Issue:

September 2021

Beijing’s destruction of basic freedoms in Hong Kong has local and foreign journalists on edge

A lazy Sunday afternoon some weeks ago, we suddenly heard a loud banging on our front door.

“It’s the police. Open up! We have a warrant for your arrest,” a stern voice from the other side said.

I froze and turned to my wife.

“This is it,” I told her. “You know what to do.”

She looked at me with horror in her eyes, but acknowledged the message behind my words. Like most journalists living in Hong Kong, covering the political situation here and in mainland China, we have an emergency plan in case something happens: a list of people to call, and so on.

The banging continued as I walked slowly towards the door. I felt surprisingly calm. This is it, I thought. I had been arrested by the police in China before – for being a journalist – and I knew that staying composed was the only approach.

I opened the door. And there stood my old friend with a grin on his face. It was a prank. To be honest, I was pissed and relieved in equal measure. 

Many people in Hong Kong, journalists included, are on edge – even if you know with certainty that you haven’t crossed any red lines. As Beijing has tightened its grip over the city, Hong Kong has nosedived in the global press freedom rankings. Media watchdog Reporters Without Borders (RSF) now ranks Hong Kong 80th out of 180 countries and territories, compared to 18th in 2002. RSF warns that the Beijing-imposed National Security Law, which was implemented last year, poses a “grave threat” to the city’s journalists. That’s no exaggeration.

The threat, however, comes in different forms. When reporting on the pro-democracy demonstrations in 2019, the immediate threat was physical: police aggressions and demonstrators’ petrol bombs. On one occasion, my colleague and I were pepper sprayed by an angry policeman, even though we were just standing still and observing the protests. Believe me, it’s painful. 

Now that the security law has scared people into avoiding open protests or making overt comments, the threat is different. It’s silent, like someone is watching you from behind.

More than a dozen journalists and media staff have been arrested by the police under the draconian law, according to RSF. Yet more reporters covering the political situation have been charged under other laws. Currently, ten journalists and press freedom defenders are being detained in jail.

I last met Jimmy Lai, the founder of the pro-democracy newspaper Apple Daily, on July 1 last year, the same day as the national security law was launched. I asked him if he was worried about being out on the street campaigning for democracy. “If I was afraid, I wouldn’t be here, would I?” he said with a wry smile. Weeks later, he was arrested under the new law and accused of colluding with foreign elements. Since then, Apple Daily’s office has twice been raided by hundreds of police officers, and several senior executives at the newspaper have been arrested. At the time of writing, Apple Daily remains closed, although a sister publication is being published in Taiwan. 

Friends and family – and my editors in Stockholm – frequently ask me if I feel safe, and if my family and I are considering leaving Hong Kong. It’s not hard to understand their concern given how quickly Hong Kong has turned into a society controlled by the totalitarian regime in Beijing, which loathes free speech and the freedom of the press.

I don’t want to exaggerate my own position. The situation is considerably safer for foreign correspondents working for international media companies than it is for local reporters. 

I haven’t heard of any journalists working for international media leaving the city as a direct consequence of the new law. British journalist Steve Vines recently left Hong Kong for the U.K. in fear of “white terror” under the national security law, but he was primarily hosting shows and writing opining pieces for local media and therefore became a target for pro-Beijing trolls. Others are leaving because of the strict virus and quarantine rules, or the general gloomy sentiment in the city. 

At the same time – this is the story of a lifetime! As friends have said: Hong Kong is like Afghanistan without the bullets. It’s the main battle ground in a proxy war between the world’s two biggest economies. It’s like having a ringside view of the astonishing transformation in trade and diplomatic relations between China and the West. Few places on the planet are more fascinating and important to report from than Hong Kong.

But for local journalists, the crackdown on Apple Daily and the arrests and intimidation of media workers are constant reminders that the authorities are always lurking around the corner.

“There’s a joke among my colleagues: Who will ‘go in’ first? And will we be cellmates?” a young woman who covers politics and social issues for local media told me. It was obvious that this “joke” wasn’t at all amusing. 

She said many of her Hong Kong journalist friends have a bag packed and their passport and documents to hand to enable them to leave at a minute’s notice. They have separate SIM cards for their work and private phones. They have established contact with human rights lawyers. 

“I find it hard to sleep. I know my mental health is suffering, I know this is not Afghanistan and there are more violent and dangerous places on the planet. We can still go out for drinks and meet friends here. It might look like a normal life, but it’s not ‘normal’. If I’m out with friends, the situation is always in the back of my mind,” the same journalist friend said. 

Beijing is also going after media associations. Pro-Beijing mouthpiece Wen Wei Po recently called for the Hong Kong Journalists Association to be regulated, labelling it an “anti-government political organization” that defends “fake news.” State media and pro-Beijing politicians routinely lash out at the Foreign Correspondents' Club of Hong Kong (FCC).

Covering the political situation here comes at a high price – there is no doubt about that. I’ve heard of several journalists who are worried about that potential morning raid, the sudden banging on the front door. I hope for their sakes that it turns out to be a friend playing a mindless prank.

Johan Nylander is an award-winning author and freelance China and Asia correspondent. His work is published by CNN, Forbes, Sweden’s leading business daily Dagens Industri, and elsewhere. He is the author of The Epic Split – Why ‘Made in China’ is going out of style, a report from the frontline of the US-China trade war. http://www.johannylander.asia