23 Dec 2025 | Asia and Pacific, China, Hong Kong, News
Earlier this month, Hong Kong’s final remaining major opposition party announced its decision to disband, after 30 years of operation. According to a Reuters report, senior Hong Kong Democratic Party members had previously been approached by Chinese officials or “middlemen” who warned them to disband or “face severe consequences”.
It’s a move that comes after years of security crackdowns, not just for the Hong Kong Democratic Party, but for countless liberal voices.
In late April 2024, the Hong Kong Journalists Association – which has come under immense pressure from the Hong Kong government to disband in recent years – suddenly cancelled its live fundraising concert just four days before its scheduled date, citing force majeure. The event instead moved online. Ronson Chan, the then head of the union, explained on his Facebook page without giving a clear reason: “I really want to say that we’ve all tried our best. But alas, in this world, trying our best isn’t enough.”
A month later, the student press of Lingnan University scrapped a call for articles about the 1989 Tiananmen Massacre. The reason given was, again, force majeure, without any further comment.
Following the enactment of the National Security Law in June 2020, anyone hosting public events in Hong Kong has faced censorship or self-censorship, as state security has been elevated above all other considerations. Data compiled from news reports shows that at least 50 public events in Hong Kong have been cancelled since 2021 for clear political reasons or for reasons plausibly linked to the political stance of event organisers. Among them, 11 cited force majeure, and the use of this justification has been on the rise.
Under normal circumstances, force majeure refers to a legal clause used by event organisers to cancel activities due to natural disasters, riots or technical issues. In mainland China and Hong Kong, however, the term carries a different connotation since 2020.
“Usually, the Hong Kong government or those who pass on messages for the government would not allow their identities or the threats to be revealed,” said Chung Kim-wah, a former assistant professor of social science at Hong Kong Polytechnic University. “The targeted people have no choice but to agree to the demands, or face immeasurable legal and political consequences.”
He added: “The authorities have the military, the police, the national security and the legal system behind them. There is no normal or formal way for those targeted to resist, and thus it is force majeure.”
The first known case of political force majeure occurred in March 2023, when a screening of the British independent horror movie Winnie the Pooh: Blood and Honey was cancelled. Winnie the Pooh is often used to satirise Chinese leader Xi Jinping. When announcing the cancellation, the organiser, Moviematic, initially wrote on Instagram: “I believe you understand that in Hong Kong nowadays, many things are force majeure.” This line was later removed and replaced with “technical reasons.”
In 2024, four event cancellations cited force majeure. This year, six cancelled events have used the same reason. In some cases, the political link was more obscure. Last month, Japanese duo Yuzu cancelled concerts in Hong Kong, Shanghai and Taipei scheduled for December due to unavoidable circumstances. While the group itself is not in any way political, the cancellations may have been related to heightened tensions between China and Japan following remarks by Japanese Prime Minister Sanae Takaichi in early November regarding the use of force in the event of a Chinese attack on Taiwan.
Since Takaichi’s remarks, yet more events by Japanese entertainers in mainland China have been abruptly cancelled, all citing force majeure. Similarly, an event by the Korean girl group Le Sserafim in Shanghai was cancelled for the same reason, possibly because the group includes two Japanese members. The pressure has even extended beyond China’s borders. Hong Kong singer Ekin Cheng was scheduled to perform in Tokyo on December 5, but the concert was cancelled 10 days beforehand, again with the same explanation.
“For Beijing, slapping force majeure on Yuzu and other Japanese acts is a low‑cost way to signal displeasure with Tokyo’s Taiwan stance, quietly punishing Japanese cultural exports while preserving deniability about overt political retaliation, turning cross‑border art and entertainment into a barometer of Beijing’s grievances rather than a neutral space for exchange,” said Athena Tong, a visiting researcher at the University of Tokyo.
The use of the term has also expanded beyond event cancellations. Following a massive fire at a housing estate in Tai Po on 26 November, University of Hong Kong journalism student Ellie Yuen gained significant attention on social media for reporting on the cause of the fire and speaking to international media outlets. A week later, she posted that she would no longer provide comments or undertake further work related to the incident “for obvious reasons”. In the Chinese version of the post, she used the term force majeure.
“This is a use of dark forces by the authorities, no different from that of a mafia,” said social scientist Chung. “It is an abuse of power that overrides constitutional and administrative authority.”
When organisers cite force majeure, it at least serves as a clear signal that politics may be involved. In other cases, however, the public is left to speculate.
