北京之春---乌克兰社区Kate Turska女士在纽西兰纪念六四36周年演讲全文

今天，我们缅怀1989年在天安门广场丧生的生命。那些青年、学生、工人——他们曾勇敢地站出来，为了一个更自由、更民主的未来而付出了生命的代价。

我们不仅缅怀那一刻的暴力，更缅怀那之前的运动。那是人民在呼喊：真相、公正、代表权、尊严——这些我们许多人有幸从小拥有的基本自由，而我们中的一些人现在却亲眼目睹它们正逐渐消失。

我们今天在这里，不只是为了纪念过去。我们在这里，是因为威权主义正在卷土重来——它还活着，而且在扩张。它之所以扩张，是因为受到纵容。

它受到像俄罗斯这样的政权的支持。俄罗斯对乌克兰的全面入侵，是一次试图以武力摧毁邻国民主的行为。这是对“人民应当有权选择自己未来”这一理念的直接攻击。一个谋杀、审查、监禁反对者的政权，一个如今公开与中国共产党、伊朗、朝鲜等视民主为威胁的政权结盟的政权。

这对乌克兰来说至关重要。但这不仅仅关系到乌克兰，还关系到我们所有人。如果俄罗斯的侵略得到奖赏——如果它被允许保留所侵占的领土，或者世界为了所谓的“和平”而选择遗忘正义与问责——那么我们就为其他暴政政权打开了大门。

这会向那些远观的独裁者发出怎样的信号？他们正在等待，看看他们能逍遥法外到什么程度。所以，当我们谈论乌克兰、维吾尔人、台湾，或者天安门时，我们并不是在谈论分散的斗争，而是在谈论一场共同的抗争——一场全球范围内的斗争，是自由人民意志与威权压迫之间的较量。

如果乌克兰沦陷，这不仅仅是一个国家的命运问题。这关乎民主是否有力量保护自己，关乎我们的价值观是否仅仅是口号，还是我们真正愿意捍卫的信念。

捍卫这些价值，不一定意味着拿起武器。有时，只是意味着站出来——就像我们今天所做的。有时，是在不同的运动之间、不同的群体之间架起桥梁——因为自由的斗争从不孤立，它总是彼此相连。

因此，我想向在新西兰的台湾朋友们表示敬意和感谢。就像乌克兰一样，台湾是一个充满活力的民主国家，身边却有一个试图抹去其身份、消灭其主权的政权。在奥克兰，你们与乌克兰站在一起参与集会，帮助我们扩大声音，为我们的声音腾出空间，你们用行动证明了“团结”不只是口号，而是一种承诺。你们深知生活在威胁之下的滋味，也知道唯一能抵抗这种威胁的方法，就是彼此团结。

作为新西兰乌克兰社区的一员，我可以告诉你们：你们的支持意义重大。我们看到了，我们感受到了，我们知道是谁一直在坚持出现在我们身边。我们铭记并感激。

我也知道，这并不容易。敢于对抗那些企图压制、恐吓、控制人们声音的强权政权，需要勇气——这种控制不仅限于本国国界之内，还延伸至世界各地。这就是我们所说的“跨国镇压”，而且它正在不断扩大。

天安门事件不仅仅是一场国内的悲剧——它是一记警钟。至今仍在回响。它提醒我们，自由多么脆弱，而当权力不受约束时，威权主义可以变得多么残酷。

沉默纵容侵略。如果你认为自己的声音不重要，请问问自己——谁会从你的沉默中受益？正如那句广为流传的话：“邪恶得以胜利，唯一的条件就是好人袖手旁观。”

但1989年还留下了另一个回响。它存在于今天在场的每一个人心中。那是反抗的勇气。那是人们即使在最黑暗的时刻依然能够奋起的信念。手无寸铁，寡不敌众，却无所畏惧。

北京的那些年轻人虽然没有赢得那场战斗，但他们的反抗点燃了一团火焰。直到今天，这团火依然在燃烧——燃烧在香港的抗议者中，燃烧在伊朗的女性身上，在维吾尔维权者中，在白俄罗斯的异议者中，在为生存而战的乌克兰人中，在坚守民主底线的台湾人民中。

