No amount of censorship can erase the past
Thirty-seven years after troops moved against pro-democracy protesters in Tiananmen Square, China's authorities have taken their most visible step yet to extinguish the last sanctioned spaces of grief — barring bereaved families from cemetery visits for the first time in three decades, and detaining activists in Hong Kong who arrived with flowers and bowed heads. The event of 1989 sits at the center of a long tension between a state that chose economic transformation over political openness and the people who paid for that choice with their lives. What is unfolding now is not merely censorship but the systematic dismantling of mourning itself — a reminder that when power cannot erase an event from history, it moves instead to erase the people who remember it.
- For the first time in over 30 years, police physically turned away the Tiananmen Mothers from visiting their children's graves, crossing a line that even decades of surveillance and restriction had not previously crossed.
- In Hong Kong, a city once defined by its annual candlelight vigil, only a handful of people appeared — some were searched, detained in vans, and held for investigation, including activist Chan Po-ying, who carried nothing more than a yellow paper flower.
- From inside prison, lawyer Chow Hang-tung announced a 37-hour hunger strike — one hour for each year since the massacre — while her co-organizers await verdicts under the national security law that has effectively criminalized collective memory.
- The Tiananmen Mothers, undeterred, released a statement signed by 107 people demanding accountability, compensation, and disclosure — posting it to platforms blocked within China, speaking into a silence the state works hard to maintain.
- Western governments issued condemnations and lit symbolic candles, but China's Foreign Ministry dismissed every statement as interference, and the machinery of suppression continued without pause or apparent consequence.
On the 37th anniversary of the Tiananmen Square crackdown, Chinese police turned away members of the Tiananmen Mothers group from a Beijing cemetery where they had gone to visit the graves of their dead — the first time in more than three decades that the annual pilgrimage was explicitly blocked. The ban represented a new threshold in China's long campaign to render the events of 1989 unspeakable: hundreds, possibly thousands, were killed when the military moved against student-led pro-democracy protesters, and the Party has spent the decades since working to ensure that reckoning never arrives.
In Hong Kong, where a massive candlelight vigil once drew enormous crowds to Victoria Park each year, the anniversary passed under heavy restriction. Police stopped and searched seven people, detaining them in vans before releasing them after investigation. Among those taken was activist Chan Po-ying, carrying a yellow paper flower. Three vigil organizers face charges under the 2020 national security law; one pleaded guilty seeking leniency, while the other two await verdicts. Lawyer Chow Hang-tung, writing from prison, announced a 37-hour hunger strike — one hour for each year since the crackdown — describing the anniversary as a witness to what she called the blood and broken dreams hidden beneath the glitter of power.
The Tiananmen Mothers, barred from the cemetery, issued their annual statement regardless — signed by 107 people and demanding full disclosure, compensation, and legal accountability. Group member Zhang Xianling posted a video to Facebook, a platform inaccessible inside China, describing grief that has never diminished and a hatred for what she called the crime of massacring the people.
The United States, European Union, and Britain all marked the anniversary publicly, with US Secretary of State Marco Rubio writing that no censorship could erase the past. China's Foreign Ministry dismissed the statements as interference. On Capitol Hill, former student leaders and lawmakers gathered in commemoration, including Arthur Liu, father of Olympic figure skater Alysa Liu and himself a participant in the 1989 movement. Amnesty International described the cemetery ban as a heartless act and warned that suppression of commemoration appears to be intensifying. The spaces where remembrance is still possible grow narrower each year.
On the 37th anniversary of the 1989 military crackdown at Tiananmen Square, Chinese police turned away relatives trying to visit a Beijing cemetery to remember their dead. It was the first time in more than three decades that members of Tiananmen Mothers—a group of families who lost loved ones in the massacre—were prevented from making their annual pilgrimage to the graves. The ban marked another chapter in what has become a systematic, decades-long effort by China's Communist Party leadership to scrub the event from public consciousness, to make it unspeakable, to render it as though it never happened at all.
What occurred in 1989 remains one of the defining moments in modern Chinese history, though few inside the country are permitted to discuss it openly. Hundreds of people, possibly thousands, died when troops moved through crowds attempting to block the military's advance toward student-led pro-democracy protesters gathered in the vast central plaza. The Party's decision to deploy the army was categorical: market reforms would transform China into the world's second-largest economy, but political liberalization would not follow. That choice, made in blood, has shaped everything since.
For more than 30 years, the Tiananmen Mothers had maintained a quiet ritual. They would go to the cemetery, read memorial statements for those they had lost, and endure the presence of police watching their every word. It was a constrained form of remembrance, but it was permitted. This year, that permission was withdrawn. An anonymous source with knowledge of the matter confirmed that authorities explicitly told relatives they would not be allowed to visit on the anniversary. The source spoke only under condition of anonymity, fearing retaliation.
