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In my cell, I haven't stopped thinking about what I've learned in eight years of activism.
I vividly remember what I experienced in the fight for democracy in Hong Kong in 2020 alone: the introduction of the national security law, the farewell to close supporters, the abrupt termination of the election after an overwhelming democratic victory in the primary elections.
All of this is burned into my mind.
None of this came as a surprise, however, as my transfer to the maximum security prison Shek Pik just before Christmas.
I was stunned by the chains around my waist as I watched through the tiny window of the prisoner van as the busy traffic on Lai Chi Kok Road slowly gave way to the tranquility of the landscapes of Lantau Island.
I can hardly imagine what kind of life lies ahead of me.
On December 21, after careful consideration with my lawyers, I decided not to appeal my conviction.
But when I was informed of the move to Shek Pik, my head was completely blank for a moment.
What is the point of putting an inmate who is due to be released in less than 12 months in a maximum security prison?
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Then a guard put chains on me in addition to the handcuffs.
Nothing is more humiliating than being put in iron chains.
The humiliation is indescribable.
Other activists were also classified as Category A prisoners and had to endure this treatment.
Cold and merciless, the iron chains brushed my skin as I walked.
Chains are primarily intended to restrict freedom of movement, but they also impair freedom of the mind.
I've been to jail three times, but this time it's very different.
I used to count the days until my release and cross them off on a calendar.
I don't dare to do that this time.
In addition to my current prison sentence, two other charges are pending;
not to mention the unpredictable number of violations I may be accused of under the new security law.
There is no set discharge date for me.
In a dream I have already seen my family and my loved ones a few times.
We sat on the couch after a long day at work and watched Netflix or played with my little dog, a corgi.
Sometimes I wonder if he'll still recognize me when I get out one day.
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Under the compulsion of the prison routine and separated from friends and family, one runs the risk of submitting to conformity.
That is the purpose of the prison sentences that every totalitarian system imposes on democratic activists.
I am all the more grateful for the support of my loved ones.
Your letters help against the feeling of powerlessness and disorientation, and I learn to deal with the various challenges in prison.
Nevertheless, in the end I have to overcome it alone.
Every morning I make it up to myself to do my best - no matter how unpredictable the world becomes.
In these times of darkness, keep us in your mind, the many Hong Kong people in prison who are not giving up.
Happiness may be too big a wish for the New Year;
to live in peace and security is all it takes.
Make the most of the time and hug your loved ones in this long, bleak winter.
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Joshua Wong writes this column in alternation with Glacier Kwong. The two young activists from Hong Kong are fighting against the growing influence of China in their homeland. Wong is currently serving a thirteen-month prison sentence for participating in a demonstration. He wrote the current column on Christmas Eve. She was held back by the prison authorities until this week.
This text is from WELT AM SONNTAG. We will be happy to deliver them to your home on a regular basis.
Source: WELT AM SONNTAG