Translating in the Grey Zone

April 21, 2021

Subtitle groups bring Chinese audience members uncensored foreign films and TV programmes.

By Alina Chen

When Nanmu Zhang was in middle school, he watched The Simpsons with Chinese subtitles in order to understand the American cartoon.

He thinks it is impossible to watch American cartoons via state-owned television channels in China in the foreseeable future.

“For American TV shows like Family Guy and American Dad!, … it is impossible (to watch them on TV in China) because they have sensitive contents,” he says, citing an episode of Family Guy as an example.

“That episode jokes about preference for sons over daughters and baby girls being killed in China. These issues cannot be openly discussed (in China),” he says.

Zhang started to help a subtitle group, which adds Chinese subtitles to American cartoons such as Family Guy and American Dad! three years ago.

He came across this subtitle group when he tried to search for an American cartoon named Brickleberry on the internet. Now Zhang has become the leader of the group. Proofreading is his main job.

“When I have the ability to make subtitles, I hope I can pass on (the tradition of running an internet subtitle group so that others can watch foreign films and TV programmes),” he says.

Zhang says most small subtitle groups in China are not well-organised and members are not paid for their work.

“We select cartoons depending on our personal preference and recommendations from American cartoon fans. We source videos from foreign websites such as RARBG that provide torrent files,” he says.

Torrent files enable one to share files with many on the internet without the need for a powerful server in order to distribute the files.

Zhang says the work of subtitle groups covers sourcing for TV productions and movies to download, doing translation, making timelines, adding special effects, proofreading, compressing videos, and uploading finished products online to cloud services like Baidu Wangpan.

It takes five hours to prepare subtitles for a 20-minute cartoon episode, starting from finding resources to uploading a video online. “Sometimes the whole process will be finished by only one person in a small subtitle group like us,” he says.

Some video streaming websites in China offer legitimate foreign television programmes with Chinese subtitles. Tencent Video is one of the biggest websites.

It provides more than 600 American TV series in total. Ninety of them are only for paid subscribers, including some popular series like Westworld and Game of Thrones. Other less popular series are accessible for all users.

Audience members can also find some American cartoons such as Disney cartoons and superhero cartoons on this website. But animated sitcoms with sensitive contents, such as criticisms towards Chinese politics, are not available.

Another member of the subtitle group is Mandi Yu who operates the group’s account on Weibo, a Chinese microblogging website. She says subtitle groups enable people in China to watch censored TV production and movies.

Part of the famous subtitle groups on Weibo.

Part of the famous subtitle groups on Bilibili, a popular video-sharing platform in China.

She posts news about their latest works on their Weibo account. Audience members can also find information about their cloud service account to get access to their subtitle works.

“(Watching the work by subtitle groups) may be the only chance for the public to get access to the full version (of foreign films and cartoons) without interference or censorship,” she says.

“(Watching the work by subtitle groups) may be the only chance for the public to get access to the full version (of foreign films and cartoons) without interference or censorship.”

According to Chinese Regulations on the Administration of Movies which came into effect in 2002, films are prohibited from containing content that propagates obscenity, gambling or violence, or abetting to commit crimes. Impairing the prestige and interests of the State is not allowed either.

“Usually streaming platforms will delete sensitive content or pixelate some scenes to avoid films and TV programmes being removed from their website. This kind of self-censorship may be stricter (than the censorship conducted by authorities) to avoid any problems,” she says.

The nude scene in the film The Shape of Water is censored in a way of being pixelated.

The Shape of Water, a film winning Academy Award for Best Picture in 2018, is one example. When it was screened in China three years ago, the leading actress appearing naked in one scene was covered by a black patch which made her looked like wearing a black dress.

“Some contents are censored (on streaming platforms and in cinemas). But the censored contents may be the essence of a production,” Yu says.

“Some contents are censored (on streaming platforms and in cinemas). But the censored contents may be the essence of a production.”

Censorship also exists in social media. Some videos uploaded by subtitle groups are removed from Weibo. “No reason is given when a video is removed,” she says.

Yu points out some opinions and values discussed in some cartoons are related to politics, liberty and democracy. “I hope we can instill these opinions in our audience by sharing these kinds of cartoons,” she says.

Fang Kecheng, assistant professor at the School of Journalism and Communication at the Chinese University of Hong Kong, says that subtitle groups in China are platforms where people share resources.

“The presence of control over the introduction of foreign films gives birth to smuggling activities. Subtitle groups can be described as smugglers of information,” he says.

He thinks whether video streaming platforms such as Tencent Video and iQIYI Video will introduce a foreign work is a commercial decision. They will consider the tradeoff between the risk of censorship and profit generated by the introduced content.

“Some films and TV programmes like American sitcoms are not profitable enough. Yet, the risk of screening such kinds of TV programmes is high,” he says.

Fang also mentions some companies and platforms are practising self-censorship to avoid potential political risks. “(For example,) House of Cards (introduced by iQIYI Video) touches on issues related to China. It may be deleted before coming online,” he adds. Fang says obscure subtitle groups are less troubled by censorship from authorities, so the groups pay less attention to self-censorship. Those niche and voluntary small subtitle groups will introduce more diverse TV and movie productions to Chinese audience members.

Edited by Savoki Zhang
Sub-edited by Sarah Ryou

Unaffordable Bad Comments

April 20, 2021

In China, food delivery drivers are working on thin ice under an algorithm with tough deadlines, low wages and little labour protection.

By Jack Deng in Shenzhen

Costly Bad Comments

Huang Qi, who has been working in delivery service for seven months in Shenzhen, received his first bad comment in August 2020, which made his work that day totally in vain.

“I was there on time. But the customers were in an argument. No one answered the door when I first knocked, so I had to knock harder. After trying knocking heavier, someone answered and took the food angrily,” Huang recalls.

Several minutes later, the 27-year-old delivery man received a bad comment with no explanation, along with a fine of RMB ¥100 (USD $15.36) from Meituan platform, one of the largest food delivery platforms in China.

“I only earn RMB ¥8 (USD $1.23) per order. A fine like this means a day of work is done for nothing. I have no one to turn to about my grievances,” he says.

Huang Qi just received a new order from Meituan, China’s largest food delivery platform.

According to Huang, taking delivery orders and planning routes are totally taken over by computers. Time cost like waiting for lifts or traffic jam due to bad weather is not considered by the algorithm.

“That’s why every day you see many delivery men riding scooters on traffic roads, even if it is illegal,” says Huang. “People will get hit and injured or even killed, but time limit imposed on us forces us to do so,” he adds.

