It Is The Silence That I Remember Most

Last summer my wife and I celebrated our 30^th wedding anniversary. After we got married, we went on a brief, one-week honeymoon at Hecla, here in Manitoba. But we had already decided that we wanted to go somewhere exotic for our real honeymoon and we were already planning a big trip. We were both into our 30’s and we knew that we wanted to start a family soon, so we decided to get at least one big trip in before we had kids and then, if we got to do more travel later, that would be great, and if not, that would be fine, too.

We talked about South America, we talked about Africa but, mostly, we talked about Asia. We each had a list of places we wanted to go and things we wanted to see and high on my list of places to go was Beijing. Among a lengthy list of locations, I really wanted to see and photograph the Forbidden City.

Debbie had some concerns about that. It was 1989 and there was a lot of tension and social unrest in mainland China at that time. Student demonstrators were staging a protest in Tiananmen Square in Beijing and Debbie had a very uneasy feeling about going too far into China at that moment in time. Women’s intuition is something that should never be ignored so, reluctantly, I agreed and we went with Debbie’s preferred itinerary. We would fly to Singapore and use it as a sort of hub while we traveled to other places in the Orient. And so, on May 22^nd (my birthday), we flew to Singapore. We left Winnipeg at 7:00 a.m. on May 22^nd and arrived in Singapore at 10:30 p.m. on May 24^th. We didn’t have a May 23^rd at all that year. We did, however, have two June 10ths on our way back. We would leave Seoul, Korea at 4:00 p.m. on June 10^th and arrive in Vancouver at 2:00 p.m. the same day – two hours before we left. The International Date Line is a necessary albeit somewhat bizarre concept.

As I said, we used Singapore as a hub for our travels in the Orient. A few days in Singapore, then a trip across the Straits of Johor into Malaysia and then back to Singapore. Five days in Bali, then back to Singapore. And finally, from Singapore we would head to Hong Kong for a few days, spend a day in Seoul and from there head back to Canada.

It was a great trip and a fantastic honeymoon. But it was on our last return to Singapore, after a blissful 5 days in Bali, that we noticed that something had changed. At first, everything seemed normal but then, on our last day before flying to Hong Kong, the city changed. The feel of the city, the mood, the atmosphere – something was different. We were doing our last bit of shopping and we noticed that city was unusually quiet. Many of the shops on Orchard Road, one of the Singapore's biggest shopping areas, were closed. They never closed! There were noticeably fewer cars on the street and it was difficult finding a taxi. Very unusual. And tents had popped up on the wide sidewalks of Orchard Road. They were blood donor clinics and there were lines of people waiting for their turn to donate. Indeed, something had changed but, when we’re traveling, we don’t always stay up to date on current events. Even less so when most of the newspapers are printed in Chinese. And then we found out why the city seemed so different. There had been a massacre in Beijing. To quell the protests in Tiananmen Square, the Chinese government had sent in tanks and soldiers and several thousand people had been killed. Remember what I said about women’s intuition? If we had gone with the itinerary that I preferred, we would have been in Beijing on the day this happened. Knowing me, we would have probably been in the square, cameras in hand, when the tanks rolled in.

Today, 30 years later, there is still great debate about how many people actually died that day. At the time, 2,500 seemed to be the number that everyone agreed on. Now, some say that the death toll was actually closer to 1,000 while others still hold that 2,500 is a pretty accurate number. It really doesn’t matter, though. They were innocent civilians and they were killed by their own countrymen on the orders of their own government. Even just one death is still one too many.

As we were walking along Orchard Road, Debbie and I couldn’t help wondering what this meant for us. We were flying to Hong Kong the next day. Technically, Hong Kong was not part of China back then. It was still a British colony and would remain so until 1997. But China is ubiquitous in Asia. You can’t avoid it or its influence. Singapore is a city of tremendous multiculturalism, but China and the Chinese culture are a huge part of that, just like everywhere else you go in that part of the world. Furthermore, it seemed that almost everyone living in Singapore had friends or family living somewhere in mainland China and the effects of the massacre were being deeply, and angrily, felt. The effects would be felt even stronger when we got to Hong Kong.

The next day we said goodbye to Singapore for the last time on that trip and flew to Hong Kong. We arrived late in the afternoon so we headed to the hotel, checked in and then went to find somewhere to have dinner. The absurdity of that last statement actually makes me chuckle. It’s Hong Kong. Finding somewhere to eat is like finding grain on the Canadian prairies. It is not particularly difficult. But it was our first time there and what did we know, right? After dinner we took a stroll along the waterfront and just tried to take it all in. There was a lot to see.

Hong Kong is basically split into two pieces – the Island, which is the real part called Hong Kong, and the mainland, called Kowloon. We were staying in Kowloon in a district called Tsim Sha Tsui. Tsim Sha Tsui was a great location for us. Our hotel was a five minute walk from the waterfront, near where the cruise ships berthed, and very close to the Star Ferry terminal. The Star Ferry is absolutely the best way to travel between Kowloon and the Island if you’re a tourist.

