Reflection: Back in 1989

Although unable to be at Victoria Park in Hong Kong this year, I was happy that a lot of young people I encountered during fieldwork attended the candlelight vigil to remember Tiananmen 1989. They stood in the crowded park despite the rain and the high temperatures. Across the other side of the Eurasian landmass (and a hop over the English Channel), there was also a small memorial service dedicated to Tiananmen victims, organized by a group of Hong Kong students in the U.K. Much like the crowds at Victoria Park, attendees here were varied; some had only heard of 4 June in passing whilst others had attended the vigils in Hong Kong every year; there were students from the PRC and from Hong Kong;  some were children in 1989 and others were yet to be born. 

Because Tiananmen had an impact on my life, and the lives of many others in my age cohort, I thought it would be nice to briefly share some related thoughts and feelings here. I detest writing about myself (though it is likely I unknowingly insert my ego in other posts) in fear of being accused of egocentricity. It is also because my life isn't rife with the drama that interests others, nor have I done anything significant and important thus far. But perhaps my experiences and memories of Tiananmen share commonalities with the experiences and memories of other people, and can be considered a part of a much bigger 'collective memory' that floats over our generation...maybe that is why it is worth writing, I don't know.

I've encountered comments that people my age are too young to remember; that our memories are either too vague to be worth talking about, or are only constructs from secondary sources. But I believe it isn't only about being able to witness the facts first-hand. Speaking to a friend who was an undergraduate student in Hong Kong during 1989, and who continues to be involved with 4th June events today, he remembers the crushing feeling of pessimism upon hearing about the Beijing crackdown. It was a pessimism made more intense because it was shortly preceded by widespread optimism; optimism that the Beijing students and residents can succeed in their aspirations, can win democratic and expressive freedoms, can challenge the upper echelons of government power, can prove that people can mobilize to change the parameters they face in life. A lot of these ideals vanished when the tanks and bullets arrived... The point is, for this friend, it doesn't matter whether people in our generation existed when Tiananmen took place, because there is an emotional component in remembering history that is capable of transcending generational barriers. 

My memories of 1989 in Hong Kong are fragmented. My family was living in a small apartment in Quarry Bay at the time, and I saw the footage when we were sat around a folding table for dinner. Being a toddler lacking the intellectual capacity to comprehend the inferences from the happenings in Beijing, the television screen looked like a chaotic mass of colours. It was only by looking at my parents that I knew something was wrong, since they both stopped eating and became very quiet. Their quietness disappeared during the subsequent demonstration in Hong Kong, where both my parents tied ribbons around their foreheads (and the foreheads of my sister and I) and shouted slogans. I don't remember much of the demonstration, only that it was loud, crowded, hot, angry. Because of my short stature my dad sat me on his shoulders; but even at that height, my field of vision was only filled with faces and heads. As a child, that was an intimidating sight (my mum said I burst into tears); but thinking back as an adult, I find comfort knowing that so many people felt compelled to speak out.

Tiananmen was one of the reasons why my family emigrated from Hong Kong to Australia later in 1989, and why I became better versed in English than Cantonese. If we never emigrated, l would have grown up in Hong Kong, and have become someone different-- not better or worse, just different. Kind of strange to see the diverging points in your life, to know that so many possibilities were/are out there... The crackdown resulted with a steep learning curve about the key actors and activists involved in 1989, led to a general interest in local and international politics, and shaped my current research interests in school. It influenced my moral worldview; especially perceptions of right and wrong, good and bad, justice and injustice. 

Personally, remembering 4th June is not only a historical exercise, but a moral one. We remember that people died in Beijing in 1989, and died unjustly at the hands of Communist Party officials; the PRC government has not acknowledged this, denied the relatives of Tiananmen victims their right to mourn, and reacted by imprisoning activists. We remember so that we can continue to demand for individual rights and freedoms, and if it does become realized one day, that we never take them for granted. Already we can see such freedoms being encroached upon in Hong Kong. The city is supposed to be last place on 'Chinese soil' where Tiananmen can be discussed, but unfortunately we can see media outlets toning down their Tiananmen coverage under self-censorship, with conservative political forces and the SAR government officials avoiding all mention of 1989. (I sometimes wonder what can compel these groups and individuals to deny Tiananmen; how differently do they see the world, and how did they turn out so different from those who do care?) 

Thankfully, there are young people in Hong Kong who remain determined to ensure that the memory is passed to their successors. There are those who attend the candlelight vigils. Others experiment towards expressing their thoughts towards Tiananmen through novel outlets; there is Woofer Ten's來往廣場的單車 (Cycling to the Square) that took place in 2011 and 2013, and 這一代的六四 (This Generation's 4 June) that has been running for the past several years (see the post on this blog from last year). I find myself happy and proud to know that there are people who remember, and will continue to remember...

(Please excuse the poor quality of the illustration in this post: am still waiting for the laptop to be fixed.)