“The platform keeps pushing us to become more competitive. But for temporary workers like me, a traffic accident means that we will have to pay bills by ourselves since there is no accident insurance for us.”

According to the “2019 Shanghai Comprehensive Transportation Annual Report”, 560 traffic accidents happened in the first half of the year 2019, and 325 were related to the express and takeaway industries, accounting for 58 per cent.

Huang says most of the delivery men are part-time workers who have no medical and legal protection. The number of full-time workers is very small.

“The platform keeps pushing us to become more competitive. But for temporary workers like me, a traffic accident means that we will have to pay bills by ourselves since there is no accident insurance for us,” he says.

Under Meituan’s operation policy, if a delivery man keeps receiving bad comments, his or her platform account will be shut down and he or she will not be assigned with any more orders.

Algorithm with No Common Sense

Same as Huang, Zhang Yirong, 41, is also a temporary worker for the same digital delivery platform. He received his first bad comment in January 2021 after working in the industry for three months.

“The platform assigned six orders to me that day. But after I finished the second order, the restaurant for the third order told me to wait for at least 15 minutes for the food,” Zhang recalls.

A 15-minute-wait meant all other orders would be delayed. Zhang then received three bad comments even after having called these customers to explain.

“I can understand why the customers were angry since they were hungry, and I was late. But I think the restaurant should be blamed in this case. Delayed order was due to their low efficiency, but I had to pay for their bad service,” Zhang says.

Zhang hopes legislation should be introduced so that delivery men can have better labour protection.

Zhang Yirong is waiting for new orders allocated according to the algorithm of Meituan.

“The company shifts all responsibilities to us instead of making a deal with restaurants. But overall, we delivery men are thankful for the platforms. They do provide job opportunities for millions of people,” Zhang says.

Varsity tried to contact Meituan, one of the largest food delivery platforms in China, but no reply has been received.

Academic Call for Better Labour Protection

Ma Liang, a professor in the school of public administration and policy of the Renmin University of China, describes these food delivery platforms as “sweatshops”.

“When these platforms design their algorithms, they do not consider feelings of these delivery workers…These platforms are using punishment as the main way of managing in order to lower operation cost,” Ma says.

“Delivery workers are not organised and that makes these platform operators even more powerful. The workers do not have labour unions to speak out and bargain for them. They are largely in a position to be ‘slaughtered’ which is very detrimental to them. So even if they have difficulties, usually they cannot make their voice heard,” Ma adds.

According to research by the Wangjingshe E-commercial Research Centre, which is also known as the Chinese e-commercial Bloomberg, published in 2019, the number of employees in China’s delivery industry surpassed 10 million.

A deliveryman is still working at midnight.

“Currently, there is no government department specifically regulating the food delivery industry. It takes concerted effort of various government departments to look into related issues such as traffic rules, food safety, and labour protections,” says Ma.

Ma believes that the government and platform operators should solve delivery service workers’ insurance problem first.

“When these platforms design their algorithms, they do not consider feelings of these delivery workers…These platforms are replacing management with punishment to lower operation cost.”

“The government should ask platform operators to pay insurance for takeaway riders, clarify the main responsibilities of platforms, and establish a mandatory system that requires these operators to offer workers insurance,” Ma says.

Ma also asks consumers to have empathy for delivery service workers. “A bad comment can ruin the day for these workers,” he says.

Edited by Shell Zhang
Sub-edited by Laurissa Liu

Cleaners Struggle during the Pandemic

April 20, 2021

The story investigates working conditions faced by cleaners in Hong Kong during the pandemic.

By Victoria Fong

Public hospital cleaner Lee*, who works at an obstetrics and gynecology ward, has endured an increasing workload during the pandemic.

“Since March 2021, (cleaners) are required to sterilize high-touch surfaces such as handles, elevator buttons and armrests along corridors every two hours,” says Lee, who works at Kwong Wah Hospital in Yau Ma Tei. Before the pandemic, she cleaned these surfaces just once every shift.

Lee, whose eight-hour morning shift lasts from 7 a.m. to 3 p.m., also has to mop the floor of almost twenty rooms and two public toilets once every shift.

“I also need to collect garbage at wards, retrieve food trays and disinfect mattresses when patients leave. Having to clean hotspots every two hours makes me very busy,” Lee says, adding that she suffers from arm and leg pain because of her job.

“I hardly have any time to take a break at work, and sometimes I don’t even have time to drink water. I have lost over 20 pounds since I have taken up this job,” Lee says.

She started working for the hospital in April 2020 after being laid off in January.

Lee works at Kwong Wah Hospital in Yau Ma Tei.

The hospital cleaner also has safety concerns during the pandemic.

“When I am assigned to do overnight shifts, I have to collect medical waste in high-risk wards where COVID-19 patients are admitted,” Lee says. She is given N95 respirators and disposable protective clothing only when she has to work in those wards.

Living with her son’s family and her 12-year-old grandchild, Lee always showers before heading home.

“Of course I am worried (for myself and my family) working for the hospital during the pandemic, but what else could I do to make ends meet?” she says.

“Of course I am worried (for myself and my family) working for the hospital during the pandemic, but what else could I do to make ends meet?”

Lee earns about HK $13,000 monthly and receives a HK$500 daily subsidy when she is assigned to work at high-risk wards. Other than that, she does not have any other labour protection.

Cleaners are given N95 respirators and disposable protective clothing when sterilizing high-risk surfaces.

On June 16, 2020, the government introduced a monthly allowance of HK$1,000 under the Anti-epidemic Fund for up to seven months.

The allowance, according to a press release issued on the same day by Secretary for Financial Services and the Treasury, is for cleaners employed by “service contractors of the government and the Hong Kong Housing Authority”.

But cleaners working at public hospitals managed by the Hospital Authority, like Lee, are not eligible to apply for the fund.

“I do not receive other financial protection (apart from daily subsidy). I didn’t even know there were monthly allowances for other cleaners,” she says.

Lee is not the only case. Cleaner Kornwika Heelakul is also struggling to handle a heavy workload to keep building premises clean during the pandemic.

“I empty garbage bins once every shift. It used to be one to two bags of trash. Now I have to take two to three turns, disposing of three to four heavy trash bags every day,” says Heelakul, who works at a commercial building in her first shift and a residential building in her second.

The 52-year-old Thai cleaner attributes her doubled or even tripled workload mainly to an increasing number of lunch boxes being disposed of.

