。
6. 造成纳粹统治下、极权统治下一次又一次惨剧的，正是这种不问是非，只问服从的态度。而现在的法庭也好，国家也好，正走在同一条危险的老路上。甚至，随着科技的进步和国家力量的提升，随着国家成为公认的“大国”，现在的危险只有比当年更加严重。
7. 作为国民，我们有责任将国家权力关回民主的牢笼里面，尽我们作为国家主人的义务去控制它、监督它。这样做除了是要为过去的伤害寻一个公道，也是为了防止更大的灾难再次来临。一味以国家安全之名养肥一部我们控制不了的国家机器，蚕食人性和良知，发生悲剧是迟早的事。
8. 因此，结束一党专政，是我们这一代的香港人也好，中国人也好，无可回避的责任。这件事，必须由我们自己去完成，只能由我们自己去完成，没有任何外面的人可以代劳。
9. 这是我真诚的想法和信念，而且更不只是我一个人的信念——维园30年的烛光已经证明了这一点。“结束一党专政”，是人民的底线，是普世的诉求。当法律要不自量力地去挑战它，只会自取其辱。
10. 法庭假装问题不是传播思想，而是所谓散播敌意。但“结束一党专政”的信念，从来就不需要靠什么敌我思维、什么煽动仇恨去维系。我们只需要讲道理、讲事实，就足以得到所有明白道理的人的支持。
11. 因为专政本身就已经是一种最大、最明显的不公义。它无视每个人的平等和自主，硬塞一套无道理可讲的统治秩序下来，将自由的公民通通贬低为没有选择权的奴隶。结束一党专政，只是在争取回人作为人应有的尊严而已。而这个道理，任何不是装睡的人都应该看得明白。
12. 只有讲不通道理的人，才成天要靠仇恨动员，而我们根本就不需要；只有毫无自信的人，才会看什么都看到敌意，而我们也根本不会这样去看世界。我们对我们所相信的、所坚持的，有绝对的信心。只因为专政是靠仇恨去维持它的统治，并不等于人人都要用它那一套，并不等于这个世界就真的围绕着仇恨运转。对平等和正义的信念，对人性和真相的尊重，从来都是比仇恨更强大、更持久的力量。
13. 信念是无法计算、无法交易的存在。为自己所相信的一切去求情、去道歉，是最虚伪的一件事，也是侮辱所有持有同样信念的人。所以我不会这样做，不能这样做。连屠城的刽子手都还没有出来道歉，什么时候轮到我们呢？！即使世道颠倒，我们也不应该为政权所做的不对的事情道歉，令自己也成为颠倒的一部分。
14. 对于过去的一切，我拒绝用犯罪的语言和概念去分析我们做的事情有多严重或不严重。如果法庭真的想要什么参考，可以去问共产党领导的国安公署，他们才真的懂得怎样用犯罪的眼光去看争取民主和人权的努力。而且一直毫不避讳地说本案就是性质严重，就是必须严惩，完全不觉得自己是在干预司法独立。无论如何，如果法庭最后真的判我们属于“情节严重”，我会当成是对我们的赞美，因为这表示我们真的有做到事情嘛。
15. 能够找到自己相信的使命，找到可以并肩作战的伙伴，是人生最幸福的事情。所以对于我同支联会、同香港人一起走过的路，我一点都不后悔。只是辛苦了我的家人和爱我的人，我唯一要请求原谅的对象，也只有他们。
16. 而对于将来，无论是在狱中还是狱外，我都会继续为释放民运人士、平反八九民运、追究屠城责任、结束一党专政、建设民主香港与中国而努力、学习、充实自己，去做各种尝试，直到民主到来的那一天。这是我公开作出过无数次的承诺，是我在烛海之中对死难者许下的庄严誓言。而我不打算做一个言而无信的人。
17. 如果这样做会令我成为永远的罪犯，如果法律真的容不下我们的信念，那么我宁愿做一个罪犯，也不要做一个背叛良知的人。我会同所有不认命的香港人一起，继续走这条未完的民主之路。
18. 烛光如海， 人心成涛。 粉身拍岸， 不平不休。
Pursuing Democracy Should Not Be a Crime: Who Has the Right to Decide China’s Future? — Chow Hang-tung’s Persistence
Author: Zhang Zhijun
Abstract: From the 2019 Anti-Extradition Law Amendment Bill Movement in Hong Kong to the implementation of the Hong Kong National Security Law, and to Chow Hang-tung and others being convicted of “incitement to subvert state power,” Hong Kong’s transformation has served as a trajectory for the author’s political awakening. Using the judicial controversy sparked by the slogan “end one-party dictatorship” as an entry point, this article poses a more fundamental question: If the people are the source of state power, do they also possess the right to question, alter, or even peacefully replace the existing political system?
