On a beautiful night in April 1995, I drove through one of the busiest streets near my alma mater, en route to meeting a few friends to celebrate the victory of our men's basketball team in the NCAA championship. The air was explosive. Suddenly, I heard a big thud and, out of instinct, slammed on the brakes. I felt cool liquid running down my shirt. But before I could process what had just happened, my head began to throb. It took me a few seconds to realise that someone, in the heat of the moment, had just thrown a bottle of beer through my passenger window and that the thud I heard was me being whacked on the side of my head. And it hurt. But I was lucky - one man was hit in the face and lost all his teeth.
Was I a victim of a violent - and obnoxious - act? Yes. Was the act itself an accident? Probably, but it does not negate its consequences. It was probably trivial too, considering how that night ended with police making 15 arrests and firing rubber bullets.
Unfortunately, in today's politically charged Hong Kong, we can't seem to find a consensus on anything. Chief Executive Donald Tsang Yam-kuen was hit in the chest during a scuffle last week, and politicians are arguing over what constitutes violence.
The debate - the justification and rationalisation of violence - is as senseless as the act itself. Does whether it is right or wrong depend on its victim? Should the perpetrator be exonerated by who the victim is?
Common sense says no. Other than matters of libel, where public figures are not treated like the rest of us, we are all equal under the law; no one, including the chief executive, can be considered a legitimate target just because of who he is. But while we expect the alleged attacker's comrades to come to his defence, I did not expect other cool-headed people to join the chorus.
Should violence be defined by the damage it has done, like, say, the size of a bruise? The extent of injury should play little part in defining whether the act was right or wrong.