“More people ordered takeaway (to avoid infection and reduce infection risk),” says Heelakul. She works 11 hours a day and has worked as a cleaner for 20 years.

Government outsourced street cleaner Tang* echoes Heelakul’s concerns on his increased workload.

“I have to collect at least 10 more bags of trash at each collection point since the pandemic began. Each bag sizes 38 inches times 42 inches, carrying up to five kilograms of trash,” the 60-year-old cleaner says.

“I have to collect at least 10 more bags of trash at each collection point since the pandemic began. Each bag sizes 38 inches times 42 inches, carrying up to five kilograms of trash.”

Tang, who works 16 hours a day, also says his schedule is packed because of increased waste. “I used to collect one to two tonnes of garbage a day, and now I collect half a tonne more,” he says.

Disposed lunch boxed and food waste have increased on the street.

“Some people dispose lunch boxes and food waste on the street, and I have to clean them up,” Tang says.

A Common Struggle

Denny To, the General Secretary of the Cleaning Service Industry Workers Union, believes cleaners are underpaid despite doing a high-risk and demanding job.

“Cleaners only receive at most HK $7,000 as subsidy since the start of the pandemic. Cleaners under the Hospital Authority don’t even get any subsidy which is very ironic that they cannot get paid despite the high risk of infection,” he says.

“The union has written a petition letter to the Hospital Authority regarding this issue, but they did not respond,” he adds.

To also says that workload of cleaners has rocketed since January 2020.

“People now order takeaways more often and shop online. Goods are usually overpackaged and that creates more trash,” To says.

“Cleaners are also loaded with disinfection work such as cleaning and disinfecting hotspots of contact, such as elevators more frequently. Cleaners also have to disinfect buildings visited by confirmed cases,” he adds.

To says the union also struggles to collect data of infected cleaners.

“The Centre of Health Protection does not always reveal occupations of infected cases. For example, there was an infected cleaner who worked at a public refuse collection point, but the centre only mentioned that the case ‘visited’ the collection point,” he says.

“We can only wait for infected cleaners to approach us instead of actively reaching out to them,” he adds.

“We can only wait for infected cleaners to approach us instead of actively reaching out to them.”

According to To, even if cleaners are infected, they may not be compensated as COVID-19 is not an occupational disease for cleaners.

“It is very difficult for cleaners to prove that they have been infected at work unless there is a cluster. If they can’t prove their infection is a work-related infection, they will not be entitled to employees’ compensation,” To says.

He says the union has been calling for COVID-19 to be included as an occupational disease to ensure frontline cleaners receive fair compensation.

Cleaners are taking extra workload during the pandemic.

But it has been difficult to advocate for cleaners’ rights by organizing collective resistance during the pandemic.

“Regulations on social gathering make it difficult to assemble cleaners for protests and strikes,” To says.

“Right now, (the union) can only conduct researches and surveys to understand cleaners’ struggles and help publicize them through press conferences and media interviews,” he adds.

*Names changed at interviewees’ request

Edited by Laurissa Liu
Sub-edited by Sarah Ryou

Shall We Talk About Death

April 20, 2021

BookTalk — Connie Yuen Ming-shan held a book talk with a social worker on bereavement counselling targeting those who work in the field. (Photo courtesy of Connie Yuen Ming-shan)

The development of death education for children in Hong Kong still has a long way to go.

By Kajal Aidasani

Molin Lin Kwok-yin recalls her encounter with an 8-year-old boy with brain cancer during a home visit to check on the child’s condition and offer psychological support to his mother.

“The mother told me when she was helping her son shower, the son asked if he was a burden,” says Lin, professional service manager of the Children’s Palliative Care Foundation.

Molin Lin Kwok-yin lectured on the challenges of developing children’s palliative care in China at the National End-of-life Care Concern Conference held in China. (Photo courtesy of Molin Lin Kwok-yin)

“A situation like this could have been a lesson for death education, to reassure children that they are loved and have not done anything wrong. In this case, the mother burst into tears and could not respond to his question,” she adds.

Lin stresses that parents, schools, and society all play important roles in death education.

“Children have the right to know more about death, but parents are too protective and afraid to bring up the issue.”

“Children have the right to know more about death, but parents are too protective and afraid to bring up the issue. Another case that I handled was an 8-year-old girl with a brain tumour. The child encouraged her father by saying that death was just a part of life,” Lin says.

Miranda Leung Mei-mui, a retired nurse of Hong Kong Children’s Hospital with 30 years of experience in paediatrics, shares Lin’s thoughts.

She thinks life and death education is important and should be taught from kindergarten to university.

“Frontline medical workers make use of communication tools to help children understand and cope with death in hospitals. Apart from speaking to children, means such as pictures, videos, music, and toys can also be used,” Leung says.

Leung recalls that when she was a nurse, she showed pictures of a pretty flower and a wilted flower to a child who was unwilling to be admitted to the hospital for urgent treatment.

“I asked her to choose the picture she liked. Then I explained if she wanted to be healthy like the pretty flower, she would have to undergo treatment at the hospital,” Leung says.

Leung says they once invited a staff member from the Children’s Cancer Foundation to simulate how a funeral was like to a child with toys after his grandfather passed away. They also taught the child to show love to his grandfather by folding origami.

Miranda Leung Mei-mui and her team designed a pamphlet about how to bring the bad news – death of their family member to children – for the PEACE Project at the United Christian Hospital. (Photo courtesy of Miranda Leung Mei-mui)

“Children should be taught about death or else some might think that (death happens) because they are naughty.”

“Children should be taught about death or else some might think that (death happens) because they are naughty. The use of artwork and picture books should not be overlooked. It is also okay to use the word ‘death’,” Leung adds.

While there are many English death-related picture books, only a handful are published in Chinese in Hong Kong. Picture book and map illustrator Connie Yuen Ming-shan was involved in the production of two of them.

“People used to think picture books published by NGOs are not appealing. By collaborating with them, I want to develop more creative materials to arouse public awareness about end-of-life education,” Yuen says.

*Connie Yuen Ming-shan* *held a book talk on her bereavement picture book (最後的告別) at Eslite Bookstore. (Photo courtesy of Connie Yuen Ming-shan)*

She has written two picture books. “The Final Farewell” (最後的告別) was published in May 2018 and tells the story of losing a father. Her other book, “The Big Yellow Lion Under Lion Rock” (獅子山下的黃大獅) was published in December 2020 and is about paying tribute at a graveyard.