For me, the true political enlightenment was Hong Kong’s 2019 “Anti-Extradition” movement. It was precisely the promulgation of the Hong Kong National Security Law that made me resolutely step onto the path of a political dissident. In the years since, these Hong Kong people have continuously inspired me to press forward on the path of opposing CCP autocracy.
Seeing those Hong Kongers who defended democracy and freedom locked up in prison today—from Gwyneth Ho’s composed fearlessness to Chow Hang-tung’s smile upon hearing her verdict—this strength has given me sufficient courage to face the CCP’s totalitarianism. Ending the CCP’s one-party dictatorship is imperative.
A judgment of over two hundred pages ultimately revolved around a statement that is not complex: “End one-party dictatorship.”
On August 21, 2026, the High Court of Hong Kong ruled that Chow Hang-tung, Lee Cheuk-yan, and the disbanded Hong Kong Alliance were guilty of “incitement to subvert state power.” The court held that “ending one-party dictatorship” targets the ruling status of the Chinese Communist Party, and since this ruling status is stipulated by the current Chinese Constitution as a fundamental part of the state’s underlying system, advocating for the end of one-party dictatorship constitutes “overthrowing” or “undermining” the fundamental system of the state.
On the surface, this is a national security case. Yet when all the convoluted legal jargon is stripped away, the case leaves behind a question older and more fundamental than criminal law: To whom does China ultimately belong?
If China belongs to the people, then the people naturally have the right to discuss whether the Communist Party should continue to govern. If the people are the source of state sovereignty, then the people naturally have the right to advocate for changing the political system. If “all power belongs to the people” is not merely a decorative slogan, then the people must at least possess a most fundamental right—the right to say “no” to those holding state power.
Conversely, if the people have no right to demand that the ruling party step down, no right to request a rotation of political parties, and no right to advocate changing the existing political system, then the concept of “popular sovereignty” faces an unexplainable paradox:
The people are declared masters of the nation, yet they cannot decide who governs the nation.
What Chow Hang-tung questioned was not a technical interpretation of a legal clause, but the source of power. Any political party can believe itself to be the most suitable to govern, can proclaim its historical contributions, and can work hard to win the people’s support; but no political party can, by its own will, transform itself into the perpetual master of the state.
The CCP cannot declare on its own “I represent the people,” and then, “in the name of the people,” stipulate that the people must accept it forever. If it can do so, the logic becomes: because the Communist Party represents the people, the Communist Party must govern; because the Communist Party must govern, it proves that the Communist Party represents the people; and anyone demanding that the Communist Party step down, because they oppose the “Communist Party representing the people,” is defined as opposing the people and opposing the state.
This is a closed political loop. In this loop, power no longer requires continuous authorization from the people; it has pre-emptively declared itself to hold eternal authorization. This is not “governing” in democratic politics; it is a monopoly over political choice.
Can a constitution mandate that a political party can never step down?
What is most worth contemplating in Chow Hang-tung’s case is not whether the Chinese Constitution currently stipulates the ruling position of the Communist Party; there is little dispute over that fact. The real question is: Does the existence of a constitutional provision suffice to prove that this provision is eternally legitimate, and that the people can never advocate for changing it?
If the answer is affirmative, then many autocratic systems throughout human history could receive the most perfect legal defense. Autocracy does not necessarily mean “having no laws.” Many autocratic systems likewise have constitutions, courts, criminal laws, judges, and complex judicial procedures. What truly distinguishes the rule of law from autocracy is not whether a country possesses a book of laws, but whether the law constrains power or serves to prove that power is eternally correct.