今天，我们向那些空手站在坦克前的勇士们致敬。我们也要问自己——如今，什么才是真正的勇气？也许是当大家保持沉默时，我们愿意发声；也许是敢于直言其名，不再模棱两可；也许是当人们被屠杀时，我们拒绝保持中立。

我们不能把民主的捍卫外包出去。它属于我们每一个人。捍卫它的责任，也同样属于我们每一个人。

Today, we remember the lives lost in 1989 at Tiān'ānmén Square. The young people, students, workers—who stood up and paid the ultimate price for daring to dream of a freer, more democratic future.

We remember not just the moment of violence, but the movement that came before it. People demanding truth. Justice. Representation. Dignity. Basic freedoms that many of us were lucky to grow up with—and that some of us are now watching disappear in real time.

We’re not just here to remember the past. We are here because authoritarianism is on the rise—again. Alive and expanding.

And it is expanding because it is being allowed to. It’s fuelled by the actions of regimes like the one in Russia, Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine —is a clear attempt to destroy a neighbouring democracy by force. It is a direct attack on the very idea that people should get to choose their future. A regime that murders, censors, and imprisons anyone who resists it. A regime that now openly aligns itself with the Chinese Communist Party, with Iran, North Korea—and others who see democracy as a threat.

This matters for Ukraine. But it also matters far beyond our borders. Because if Russia’s aggression is rewarded—if it is allowed to keep the territory it has stolen, or if the world moves on in search of “peace” without justice and accountability—then we are opening the door for others to follow.

What signal does it give to dictators watching from afar — waiting to see what they can get away with? So, when we speak about Ukraine, about the Uyghurs, about Taiwan, or about Tiān'ānmén—we are not talking about separate fights. We are talking about one shared struggle. A global struggle between authoritarian repression and the will of free people.

If Ukraine falls, it is not just about one country. It is about whether democracy has the strength to defend itself. Whether our values are just words—or something we are actually willing to stand up for.

And standing up for them doesn’t always mean picking up arms. Sometimes it means showing up—like we are doing today. Sometimes it means building bridges between movements, between communities—because the struggle for freedom is never isolated. It is always shared.

That is why I want to acknowledge and thank our Taiwanese friends here in New Zealand. Just like Ukraine, Taiwan is a thriving democracy living next to a regime that seeks to erase its identity and extinguish its sovereignty. Here in Auckland, you have stood with Ukraine at rallies, you have helped amplify our message, you made space for our voice, and you have shown that solidarity is more than a slogan—it’s a commitment. You understand what it means to live under threat. And you understand that the only way to resist that threat is together.

As a member of New Zealand’s Ukrainian community, I can tell you: that support has meant a lot. We see it. We feel it. We know who continues to show up. It is noticed and appreciated.

And I know it’s not easy. It takes courage to stand up to powerful regimes that seek to silence, intimidate, and control—not just inside their own borders, but across the world. That’s what we call transnational repression. And it is growing.

What happened in Tiān'ānmén wasn’t just a domestic tragedy—it was a warning. And that warning still echoes today: about how fragile freedom can be, and how relentless authoritarian power becomes when it is unchecked.

Silence enables aggression. If you think your voice doesn’t count, ask yourself—who benefits if you stay quiet? For "The only thing necessary for evil to triumph is for good people to do nothing."

But there is another echo from 1989. One that lives in every person here today. And that is the courage of resistance. The knowledge that even in the darkest moments, people can rise. Unarmed, outnumbered—but unafraid.

Those young people in Beijing didn’t win that battle—but their defiance lit a flame. And today, it is still burning—in Hong Kong protesters, in Iranian women, in Uyghur activists, in Belarusian dissidents, in Ukrainians fighting for survival, and in the people of Taiwan holding the line.

Today we honour the courage of those who stood in front of tanks with nothing but their bare hands. And we ask ourselves—what does courage look like now? It might be speaking out when it's uncomfortable. Calling things by their name. Refusing to be neutral when people are being murdered.

We cannot outsource the defence of democracy. It belongs to all of us. And so does the responsibility to protect it.