Funerals with different kinds of religious rituals and Hong Kong’s streets are featured in Yuen’s book about death. “Hong Kong deserves to have its own death-related picture books in a local context,” she says.

Yuen thinks that parents in Hong Kong do not value death education enough. They only buy picture books that serve task-oriented purposes, such as those teaching children punctuality, politeness, and hard work.

“We give out free copies to district councillors and hold book talks. We even promote our books to social workers, teachers, and nurses to spark open discussions, and for both children and adults to enjoy a good storytime,” she says.

The illustrator is currently working on three books that introduce death to the intellectually challenged, a project which is the first of its kind in Hong Kong.

She believes everyone should learn about the process – from being diagnosed, treated, and admitted to hospital to dying – so as to be mentally prepared.

“It takes years for Hong Kong to develop picture books and death education…With or without the pandemic, there is an urgency to learn about death. And learning about death teaches us to treasure the time we are alive,” Yuen says.

Wallace Chan Chi-ho, associate professor of the Department of Social Work at the Chinese University of Hong Kong, is also working on a death-related picture book.

The book is about bereaved siblings and how to handle the death of a loved one in the family.

Chan and his colleagues plan to hold book workshops and produce guidelines for parents and professionals about how the book can be used.

*Wallace Chan Chi-ho* *used dinosaur-like snacks to engage children in his bereaved sibling project. (Photo courtesy of Wallace Chan Chi-ho)*

“Many people think children are too young to understand death. Children just do not know how to articulate their feelings, but it does not mean that they cannot understand.”

“Many people think children are too young to understand death. Children just do not know how to articulate their feelings, but it does not mean that they cannot understand,” Chan says.

He points out death remains a taboo in today’s Chinese community.

“There is a lack of formal death education. Teaching suicide prevention is not enough. Given the alarming suicide situation, the government cannot afford to put death into the school curriculum fearing that students might feel even more stressed,” he says.

Chan thinks it is important to equip professionals such as nurses, doctors, and social workers with knowledge about life and death education.

“Children can understand death is normal through education. In a broader sense, they can learn how to cope with suffering while still embracing life and finding life worthwhile,” the professor says.

Edited by Sarah Ryou
Sub-edited by Patricia Ricafort

A Connected Heart and A Helping Hand

April 20, 2021

Students from Renaissance College participate in the Refugee Run simulation on January 8, 2020 (Photo courtesy of Crossroads Foundation) — Students from Renaissance College participated in the "Refugee Run" simulation on January 8, 2020. (Photo courtesy of Crossroads Foundation)

NGOs are committed to raising awareness about asylum seekers’ issues through simulations.

By Gabriella Lynn

Young single mother Kristel*, an asylum seeker from the Philippines, can only live in Hong Kong with help from others. She survives on HK$1,200 food coupons, HK$200 in cash for transportation, and HK$1,800 for housing every month.

As for necessities like toiletries, clothes, and masks, Kristel cannot afford them. “I use one mask for three days, and the mask is really thin and itchy. My baby doesn’t have masks,” she says.

Kristel came to Hong Kong to work as a domestic helper in 2017. She has been forced to become an asylum seeker since her employment contract was terminated in 2019.

While trying to search for another job, Kristel became pregnant with her baby Ali. Concerned about her family’s reaction, she overstayed her visa while trying to find ways to stay in Hong Kong longer.

“Back home, I was the breadwinner, and I was single. I didn’t know how to explain to my mother why I got pregnant while working,” Kristel says.

Kristel did not immediately surrender to immigration authorities as she was afraid of being deported. During her pregnancy, she finally decided to surrender so she could get access to medical care in the city.

“(Before surrendering to the immigration authorities), I couldn’t get check-ups. I couldn’t even go to hospitals. I hadn’t had an ultrasound – nothing. I needed a private doctor but I didn’t have enough money. So, I surrendered and they gave me temporary papers until I gave birth,” she says.

After giving birth, Kristel began the process of applying for asylum. From her friends who have overstayed in Hong Kong, she learned about Refugee Union, a refugee-led society that protects the rights and well-beings of asylum seekers. She sought help from the group and has become a beneficiary of the organisation.

“Sometimes, (volunteers) take pictures of my baby and post them on Facebook when I need something, like baby formula or diapers. The next day, I get lots of donations from kind people,” Kristel says.

Kristel and her Hong Kong-born baby boy Ali. (Photo courtesy of Kristel)

Because of COVID-19, searching for resources has been difficult. Kristel cannot go to other non-profit organisations in fear of infection risk. She often has to compete for donations with the other 800 active beneficiaries of Refugee Union because everything is distributed on a first-come-first-serve basis.

Understanding, Caring, and Changing

Refugee Union has been raising awareness about the situation of refugees through their social media pages. They post regularly about the needs of their members and run donation drives with other NGOs.

Crossroads Foundation, a non-profit humanitarian aid organisation, shares the same goal as well. The foundation’s Global X-Perience programme runs simulations that replicate the lives of underprivileged people. David Begbie, the director of the programme, wants more people to know about refugees like Kristel.

Begbie conducted a simulation section with students from YMCA of Hong Kong Christian College on May 8, 2018. (Photo courtesy of Crossroads Foundation)

“The very first thing we have to do is make people care. But you can’t engage someone if they don’t know about the issue,” Begbie says.

A student who participated in the simulations, Felicia Lam Sum-tim, says her mindset shifted after attending a session in 2017. “I understood and became more empathetic towards the underprivileged because you just feel their frustration and (helplessness),” she says.

Lam found the experience so eye-opening that she has shared her experience with many others.

“I told a lot of people about (the simulation) and the situation of the underprivileged. (The simulations) can raise awareness as the experience made us reflect,” she says.

One simulation called “Refugee Run” is designed and run by real refugees. “We want to know that for people who have lived through the refugee life, the message of our simulation is on point. When we debrief after the simulation, we also ask them for their opinions,” Begbie says.

“People often come to me at the end of the simulations and ask me how I can use their lives to make a difference. And I tell them, just be themselves. Use their existing skills,” he adds.

“I’ve seen people’s perspectives change radically (after the simulations). Just for a moment, they got a taste of what (life as a refugee) is like, and they grieved at their own callousness,” Begbie says.

“I’ve seen people’s perspectives change radically (after the simulations).”

Making a Difference During COVID-19

Ever since the pandemic started, large gatherings have been prohibited. The simulations, usually consisting of 20 – 100 participants, have not been available for bookings for more than a year.

