Last week, Alysa Liu’s Olympic performance sparked an outpouring of positive commentary, both for her skill on the ice and for the history her story represents. On social media platforms, many young Chinese netizens expressed that it was the experiences of Liu, and her father, Arthur Liu Jun, that made them seriously contemplate the Tiananmen Square Massacre, also known as June Fourth, for the first time.
One netizen wrote that because of Liu’s father’s story, they read about the entire development of the 1989 pro-democracy movement, and were “simply shocked. It was heartbreaking and shocking. I was shocked that a demonstration of millions could exist, and also shocked by the brutality of the People’s Liberation Army directly shooting and crushing people with tanks.” For this person and others, they discovered that history was not just a blank page in textbooks, but a real national memory that had been deliberately obscured.
Online discussion highlighted that the greatest social significance of Liu’s victory may not only be her athletic achievement, but rather that she acts as an unblockable information coordinate, prompting more Chinese people to actively search for and understand the truth about “8964” (June 4, 1989). Her existence proves that no matter how hard the censorship system tries to hide history, what happened will ultimately be remembered. Some netizens even exclaimed, “So, there really are people who want to learn about this history because of her.”
Because Arthur Liu, Alysa Liu’s father, was rescued by the Hong Kong Alliance in Support of Patriotic Democratic Movements in China’s “Operation Yellow Bird,” many netizens gained a deeper understanding of the history of this cross-border rescue operation. Arthur Liu once said, “My original name was Liu Junguo, but after fleeing to the United States, I lost my country, so I changed my name to Liu Jun.” (In Mandarin, guo means “country”). This calm statement reveals the heavy reality of exiles losing their homeland and identity.
Because of shared experiences dating back to the 1989 pro-democracy movement, HRIC’s Executive Director Fengsuo Zhou has been a close family friend of the Lius for decades. He reflected, “It is deeply moving to see the next generation flourish under the protection and freedoms of the United States. I am profoundly proud of Alysa.”
Yet even in the United States, many exiles face the pervasive risk of transnational repression from the CCP. When Alysa Liu traveled to Beijing to participate in a competition, she required security protection from US federal agencies. This serves as a reminder that history has not faded away—pressure from the CCP continues to impact people’s lives even today.
In Hong Kong, national security crackdowns have targeted those who once kept the memory of the Tiananmen Massacre alive. Jimmy Lai, who supported student protests in Hong Kong, was recently sentenced to 20 years in prison for his role as a pro-democracy advocate. Chow Hang-tung, the vice-chairperson of the Hong Kong Alliance in Support of Patriotic Democratic Movements in China, is currently imprisoned for upholding justice and long supporting the commemoration of the Tiananmen Massacre.
Some commentators discussed the absurdity of the CCP’s forced erasure of the past. In Stan Lai’s play A Dream Like a Dream, for example, the character “Jiang Hong” was originally portrayed as a student who lost her boyfriend during the 1989 Tiananmen Square protests, but this historical context was completely removed during performances in mainland China. History was systematically rewritten, and the character’s profound trauma from that era “lost its source,” becoming a rootless pain. This severing of memory is yet another form of harm.
On the Chinese internet, many online commenters use shorthand or slang terms to discuss so-called “sensitive” topics: phrases like “that goddess” (referring to the Goddess of Democracy on Tiananmen Square in 1989), “little flame,” and “great Chinese university students,” represent the spiritual flame of the 1989 pro-democracy movement. This national memory has never been truly and successfully erased. It may be suppressed or obscured, but it still continues to circulate, quietly igniting across generations.
The right to memory is one of the most fundamental human rights. If a society cannot openly discuss its own past, then the rule of law and justice lose their foundation. The continued censorship and systematic deletion of the June Fourth Massacre not only inflicts secondary harm on the victims and their families, but also deprives society as a whole of its capacity for understanding.
For over thirty years, Human Rights in China has been committed to helping the Tiananmen Mothers and other victims of the June Fourth Massacre, preserving the historical facts of 1989, and supporting the continuation of grassroots memory and the preservation of archives. We consistently advocate for the core principles of “truth, reparation, and accountability,” promoting open investigation, reasonable compensation for victims, and repercussions for those responsible.
Despite intense censorship and repression, the new generation continues to actively seek the truth. This is itself a manifestation of the resilience of civil society. Historical memory should not be dictated by those in power, nor should it be permanently sealed away. Human Rights in China calls for an end to the suppression of historical memory, for the protection of freedom of speech and information, and for citizens’ right to inquire about history and express their opinions freely to be respected. Only when the truth can be openly discussed can society achieve genuine reconciliation and progress.