In Hong Kong, the suppression took a different but equally visible form. For years, a massive candlelight vigil had illuminated Victoria Park on the anniversary, drawing crowds that swelled the night with collective memory. Police banned the gathering in 2020, initially citing the pandemic, and have maintained the prohibition since. This year, only a handful of people appeared. Some were allowed to move freely—a man carrying flowers, an activist who bowed 37 times in silent tribute. Others were not so fortunate. Police stopped and searched seven people on suspicion of disorderly conduct, detained them in vans as journalists watched, and released them only after further investigation. Among those taken away was activist Chan Po-ying, holding a yellow paper flower.
Three of the vigil's organizers have been charged under Hong Kong's 2020 national security law. One pleaded guilty, hoping for leniency. The other two await verdicts after trial. Lawyer Chow Hang-tung, one of the accused, announced from prison that she would undertake a 37-hour hunger strike—one hour for each year since the crackdown—as an act of witness. "Behind the glitter of power and dictatorship lies the blood and broken dreams of ordinary people," she wrote in an online post. "For in amnesia lies the demise of democracy." Derek Chu, a former district councillor, said he would join her fast in solidarity, and that his shop would distribute LED candles for people to use in remembrance.
The Tiananmen Mothers, undeterred by the cemetery ban, issued their annual statement ahead of the anniversary. One hundred and seven people signed it, demanding full disclosure of what happened, compensation for victims and their families, and legal accountability for those responsible. Zhang Xianling, a member of the group, recorded a video message posted to Facebook—a platform blocked inside China—describing the weight of loss that never diminishes. "The sacrifice of our family members is an indelible pain etched in our hearts," she said. "Our tears have run dry, grief is buried deep within, what remains is eternal remembrance of our family members and hatred for the crime of massacring the people."
International responses came swiftly. The United States, the European Union, and Britain all posted messages marking the anniversary on social media. US Secretary of State Marco Rubio wrote that "no amount of censorship can erase the past" and that those who died upholding their rights to free expression and peaceful assembly would eventually be vindicated. The US Consulate in Hong Kong displayed rows of electronic candles in its windows. China's Foreign Ministry spokesperson Mao Ning dismissed the statements as interference in internal affairs, urging the US to stop using democracy and human rights as pretexts for meddling. The Congressional-Executive Commission on China countered that while the Party could censor history, it could not silence memory.
On Capitol Hill, US lawmakers, former student leaders from the 1989 movement, and their supporters gathered to commemorate the anniversary. Among them was Arthur Liu, father of Olympic figure skater Alysa Liu and himself a former student leader in the movement. He urged the public to remember what happened and not to forget those still imprisoned for their pro-democracy activism. Amnesty International called the cemetery ban "a heartless act," noting that China's suppression of commemoration appears to be escalating rather than easing. The Beijing Public Security Bureau did not respond to requests for comment. What remains clear is that the machinery of forgetting, once set in motion 37 years ago, continues to grind forward—and those who refuse to forget are finding fewer and fewer places where remembrance is permitted.
Citações Notáveis
The sacrifice of our family members is an indelible pain etched in our hearts. Our tears have run dry, grief is buried deep within, what remains is eternal remembrance of our family members and hatred for the crime of massacring the people.— Zhang Xianling, member of Tiananmen Mothers, in video message
Behind the glitter of power and dictatorship lies the blood and broken dreams of ordinary people. For in amnesia lies the demise of democracy.— Lawyer Chow Hang-tung, imprisoned organizer of Hong Kong vigil, in online post from prison
A Conversa do Hearth Outra perspectiva sobre a história
Why does the Chinese government care so much about preventing these visits? It happened 37 years ago.
Because memory is power. If families can gather at graves and speak the names of the dead, if they can say what happened out loud, then the official silence breaks. The state's entire claim rests on controlling the narrative—on making it so the event becomes unspeakable, almost unthinkable.
But people know it happened. It's documented internationally.
Yes, but inside China, most young people have never heard of it. The internet is filtered, textbooks don't mention it, and anyone who tries to discuss it publicly faces consequences. The ban on cemetery visits isn't really about stopping 107 people from visiting graves. It's about signaling: even this private, quiet act of remembrance is too dangerous to permit.
What's the connection between what's happening in Beijing and what's happening in Hong Kong?
Hong Kong was supposed to have different freedoms under the handover agreement. The vigil ran for 30 years there. But after the 2019 protests, the national security law gave authorities the tool to criminalize commemoration itself. Now organizers face prison time. It's the same logic applied more aggressively.
The hunger strikes—are those effective?
Not in the conventional sense. They won't change policy. But they're a form of testimony. Chow Hang-tung is saying: I will suffer in my body to keep this memory alive. It's a refusal to let the machinery of forgetting work unopposed.
Why do you think the international statements matter if China dismisses them?
They matter because they create a record. They say to the families: the world is watching, the world remembers. And they matter because inside China, some people find ways to read them. The statements become proof that the silence is imposed, not natural.