The rule of law is not writing the ruler’s will into legal clauses and then declaring that all acts conforming to this will constitute “abiding by the law.” The core of the rule of law is that power itself is bound.
If a constitution can mandate that a specific political party must rule the country forever, while criminal law forbids the people from peacefully demanding changes to this mandate, then the constitution is no longer a supreme law that constrains government; it becomes a political fortress protecting rulers from challenges by the people.
Therefore, the question has never been merely: “Does ending one-party dictatorship violate the current system?” The more fundamental question should be: Do the people have the right to advocate for changing the current system?
If even the act of “advocating for change” is prohibited, the system has effectively declared itself unreformable, irreplaceable, and incapable of being reauthorized by the people. A system that does not allow the people to make peaceful changes ultimately leaves only two possibilities: permanent submission, or violent fracture. A truly wise political system should precisely avoid this.
The reason a democratic system permits opposition parties to exist, permits criticism of the constitution, and permits amendments or even advocate for thorough changes to the political system is not because democracy is weak, but because it understands: allowing the people a peaceful path to alter the system is precisely the most reliable safety valve against society veering into violence.
“We are not trying beliefs”—why does it still feel like beliefs are being put on trial?
The Hong Kong government emphasized that the court is judging actions, not political beliefs; the authority’s position is that the defendant is not on trial for believing in democracy, but because her actions crossed the line of lawful expression, constituting incitement to subvert state power by unlawful means. This is naturally the official stance that must be recognized when understanding the case.
However, Chow Hang-tung raised a sharper question: If a person’s actions become criminal precisely because these actions continuously express the political goal of “ending one-party dictatorship,” then how much substantive difference remains in claiming “not trying beliefs”? It is like a state saying: You are entirely free to believe that capitalism is better than socialism; but if you publicly advocate for the abolition of socialism, that constitutes subversion.
Formally, it does not forbid you from “thinking it in your mind.” But if political beliefs can only exist within human minds and cannot be spoken, written, organized, or peacefully disseminated, then so-called freedom of thought retains only an extremely impoverished meaning:
You may possess thoughts, on the condition that these thoughts never become public action. Yet political freedom has never meant “permitting people to keep silent in their minds.” True freedom of thought must include freedom of expression, freedom of expression must include the freedom to persuade others, and freedom of association itself implies that people can organize for common political goals. Otherwise, “freedom” ultimately reduces to the state allowing each individual to secretly hold differing opinions in private spaces. This also explains why the six words “end one-party dictatorship” carry such crucial symbolic weight in this case.
Because it forces people to confront an unavoidable question: In today’s Hong Kong, can a person still publicly believe that China should have a future that is not permanently monopolized by the Communist Party? Opposing a political party is not equivalent to opposing a country.
One of the most effective narratives of autocratic politics is the continuous blurring of boundaries between “Party,” “Government,” “Country,” “Nation,” and “People.” Consequently:
Opposing the Communist Party is gradually interpreted as being anti-China;
Opposing the government is interpreted as being anti-state;
Demanding political reform is interpreted as endangering national security;
Criticizing leaders is interpreted as attacking the entire nation.
From the perspective of modern political theory, these concepts must be strictly distinguished. A country is older than any political party, and it should endure longer than any political party. A political party is merely a political organization competing for public power. China did not become China because the Communist Party took power after 1949, nor do the Chinese people exist as Chinese people because of the Communist Party.
A person can love their country deeply while strongly opposing the political party governing it. It can even be said that precisely because a person believes the country belongs to all its people, they have reason to oppose any political party claiming the country as its permanent political asset.
Logically, there is no necessary link between “the Communist Party stepping down” and “the destruction of China.”
When the United States changes governments, the United States still exists;
When the ruling party in the UK rotates, the UK still exists;
When Taiwan realized rotations of political parties, Taiwanese society did not disappear because of it.
The peaceful transfer of power is an important achievement of modern political civilization. Binding a single political party’s ruling status to the survival of the nation exposes a deep-seated insecurity: if a political party truly believes the people support it, what it should fear least is letting the people choose. Ballots prove political legitimacy far better than any propaganda.
National security cannot become an infinitely expanding concept.
