Sovereignty, Identity, and the Story I Inherited
Growing up Chinese-American with roots in Hong Kong and Colombia taught me that no single narrative can contain my family’s history. My parents moved across the globe multiple times in response to forces much larger than themselves. The journey that has always inspired me most is my mother’s. Born in 1974 in Hong Kong, then one of the last vestiges of the British Empire, she grew up as a British citizen. She was educated to speak the Queen’s English, write with British spelling, and learn in an English-style curriculum while also absorbing the rhythms, language and culture of Cantonese of Hong Kong. When she describes her childhood, she remembers a dense, vertical city pressed between mountains and sea, where ferries crossed Victoria Harbour, neon signs lit narrow streets, and the sounds of Cantonese vendors filled the air. The event that changed the course of my mother’s life was the handover of Hong Kong in 1997.
Hong Kong’s history long predates British rule. The area was first settled as early as the Qin dynasty by Chinese fishermen, but in the nineteenth century it became entangled in the wilder conflicts of empire and trade. After the Opium Wars, Britain gained Hong Kong Island through the Treaty of Nanking in 1842, expanded its control to Kowloon Peninsula in 1860, and later secured a 99-year lease over the New Territories in 1898. During World War II, Hong Kong was occupied by Japan, a reminder of how vulnerable the colony remained amid shifting global power. Over the following century, Hong Kong developed into a major commercial center and one of the most prosperous and influential cities in Asia, shaped by both Chinese traditions and British institutions.
By the early 1980s, the end of the New Territories’ 99-year lease was no long er a distant date on paper—it was a deadline that made Hong Kong’s political future impossible to ignore. In 1982, British Prime Minister Thatcher traveled to Beijing to meet with Zhao Ziyang and Deng Xiaoping, beginning the first formal negotiations over who would govern Hong Kong after 1997. For Britain, represented on the grounds by Governor Edward Youde, the priority was to protect the stability, freedoms, and distinct identity Hong Kong had developed under colonial rule. These competing visions–China’s push for reunification and Britain’s effort to safeguard Hong Kong’s way of life–set the stage for the tense, high-stakes discussions that would determines the city’s independence and identity.
The talks between the British and Chinese governments culminated in the 1984 Sino-British Joint Declaration on the Question of Hong Kong. The parties agreed on a “one country, two systems” framework, which was championed by Deng and established that Hong Kong would return to China while still maintaining legal and economic liberties. Under the accord, Hong Kong was promised a high degree of autonomy, along with the preservation of its economy, legal system, and way of life for fifty years. This system provided a feasible path forward to merge Hong Kong’s capitalist system with the communist system in mainland China. The handover, which took place on July 1, 1997, was both a diplomatic milestone and a source of uncertainty for the people of Hong Kong.
For many residents, the return to Chinese sovereignty carried a complicated weight–something felt as much in the chest as in the headlines. Some people saw the handover as a long-awaited homecoming, the end of British cruel and a symbolic return to Chinese identity. But for others including my mother’s family, the moment felt like a door quietly closing shut. Rumors about narrowing the people’s freedom, political uncertainty, and the future of Hong Kong’s open economy drifted through daily life. As 1997 drew closer, the city seemed to hold its breath. Many Hong Kongers chose to leave first, scattering across England, Canada, Australia, and the United States in search of stability and a future they could trust. My mother was only 20 when she packed her suitcases–with a few clothes and some money– and boarded a plane to Canada. She carried a few clothes and some money. In Canada, she studied, worked part-time jobs, and learned how to build a life from scratch–navigating snowstorms, student loans, and the ache of missing home. A few years later, in 1997–the year Hong Kong’s handover occurred–she moved again this time to New York to attend Baruch College and continue her studies in business and finance. My mother built her life in the United States through determination and resilience. Before graduating, she was offered a finance job at the World Trade Center; she later accepted a position in Long Island City, where her employer agreed to sponsor her working visa. She began to work in LIC just weeks before the terrorist attacks on 9/11, which changed the lives of not just New Yorkers, but all Americans. Her story reflects the larger uncertainty of migration, but also the chances people take to build a future.
My mother still describes Hong Kong as a place defined by contrast: old and new, East and West, crowded and intimate, ordered yet alive with constant movement. Even after the 1997 handover, many residents continued to identify as Hong Kongese rather than Chinese, a sign of the city’s distinct identity after 150 years of colonial rule. That layered identity, shaped by empire, war, negotiation, and migration, is part of what draws me to East Asian studies. Looking forward to university, I want to study the histories of the region and its diaspora, and to understand how shifting political powers shape belonging, memory, and identity. My family’s story was changed by the handover of Hong Kong, and like the city itself, it continues to evolve with time.
My mother’s story is woven from uncertainty and courage–one young woman moving through shifting political landscapes, unfamiliar countreis, and moments of unimaginable fear. But it is also a story of choosing possibility over comfort, of trusting that a better life could be built step by step. In her journey, I see the larger story of migration: the risk people take, the sacrifices they make, and the quiet resilience that carries them towards the finishing line.
