Torch Relay

May 2: Men and women look at their feet and shove into the mass of bodies. Unable to move forward any faster, I turn around to see who is pushing me with both hands. An old man looks up. “Sorry,” he says, looks down again and continues to impersonate an NFL linebacker.

I stop on the Gloucester Road beside a Wan Chai metro stop. Seems like a good spot; 45 minutes remain until 4 p.m., when the torch relay is supposed to pass through Wan Chai.





Police block the metro access for security. Flags and arms wave in a sea of red. A police squad pushes through the crowd with a white kid in tow. He wears a yellow shirt bearing the Tibetan Flag. He has Tibetan flag stickers on each cheek as well. Stickers on his chest say, “HUMAN RIGHTS IN CHINA.” Someone from the crowd slaps the boy with a miniature Chinese flag. Another person tries to rip the Tibetan sticker from his face.

“You can’t do this,” he protests to the police holding his arms. “I have a right to express my message.”

The red mob claps and cheers as he leaves in police custody. A man jeers loudly; I recognize, “Gwai lo…. “free speech”….hahahahahaha.”

I’m not sure exactly why the protestor was removed, but I’m certain that both Beijing and Hong Kong want the Olympic flame to receive an embarrassment-free arrival to China. In defense of the police, if they weren’t “protecting” this protestor, the nationalism-enflamed mob might seriously injure the boy.

The single protest attempt diffuses in celebration. The countdown till 4 p.m. continues.




A small child squeezes past my legs.

His mother and father tell him to keep going. “We can’t help you get to the front,” the mother says. The boy turns back. Nearby parents are lifting children onto shoulders. The father is shorter than my shoulder's height. The mother helps the boy onto his father, but he can’t see over the crowd.

She looks at me and speaks to the boy, in perfect English, “Hey, he looks pretty tall, huh?”

“If he wants to sit on my shoulders, it’s okay,” I say.

Happily, both parents agree. I kneel, and the mother places the boy on my back. He yells, “Stranger! Stranger!” and the mother tells him to keep quiet. He settles in and begins waving two miniature flags in the air – one for China, and one for Hong Kong.

The torch relay clearly means more to the child and his parents than it does to me. Besides, the Olympics represent international goodwill. This “gwai lo” is glad to help the local family.

As the crowd volume increases, I sense the torch bearer approaching. A convoy of vans passes. Everyone goes crazy. I reach into the air as high as possible to snap photos, but I’m not sure if I’ve caught any image of the torch.

I catch a brief view of a flame, hidden behind a swarming tangle of camera-laden arms, then it disappears. Screaming and clapping fades down the street. Suddenly, the crowd changes direction. Men and women run around the block to cut off the procession and catch another glimpse/photo of the torch. I set the boy down, and his parents thank me before I disappear in the human tide.

Thousands of people flow toward the Hong Kong Convention and Visitor’s center. I arrive and the guard turns me away. The relay finale is invitation only. Thousands of people meander about the area. After an hour or so, I meet Joyce near a barricaded street. Men and women celebrate, clap, take photos, wave flags. A loudspeaker shouts instructions in Cantonese. Joyce translates, “The ceremony is over, please leave.” I spot the yellow-shirted protester again. He walks through the crowd without stopping. The police must have let him go.