II.

Andy isn’t his real name — he wants to keep it hidden because he’s “terrified” of being arrested for his role in the July 1 protests. But he does fit the profile of many of those behind Hong Kong’s mass discontent: 20- and 30-somethings, well-educated (often abroad) and deeply worried about a Hong Kong controlled and constrained by Beijing.



Like many in this crowd, Andy is smart and exceedingly polite, not to mention slight in build and quick with a smile. It’s not the sort of group you would expect to launch an aggressive assault using steel rods and battering rams.

Indeed, that’s not what most Hong Kong protesters envisioned when the mass marches started, rallying a broad cross-section of society. One afternoon in mid-June, two million people — more than a quarter of the territory’s population of 7.5 million — filled the city centre without a single broken window or real injury.

Demonstrations against the extradition bill have brought millions of Hong Kongers onto the street in recent weeks. (Saša Petricic/CBC)

Demonstrations against the extradition bill have brought millions of Hong Kongers onto the street in recent weeks. (Saša Petricic/CBC)

Harry (who gave CBC his first name, but didn’t want his last name used) worried many more people will get hurt. A little older and more intense, Harry is what’s known as a “rescuer”: an experienced protester with first aid training and a self-given responsibility to look out for others in risky situations.



As much as the Hong Kong demonstrations have been organized through a casual network of online volunteers, many things have been exceptionally efficient. Beyond rescuers, some volunteers take care of supplies, everything from water to helmets. Others are in charge of recruitment for each protest, with an anonymous source even designing elaborate anime-style videos as a call to arms.

This animated video produced by an anonymous source was widely distributed in Hong Kong to inspire people to join demonstrations against the government.

All these groups were at work at the legislature when Harry arrived on the afternoon of July 1. Thousands of protesters sat on the hot pavement under brightly coloured umbrellas, surrounding a building that had gaping holes in windows and glass doors.



Off to the side, one small group was huddled in serious conversation. The question: Was this the moment — should they try to storm the legislature?



Young activists were joined by older voices, namely veterans of the Umbrella Movement, which “occupied” central Hong Kong for 79 days of pro-democracy protests in 2014. Their peaceful civil disobedience failed to get the directly elected government they demanded, and the movement fizzled.



In the years since, democratic rights have been targeted to silence challenges to China. Activists were jailed, some opposition politicians and a political party were banned and one foreign journalist was expelled. Five Hong Kong booksellers who had been selling unflattering biographies of Chinese President Xi Jinping simply disappeared, only to re-emerge months later to read a prepared “confession” on Chinese state TV.



Before Hong Kong reverted to Chinese control in 1997, Beijing gave a written commitment that the former British colony could keep its democratic rights and a certain degree of autonomy for at least 50 years under a principle China calls “One Country, Two Systems.” Quickly, though, a kind of shadowy, creeping authoritarianism set in. Beijing started using Hong Kong’s own, respected court system to limit freedoms, sometimes on legal technicalities.



For the millions who took to the streets this summer, the extradition bill confirmed their worst fears about China’s intentions. They felt personally threatened.



So as night fell outside the Hong Kong legislature, the veteran voices from past movements advised against going inside. But the new generation of protesters, including Harry, saw things differently.



“At the time of the Umbrella Movement, we decided to stay peaceful and sensible, but what did we get in return?” Harry asked. “We think of scaling up because we can’t get what we want just by being peaceful. It is not like a kid throwing a fit when he can’t get what he wants — it’s just trying another way.”



That “way,” through the shattered glass, meant crossing a line. It risked confrontations with riot police, tear gas and rubber bullets and maybe arrest for breaking in.

Harry, who didn't want to be physically identified, is an experienced protester who administers first aid and tries to look out for others in risky situations. (Saša Petricic/CBC)

Harry, who didn't want to be physically identified, is an experienced protester who administers first aid and tries to look out for others in risky situations. (Saša Petricic/CBC)

Around that time, Andy stood outside the vandalized building, hesitating. He felt both excited and nervous, determined to do his part, yet worried about the officers he had seen crowding the legislature. Live TV broadcasts from reporters inside showed police throughout the building.



“At first, I was definitely telling myself, ‘No, no, no, no. This is too risky,’” he said. But then, as dozens pushed into the building, he decided he “wasn’t doing much good just watching.”

He headed in, “to make a difference.”