Once they were seen as trailblazers, bridging the development gap between China and the rest of the world, but today many Hongkongers living on the mainland find themselves negotiating new identities. Among them is 56-year-old Bing Chiu, who moved to Shanghai as a creative director in 1998, just a year after Hong Kong’s handover. While his advertising career in Hong Kong had hit a bottleneck, he was soon taking on clients like Motorola and Intel. World-class production studios were practically non-existent in mainland China, but Chiu pushed through to build a multi-track career as a musician, restaurant owner, radio host and cultural events promoter. His decision to make his permanent home on the mainland gave Chiu – now a long-term Beijing resident – a front-row seat to China’s miraculous growth, while keeping an eye on Hong Kong from afar. But, after more than two decades of reunification anniversaries, Chiu has never felt more uncertain about the city’s future. “I held three concerts in the Oriental Plaza [in Beijing] marking the 10th handover anniversary in 2007. It was really an exciting time as we were also anticipating the Beijing Olympics Games in 2008. People were charged with an optimism that a better and brighter future was to come soon,” he said. “When it came to 2017, I remember feeling lethargic as the relationship between China and Hong Kong had already changed. But there were still great things that we could celebrate.” But for Chiu, the 25th anniversary feels like just a number. “When the Hong Kong way of life is still being filled with so many unknowns, it begs the question of do we need to celebrate?” he said. “This is an awkward time for China and Hong Kong. At its 25th juncture, silence seems to run better than thousands of words.” Chiu’s sense of unease is echoed by many Hongkongers who have made their homes on the mainland, triggering an identity crisis in a politically volatile time. The rising tide of nationalistic sentiment in China has meant a significant shift in attitude towards people from Hong Kong. “It is no longer a door opener. When referring to the city, it should be Hong Kong, China rather than just Hong Kong. The distinctive attribution of the Greater China region as China, Hong Kong and Taiwan also needs to be avoided,” Chiu said. “Things like this didn’t used to matter but they are a big deal today,” he said, adding that these mindful expressions could save him from many “unnecessary quarrels”. Beijing observed a hands-off policy in the first decade of the “one country, two systems” formula of governing Hong Kong. But the promise by the late Chinese leader Deng Xiaoping – to preserve the city’s way of life for 50 years after the handover – has been replaced by the imposition of the national security law after the 2019 social unrest, along with comprehensive control by Beijing. Halfway through the 50-year promise, Hong Kong seems to have lost its mojo after a massive population exodus. Hong Kong handover memories relived in 25th anniversary photo exhibition One Hongkonger who works for a cultural tourism department under the mainland government is less pessimistic about Deng’s promise. “There is no such thing as ‘no change’. The destiny of Hong Kong was never in the hands of Hong Kong people anyway, even during colonial times,” he said. “And yet, we are practical. We adapt, we are resilient and flexible. We think analytically and critically. These qualities put us ahead of many mainlanders, especially at a time when China was opening up to the world.” Some of the Hong Kong people living in China said the ideological shift from their mainland compatriots had become most noticeable after the 2014 Occupy Central civil disobedience movement and the 2019 mass protests. These political events saw the rise of breakaway sentiments and pro-independence groups, something Beijing has zero appetite for. Esther Chan Yuen-yan, a 27-year-old Beijing-based Chinese medicine practitioner, recalled how a taxi driver had told a friend to refrain from speaking Cantonese with others in his cab. “The lack of rationale and tolerance has a lot to do with state media’s portrayal of the protests, causing them to subconsciously perceive all Cantonese speakers as potential rioters,” she said. “I also have patients walking away from my medical advice and prescription after finding out I’m from Hong Kong.” Cherry Chang, 27, said she too had received snarky comments from a crepes vendor, as well as her fellows at Tsinghua University in Beijing, during the political turmoil in Hong Kong. But Chang found the hostility was not one-sided, and in 2012 she forfeited an offer to study engineering at the Hong Kong University of Science and Technology in favour of an acting career on the mainland. “I was humiliated by my Hong Kong friends a month after commencing my study. It really hurts being sandwiched by polarised political sentiments in mainland China and Hong Kong,” she said. For Hong Kong people, living on the mainland requires a daily play of double games, circumventing the Great Firewall and compartmentalising their political views. But these are trade-offs they are willing to make for the affordable and spacious housing, access to bigger markets, and the opportunities to pursue their dreams that Hong Kong cannot offer. Chan also passed on an offer to study Chinese Medicinal Pharmacy at Baptist University of Hong Kong, instead pursuing a degree at Beijing University of Chinese Medicine. As an outsider, Chan found it hard to break into the medical profession on the mainland, especially in public hospitals, even with a locally acquired degree. She eventually landed her first job at a private hospital specialising in diabetes treatment. It paid just 7,000 yuan (US$1,000) a month. “I decided to keep staying in Beijing because of its vast exposure to miscellaneous diseases and tricky medical cases, experiences and knowledge that money can’t buy,” she said. Is Hong Kong a great place to live? How quality of life changed post-handover Actress Chang was also trying to reach a bigger audience. After a decade on the mainland, her native-toned Mandarin means people can no longer tell her apart from a local, despite being born and raised in Hong Kong. While studying at Tsinghua, Chang noticed she intentionally downplayed her Hong Kong identity to fit into a campus culture among mainland elites. It was a survival tactic and Chang said she wished to see whatever was unique about Hong Kong preserved, a quarter of a century after the city’s return to mainland control. “The traditional Chinese characters, local street snacks and the sense of a close-knit community that were imprinted in my childhood memory … I don’t want to see them disappear,” she said. “I know change is inevitable. But I would really like to see changes go a little slower for Hong Kong. Sometimes I wonder if Hong Kong’s English street names will be replaced by pinyin after another 25 years.” Despite the occasional rejection by her mainland patients, Chan said she had never once felt ashamed of her identity as a Hongkonger. “I’m proud of being a Hongkonger and the soil that raised me. There are mainlanders who appreciate the core values that Hong Kong people get to offer. Things like efficiency, perseverance and good work ethics,” she said. These qualities, which Chan described as the “Lion Rock spirit”, were things she was unable to appreciate until she had moved away from Hong Kong. “Not only that, I also realised this spirit runs in every one of us and it pushes me to rise above challenges. This will never be chipped away, despite external negative circumstances,” she said. “I am also a believer that Hong Kong still has so much going for her, for all the excellent talent that we have. I’m just ordinary and yet I could be blessed with so many opportunities in China. Our potential is limitless if we just venture out into the uncertainty.” Additional reporting by Guo Rui