This summer, Hong Kong’s largest LGBTQ+ event, Pink Dot, announced the cancellation of its October event, after its venue in the West Kowloon Cultural District withdrew without providing an explanation. In some instances, venues have offered implausible justifications. Before it disbanded this month, the Hong Kong Democratic Party has been forced to postpone its fundraising dinner six times since 2023 due to venue cancellations, with reasons ranging from urgent gas pipe maintenance to broken windows.
Private companies and venues have to face the public, and they have to come up with reasons, even if they are unjustifiable, Chung said. The authorities, however, do not have to face public pressure and do not even have to give a reason when forcing an event to be cancelled.
Benson Wong, a former assistant professor of political science at Hong Kong Baptist University, explained that in the current political climate, some people and groups in Hong Kong are seen as “untouchables,” from whom service providers and the broader society are pressured to “disconnect”.
“The weird excuses are a way of reflecting how twisted Hong Kong society is,” he said.
But groups have found new ways to avoid censorship, such as booking venues in a personal capacity and not announcing events beforehand, according to Wong. According to him, guerrilla events may be on the rise.
5 Aug 2025 | Asia and Pacific, Europe and Central Asia, Hong Kong, News, United Kingdom
For years now people in Hong Kong have been perfecting the art of letter writing and sending them to the neighbours of government critics living in the UK. I first came across the trend in 2018 and interviewed some of the subjects of the letters. The messages followed a pattern – people were identified as enemies of the Chinese people and, while outright threats were atypical, there was always the subtle threat – the sender knew where they lived.
Since the passage of the National Security Law in 2020, which saw thousands of Hong Kongers aligned with the democracy movement flee to the UK, the letter writers – whoever they may be – have seemingly grown in number, and their threats have become bolder and coupled with incentives. Some offer cash prizes to recipients, as was the case for the neighbours of prominent Hong Kong campaigner Carmen Lau, who were told they could receive £100,000 for information on her.
In 2018, one interviewee reported to me that their mother had told the police about receiving a letter. The police never tracked down who sent them, but they did take it very seriously. Lau reported her letters to the police too. Except in her case she claims Thames Valley police requested she “cease any activity that is likely to put you at risk” and “avoid attending public gatherings” like protests. I find this a spineless response, shifting the burden of responsibility away from the perpetrator and onto the victim. Lau has accused them of asking her to essentially “self-censor”. When approached about the story, Thames Valley police gave a tight- lipped response, neither confirming nor denying these details. The Metropolitan Police’s counter-terrorism unit are, however, apparently investigating the letters.
And so they should. An important report came out this week from the Joint Committee on Human Rights, following their public inquiry into transnational repression (TNR). Over 180 responses came in, including from Index, which showed how TNR is not a niche issue impacting a small minority – it affects freedom of expression across “entire communities”. Critics, journalists, campaigners and academics, to name a few, have all reported threats on UK soil.
The report calls for stronger action to stop the growth of TNR, including a dedicated reporting line to provide support and triage cases to law enforcement. It also calls for improved police training to deal with incidents of TNR. Lau’s case shows how much that is needed. Tackling TNR is a monumental task – the perpetrators often operate beyond borders and deep in the shadows. But while it’s one thing to tell the victim that the person behind the attack might not be caught, it’s quite another to tell them to stay indoors and stay silent.
27 Jun 2025 | Asia and Pacific, China, Hong Kong, News
This article was authored in collaboration with The Committee for Freedom in Hong Kong Foundation (CFHK).
Five years ago, Hong Kong passed the National Security Law. Its message was clear – dissent at your peril. Overnight Hong Kong, a city once known for its vibrant demonstrations, became quiet. People no longer took to Victoria Park to commemorate the victims of Tiananmen Square; they no longer filled Causeway Bay to rail against extradition laws to China. Plenty who had taken part in the city’s protest movement fled; a determined number stayed, knowing the risks. Scores were arrested. Many remain behind bars to this day.
I’ve never been in prison, but I’ve spoken to enough former political prisoners to understand one central characteristic: the crushing sameness. As the world outside has spun forward – from Covid lockdowns and wars to elections and viral video trends – for Joshua Wong, Jimmy Lai, Benny Tai and others, the days likely blur, indistinguishable, from one to the next.
Such a juxtaposition has been noted, with frustration, by those who have loved ones locked up.
“My father is still in prison, there are still more than 1,000 political prisoners in Hong Kong at the moment,” Sebastien Lai told me as we reflected on the fact that while Hong Kong is largely out of the news cycle, his dad is not out of jail.
There is no downplaying the significance of the passage of the National Security Law on 30 June 2020, of the thousands who were arrested because of it, the newspapers shuttered, the pro-democracy groups disbanded, and the hundreds of thousands who fled. It was, of course, not the beginning of repression in Hong Kong. I have vivid memories from 2018 of the journalist Evan Fowler telling me, voice shaking, that it was a city “being ripped apart”.