A simulation site at the NGO’s centre in Tuen Mun is now empty. (Photo courtesy of Crossroads Foundation)

Despite the support, Begbie says that monetary donation is much needed. “ For a lot of people, they need money to survive. We need to get people back on their feet,” he adds.

Kristel shares Begbie’s opinions. “If we have job opportunities, then maybe we can have a normal life in Hong Kong. We don’t have to be beggars waiting for food and other donations. But because we have no money, there is no choice,” she says.

The Hong Kong government holds a “firm policy of not granting asylum and not determining or recognising refugee status of any person,” according to a government press release issued on May 20, 2020.

Illegal immigrants can make non-refoulement claims, and those with substantiated claims will not be deported.

But the press release also states that whether their claims are substantiated or not, claimants “have no right to work in Hong Kong.”

Out of the 31,429 claims made between late 2009 and December 2020, only 243 were substantiated, according to the Hong Kong Immigration Department.

*Full name omitted at the interviewee’s request

Edited by Patricia Ricafort
Sub-edited by Kassandra Lai

Slime Eases Pandemic Stress

April 21, 2021

Many young people in China play slime to ease stress during the pandemic.

By Sophia Wu

Su Jinyue loves playing with slime during the pandemic so much that she now owns an online shop selling her favorite toy.

The Year Two university student watches online videos more often, as she stays home more during the epidemic. After watching a video of playing with slime in January 2020, she bought a litre of slime and fell in love with this slimy toy.

Su soon started filming and uploading slime videos to Kwai, one of the popular short video platforms in China. She has more than 3,600 followers so far.

“More people have learnt about slime during the epidemic because many have time to watch videos and get to know slime,” she says.

In May 2020, Su opened an online shop to sell slime.

“I want to let my fans play with my homemade slime. I also have a few friends who play with slime. If my friends like my slime, I will give them some for free,” Su says.

Opening a store is a busy and tough job. Her business has also been affected by the epidemic.

“Due to the pandemic, express delivery is restricted in some high-risk areas. This has affected my business,” Su says.

The general process of making slime is to proportionally mix glue, glycerin and foaming agent. Then pour borax water several times and stretch the glue until it is shaped.

Su usually experiments with different types and proportions of glue before putting her products up for sale. She usually uses five litres of slime to make one slime product.

It takes Su a day to turn glue into a five-litre slime product. After that, she will let it rest for 10 days to eliminate the bubbles inside. Now she spends two hours a day playing with and making slime.

“During the production process, I need to stretch, roll, and poke the slime all the time, which makes my arm very sore. After making slime, I often have backache,” Su says.

“During the production process, I need to stretch, roll, and poke the slime all the time, which makes my arm very sore. After making slime, I often have backache.”
Su Jinyue

“I don’t sell slime at a fixed time. I make slime less often when I go to school, maybe only once a term. Because of the epidemic, I have more time at home to research how to develop new slime products,” she adds.

Su Jinyue is making slime (Photo Courtesy of Su Jinyue)

Su says 100ml slime is priced at RMB ¥8 (US $1.24). She has made more than 20 kinds of slime and sold 400 to 500 cans of slime last year. The profit of a box of slime is RMB ¥2 (US $0.13).

Play with slime at home

Han Zitong, a 17-year-old high school student, has also become a slime fan for one year during the epidemic.

“In March 2020, I had to stay at home every day. I found a video of playing with slime and, it made me want to give it a try,” she says.

Han bought three cans of slime online. Then she became a slime lover and now she plays with slime for an hour every day.

“There is nothing like slime that can be stretched and has a variety of textures, and they are beautiful,” Han says.

“There is nothing like slime that can be stretched and has a variety of textures, and they are beautiful.”
Han Zitong

Han buys raw materials online to make slime. She thinks she can save money by doing it herself compared to buying finished products. She also sells second-hand slime or exchanges with others to reduce costs. So far, she has spent more than RMB ¥1,000 (USD $153.72) on slime.

Han’s first attempt was unsuccessful, and her hands were covered with glue. She made a small piece of slime the second time, but Han thought that little success made her feel very happy.

“Playing with slime is quite relaxing. It helps me get rid of boredom brought by the epidemic. Usually, at night, I rub slime when I have nothing to do,” she says.

Slime usually is contained in plastic cans.

Another slime fan, Zeng Zishan, says slime helps ease her pressure from her studies during the epidemic.

“I can hold slime when writing papers, and that eases my pressure,” the anthropology major student says.

Zeng has also tried making slime at home many times. But her family does not like her hobby.

The senior enthusiast has five cases of slime, and she cannot count how many cans she has now. “I used to play with slime at school, but I had to play at home during the epidemic. My family scolded me when they knew I had bought so much slime,” Zeng says.

“My family does not like the smell of slime. It is too pungent ， and the formaldehyde in the glue is harmful,” she says.

Because of this, Zeng only buys high-quality glue from reliable sellers. Now she rarely makes slime at home by herself.

Zheng Bo, professor of chemistry at The Chinese University of Hong Kong, reminds slime players to be cautious when playing with slime, which can cause skin or eye irritation.

“Borax is not very toxic, but exposure to the material can irritate the skin or eyes. For adults, a relatively large amount of borax, say about 10 to 25 grams, will be considered toxic exposure,” Zheng says.

“Formaldehyde is highly toxic, and a very small amount can cause harm to people. I am not very worried about toys containing borax, but I will avoid toys containing formaldehyde,” Zheng adds.

“Formaldehyde is highly toxic, and a very small amount can cause harm to people. I am not very worried about toys containing borax, but I will avoid toys containing formaldehyde.”
Zheng Bo

Chen Fenggang, the attending doctor in the emergency department of Shizong People’s Hospital, says exposure to high concentrations of formaldehyde can cause damage to eyes, skin and other organs.“Be aware of mild poisoning symptoms including dizziness, headache, nausea, and fatigue,” Cheng says.

Edited by Laurissa Liu
Sub-edited by Shell Zhang

Night Owls in Universities

April 20, 2021

University students stay up to enjoy some "me time".

By Glacier He

Many university students stay up for leisure to make up for their “lost daytime”.

Going to bed after 3 a.m. every Saturday is common for Cao Yibo.

Staying up late, playing video games, watching videos or just swiping his smartphone aimlessly are the getaways for the Year Two student majoring in business administration at Guangxi University.

Some of his classmates in his dormitory do the same.

