They thought an explosion would break us. They thought smoke and rubble would be enough to scatter
Kowloon’s families to the winds. They were wrong. By dawn the next day, walls were standing again, homes had returned, and our streets were alive with voices, children, and food stalls. Where others see disaster, we see proof of what makes
Kowloon unbreakable: our hands, our unity, our will to live on our own terms.
The so-called “fireworks factory” was nothing more than what we’ve always said it was — a place where our workers labored to bring joy and celebration to the city. The gossip peddled by
Hammer and their banker lapdogs — that this was some kind of weapons den — is nothing but a smear campaign. Let’s be clear: those same bankers profit from real wars abroad, but call us “dangerous” for daring to survive outside their chains.
It is the banks in
Hammer Square who now cry the loudest. They whine about “blocked entrances” and “lost prestige,” as if their marble towers and fat purses mean more than the lives of mothers and children here in
Kowloon. These bankers already bought up the riverside plots, waiting like vultures to swoop down once
Hammer’s bulldozers clear us out. They don’t even hide it. They dream of building a glittering square for their own power, paved over the ashes of our homes.
We say no.
Kowloon does not bow to bankers. We do not bow to
Hammer. Every stone they knock down, we will stack back higher. Every lie they print, we will shout the truth louder. This explosion does not prove we are weak — it proves that even in the face of fire,
Kowloon cannot be erased.
To the boroughs, to the banks, to the outsiders sharpening their knives: remember this.
Kowloon stands.
Kowloon fights.
Kowloon wins.