The day my father returned home after twelve months of unjust imprisonment was a mix of happiness and sadness. As he recounted the afflicting details of his arrest, I fully grasped the notion of political freedom as the torch of democracy passed from one generation to the next. 

His story took us back decades to a time when civil unrest and tumultuous wars condemned Kuomintang values and strengthened communist ideologies. My family had deep ties to the KMT and its nationalist government that date back to the Civil War in the 1940s, as my great-grandfather was a high-ranking commander of an artillery brigade. Hence, my forebearers refused to become CCP members after the KMT's defeat, escaping to Taiwan to establish rule and assert power. My valiant father was the only one remaining on the mainland to continue working on his hedge fund. 

Two years ago, after some loud banging on the front door, security forces from Shanghai’s police station barged into the house with their boots thundering on the hardwood floor. Amid my father’s muffled protests, the sound of the scuffle made his face drain of color as the stern-faced man in uniform wrenched his arms behind his back. “This is an outrage. I did nothing wrong!” he cried out, his voice trembling with anger and fear. To stop any form of resistance, they then struck him down to the ground with such force that his glasses clattered to the floor. Those ruthless officers, carrying out their duties for the state, dragged him out of the room and into a waiting police car. Pressing his face against the window, he was taken to the CCP’s questioning room. 

Handcuffed to a metal chair, interrogators grilled him under blazing lights about his financial transfers and transactions that hindered the operation of Xi’s Belt and Road Initiative. Little did he know that they would shout at him with threats to his investment funds and dearest relatives. No matter how forceful these words were, he maintained that he had done nothing illegal, arguing that he merely exercised free speech in doing these business dealings. However, that didn’t cut the deal since freedom isn’t possible under China’s illiberal reign, where every action and thought is tightly monitored and ingrained by the Big Brother state to stifle free expression and political pluralism. To this end, my father reflected on the status quo, bowed his head, and admitted defeat with the same courageous resolve as a Japanese samurai facing Seppuku. 

In the early hours of the next morning, they transferred my father from the detention center to a cold, dimly lit cell. As the heavy metal door clanged shut, he had no idea when—or if—he would see freedom again. The cell was small and cramped, with a hard bed and a thin blanket. The air was damp and smelled of mildew. Days went by as he was given little food and water. Guards checked on him sporadically, ensuring he didn't cause any trouble. Despite the isolation and fear, my father remained resilient and hopeful that justice would prevail. He thought about our dinners, where laughter filled the room as we shared stories. He recalled the day my sister was born and the overwhelming joy he felt holding her for the first time. These memories became his sanctuary. It was a mental refuge where the love and warmth of our family turned despair into hope.

After enduring months of imprisonment with that strong heart and mind of his, he was released from the cage of despotism. The following night, he arrived in LA, ready to take on the new challenges ahead. And the moment he stepped on American soil, he realized what it meant to break the chains of authoritarianism and become as free as a bird. 

Fast forward to the present day, and as my father heard banging on the door and opened up to see me returning from school, he felt only peace and gratitude for democracy.