Read: Via Ports, From Hong Kong to Hong Kong

I chanced upon Via Ports during an afternoon in the library, struggling through another day of battle with my thesis. It was originally published in 1965, reprinted in 2012 by the Hong Kong University Press under their 'Echoes' series. 

The book is written as a chronological narrative, following the experiences and observations of Alexander Grantham, Governor in Hong Kong from 1947-1958. These were vital years; a time where the city was trying to rebuild and cope with the consequences of war and occupation, deal with massive population growth and the subsequent pressures this has had on local infrastructure and resources, (re)establish some degree of socio-political order in the region, and transform the city into one that meets the requirements of a rapidly changing world. The Hong Kong we see today still contains echoes from this time period... 

It starts with the author's arrival to Hong Kong in 1922, with the following chapters detailing his subsequent departure to Bermuda, Jamaica, Nigeria, and the Fiji region, before returning to Hong Kong after WWII. This book could arguably be described as a travel journal; the author describes the people he meets (mostly others under the British colonial service), the activities and events that took place at various localities, and even the 'beauty spots' he visited. Yet the writing goes beyond the stylistic confines of the 'travel writing' genre, and it never feels as though one is reading a purely descriptive account. It helps that the author truly has had first-hand experiences (and an interest) with what he was writing about, and rather than discuss these topics from a narrative distance, he incorporates them into his recollections of everyday life. His descriptions are so vivid and so colourful (in describing Sir Alexander, then known as Bustamane, Grantham recalls the "aquiline features and thick greying hair brushed back...he could harangue and sway a crowd like no one else..." p.34) that you can envision what he was referring to in your mind. 

I particularly enjoyed the human element embedded within the text. Oftentimes, in our attempts to compose a piece of reflexive writing, we find ourselves uncomfortable with putting our own thoughts on paper to be publicly scrutinized, and default to reciting clinical facts (e.g. "I was born during...I went to school at...I did this during...etc.) Here the author does examine the socio-political developments of the places he has been to (e.g. structures of government, local communities and politics, schooling and university systems, corruption), but he also injects milestones from his personal life. One example of this can be found in the first chapter, where the author talks about how his marriage came from his Mandarin lessons during his time in Peking (Beijing): "I made good progress but as time went on my enthusiasm for mandarin gave place to enthusiasm to Maurine Samson..." (p.12). In other instances, he recalls humourous anecdotes with his dogs in Bermuda (p.27), Christmas in Nigeria in 1942 spent engaging in recreational activities with his wife and friends (p.59), and a nostalgic and 'sentimental' return to Peking after the death of his stepfather and the departure of his mother to England (p.134). 

But what was even more surprising was how easy it is to understand the author's thought processes and motivations, even if he was from a different era surrounded by a different world. The author admits that his junior standing in the Secretariat (his title at the time? Extra Assistant Colonial Secretary) during the 1920s rendered him disinterested in wider politics, such that the anti-colonial Seamen's Strike of 1925 warranted only a brief mention in the book; his primary concern was about how the strike could postpone his marriage. His migrations to other localities were driven by his calculations for promotional opportunities. This is not a cynical representation of the persistence of self-interest through time; rather, we can find comfort in knowing that what was of concern and important to him is also what is of concern and important to many of us today.The Governor may be at the apex of the colonial power hierarchy, but he is also human driven by individualistic wants. He enjoys train rides, swimming, walking in the hills, and seeing beautiful sights; he sympathizes with his wife when they have to leave their house and garden behind in Jamaica for Nigeria. There is a subtle emotive quality that many contemporary memoirs lack. 

There were parts of the book that resonates with the sentiments of the current generation of youth in the city; especially with his description of Hong Kong as his 'first love', and with how the book ends with his sailing out of Hong Kong asking the question "[w]ere we going home or were we leaving home?" 

Missing from the book are in-depth examinations about the poverty that was experienced by much of the population in Hong Kong; such as life in the emerging and increasingly crowded squatter settlements, the difficulties in trying to eke a living in an economy that has yet to take-off, and the lack of political inclusion stemming from linguistic boundaries.The author did have encounters with ethnic Chinese during his time in the city, but these were the 'Westernised elites' (a term I am borrowing from another document) and those who served the colonial circles; the head of domestic staff Ah Yau; the diplomatic representative of the communist Chinese government Special Commissioner T.W. Kwok, educated in Harvard and Cambridge; former Magistracy interpreter Chan Kok Wing who later contributed towards anti-corruption efforts; and one of the kaifong (neighbourhood association) leaders called Parkin Wong, educated at Columbia University. Although this sole exposure to the upper strata of Hong Kong society can be uncomfortable for readers, and be indicative of the distance between the colonists with the majority of the population, but perhaps this is an accurate reflection on the reality of life as a Governor. 

