Jimmy Lai’s 20-Year Sentence: Freedom of the Press Crushed in Hong Kong

Paul Riverbank, 2/9/2026Jimmy Lai’s 20-year sentence signals Hong Kong’s press freedom collapse amid global outrage.

It’s difficult to explain how sharply Lai once cut through Hong Kong’s public life. He wasn’t just another media executive — this was the man behind Apple Daily, a paper whose headlines were, for years, a thorn in the side of Beijing’s ruling class. Apple Daily ran editorials that nobody else dared to run, splashed provocative stories across its front pages, and—until authorities shuttered it in 2021—became both a symbol and an outpost for the city’s pro-democracy movement.

Lai’s crimes, according to the court: conspiracy with foreign forces, publishing words deemed seditious. For observers in the West and human rights circles, the verdict felt chillingly preordained. Lai never saw a jury; his trial was overseen solely by judges whose appointment depended on the approval of Hong Kong’s chief executive. Critics call the process a far cry from the city’s formerly robust legal tradition.

A few years ago—before the sweeping national security law came down in response to Hong Kong’s explosive 2019 protests—a case like this would have set off uproar in the Legislative Council, and the city’s boisterous press would have dissected every detail. Now, those who might have spoken up are mostly silent, in exile, or behind bars themselves. If you walk past the old Apple Daily office in Tseung Kwan O, all that’s left is a quiet lobby and some memories of the media scrum that once gathered outside.

Supporters of the law point to restoring “order” after the chaos of the protests, citing safety and stability above all. For their part, city officials insist the security law has brought calm and delivered on its purpose. Yet for reporters, opposition figures, and anyone accustomed to the give-and-take of open political debate, the law’s shadow looms long. The crackdown’s effects have run deep: watchdog groups note that—across China and its territories—over fifty journalists, with eight in Hong Kong alone, are currently imprisoned because of their work.

The reaction to Lai’s sentencing was as swift as it was predictable. The Committee to Protect Journalists, along with rights activists across Europe and North America, condemned the proceedings as a near-fatal blow for press freedom in Hong Kong. Some said the city’s once-vaunted “rule of law” had become little more than a hollow slogan. Governments, including the United States, decried the judgment, urging a reversal and warning of broken international promises.

But inside Hong Kong, for those who remain, daily life carries on—if a bit more quietly. Outside the courthouse after sentencing, a handful of supporters held handmade signs. Most local newspapers, under changed ownership or new editorial pressure, downplayed Lai’s role and repeated the government line.

For his part, Lai seems resigned to his fate, though those close to him say he still believes change is possible—perhaps not soon, but someday. And as his case continues to resonate, it stands as a warning etched into Hong Kong’s recent history: even a city that once prided itself on open debate and fearless journalism can, almost overnight, see those things swept away.

The world, for now, is left watching. The final chapter—if there is one—hasn’t been written.

When Jimmy Lai walked into the West Kowloon Law Courts at the start of this week, the weight of his past—and the fate of Hong Kong’s vanishing freedoms—pressed in behind him. The sentence, when it came, was no mere statistical entry: 20 years in prison, handed down by a trio of judges handpicked by the city’s government. At 78, for Lai, that’s close to a life sentence, regardless of what the legal language says.It’s difficult to explain how sharply Lai once cut through Hong Kong’s public life. He wasn’t just another media executive — this was the man behind Apple Daily, a paper whose headlines were, for years, a thorn in the side of Beijing’s ruling class. Apple Daily ran editorials that nobody else dared to run, splashed provocative stories across its front pages, and—until authorities shuttered it in 2021—became both a symbol and an outpost for the city’s pro-democracy movement.Lai’s crimes, according to the court: conspiracy with foreign forces, publishing words deemed seditious. For observers in the West and human rights circles, the verdict felt chillingly preordained. Lai never saw a jury; his trial was overseen solely by judges whose appointment depended on the approval of Hong Kong’s chief executive. Critics call the process a far cry from the city’s formerly robust legal tradition.A few years ago—before the sweeping national security law came down in response to Hong Kong’s explosive 2019 protests—a case like this would have set off uproar in the Legislative Council, and the city’s boisterous press would have dissected every detail. Now, those who might have spoken up are mostly silent, in exile, or behind bars themselves. If you walk past the old Apple Daily office in Tseung Kwan O, all that’s left is a quiet lobby and some memories of the media scrum that once gathered outside.Supporters of the law point to restoring “order” after the chaos of the protests, citing safety and stability above all. For their part, city officials insist the security law has brought calm and delivered on its purpose. Yet for reporters, opposition figures, and anyone accustomed to the give-and-take of open political debate, the law’s shadow looms long. The crackdown’s effects have run deep: watchdog groups note that—across China and its territories—over fifty journalists, with eight in Hong Kong alone, are currently imprisoned because of their work.The reaction to Lai’s sentencing was as swift as it was predictable. The Committee to Protect Journalists, along with rights activists across Europe and North America, condemned the proceedings as a near-fatal blow for press freedom in Hong Kong. Some said the city’s once-vaunted “rule of law” had become little more than a hollow slogan. Governments, including the United States, decried the judgment, urging a reversal and warning of broken international promises.But inside Hong Kong, for those who remain, daily life carries on—if a bit more quietly. Outside the courthouse after sentencing, a handful of supporters held handmade signs. Most local newspapers, under changed ownership or new editorial pressure, downplayed Lai’s role and repeated the government line.For his part, Lai seems resigned to his fate, though those close to him say he still believes change is possible—perhaps not soon, but someday. And as his case continues to resonate, it stands as a warning etched into Hong Kong’s recent history: even a city that once prided itself on open debate and fearless journalism can, almost overnight, see those things swept away.The world, for now, is left watching. The final chapter—if there is one—hasn’t been written.