"For over 10 years, July 1 meant protest — walking the streets for universal suffrage and other demands, running into familiar faces, ending the day with a drink or dinner. It felt like we were trying to build a better society," says Vinze, 40, a Hongkonger who asked not to use his real name.

July 1 is the date when UK rule in Hong Kong ended and the city rejoined China in 1997, with Beijing pledging to give it broad autonomy under the "one country, two systems" policy.

For many years, liberal citizens of Hong Kong marked July 1 by marching against what they saw as government overreach. But Beijing was undeterred — in the summer of 2020, the authorities imposed the National Security Law, abruptly shrinking the space for public expression. Then, in 2024, Hong Kong cemented the shift with Article 23 which expands police power, allows for closed trials, and focuses on treason, sedition and state secrets.

The new law extinguished nearly all possibility for protest. For Chief Executive John Lee, these changes meant that the city "has returned to normalcy."

"Stability has been restored," Lee insisted.

"I stopped going in 2020, when marches were no longer allowed. Now it's just red flags and celebration. Maybe this is what numbness feels like — just another holiday," Vinze told DW. "Looking back, it almost feels romantic — that we once believed we could ask the government for change."

On the eve of the fifth anniversary of the National Security Law — just one day before July 1 — Hong Kong's last active pro-democracy group, the League of Social Democrats, announced its disbandment.

"Many of us have already served time," said the group's chair, Chan Po-ying. "We didn't continue because we were strong in numbers — we kept going because we believed in what we stood for."

"For the sake of our members and those who've stood beside us," Chan said, "we've had to make this painful decision."

Even the annual flag-raising ceremony is now closed to the public. Attendance is restricted to government officials and vetted participants. Some performances are pre-recorded. The entire scene is tightly managed.

A group of students said they were taken to a stadium in Hung Hom to record a performance for July 1. "The teacher said there'd be no audience. Security is high," said one teenage performer.

Her schoolmate was surprised: "Really? I didn't know it was for July 1."

Another added, softly: "Wait, what's July 1?"

Across the city, patriotic imagery fills public spaces — in transport hubs, museums, shopping malls. Along Victoria Harbour, fishing vessels take part in a cruise tour organized by the Hong Kong Fishermen Consortium — a local fishermen's association that works closely with government departments. Pro-Beijing supporters are waving their flags at the waterfront.

"I'm not Chinese, but I feel very proud of Hong Kong and support its development as part of China," said a mother and professional in her 40s who has lived in the city for over a decade. "There's potential for 'One Country' to bring real synergy and community growth. But I worry that the way the National Security Law is enforced could ultimately slow Hong Kong's progress."

Since 2019, more than 10,200 people have been arrested in relation to the pro-democracy protests. More than 300 have been detained under national security charges. Thirteen prominent activists now live in exile, with bounties on their heads.

Chan Po-ying, of the now-disbanded League of Social Democrats, describes the political pressure as "overwhelming."

Asked why the announcement came now, she pauses: "We can only say — 無何奈何 — There was no other way."

Still, the activists say their principles remain unchanged — urging others to keep the flame of dissent alive. Elsewhere in the city, a protest slogan lingers, barely visible beneath layers of paint. It seeps into an atmosphere of control, into the spaces between what is said and what is remembered.

Edited by: Darko Janjevic