Nor was it the end of repression. “In reality there has not been a single eye-catching moment when everything suddenly changed,” wrote Jeff Wasserstrom and Sharon Yam in New Lines last year who spoke of the “stop-and-go pace of repression”. The passage of the National Security Law was a “go” moment – a particularly big one – and one followed by other “go” moments.
Speaking to someone on the ground in Hong Kong, who wished to remain anonymous on security grounds, they said that there’s rarely a month that goes by when they “don’t discuss leaving with loved ones”.
“Whether it’s t-shirts, a song, a mobile game, books, a newspaper op-ed [opinion piece] or a social media post expressing dissatisfaction with the government, the crackdown on anything deemed seditious only seems to escalate month by month.”
They likened the attacks on freedom of expression to “death by a thousand cuts” – a phrase I’ve heard others use too.
The thousand cuts analogy is evident in many examples. There has been the passage of new legislation in the form of the 2021 “Patriots law”, which allowed only those who swear allegiance to the Chinese Communist Party to hold a position in government, and of Article 23 in 2024, another national security law that further squeezed freedoms in the city and abroad.
A police hotline has been established, inviting members of the public to report on each other. Responsible for creating what the BBC termed a “culture of anonymous informing”, it’s received more than 890,000 tip-offs to date.
In schools – the original battleground for Beijing after Hong Kong’s handover – textbooks have been rewritten to say Hong Kong was not a former British colony and “red study trips” to China are now mandatory for secondary school students.
The repression extends to the seemingly banal; just last week Greenpeace had to move a talk online after the Chinese University of Hong Kong cancelled it citing “urgent maintenance”. It extends to the families of those who dissent; in May, it was widely reported that police had arrested the father and brother of US-based pro-democracy activist Anna Kwok for allegedly helping with her finances.
For the protest leader Nathan Law, watching what has unfolded in the past five years has been sobering to say the least. When the National Security Law was announced in May 2020, he deemed it serious enough to escape the city before it was passed. Was that precautionary? Looking back, he reflected that “people were calculating whether it would be a symbolic law rarely used or a draconian law.” It was, sadly, the latter. Precaution paid off.
Law is obviously not on the ground and doesn’t contact people in Hong Kong for fear it could endanger them. Still, he avidly follows what is happening and can see the “chilling” impact it’s had through the many arrests, and through other markers too. He recently watched a video on a news site in which people on the streets of Hong Kong were filmed asking for their comments on the National Security Law. Most didn’t dare answer; a few scuttled away the second the camera came near.
Since 2020, headlines like Hong Kong is “dead”, “lost” or “over” have appeared. It’s easy to see how the headlines have come about. At the same time, some have taken issue with such a framing, which is understandable too. Dissent does still exist, even if Hong Kong is a very dim shadow of its former self. A few independent news outlets remain. They tread a careful line – keep to the facts of cases and avoid conjecture – and have to stave off new threats in the form of spurious tax audits and other bureaucratic, legal and financial scrutiny. And yet they continue to report. There are also the occasional small-scale protests, such as one held at the end of May to raise awareness about issues impacting LGBTQ+ communities. It was far from the buzzing spectacle of Hong Kong Pride – which hasn’t taken place properly since 2018 – but it was something.
Outside of Hong Kong, diaspora communities in London, Taipei and other cities have taken it upon themselves to keep the spotlight up. Artists like Hong Kong duo Lumli Lumlong create eye-catching canvases featuring the faces of protest leaders, which are displayed in galleries; talks about the crackdown in Hong Kong are hosted; critical plays written by Hong Kongers from before 2020 have transferred over to other countries; governments are lobbied and demonstrations are held outside embassies; a commemorative issue of Apple Daily was even printed this week by exiled staff in collaboration with Reporters Without Borders (RSF).
Law takes solace in this.
“When we left we brought certain parts of Hong Kong with us. We carry the spirit with us,” he remarked.
Law misses those who remain imprisoned in Hong Kong dearly. “I feel devastated to see them spending so much time behind bars,” he said. It’s unlikely he’ll see them anytime soon. Wong, who has spent the better part of his twenties in jail, was slapped with fresh charges this month in a move that exposed the authorities’ clear intent to not release him anytime soon.
Sebastien Lai hasn’t seen his father in more than four and a half years.
“I miss just the normal daily stuff. Just chatting to him, telling jokes, having dinner with him,” he told me.
Jimmy Lai is 77 and has deteriorating health. His national security trial is expected to run until the autumn. His appeal to be represented by his preferred lawyer was rejected this March. For Sebastien, and indeed many others, Jimmy’s rags to riches story, his incredible bravery and the attempts to silence him are symbolic of Hong Kong past and present.