“Our class schedule is tight on weekdays. So, after a long and tiring week, we need a break during weekends,” the 19-year-old student says.

“Revenge bedtime procrastination is making up for my busy daytime. I can only have some ‘me time’ during late night hours,” Cao adds.

“Revenge bedtime procrastination is making up for my busy daytime. I can only have some ‘me time’ during late night hours.”

Make Up For the Mentality

“Revenge bedtime procrastination” refers to a phenomenon that people who have to study or work during daytime and stay up intentionally to enjoy some freedom.

“I started staying up late when I was in middle school. It was a boarding school and I could not surf online at school. So, whenever I had holiday, I stayed up late to check all the news and entertainment shows I missed during school days,” Cao says.

“It is often quiet at night. No one would bother me. I just think that I must have some ‘me time’ and make good use of it,” he adds.

Cao thinks this habit brings him more good than harm.

“I may have black rims around my eyes and hair loss, but I think it is worthwhile. It makes me feel relaxed, peaceful and relieved. I can think many things about myself or just order a food delivery to please myself,” Cao says.

Cao stays up in his dormitory, swiping his phone. (Photo courtesy of Cao Yibo)

The pandemic also has had impacts on university students’ sleeping time.

Chinese Sleep Research Society published a white paper (2020全民宅家期間中國居民睡眠白皮書）on the sleeping habits of Chinese residents during the lockdown period on March 14, 2020.

The study was based on data from 2,004 participants who responded to a sleep questionnaire between January 1, 2020 and February 29, 2020. And Chinese Sleep Research Society found that people’s sleeping time was delayed by two to three hours during the pandemic.

“I have to stay at home most of the time and have nothing to do during the pandemic. That makes me feel anxious,” Cao says.

“Because of my anxiety, I go to bed much later even though I am not as busy as at school,” he adds.

“Because of my anxiety, I go to bed much later even though I am not as busy as at school.”

A Common Behaviour

Cao is not alone. This kind of work and sleep pattern is common among young people in China now.

Huami Corporation, a technology company that provides health services, released a report based on sleep health data on Xiaomi Sports App and more than 100,000 online questionnaires in 2019.

The report found that among Chinese people who stay up, 43 per cent were born in the 1990s and 27 per cent were born in the 2000s.

Liu Ziqi, a student majoring in financial technology at the Chinese University of Hong Kong, is also one of those who stays up.

“Sometimes I work on my assignments till midnight. Then I sit on my bed starting to swipe my phone. I know I do not really have anything important to do. But I just do not want to sleep,” the 20-year-old says.

“I know I do not really have anything important to do. But I just do not want to sleep.”

Liu says she stays up late because she is busy during daytime and she cannot have a good rest.

“When I try to relax during daytime, I do not feel at ease because I still have other things to do. But at night I just feel time is unlimited and I have more freedom,” Liu explains.

But going to bed late is not always enjoyable for Liu.

“Actually, I do not feel good after staying up late. I feel sleepy and tired the next day. Things I do at night are boring. But I just do not want to close my eyes,” she says.

The university student also feels anxious and guilty when she stays up late.

“I find it difficult to get up the next day, and feel super uncomfortable both mentally and physically,” Liu says.

“I have tried to change my lifestyle and wish to go to bed earlier but it is so hard to control myself,” she adds.

Students who go to bed late tend to feel sleepy during daytime.

Find A Way Out

A mental health teacher at Beijing Polytechnic (Vocational College for Electronic Science & Technology), Zhu Xiantao, thinks university students stay up because they are anxious about their study and future.

“But going to bed late may lead to a vicious cycle. It is not a useful way to handle anxiety. They may feel more anxious and stay up even longer in the long run,” she says.

“Going to bed late may lead to a vicious cycle. It is not a useful way to handle anxiety. They may feel more anxious and stay up even longer in the long run.”

Zhu thinks one important way to solve the sleeping problem is to identify reasons behind their anxiety.

She suggests that students can talk with their peers or seek help from professionals such as psychologists to know why they feel anxious and stay up.

“The behaviour of revenge bedtime procrastination is also influenced by people around you. Maybe you and your friends can make a promise and supervise each other to form a habit of going to bed early,” she says.

Edited by Alice Wang
Sub-edited by Patricia Ricafort

Wear Your Heart on Your Skin

April 20, 2021

Cover-photo — A girl with a tattoo related to the anti-ELAB movement. (Photo courtesy of Cara Wong Cho-ki)

Though the anti-ELAB movement is publicly dying down, some are choosing to get tattoos as a way for the movement to live forever.

By Gloria Chan Yi Lam

Sammy* received her first anti-Extradition Law Amendment Bill (anti-ELAB) tattoo on December 18, 2019.

The university student’s tattoo features a girl in black clothes who wears a respiratory mask and carries a yellow umbrella. The girl crouches in front of a rabbit that also wears a mask. The tattoo is on the upper back of Sammy’s right arm.

The design incorporates several iconic symbols of the social movement – black clothes, respiratory masks, and yellow umbrellas.

Sammy actively participated in the movement in 2019. “I feel like I have experienced a lot. I resonate so much with the tattoo,” the 22-year-old says.

The anti-ELAB movement began in 2019. It was triggered by a proposed bill that would have allowed criminal suspects to be extradited to mainland China.

Protests initially began over fears that the bill would expose Hong Kong residents and visitors to the mainland Chinese legal system and undermine Hong Kong’s autonomy. The protests have since developed into a broader movement for democracy and police accountability.

The social movement has died down during the pandemic. When Sammy looks at the tattoo at home, memories of the movement come to her mind. “I have the tattoo in memory (of the anti-ELAB movement),” she says.

“When I look at my tattoo, I feel touched. The tattoo reconnects me with my memories. It also reminds me of Hongkongers’ resilience, as I believe that they will not give up on the movement,” she adds.

Sammy does not mind letting her tattoo show. “I want others to see my tattoo and think about the meaning behind it. I will be in despair if I cannot express myself freely and legally with a tattoo on my arm in Hong Kong,” she says.

“I want others to see my tattoo and think about the meaning behind it.”

Sammy says she may get more tattoos related to the anti-ELAB movement if she comes up with other designs. “A tattoo is a sign of memory. If I do not remove it, it will stay with me forever. I hope my memories of those days stay in my heart forever,” she says.

Tattoo artist Cara Wong Cho-ki has been helping clients create tattoos related to the anti-ELAB movement since November 2019. Sammy is one of them.

