Thread by @jeffreychngo

1. I’ve been reflecting a lot since the publication of @wilfredchan’s interview with me. His efforts deserve my utmost appreciation as he presents my positions faithfully and gives me an opportunity to reach new readers. Speaking with him never ceases to be stimulating.

2. On that early January morning of 2016 we met, we watched a new film, Ten Years, together in Taikoo Shing. He gave me a tour of his then-C.N.N. office in Quarry Bay. Not even half of that time — Five Years — has elapsed. Alas, Hong Kong already is beyond our recognition.

3. We agree more today than ever before. By U.S. standards, we stand on opposite sides of the debate over whether Washington’s actions regarding Hong Kong are good or bad. Yet by Hong Kong standards, and certainly among right-wing localists, we’re in essence just “leftards.”

4. As I note this, I can’t help but realize how much one political spectrum, one set of political vocabularies, one set of political binaries don’t apply universally. Nationalism in Country X might represent the far right; nationalism in Country Y might represent the far left.

5. Everything from “violence” to “neoliberalism,” by the same token, evokes conflicting images depending on where we are. Genuine understanding, not righteous indignation, requires us to view another person’s pain and experience not through our lens, but theirs.

6. A British flag amid the recolonization of Hong Kong can denote the vague yearning for a better alternative to the present. That very same British flag in postcolonial societies of the Global South can denote something else entirely: a traumatic past they’ve moved beyond.

7. Likewise, “Sinophobia” can’t describe in Xinjiang the unpopularity of a group of Han immigrants from Wuhan. “Sinophobia” can describe in Alberta the unpopularity of that very same group of Han immigrants from Wuhan. Where power relations are inverted, we must pay attention.

8. In its absence, Western academia can seem tone-deaf to the everyday struggles of peoples half a world away. While my research seeks to tell Hong Kong stories, the city isn’t a social laboratory for me. It’s first and foremost a place I call home, inhabited by those I love.

9. Reading critiques of our movement, much as I read critiques of my interview, I inevitably ask: Do they come from the “inside” — in other words, from folks who share and have a legitimate stake in the collective aspirations of its participants — or from the “outside”?

10. The distinction isn’t arbitrary. Wilfred belongs to the “inside.” He was tear-gassed far too many times to count. He bumped into desperate Hong Kongers waving MAGA signs as a symbol of freedom, and he reached out to chat — in Cantonese — without condescension.

11. He’s nothing like the Americans who, over the years, I’ve heard “explain” to me why Hong Kongers are in a “stupid battle” or have the “wrong strategy.” Some fondly recall their good old days residing in the city as expats. They’re really on the “outside,” however.

12. When I fondly recall my own good old days, I don’t have Lan Kwai Fong, nor — most of the time — the apathetic E.S.F. kids with whom I went to school, in mind. I reminisce instead about the long 263 double-decker bus rides on Tuen Mun Road to visit my late grandmother.

13. I reminisce about cycling in rural Tai Po. I reminisce about singing Alex Fong’s “Mr. A.B.C.” during Neway’s karaoke happy hour. I reminisce about the Shing Mun River sunset before my eyes as I first held a girl’s hand. I reminisce about every bowl of Tam Jai mixian.

14. And then I recall also the numerous, anonymous faces I encountered day after day in the city last summer. Through my protective goggles and theirs, I caught glimpses of indescribable courage in their eyes. Rubber bullets and sponge grenades flew above our open umbrellas.

15. We checked our phones for minute-by-minute Telegram channel updates. Our backpacks carried water, a few extra masks, and some loose change to purchase single-fare M.T.R. tickets. Somewhere, I still hear them scream “Run! Run! Run!” as the police advanced toward our direction.

16. I tried to clamber across a traffic divider to the other side of the throughway. They extended me a hand; in turn, I extended mine to the next one in line. I’ll never cross paths again with them until we all “meet under the pot” in a liberated Hong Kong. But I feel them.

17. Maybe they scratch their heads upon hearing the phrase “systematic racism.” Maybe they don’t know Arif Dirlik. Maybe they haven’t traveled to Latin America or the Bronx. Maybe they can barely name five Canadian M.P.s. They have nowhere else to go, so they stay and fight.

18. They don’t wake up every morning dwelling on American foreign policy. They do go to bed every night in fear of a police knock on the door or an urgent phone call from the hospital. Socialism versus capitalism isn’t their struggle; it’s dictatorship versus democracy.

19. When I see a 12-year-old girl beaten, an uncle pepper-sprayed, a student shot in the stomach, I weep. When a college sophomore falls to death from the third floor of a parking garage, or the body of a naked young lady is found afloat in sea, I remember their names.

20. My natural response isn’t to speculate whether they’d be globalization’s supporters or detractors. It’s to contemplate what little I can do to reverse course, to give them hope. And this is the level of empathy, I think, that distinguishes the “inside” from the “outside.”

21. Each of us in the movement has a role — whatever it is, however much we can commit — to play. If you drive a B.M.W., you rescue the kids under siege. If you can’t bear the risk of arrest, you donate. If you have artistic talent, you design protest graphics and merchandise.

22. If you run a cafe, you join the “yellow economic circle.” If you speak a foreign language, you translate texts. You can lambaste the guy nearby at any time for not doing any number of things; you can also acknowledge what he’s already doing because you’re in it side by side.

23. There are times, indeed, when I lament where the movement is headed; it’s diverse and leaderless. We can throw around new ideas, but we can’t force it into something it inherently isn’t. This is as much a reminder for myself as for all of us. I found out the hard way.

24. A few months ago, I purported to represent folks I shouldn’t. I was publicly trashed. Although I continue to believe in what I did then, the incident showed how even I can be on the “outside” when rage, not humility, gets the better of me. So I didn’t patronize; I apologized.

25. To this day, there remains much I have to learn. Wilfred respected it, which is why we sat down and talked. We still had fundamental disagreements and many other issues we must condense — into one sentence, one quick example — for the interview. But this won’t be our last.