“In what society would you imprison a human rights defender – a man who has given everything that he has to defend the rights of others – but that is Hong Kong now.”
6 Sep 2024 | Asia and Pacific, China, Hong Kong, News, Newsletters
It is September and the kids are back at school. Many will likely be excited for the year ahead but perhaps not Hong Kong students. They’re returning to a new lesson: Xi Jinping Thought. As announced this week, the curriculum has been updated in secondary schools to include teachings from China’s leader. The new module aims to instil “patriotic education”.
I pity these kids, I really do. Firstly because unlike Mao, who many saw as a great wordsmith (a tyrant yes but a tyrant who could write lyrically and coin a zinger, “revolution is not a dinner party” being one classic example), Xi’s words are flat. The Economist declared his Thought “woolly: a hodgepodge of Dengist and Maoist terminology combined with mostly vague ideas on topics ranging from the environment (making China “beautiful”) to building a “world-class” army.” The academic Kevin Carrico studied his Thought through a distance-learning course and wrote that it was impoverished. “It comes across as a cash-rich North Korea,” he said. I’ve never got very far. Sentences like “The fundamental reason why some of our comrades have weak ideals and faltering beliefs is that their views lack a firm grounding in historical materialism” contain too many words and too little meaning.
But beyond criticising the content is a much bigger issue. As one Hongkonger said in response to the announcement, it’s “brainwashing”. That it is. And more than that. It’s another way to strip Hong Kong of its unique identity. The curriculum is aimed at “cultivating students’ sense of nationhood, affection for our country and sense of national identity” and by identity that means one dictated through the narrow lens of the Chinese Communist Party from Beijing.
Since it was introduced formally in China in 2017, Xi Jinping Thought has become a mainstay of academic life throughout the country for all levels of students. In our forthcoming Autumn magazine, which looks at how scientists are being attacked worldwide, Chinese novelist Murong Xuecun lays bare some of the absurdities of this:
“Every scientist needs to study Xi’s speeches and thoughts. Their Western counterparts may not be able to empathise with this but imagine a group of physicists or astronomy professors sitting in a conference room at MIT or Harvard, studying Donald Trump’s or Joe Biden’s speeches, and then considering how much it would help in their research.”
Xi Jinping Thought should be relegated to the history books not promoted to textbooks. But classrooms have always been central to Beijing’s ambitions in Hong Kong, which partly explains why many of the protest leaders were students. In 2010, for example, then Hong Kong chief executive Donald Tsang announced plans to change primary education so that its messages were more in line with the CCP (one teaching manual called the CCP an “advanced, selfless and united ruling group”). These plans were shelved due to widespread protests, protests which themselves were later removed or reworded in textbooks. More recently, in 2022 history textbooks were rewritten to downplay the city’s colonial past. Today they’re taking the textbook meddling one step further.
Here’s a kicker: interference in textbooks by Beijing is happening in the UK too. The Telegraph reported this week that British GCSE books were edited to remove references to Taiwan after complaints from Chinese officials. The AQA GCSE Chinese textbook deleted references to “the Republic of China” (Taiwan) from subsequent editions. The first edition of the GCSE textbook said: “Yangmingshan National Park is the third national park of the Republic of China, and the park is located in the northern part of Taipei City.” Later editions: “Yangmingshan National Park is a very famous national park.”
The UK is not Hong Kong and the CCP cares a lot less about what British textbooks contain. And yet they still clearly care. There’s a long road to be taken before a few words removed from a Mandarin-teaching title turns into Xi Jinping Thought on the UK syllabus and it’s encouraging that Lord Alton raised the issue in Parliament this week. We must not journey further down this road and not just because his Thought is deathly dull.
Finally, on the note of back to school a reminder of the many girls of Afghanistan who are not starting school at all. Last year we gave the Index campaigning award to Matiullah Wesa, who together with his brother founded Pen Path, a remarkable organisation dedicated to improving girls’ education in Afghanistan. For over a decade, Wesa has travelled the country with his mobile library, distributing books to children and working to establish schools in conflict-riven areas. Today he meets with Taliban leaders to call for schools to be reopened for girls. Wesa is a frequent target of the Taliban and has been imprisoned. He dreams of a time when he can retire this work because access to education – a universal right – is respected and promoted in Afghanistan. Today that dream has never felt further away.
All of the above reinforces a line we often say at Index: freedoms are hard won and easily lost. So students: cherish learning, enjoy debate and never take the ability to enquire more, to read widely and to speak freely for granted.
