Beijing Crushes Dissent: Jimmy Lai Faces Life as West Demands Release

Paul Riverbank, 12/16/2025Hong Kong’s Jimmy Lai endures prison as global calls for his release test Western resolve.

The government calls him a criminal, convicted of conspiring with foreign agents and sowing sedition. Lai’s supporters, meanwhile—family, colleagues, a global network of press freedom advocates—insist he’s simply paying the price for refusing to yield. These days, he’s a gaunt shadow of the energetic tycoon who once swirled around editorial floors. Family say his health has deteriorated alarmingly: weight has slipped away, vision and hearing dulled, pain crawling up his spine. Some of his teeth, they say, are simply gone.

“He just wants to be with us again,” his daughter Claire tells the people who keep asking about him. “He is so much weaker than before—every time, a little bit less.” In their private moments, the family wonders how much the body can bear, when the spirit stubbornly refuses to break.

Few events have tested the international community’s rhetoric around human rights like Lai’s case has. The response hasn’t been quiet. Donald Trump, speaking in a rare moment of bipartisan agreement with both Canadian Liberals and the British Labour government, has publicly urged for Lai’s release, remarking with unusual bluntness on the old man’s failing health. “He’s an older man,” Trump said. “He isn’t well. I asked—consider his release.” The plea is echoed beyond America: Canadian MPs from across the spectrum, even tough-talking Tories and the left-leaning NDP, have found common cause. MP Jenny Kwan called Lai a “prisoner of conscience,” the kind every democracy claims to champion.

But while the West debates, Hong Kong authorities go on as if immune to outside noise. John Lee, the city’s chief executive, took a victory lap after the conviction. Local officials insist Lai receives good medical care—his solitary confinement, they claim, was requested, not imposed. Security chief Chris Tang insists the jailing is fair, and that international outrage is just politics by other means.

Press advocacy groups, quick to pick up the story, issued warnings with little ambiguity: Amnesty International called the verdict a flat end to Hong Kong’s long flirtation with a free press. The International Press Institute said Lai’s case is what happens when the judiciary becomes a tool for ‘managing’ reporters who ask too many questions.

From inside the family, the story bleeds into daily life. Lai’s son Sebastien shuttles between London and Ottawa, knocking on official doors, reminding allies that Beijing has vast resources for waiting out a news cycle. “His freedom should come first—before talks, before trade,” he said recently. “He just wants to draw and pray; that’s all.” Even in his cell, Jimmy Lai sketches scenes of the crucifixion, sending them out as small tokens; his faith, like his politics, undiminished.

If there’s any optimism, it’s of a muted, fragile sort: appeals processes, external pressure, diplomatic backchannels, each offering slender hope. Sentencing now waits until 2026, miles away on the calendar, but the real clock is the body and mind of its most famous prisoner.

Beyond the drama of one man, something much larger is up for grabs—the idea that Hong Kong could remain an outpost of difference in a rising Chinese century. For now, Lai remains—a symbol, a warning, and for some, a stubborn reminder that the cost of standing up sometimes comes due in old age.

We wait, the world waits, and in a cell not far from the city’s neon towers, Jimmy Lai draws in uncertain light.

Jimmy Lai, once a household name in Hong Kong’s bustling press world, now passes most of his days in a cramped cell, often in isolation. The Apple Daily founder, whose tabloid once thumbed its nose at Beijing, is 78—an age at which most people retreat quietly into family life. Not Lai. His defiance has cost him nearly everything but his convictions.The government calls him a criminal, convicted of conspiring with foreign agents and sowing sedition. Lai’s supporters, meanwhile—family, colleagues, a global network of press freedom advocates—insist he’s simply paying the price for refusing to yield. These days, he’s a gaunt shadow of the energetic tycoon who once swirled around editorial floors. Family say his health has deteriorated alarmingly: weight has slipped away, vision and hearing dulled, pain crawling up his spine. Some of his teeth, they say, are simply gone.“He just wants to be with us again,” his daughter Claire tells the people who keep asking about him. “He is so much weaker than before—every time, a little bit less.” In their private moments, the family wonders how much the body can bear, when the spirit stubbornly refuses to break.Few events have tested the international community’s rhetoric around human rights like Lai’s case has. The response hasn’t been quiet. Donald Trump, speaking in a rare moment of bipartisan agreement with both Canadian Liberals and the British Labour government, has publicly urged for Lai’s release, remarking with unusual bluntness on the old man’s failing health. “He’s an older man,” Trump said. “He isn’t well. I asked—consider his release.” The plea is echoed beyond America: Canadian MPs from across the spectrum, even tough-talking Tories and the left-leaning NDP, have found common cause. MP Jenny Kwan called Lai a “prisoner of conscience,” the kind every democracy claims to champion.But while the West debates, Hong Kong authorities go on as if immune to outside noise. John Lee, the city’s chief executive, took a victory lap after the conviction. Local officials insist Lai receives good medical care—his solitary confinement, they claim, was requested, not imposed. Security chief Chris Tang insists the jailing is fair, and that international outrage is just politics by other means.Press advocacy groups, quick to pick up the story, issued warnings with little ambiguity: Amnesty International called the verdict a flat end to Hong Kong’s long flirtation with a free press. The International Press Institute said Lai’s case is what happens when the judiciary becomes a tool for ‘managing’ reporters who ask too many questions.From inside the family, the story bleeds into daily life. Lai’s son Sebastien shuttles between London and Ottawa, knocking on official doors, reminding allies that Beijing has vast resources for waiting out a news cycle. “His freedom should come first—before talks, before trade,” he said recently. “He just wants to draw and pray; that’s all.” Even in his cell, Jimmy Lai sketches scenes of the crucifixion, sending them out as small tokens; his faith, like his politics, undiminished.If there’s any optimism, it’s of a muted, fragile sort: appeals processes, external pressure, diplomatic backchannels, each offering slender hope. Sentencing now waits until 2026, miles away on the calendar, but the real clock is the body and mind of its most famous prisoner.Beyond the drama of one man, something much larger is up for grabs—the idea that Hong Kong could remain an outpost of difference in a rising Chinese century. For now, Lai remains—a symbol, a warning, and for some, a stubborn reminder that the cost of standing up sometimes comes due in old age.We wait, the world waits, and in a cell not far from the city’s neon towers, Jimmy Lai draws in uncertain light.