The Lone Gunman: This protester, joined by only around 10 other people, participates in an anti-Article 23 candlelit vigil outside of Macau’s Legislative Assembly in February this year. Do you remember the number of people participating in the anti-Article 23 rally in Hong Kong in 2003? 500,000.

On the eve of the 10th anniversary of Macau’s handover back to China, Winnie Yeung asks if anyone there cares about politics and democracy.

Democracy is not a particularly popular word in Macau. You never hear Macanese people talking about freedom and universal suffrage. You never read about such issues in the papers. When we stopped people on the street in Macau to talk about democracy, we were shoved, ignored, or stared at most of the time.

This might come as a surprise. Macau is, after all, an SAR and former colony like us, and also adopts the “one country, two systems” principle. Yet while Hong Kong has had a strong democratic voice ever since the handover, with countless newspaper articles written about democracy, Macau has been silent on the issue. Whereas in Hong Kong 500,000 people took to the streets to protest a potential national security law that threatened their freedom, Macau passed the same law this year—the year of the tenth anniversary of Macau’s handover back to China—with only roughly 10 objectors holding a candlelit vigil outside the Legislative Assembly.

Eilo Yu Wing-yat, a Macanese political analyst and assistant professor in politics at the University of Macau, says it’s all too easy to sum up the local political situation. “Since the handover 10 years ago, there’s been almost no improvement on developing democracy,” he says. “Unlike Hong Kong, where there is a democratic camp, there is no consolidated group in Macau pushing for democracy—the people who wish to do so simply are not capable of achieving much.” The professor is not undermining the efforts of democrats in Macau, but merely emphasizing how limited in number they are. Currently there are 29 seats in the local Legislative Assembly, only 12 of which are directly elected. And among those 12 only two—Antonio Ng Kuok-cheong and Au Kam-san—are pro-democracy.

The reason for the small number is partly historical. Ever since the late 1980s, when Macau was still under Portugal’s rule, being an opposition voice there has been difficult. The so-called “traditional force,” which consists of the local Portuguese community and prestigious Chinese families, has dominated the government and the political scene. In 1991, Au, who was then a schoolteacher at The Macao Chamber of Commerce-affiliated school, was told by the school that his contract would not be renewed after he joined Antonio Ng in the opposition force, speaking publicly against the government. “Macau is a very small society compared to Hong Kong,” says Au, referring to Macau’s population of 540,000. “When a society is small, the pressure against people saying something different is a lot stronger.” Because of such pressure, Au has seen many people back down over the decades from trying to help them make a difference in society. “When the pressure can affect your livelihood, then it becomes a strong deterrent,” says Au. Traditional-force legislators have refused interviews on the topic with HK Magazine.

Macau’s demographics also contribute to the local lack of concern for democracy. The Macanese government conducted a survey last year asking citizens to rate what issues were most important to them. The results found that the respondents chose livelihood (4.54 points) over freedom and civil rights (4.21 points) and political rights (4.04 points). Au puts this down to the fact that Macau is largely made up of less-educated immigrants from China, for whom livelihood will naturally be the most important concern. Bank teller Pat Fong, for one, says she never discusses politics with her colleagues. The 34-year-old explains: “It’s too sensitive, and it’s nothing to do with me.” Leong Kun, a 62-year-old retired shopkeeper, says he thinks that as long as the status quo remains, any political talk about democracy is pointless.

With most local people completely oblivious to politics, one wonders how the political parties ever get their messages across. Au says that, like their pro-Beijing counterparts in Hong Kong, the traditional forces host trips and dinners to attract people. Au and Ng, on the other hand, have limited resources from their Legislative Assembly salaries. They only have two offices in Macau, one of which is located in a dark, filthy worn-down basement shop. The only way they can get their message across is to host forums and protests in the city, with which the government sometimes interferes by renting the planned venue out to pro-government camps beforehand. Meanwhile, the Macanese press is of no help. Hardly a sound-bite in favor of democracy can be heard from any of the nine local government-subsidized newspapers.

But while the future of democracy in Macau might look grim to some, Au is hopeful. On September 20, he and Ng will be running for re-election in the Legislative Assembly. They will also bring out young, first-time candidates to run, hoping to strengthen their base in the legislature and society in general. “It’s a constant topic we discuss—we have been the frontmen for democracy for 20 years now, but we can hardly find anyone to inherit this,” Au says. Meanwhile Professor Yu believes the rise of Fernando Chui as the next chief executive has stirred up the local’s interest in politics: “Many Macanese were upset about the government, and the September election will be a good testing ground to see if the Macanese finally want their voices heard.”