Colonialism is a word that has birthed and permeated into a broad array of academic disciplines, not to mention generated a large body of research. In everyday conversations, colonialism is a word that carries negative connotations, used in criticisms towards power-imbalances and the subordination of certain socio-political groups. But trying to apply moral judgments of right and wrong seems irrelevant in this context; this book does not attempt to present itself as a comprehensive historical textbook. It does not criticize nor celebrate colonialism, it treats colonialism as the given state-of-being, because it was such during his time. Ultimately, it is best to see this book as being about a man (albeit a very privileged man) recounting and sharing his unique life experiences, in a lighthearted and eloquent manner, with an emotive touch. 

(205 pages. I borrowed this book from the library, so have no clue how much it will cost. But it should be available on Amazon and the bookshop at the University of Hong Kong.)

Thoughts from the Field, Instagram Mosaic

I did fieldwork in Hong Kong from December 2010 until July 2012, and goodness knows how I underestimated the centrality of the smartphone in the research data collection process. There has been anthropological research on the role of mobile technologies in shaping/reshaping cultural practices; especially in regards to social communication and intimate relations, phone materiality translating into social capital, etc. There are the articles linking Facebook and Twitter with the Middle-East mass protests in recent years, and on the flip-side, articles critically questioning the true extent of influence social media has in the real world. But there is surprisingly little being written about how mobile technologies can affect the practices of researchers, to facilitate their work...


There are pragmatic reasons for getting a smartphone. During the first few months, I carried a digital voice recorder, a notebook, an army of pens, and a camera; it became incredibly difficult to handle all of these devices. Imagine having to jot notes in the middle of a jostling demonstration crowd, then having to dig around your bag for the camera to create a visual account of what is happening. After you've juggled these objects around, suddenly your phone rings... more shuffling ensues. In contrast, a smartphone enables you to do all those things on one device. My second motivation for getting a smartphone is because my digital voice recorder decided to boycott fieldwork-- it just died in the middle of an interview. So I figured that I needed a replacement, and one that would allow me to email the sound files to my computer immediately after an interview. (When I tried to salvage the sound files from my broken digital recorder, the dratted thing refused to upload anything onto my computer, and the speakers refused to work, so that is data lost...good thing I have the interview notes to rely on.) Then there is the peer pressure to be connected. A lot of informants-- or rather, a lot of Hong Kong people-- have smartphones, and they constantly relay information through Facebook and Whatsapp.  And without map apps, I might have spent half my time wandering around looking for meeting spots, especially in the chaos of urban Kowloon...

One of the unexpectedly useful tools on the smartphone would be Instagram (or any other photo-sharing app). I'm not their spokesperson, and I don't like their recent bout of shifty privacy, copyright/ownership, and user-rights policies. But it proved to be a mode of documentation that compliments fieldnotes. Although photos on Instagram can be terribly mundane (hello, cups of tea and noodle shops), it is a reflection of your everyday life. The first advice our class received before setting off to our respective research sites is that everyday life is mundane. Things simply don't happen all the time. Ethnographic accounts have pages of fascinating rituals and events from various societies; but this is often the work of anthropologists who have been out in the field for years on end. Secondly, recording the everyday is important, because it all adds up towards framing your entire field experience. Fieldwork involves studying and understanding the lives of others, but it also involves you living your own life. You might be in a location for a temporary period of time, but it isn't an experience that can be compartmentalised after returning to your institution. With or without knowing it, the fieldsite will change ways of thinking and ways of acting, and will follow you for a quite a while. So in this blog post, I'm including a smattering of images from my own fieldwork; ranging from protest scenes, to bookshops visited, the change in seasons, and local restaurants...

When you scroll through the Instagram photos at a later date, there will be things of importance in them that you did not notice when these images were first taken. The images change in significance as your research idea evolves. For example, I didn't even realise that I was taking so many shots of local architecture, until my topic shifted towards that direction. Somehow I unconsciously took images of things that really interested me, and it took a while for my conscious brain to follow suit. Indeed, using filters from Instagram can be seen as corrupting the integrity of the original image itself; it makes the image look processed, distant, remove, and artificial. There is a degree of insincerity coming from imposing a range of 'special effects' onto the images... then again, any form of photography (even with basic point-and-shoot cameras) involves depicting a form of reality in your own ideals. Just by framing a shot and deciding on the composition, choosing to use a specific type of film, adjusting the exposure and aperture, is a form of visual manipulation by the person behind the lens...but I digress. Personally, I found that my choice of filters often reflected my mood and feelings at the time the photo was taken (using filters to convey sentiments of melancholy, emptiness, vibrancy, nostalgia, solemnity, for starters). 

But, technology doesn't supplant the importance of having meticulous fieldnote-taking practices. Smartphones are a great help, but it is ultimately a tool that, as the cliché saying goes, is 'only as good as the person using it'. The researcher must still make sure that the collected information is well-organised, detailed, and that the information is approached from a diverse array of angles (visual/audio/textual, and comprising of different viewpoints). It shouldn't only include the facts of an issue, but cover the emotive responses this evokes from yourself and your informants. How the data is interpreted and presented to be of relevance to theory and ethnography remains the responsibility of the researcher.