Every day,
Kowloonians pass through the gates of our walled city to trade, to work, to visit family. And every day, they are humiliated by the so-called “officials” who station themselves there like conquerors. These uniforms, dripping with borrowed authority, treat us not as citizens, not even as humans, but as criminals to be searched, mocked, and delayed.
Mothers carrying baskets of herbs are forced to wait in line for hours while their children cry. Workers heading to their jobs are jeered at, accused of smuggling, as if a sack of onions were contraband. Old men are ordered to empty their pockets into the dirt, made to bow and scrape before soldiers half their age. And for what crime? For daring to live in
Kowloon — for daring to exist outside their chains.
We are frisked, questioned, and sometimes struck, all under the excuse of “security.” But everyone knows the truth: it is not safety they want, it is submission. Their message is clear —
Kowloon may build,
Kowloon may breathe, but
Kowloon must never stand tall.
They hope to grind us down with daily humiliations. They hope that by spitting on our dignity at the gates, they will make us forget what lies within them: freedom. But they misjudge us. Every insult, every shove, every stolen hour only hardens our will. We do not forget. We do not forgive.
Let the generals and their underlings hear this: your checkpoints cannot break us. Your walls do not confine us. You may delay us, you may harass us, but you will never silence us.
Kowloon passes through your gates every day — and every day, we return stronger, more united, more determined to end your reign of misery.
Kowloon does not bow.
Kowloon remembers. And one day, it will be you standing in line.