The massive turnout for the protest march on June 9 against the extradition bill seemed to mark a stormy new dawn for a movement powered by deeply-entrenched anti-Beijing sentiment in Hong Kong. Across the city, frustration and anger have galvanised different sectors of society into protests and strikes . The air is thick with dark urgency and an imminent threat, and the city is living on its nerve ends. On the evening of June 11, police were accused of abusing their authority when they were seen stopping and searching unarmed young people in the Admiralty area as a possible tactic to intimidate civilians and suppress their right to protest. When crowds in black T-shirts took over the area on June 12, tension erupted: clashes between police and protesters triggered the use of tear gas, rubber bullets and beanbags as police tried to rein in what they characterised as a “riot”. Ambulances and stretchers were seen coming and going from the protest site, with injuries on both sides. Young protesters were seen crying. We saw different organisations such as the Hong Kong Professional Teachers' Union and the Civil Human Rights Front condemning the use of excessive force by the police. Horror and rage permeated the internet. Many condemned the police for their brutality. A frequent comment was that it was “scary and outrageous” for the police to use tear gas at mostly peaceful demonstrations. Reports described alarming scenes of bullets being fired when people got too close to the police. Concerned netizens pleaded with the authorities to “protect my child”, or “save my child” – pleas that bring to mind the raw terrors and sorrow of June 4. In one video, a young man who describes himself as a secondary school student is heard reasoning with officers holding up riot shields: “The Hong Kong police I know really protected the public, and protected our safety, instead of hurting us.” History has an uncanny, tragic way of repeating itself. June is a month of heart-wrenching juxtapositions: students versus the army, our children versus the police, people versus power. China was under the formal rule of monarchy until the early 20th century. At that time, the political notion of the social contract had spread like wildfire among intellectuals in Europe, influencing international politics on a sweeping scale. Extradition law not worth the loss of confidence in Hong Kong The social contract theory holds that a government derives its political legitimacy from its representation of the will of the people. One of the central ideas of this theory is that citizens have consented to governance in exchange for the protection of rights and social order. Even though it took Europe until the 17th and 18th centuries to articulate a fundamental principle that governs the relationship between the ruler and the ruled, the principle itself is actually as old as time. We see it in the power dynamic between parents and children, teachers and students, doctors and patients, captains and soldiers, tribal chiefs and tribesmen. The implicit agreement roughly goes: “I will listen to you because I know you will protect me and help me advance my interest, and create enough structure in my surroundings that will facilitate the achievement of my goals.” In other words, we surrender some of our power and agency in good faith, holding onto the belief that those in power will honour their end of the bargain. In our everyday life, when our lives or properties are at risk, we naturally turn to law enforcement because we take it as a given that it is police officers’ job to protect our rights and keep us safe. Usually, law enforcement represents a force of good and certainty in a world that can be perilous and murky. When serious trouble breaks, our instinct is to call 999, or find a police officer. To our minds, law enforcement is a force that will make things right, restore order and justice, and take the side of the good and righteous. So when a country turns its army on its people, or when a city turns its police on its citizens, our faith in the natural order of things is shattered. The world, in a figurative sense, is temporarily turned upside down. Our trust in good governance is violated. How Dongguan’s sex trade plays into Hongkongers’ extradition fears The fury and horror we feel is a heightened expression of our shock and disbelief. Not only is the person who is supposed to protect me and maintain order failing in his job, that person is actually actively hurting me. It is not surprising that, in the United States, police brutality against racial minorities is known to spark citywide protests and riots. Social justice is doubly violated when people are discriminated against because of their skin colour and the people who are supposed to restore justice become the perpetrators. In other words, our grievances arise not only from the fact that a wrong has been done, but also from the sense that our trust in an implicit contract that we relied on to make us feel protected has been broken. The violation of that contract threatens our sense of survival. When I went to Central to take the ferry home at around 5pm on June 12, I saw swarms of young people along the seafront. Many were in black T-shirts, some in masks. They were discussing what to do next and where to go from here. When I looked at their young faces, my heart tightened. They are at an age where they should be fighting zombies in video games, not fighting for fundamental civil rights and putting their safety on the line. Thirty years later, we are still begging for our children’s safety. Dr Bertie Wai is a bilingual clinical psychologist at Beautiful Mind Therapy and Family Services in Central. She provides therapy to children, teens, adults and couples, as well as parenting consultation