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Reporter Jeffie Lam on the ground in Admiralty. Photo: Edward Wong

Living on the front line: How an occupation became a community

After covering Occupy Central in Admiralty from the beginning, reporter Jeffie Lam decided to spend a night under the canvas to see what motivates protesters

Taking off my eye mask, I find myself in the middle of Harcourt Road under a rising sun at the start of the 14th day of the occupation. People jog and bike between the colourful tents, while others dish out free newspapers and breakfast.

I'm surprised to find it's already 7am as I check my phone after my first night camping outside the government headquarters. My back is a bit sore but, unexpectedly, I managed some quality sleep.

About 10 students are revising their schoolwork at a "study corner" underneath the Admiralty Centre flyover. At the other end of the road, a group of athletes are getting ready for an "Umbrella Marathon" from Central to Wan Chai on roads usually filled with traffic.

I had spent every day in Admiralty since the first canister of tear gas was fired on September 28, but my media pass had always distanced me from protesters, no matter how friendly and helpful they were.

The pass also offers journalists certain privileges - a chance to freshen up in the Legislative Council's press room, which is air-conditioned and free from mosquitoes and pouring rain, and a ladies' room without long queues. And it allows me to witness history without the legal consequences facing others.

Packing a plastic tablecloth, a scarf and a windbreaker in my bag, I joined the assembly co-organised by Occupy Central and student leaders last Friday.

Tens of thousands of people are in Admiralty to condemn the government's decision to call off a dialogue with students. School uniforms are easily spotted in the crowd, while the boy sitting next to me is reading a Chinese history textbook under the dim light.

More than 100 tents are set up shortly after the rally ends as protesters vow to "fight till the end". Some, however, decide to sleep on the bare ground, using simply a face mask or towel to cover their eyes.

In this civil community, protesters have formed strong bonds and call one another "neighbour". They exchange not only thoughts but also materials on social issues. A girl passes a mat to me to sleep on after noticing the thin base of my tent, which I had borrowed from the Confederation of Trade Unions.

Inside the ladies' room, colourful post-its with encouraging messages are stuck on the doors while the overwhelming amount of shared skin care and cosmetics occupies almost every space near the sink. It's a system based on mutual trust.

Back at the tent, my "neighbours" are a family of three including a girl aged about six, while the men behind me share their views on everything from office politics to the city's conflicts. It's interesting to see how the movement has brought different parties together at this odd hour. I see banners with slogans that call on Hongkongers' collective memory, parents twisting balloons into an umbrella shape to make their kids happy, and young people forming a circle singing by the band Beyond, one of the most symbolic songs of the movement.

A group of people - strangers until a minute ago - are learning how to make an "umbrella" by folding post-it notes. It is surreal to see how one of the city's busiest arteries has been transformed into a vital and self-sustained community.

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