The etiquette of protest

I am currently trying to use my acute social observation skills to determine just how many students are skipping classes at the University of Hong Kong to occupy Tamar Park. The photos of the protest look almost idyllic -- sunny skies, green grass and a supportive culture of learning. It definitely looks like we are heading in the right direction if this is the form that protest chooses to take on.

The terms "civil disobedience" and "non-violent resistance" hold a special meaning that goes far off and beyond the broader terms of "protest" and "movement". To me, there is a certain type of conduct for participants in the art of protest that can make a movement more poignant.

If there is one key element of Hong Kong's protest culture that we should focus on, it is the grace with which the student protestors are behaving. Barring inappropriate usage of historically loaded terms, the peacefulness of Hong Kong student protests puts the so-called "activism" at my elite, Ivy League alma mater to shame. From throwing pies to booing off guest speakers to "rallying the troops" in anti-protest, the style in which Brown University students choose to show their discontent more closely resembles the shock value unprofessionalism of the Falun Gong than the palpable show of solidarity of Tiananmen.

Hong Kong students have demonstrated maturity, eloquence and elegance in their approach to issues within their own society. They have shown that they are capable, willing and ready to talk (and for enfranchisement, as such follows). I am impressed, and I am supportive of their methodology (the aims and key messages are the subject of a different conversation).

By refusing to hear questions and critiques, governments all over the world have alienated their peoples to shut the door on any semblance of democracy. China is one of the most visible examples of this mistake, but it is by no means unique. Yet when riots break out and force is employed, the legitimacy of both sides, including that of well-meaning activists, are undermined.

My hope is that Hong Kong students keep their calm, maintain their cool and keep carrying on their protest with this exemplary model of poise. For the students' opponents, there is no reason not to give such a huge number of well-behaved young people a conversation. Democracy is not about giving into demands; it starts, instead, with respectful behaviour.

By complete coincidence...

"Despite pitched battles and ferocious skirmishing, it was a legume, not a legion, that claimed the life of the Taiping leader."

- Liel Leibovitz and Matthew Miller, Fortunate Sons: The 120 Chinese boys who came to America, went to school, and revolutionized an ancient civilization, p 81.

The above quote on the food poisoning and subsequent death of Hong Xiuquan perfectly represents the sense of absolute chance that I feel during the study of Chinese history. Hong, Hakka man, failed scholar, leader and instigator of the Taiping Rebellion and self-professed younger brother of Jesus Christ, is probably one of my favourite historical figures. My obsession with this fanatical man does not come with admiration or any shared values, but rather at the awe of how his inconsequentiality morphed, by complete coincidence, into his becoming the leader of the biggest civil war, like, ever.

History, in my opinion, is one of the very few academic fields where a scholar can write "by complete coincidence" in a piece of published writing and get away with it. Studying the history of China demands an open mind for just this type of odd discovery. I'll remember to do that when pouring over archival material and desperately digging for that one statistic, conducting an exercise in historiography to search for an article that contains just the right tone or abusing thesaurus.com for the perfect synonym of some distant cousin of "melancholy" with a hint of "schadenfraude".

Watch this space -- I'll have many more musings on chance's charming role in my finally-happening new career as a wannabe historian.