All countries have the right to protect national security. No free society allows espionage, terrorism, armed rebellion, or foreign military sabotage. But the most dangerous aspect of national security law lies in the immense capacity for expansion contained within the words “national security.” Without strict boundaries, protecting national security can gradually turn into protecting government security, and from protecting government security into protecting ruling party security, ultimately even becoming the protection of a specific political ideology from being challenged.
In the end:
The downfall of a political party is viewed as the demise of the nation;
Criticism of a political system is viewed as an attack on national security;
The people demanding that power be subject to choice are viewed as endangering the country.
At this point, the concept of national security has undergone a fundamental transformation. It no longer primarily protects the people from real dangers, but begins to protect power from challenges by the people. This is also why Chow Hang-tung’s case possesses a significance far beyond her personal fate. She did not plead in her defense that she “actually didn’t oppose the Communist Party that much,” nor did she try to explain that “end one-party dictatorship” was merely a harmless slogan.
On the contrary, she directly admitted: she simply believes one-party dictatorship should end. And she further maintained: believing this should never be a crime. This defense is far more thorough than technical legal arguments, because she refused to accept the prosecution’s pre-set premise—as if demanding an end to one-party dictatorship were itself a political fault requiring explanation, apology, or mitigation.
The true dignity of law does not come from compelling everyone to obey.
Perhaps the most memorable sentence in Chow Hang-tung’s defense statement is: “When the law insists on opposing conscience, the only loser will be the law, and the only thing losing legitimacy will be the law.” This sentence touches upon the oldest distinction between “legitimacy” and “legality.” An act violating written law does not automatically conclude the discussion on justice. Otherwise, those who helped slaves escape during the era of slavery were criminals; those who violated segregation laws during the era of apartheid were criminals; many historical dissidents, journalists, and pro-democracy activists were all “lawbreakers” in the legal sense of their times.
When history subsequently evaluated these people, it did not merely ask: “Did they violate the law back then?” History further asks: What kind of law was that?
Law naturally requires stability; otherwise, society cannot function. But the reason law deserves obedience is not merely because police, prisons, and state machinery stand behind it. The deep authority of law stems from people believing that it at least strives to uphold a fairness higher than power itself.
If a law only demands that the people obey the rulers, but does not demand that the rulers submit to the supervision of the people, then the harsher such a law is, the more it exposes its distance from the spirit of the rule of law.
This is also the greatest difference between “governing the country according to law” (Rule by Law) and “using law to constrain power” (Rule of Law). The former can merely mean rulers utilizing law to govern the people. The latter means: law is first and foremost a rein around the neck of power.
What truly unnerves power about the June 4th candles is not just history.
The significance of the Hong Kong Alliance holding the June 4th candlelight vigil for over thirty years cannot be understood solely as mourning the deceased. Mourning itself is a political act, because memory signifies a refusal to accept the state’s monopoly over history. That people in a society still light candles every year means the state can control textbooks, control television, and delete internet information, yet remain unable to completely dictate what the people should remember.
Hong Kong was for a long time the only place within Chinese territory able to publicly commemorate the 1989 events on a large scale, and the annual Victoria Park candlelight vigil of the Hong Kong Alliance once drew vast public participation.
Why would a single candle inspire fear? Because behind it lies a question that power finds most difficult to answer: If the government’s actions that year were correct, why cannot the people discuss them publicly? Truly secure history does not rely on forbidding memory to sustain itself.
Similarly, a truly secure system does not rely on criminal penalties to prevent people from discussing an alternative system.
What the Chow Hang-tung case leaves behind in the end is not “who won the lawsuit.”
A court can find a person guilty. A state can lock a person in prison. But a state cannot resolve a question of political philosophy through a single judgment: Why does the Communist Party possess a natural right to rule 1.4 billion people forever? “Because the Constitution stipulates so” is not the ultimate answer. Because the people can continue to ask: Then where does the authority of the Constitution come from? If the answer is the people, then why cannot the people demand to amend it? If the people cannot demand amendments, then who ultimately possesses supreme power?