Cara Wong Cho-ki says more clients ask for tattoos related to politics and the social movement. (Photo courtesy of Cara Wong Cho-ki)

Wong recalls that she had many clients asking for tattoos about the movement between November 2019 and February 2020.

“There are customers requesting this kind of tattoo occasionally (during the pandemic),” Wong says, adding that no client asked for tattoos related to politics before the anti-ELAB movement.

“Some want to remember this movement and remind themselves about it. They think that it is an important part of their lives,” Wong says.

Wong has always refused to do couple tattoos, since she thinks customers may regret having their tattoo if they break up in the future.

But she does not think customers would regret getting anti-ELAB tattoos. “I do not think my customers will change their political beliefs. Maybe people have argued about the best way to fight for the demands (of the social movement), but their point of view and their values will never change,” Wong says.

Wong says she has no legal concerns in doing tattoos related to the anti-ELAB movement despite the introduction of the National Security Law. “I appreciate customers’ courage in getting tattoos related to the movement. There is a need to speak out, especially in turbulent times,” she says.

“There is a need to speak out, especially in turbulent times.”

Chiu Chi-yue, a psychology professor and Dean of Social Science at the Chinese University of Hong Kong, says having a tattoo can be read as a commitment to a memory that is significant to someone.

“They consider the movement personally important to them, and they want to commit the struggles they have gone through in this event to their memories,” Chiu says.

Chiu says putting on a tattoo can also be seen as a sign related to one’s social identity.

“When you see people put on symbols representing certain movements, they may be telling other people that they identify with the values behind it. (People who have anti-ELAB tattoos) may use their tattoos to show others that they belong to this movement,” he says.

Chiu reminds people to be aware of the boundaries of self-expression.

“People are free to express themselves, but they are also responsible for their choices. We shouldn’t make remarks that are unfair to other people or groups,” he says.

Chiu cites people who get tattoos about a social movement as an example. “(The tattoo) could be about a human rights movement. It could be about a world peace movement. It could be about an animal rights movement. It could be about a gender equality movement. The psychological process and reasons (behind getting the tattoo) are probably the same,” he says.

*Name changed at interviewee’s request

Edited by Patricia Ricafort
Sub-edited by Bonita Wong

Breaking Free Through Her Lens

April 20, 2021

DSCF1908 — Amateur photographer Terenia Puspita.

Terenia Puspita shares her life as both a domestic helper and amateur photographer in Hong Kong.

By Bonnie Yam

Terenia Puspita was once a domestic worker who had no knowledge about Hong Kong politics. But after she witnessed the anti-Extradition Law Amendment Bill (anti-ELAB) movement in 2019, she felt the need to show her support for Hongkongers with her photos.

“I was shocked to see children attending the protests. I was touched by their parents, as they teach their children about the city’s current situation and future, which my parents never taught me,” Puspita says.

The domestic helper who has been working in Hong Kong for 10 years went to districts with violent clashes between protestors and police, such as Wan Chai, Admiralty and Shatin, to take pictures during the social movement in 2019.

Puspita did not tell her employer about taking photos at protest sites, as she does not want to mix up her work with her photography.

Puspita equipped herself with a helmet, gas mask and goggles when taking photos of the social movement. She was very cautious about her safety, especially after Veby Mega Indah, an Indonesian journalist, was shot in the eye during clashes on September 29, 2019.

“Veby is a journalist. She had the official approval to report at protest sites, but she was still vulnerable. I was very worried, because the police conducted indiscriminate arrests,” she says.

In a collection of photos shot in her daily life and the protests, Puspita draws parallels between Hong Kong protestors and migrant workers.

Two photos taken by Terenia Puspita, entitled We Connected. (Photo courtesy of Terenia Puspita)

Puspita’s picture series, entitled We Connected, featured two photos taken in 2019. One shows a migrant worker who fights against patriarchy by wearing a traditional mask, which is usually worn by male performers at traditional festivals in Indonesia. Another is about Hong Kong protestors wearing Vendetta masks fighting for democracy in the 2019 social movement.

Her work was featured in We Making Home Kong, a month-long photo exhibition organised by Lensational in February, 2021. It is a non-governmental organisation that has provided photography training for more than 400 foreign domestic workers.

In her other photo series, Under the Same Umbrella, a scene of Indonesian domestic helpers discussing the 2019 Indonesian general election, and a scene from the anti-ELAB protests in 2019 were captured. Umbrellas were raised in both photos. “Indonesians believe that their country is democratic, but despotic power is still exercised by some high-ranking officials. And in Hong Kong, democracy and freedom are no longer respected. People in both places are still fighting,” Puspita says.

Standing Up

“Before learning photography, I only focused on my needs. But with photography, I have learnt to speak up for myself and others. It makes me feel like a human again,” she says.

Puspita first learned photography when she just arrived in Hong Kong in 2011, she then gradually became an amateur photographer.

“But with photography, I have learnt to speak up for myself and others. It makes me feel like a human again.”

Her photos were published in Via Community Zine, a local magazine published by Via North Point, in December, 2020, and Indonesian publications like Suara, where she worked as a voluntary author, in 2018.

Born to a Muslim family in a village of East Java, she has never dreamt of becoming an amateur photographer.

“Usually photographers in Indonesia are men, and I want to break this kind of tradition,” says Puspita. “I grew up with a mindset that women can only work in kitchens. Our purpose of life is to get married, have children, and take care of our family,” she adds.

Graduated from high school in 2011, Puspita was very curious about the outside world. So when her uncle offered her a chance to work in Hong Kong, she accepted it without much hesitation. But she surely did not foresee her first job turning into a nightmare.

“My employer doesn’t have a kind soul. I didn’t have a good place to rest. I had no privacy and holidays. I didn’t hold my passport, ID, and phone. And I was underpaid!” she recalls.

Puspita never complained because she thought it was common. But after seven months, she became mentally ill and finally asked for help from other migrant workers.

Fortunately, her agency took her case to the Labour Department, and they sued her employer on her behalf. She switched to another agency and participated in Lensational’s photography workshops, where she learned professional photography skills.

Puspita certainly stands out while walking through crowds of migrant workers. The 30-year-old wears a black cap instead of a Hijab and now carries her DSLR camera everywhere. She is also getting a tattoo that symbolises hope, which is forbidden in Islam, the largest religion in Indonesia.

Three years ago, Puspita stood up to her mother and refused to return home to get married. She has not returned to Indonesia for 10 years.