So we strolled along the waterfront that night and then headed inland through the shopping district with all of its neon signs and fine custom tailoring shops and then finally back to the hotel. Everything seemed peaceful and quiet. Almost serene. Shortly after midnight, things got loud. The noise from the street woke us up and made it very hard to sleep. But it was our first visit to Hong Kong so we just shrugged it off. Hong Kong was a big, busy, bustling city. Maybe this was normal.

Papers at a newsstand near our hotel

It wasn’t. The next morning we found out that there had been a riot in the street right outside our hotel. The hotel staff had actually started piling up sheets of plywood in case rioters started breaking windows but, fortunately, it never came to that. The morning newspapers downplayed the event saying that they were just a bunch of hooligans who had used the events in Beijing as an excuse to go crazy in the streets. Whether that is true or not, I’ll never know.

That day, however, the city “closed” for a day of public mourning. Most of the stores were closed, so shopping would have to wait until the next day but we figured it would be a good day for sightseeing. Debbie really wanted to see the harbour in Aberdeen so we took the ferry over to the Island and grabbed a cab to take us to Aberdeen, which is located on the far side of the island, facing away from Kowloon. The cab ride would prove to be “an adventure.” It was actually rather terrifying at the time but, since we survived it without any serious injury, it eventually became quite an amusing story in our repertoire of bizarre travel experiences (and there have been quite a few). It seems that most of our most exciting (terrifying?) adventures in the Orient have all taken place in the back of a taxi. But that’s another story for another time.

The ferry terminal on the Island is in an area called Central and as we were leaving Central in our taxi I noticed a group of people gathering around a cenotaph. I didn’t give it too much thought at the time. Almost an hour later (it seemed longer), after a long and perilous taxi ride, we finally arrived in Aberdeen and spent several hours wandering around and photographing the harbour.

When it was time to head back to Kowloon and the hotel, Debbie and I both looked at each other with expressions that clearly showed we were both thinking the same thing – “Another taxi ride? After that last one? I don’t think so!” So we took the bus. It was a big open-top, double decker bus and we sat up top so we could see what there was to see. And I am so thankful we did that because that’s when it all unfolded.

The people we had seen at the cenotaph earlier in the day had been joined by a few friends. One million of them. That day, in a public display of mourning for those who had died, as well as a show of solidarity with friends and loved ones still living in mainland China, the people of Hong Kong marched or, more correctly, walked. One million people, all dressed in white and in total silence, walked through the streets of Hong Kong. And there was no sound. Just silence. Up one street and down the next. Slowly. Peacefully. Quietly. Solemnly. A few carried signs or photos of those who had been killed but most just walked silently with their heads bowed in deep reverence. It went for miles, like a giant snake moving through the streets.

And we watched it all from the upper deck of a city bus.

Some perspective is probably appropriate right about now. I live in Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada. Winnipeg is a city of approximately 700,000 people. If you took the entire population of my home town – every man, woman and child – you would still have to add another 50% to get to the number of people who walked through the streets of Hong Kong that day. The entire province of Manitoba only has about a million people. The entire province! Imagine sitting on a bus on a raised motorway and driving past the entire population of Manitoba. We did that.

And the most ironic part? I didn’t take a single photo. The scene was so powerful and so overwhelming that it took a while before it even occurred to me to get out my camera. But when it finally did, it just seemed wrong. We encountered this type of culture clash twice on that trip. While we were in Bali, we had encountered a funeral parade in the streets of Sanur. In Indonesia, and especially in Bali, funerals are a celebration. They celebrate the life of the person who died as they literally dance through the streets in a funeral parade on their way to where the final ceremony will take place. People saw us, two obvious tourists, cameras slung over our shoulders, and they kept inviting us to come to the celebration – and take lots of pictures! But I couldn’t do it. I just kept imagining the funeral for one of my parents and having a bunch of tourists show up snapping pictures all through the ceremony. It just seemed wrong. We did go to funeral but the cameras went into the bag and stayed there. The funeral was fascinating. They burn the body to send the spirit and the ashes up to Heaven. They build a huge funeral pyre, put the body on it and then set the entire thing on fire. Picture the end of the 3^rd Star Wars movie when they burn the body of Darth Vader. That movie scene is almost exactly like the funeral we saw in Sanur.

I regret not photographing both of those events. I was just starting out as a photographer back then and I was very inexperienced. I’m much more seasoned (another word for "old") now and I don’t think the cultures would clash any more. But nevertheless......

It was 30 years ago today that we took our sightseeing trip to Aberdeen. Thirty years ago today that the people of Hong Kong took to the streets to demonstrate their anger and their sadness. Thirty years ago today that I witnessed one of the most profound events of my life. And, even without photos to remind me, the image of that procession of humanity moving slowly through the streets of Hong Kong is etched permanently into my mind. It was overwhelming. It is a sight that I will never forget. But it is the silence that I remember most.