This chain of logic ultimately returns to the initial question: Does the country belong to the people, or do the people belong to the country? Chow Hang-tung chose the former answer. She believes that state power must be “locked back in the cage of democracy,” that the people are not appendages of the state machine, but should be the true masters of the state. A person can naturally disagree with her. One can believe China is currently unsuitable for democracy, can believe the Communist Party governs well, can believe a one-party system is more efficient, or can even publicly debate with her whether “ending one-party dictatorship” is a good proposition.
However, the way a civilized society resolves such disagreements should be: let her speak, and let those who oppose her speak. Then let the people judge. It should not be giving one side a microphone and the other side a prison cell. This is the most unsettling aspect of the Chow Hang-tung case. It touches not a mere political slogan, but a most fundamental boundary of a civilized society: Do the people have the right to peacefully envision a country different from today’s?
If the answer is negative, then the cost of so-called stability is the prohibition of the future. If a system must mandate that the people cannot imagine its end, cannot advocate its end, and cannot organize to promote its end, then what such a system truly fears may never be so-called “subversion.” What it fears is choice. For as long as the people still possess choice, “perpetual rule” can only be a wish, never a right. Thus, the real proposition Chow Hang-tung insists upon is not merely “ending one-party dictatorship.”
At a deeper level, it is: No political party has the standing to declare itself eternally irreplaceable by the people. From the current interpretation of the National Security Law by the Hong Kong courts, her actions have been adjudicated as criminal; this is today’s legal reality. But legal reality is not the endpoint of historical discussion.
From the perspectives of popular sovereignty, freedom of political expression, and the most fundamental principles of the modern rule of law, peacefully commemorating “June 4th,” peacefully criticizing the ruling party, and peacefully advocating for a democratic system and political party rotation ought to belong to political expression. They should not, simply because their objective touches the ruling position of the governing party, automatically transform into criminal offenses.
The strongest proof of a nation’s strength is not how many critics it can silence, but that even if someone stands on the street demanding the rulers step down, the nation still possesses enough confidence to answer: Then let the people decide. Therefore, what Chow Hang-tung ultimately insists upon is an extremely simple principle: A nation may have political parties, but political parties cannot possess the nation. The people can choose the Communist Party, but they must also possess the right not to choose the Communist Party. Otherwise, the word “people” remains nothing more than a title repeatedly used by power, and the word “democracy” remains nothing more than a promise that can never be fulfilled.
Appendix: Chow Hang-tung’s Court Statement
1. A 206-page judgment, saying this and that, boils down to one thing: pursuing democracy is a crime.
2. I do not believe any political party can privately transfer the sovereignty of the nation, declaring on its own that it is the choice of the people, declaring on its own that it is the sole leadership, and then further claiming that everyone has a legal obligation to support its self-proclaimed throne. Such so-called law is merely a synonym for tyranny.
3. Believing that autocracy is wrong and democracy is right—if that is not a conviction, what is it? Even if the court and the government keep chanting incantations claiming we are not on trial for our beliefs, it cannot change the fact that under this judgment, those who believe in the concept of “ending one-party dictatorship” no longer have a place to stand. In the eyes of such “law,” holding this thought is already unconstitutional, illegal, and an original sin. Even if we are merely doing something entirely legitimate, such as commemorating June 4th, it becomes a crime simply because of the “incorrectness” of our thoughts themselves.
4. But the law cannot control anyone’s thoughts. Not only can it not control them, when the law insists on opposing conscience, the only loser will be the law, and the only thing losing legitimacy will be the law.
5. To be human requires a bottom line, and the law requires one too. The distinction between democracy and autocracy is the most important bottom line of all, because under autocracy, there is no rule of law. When the court completely hollows out the factual reasons and the right-and-wrong behind the demand to “end one-party dictatorship,” blindly emphasizing the will of the regime and the so-called duty to abide by the law, it is equivalent to saying that living under Nazi Germany conferred a legal duty to exterminate Jews—a claim just as absurd. Such a practice will only strip the law of its soul for manifesting fairness, reducing it to a puppet driven by power.
6. What caused tragedy after tragedy under Nazi rule and totalitarian rule was precisely this attitude of asking no questions of right or wrong, but asking only for obedience. And current courts, as well as the state, are walking down the same dangerous old road. In fact, with the advancement of technology, the enhancement of state power, and the state becoming a recognized “major power,” the danger today is only more severe than back then.