“Although I feel lonely at my workplace, I feel free,” she says.

Workers With Dreams

Puspita is not the only one with dreams. She believes other workers are unaware of their possibilities and rights, so they tend to give up easily.

“Migrant workers don’t have the courage to speak up. They just follow their employers’ orders. Can you really work 24 hours a day and six days a week in your workplace? ” she says.

Puspita hopes to hold a photo exhibition featuring photos of migrant workers showcasing their talents.

As her contract ended in last April, Puspita planned to find a job in Korea or Poland. But the pandemic made her think twice. At last, she decided to work another two years in Hong Kong.

“Hong Kong feels like home, but the freedom we enjoyed is gone,” she says.

“Hong Kong feels like home, but the freedom we enjoyed is gone.”

Edited by Kassandra Lai
Sub-edited by Charleen Chen

High School Student Starts NGO to Fight Period Poverty

April 20, 2021

Period Poverty_1 — Peng Wanqian checking menstrual pads sold in a store in China.

A high school student devotes herself to helping girls suffering from period poverty in China.

By Ella Lang in Chongqing

When most high school students are busy preparing for university entrance examinations in China, Peng Wanqian struggles to strike a balance between her study and her NGO work.

Peng, a 19-year-old high school student in Chengdu, founded a student organisation Stand TogetHer in February 2020, to help girls suffering from period poverty in China.

The organisation launched a programme to donate menstrual pads to teenage girls in Zhaojue County in Sichuan Province in August 2020.

By collaborating with Shanghai Rende Foundation, an established charity foundation founded in 2011, Stand TogetHer raised around RMB ¥124,000 (US $17,500) from more than 2,800 donors online in 28 hours during August 2020.

“Raising so much money in such a short period of time was far beyond my expectation. We only had 500 followers on our public WeChat account, and we were just a small team of eight members at that time,” Peng says.

“I try my best to balance my NGO work and study. But one cannot put too much on one plate. Sometimes I have to make a sacrifice,” Peng says.

On October 11, 2020, Peng and her teammates distributed menstrual pads, bought with the money raised, to about 700 schoolgirls in Zhaojue. The activity clashed with Peng’s TOEFL examination.

“I nearly broke down at that time. In the end, I skipped my exam and went to Zhaojue. My mom accompanied and comforted me the whole way,” Peng says.

“I never regret the decision I made. It is impossible to strike a balance between my studies and my charity work. All I can do is force myself to learn more efficiently,” she adds.

Motivation

What motivated Peng to commit to charity work and even sacrifice her own studies was her first encounter with the concept of period poverty five years ago when she was only 14.

She came across a YouTube video explaining how homeless females in America deal with menstruation.

But Peng did not link it to the situation in China at once. She began paying attention to women’s menstrual issues two years ago, during her first year of high school.

“One day I borrowed a pad from a classmate. She tucked it in her sleeve and passed it to me secretly,” she recalls.

“Then I thought to myself, why do we act like this? Then I realized this is a sign of period shame,” she adds.

Peng says she used to be one of the girls who used black plastic bags to carry pads after buying them and avoided saying ‘menstrual pads’ in public.

The embryo of Stand TogetHer was a research team studying toxic masculinity in December 2019.

Five high school girls in the team, including Peng, created a public WeChat account called ‘Stand TogetHer’ to post their thoughts about gender issues in February 2020. Then they turned it into an organisation.

The NGO’s first project was about donating menstrual pads to female medical workers fighting on the frontlines of the COVID-19 pandemic in Wuhan in March 2020.

“The scale of donation was small. We raised about RMB ¥10,000 (US $1,500) in three days. Nobody in our team had any experience in doing this, and we encountered many difficulties in operation,” Peng says.

“We did not know how to raise funds online. And it was hard for us to reach out to period product companies for sponsorships since we were just high school students,” she adds.

“Some members wanted to quit due to pressure, but everyone worked really hard. We sent messages to customer service teams of period product companies on Taobao and used all available channels to raise funds. Finally, we were able to donate 240 boxes of pads to the frontline workers,” she adds.

First Step

Peng then set her sights on Zhaojue County in Sichuan Province, one of the poorest areas in China.

In June 2020, Peng, together with four other students from Stand TogetHer, visited Zhaojue to learn about the period poverty problem schoolgirls faced there.

Peng Wanqian packing pads into bags with her teammates. (Photo courtesy of Stand TogetHer)

“A teacher told us the children’s weekly pocket money was between RMB ¥2 (US $0.3) and RMB ¥10 (US $1.5). But the average price of a pad is about RMB ¥1 per pad. Very few girls could afford it, so many girls use tissues as a cheaper alternative,” Peng says.

Back to Chengdu, Peng did research to learn about period poverty online. She searched ‘period poverty’ on Baidu, the biggest search engine in China.

“The search results were all about period poverty in India, Scotland, and America. I did not find anything about period poverty in China,” Peng says.

Peng decided to raise money to help girls facing period poverty in Zhaojue and arouse public awareness about the issue.

“We planned to raise RMB ¥90,000 (US $14,000) in half a year, but surprisingly, we got around RMB ¥124,000 (US $17,500) in two days,” Peng says.

Her NGO used the money to offer free menstrual pads, enough for a whole year, to 700 teenage girls in a local primary school in Zhaojue.

Teenage girls carrying bags full of pads. (Photo courtesy of Stand TogetHer)

“For the first time, I know that my ideas can be turned into reality with the help of strangers. It really touches me that many people are willing to donate money to an unknown organisation run by high school students,” Peng says.

“For the first time, I know that my ideas can be turned into reality with the help of strangers. It really touches me that many people are willing to donate money to an unknown organisation run by high school students.”

Future

Peng will go to America to start her university life in September this year, but she says she will continue to lead the project.

“I will still go to Zhaojue every year and monitor the progress of our project there. And Stand TogetHer will expand the scale of donation to help more teenage girls suffering from period poverty in Sichuan Province,” Peng says.

The organisation will also organise training sessions about menstrual hygiene for schoolgirls in Zhaojue.

“We are collaborating with medical students at Sichuan University. They are professionally trained and some of them come from Liangshan Yi autonomous prefecture, where Zhaojue County belongs,” she says.

“The identity of high school students is a double-edged sword. We may be questioned for lacking experience and sometimes being irresponsible. But at the same time, we can make use of our student identity to capture media attention, which will help arouse public awareness about period poverty,” Peng says.

Edited by Charleen Chen
Sub-edited by Agnes Lam