7. As citizens, we have a responsibility to lock state power back into the cage of democracy, fulfilling our duties as masters of the country to control and supervise it. Doing so is not only to seek justice for past harms, but also to prevent even greater disasters from happening again. Blindly fattening a state machine that we cannot control in the name of national security, eroding humanity and conscience, will make future tragedy a matter of time.
8. Therefore, ending one-party dictatorship is an unavoidable responsibility for our generation of Hong Kongers and Chinese people. This matter must be completed by ourselves; it can only be completed by ourselves, and no outsiders can do it on our behalf.
9. This is my sincere thought and conviction, and it is far from being my conviction alone—the 30 years of candlelight in Victoria Park have already proven this. “End one-party dictatorship” is the people’s bottom line; it is a universal demand. When the law overestimates itself to challenge it, it will only bring humiliation upon itself.
10. The court pretends the issue is not disseminating thoughts, but so-called spreading hostility. But the conviction to “end one-party dictatorship” has never needed to rely on any us-versus-them mindset or incitement of hatred to sustain itself. We need only speak reason and facts to gain the support of all who understand reason.
11. Because autocracy itself is already the greatest and most obvious injustice. It disregards everyone’s equality and autonomy, forcing down an unreasoned order of rule, downgrading free citizens into slaves without choice. Ending one-party dictatorship is merely reclaiming the dignity that human beings deserve as human beings. And any person who is not pretending to be asleep should be able to understand this truth.
12. Only those who cannot make sense through reason need to rely on mobilization through hatred all day long, whereas we do not need to at all; only those completely lacking in confidence will see hostility in everything, whereas we will never view the world that way. We have absolute confidence in what we believe and what we persist in. Just because autocracy relies on hatred to maintain its rule does not mean everyone must use its playbook, nor does it mean the world truly revolves around hatred. Convictions in equality and justice, and respect for humanity and truth, have always been stronger and more enduring forces than hatred.
13. Conviction is an existence that cannot be calculated or traded. To beg for leniency or apologize for everything one believes in is the most hypocritical thing, and an insult to everyone who holds the same conviction. Therefore I will not do it; I cannot do it. Even the executioners who carried out the massacre have not come forward to apologize—when is it our turn?! Even if the world is turned upside down, we should not apologize for the wrong things done by the regime, making ourselves part of that inversion.
14. Regarding everything in the past, I refuse to use the language and concepts of crime to analyze how serious or non-serious what we did was. If the court really wants a reference, it can ask the Office for Safeguarding National Security led by the Communist Party; they truly know how to look at efforts to strive for democracy and human rights through the lens of crime. Moreover, they have unhesitatingly stated that this case is serious in nature and must be severely punished, not feeling at all that they are interfering with judicial independence. In any case, if the court ultimately judges us as belonging to “serious circumstances,” I will take it as a compliment to us, because it means we actually accomplished something.
15. To be able to find a mission one believes in and partners with whom one can fight side by side is the happiest thing in life. Therefore, regarding the path I have walked together with the Hong Kong Alliance and the people of Hong Kong, I have zero regrets. It is only hard on my family and the people who love me; the only subjects from whom I must ask forgiveness are them.
16. As for the future, whether inside or outside prison, I will continue to work, learn, enrich myself, and make various attempts toward releasing democratic activists, vindicating the 1989 democracy movement, holding accountable those responsible for the massacre, ending one-party dictatorship, and building a democratic Hong Kong and China, until the day democracy arrives. This is a promise I have publicly made countless times, a solemn oath I swore to the victims amidst the sea of candles. And I do not intend to be a person who breaks my word.
17. If doing so makes me a perpetual criminal, if the law truly cannot accommodate our convictions, then I would rather be a criminal than a person who betrays conscience. I will walk this unfinished democratic path together with all Hong Kongers who refuse to accept their fate.
18. Candlelight like a sea, human hearts becoming waves. Crashing against the shore into dust, never at peace until injustice ends.
Editor:Geoffrey Jin Proofreader: Xiong Bian Translator: Shen Meihua
