The Fire of the Century

Editors’ introduction: The following piece, written by Lee Wai Kwan and translated by Yiwen Liu, originally appeared in Initium Media on 28 November 2025. In republishing it here in the Made in China Journal with the permission of Initium, we hope to connect voices of the Hong Kong community to wider audiences who might benefit from reading this intimate account of the immediate aftermath of the Wang Fuk Court fire: in the face of tragedy, strangers came together through grassroots relief efforts to contribute their time and talents, before municipal authorities imposed their own bureaucracy, in a rare moment of unity and self-governance.

On the second day of the fire at Wang Fuk Court, flames continued to sporadically flare up in the smouldering units, reigniting blazes across the buildings. After dusk, the high-rises—no longer illuminated by residential lights—sank into darkness. One could barely see the buildings and could only estimate their contours by the billowing white smoke.

Residents of Wang Fuk Court who lost their homes to the fire, along with temporary evacuees from the nearby apartment complex of Kwong Fuk Estate, had been lingering in the courtyard of the latter since the fire, gazing at the burned-out buildings. Residents passed the days sitting in corners, staring blankly, eating meal boxes distributed by volunteers. Without proper clothing, evacuees felt the winter night wind in Hong Kong cut like a knife. Some sought refuge in humble community shopping centres, lying down with blankets on donated mattresses. Yet few could sleep.

Others in the courtyard had come from all regions of Hong Kong, including the non-affected parts of Tai Po. The day after the fire, volunteers began organising human chains to distribute supplies, covering the ground with piles of blankets and clothing, asking the evacuees if they needed hot drinks or water. By the third day, after multiple rounds of negotiating on-site protocols, the courtyard of Kwong Fuk Estate had become a supply hub of considerable size, harbouring nearly a thousand people, both affected and non-affected.

By Friday, 28 November, the blaze at Wang Fuk Court was largely extinguished. Evacuees were resettled and the nearby apartment complex reopened. Yet volunteers kept coming from near and far. They eagerly took up tasks, received instructions, and immediately worked with others to manage supplies. Many volunteers walked or cycled to efficiently transport and unload supplies. Afterwards, some returned to their initial distribution posts, and others moved on to different tasks.

Why did they come to volunteer? A few responded in Cantonese: ‘We’re here whenever Hong Kong needs a hand.’ ‘Donating money doesn’t make me less uneasy.’ ‘Hong Kong has a ton of assholes, but there are always a couple of people who want to help out. Now, there’s more than just a couple—near, far, many donors are trying to help’.^⁠[1]

The fire has claimed at least 128 lives.[2] Some Hong Kongers remained in the courtyard, distributing supplies, chatting away, or spacing out. Others worked online to compile data on missing individuals and to design a user-friendly crowdsourced app and interactive map to track survivors and SOS signals unit by unit. They are compelled to take some action, but nothing feels adequate in the face of this complex, twenty-first century man-made disaster. Perhaps, in helping others, Hong Kongers seek to help themselves.

‘Need a Hand?’

‘Need a hand?’ This phrase had been the most frequently echoed line in Tai Po District in the two days after the fire. Various supply-collection stations have sprung up around the Tai Po Market MTR station and within the district. Non-affected residents responded to the online calls for help by travelling across districts to lend a hand. Many donated clothing, food, and other supplies to Tai Po following the fire. These individuals, initially strangers, coordinated through social media platforms such as Telegram and Instagram to collect and distribute enormous quantities of supplies. Aid groups quickly emerged on social media, including ‘Tai Po Relief—Foot Volunteers’ (大埔救援 步兵組), ‘Tai Po Relief—Supplies’ (大埔物資救援組), and ‘Tai Po Wang Fuk Court Fire—Psychological Support Line’ (大埔宏福苑火災 支援頻道).^⁠[3] They coordinated collection and distribution of supplies.

The courtyard at Kwong Fuk Estate was another key hub for these spontaneous grassroots mutual aid organisations. In one area, a food station offered hot drinks and warm cooked meals with Buddhist vegetarian options. In another corner, volunteers at a clothing station neatly sorted garments, shoes, and socks by categories for women, men, children, and infants. In the middle of the courtyard, a station for daily necessities was stocked with toiletries such as tissue paper, toothpaste, diapers, and sanitary pads. Thick blankets and pillows could be found across the courtyard. All of these stations were dedicated to serving those affected by the disaster.

Almost every pile of supplies, often sorted into cardboard boxes or the familiar red-white-blue woven bags, had a volunteer stationed in front of it. Most volunteers said they came on their own, hoping to lend a hand. Some younger-looking students in their secondary school uniforms walked around holding handwritten cardboard signs that read: ‘Supplies for disaster victims only.’ Meanwhile, volunteers from pre-existing organisations, such as social-welfare organisations and hometown associations, were also present.

As the volunteer efforts grew, they set up a first-aid station and an emergency counselling booth. The first-aid station provided eye drops, moisturising cream, and throat lozenges, which were in high demand due to the dry winter air. The station also triaged those requiring physical medical attention and elders in need of blood-pressure checks. One medical worker, Yan, chose to assist in Tai Po even though she was scheduled for a day off after being on duty at a nursing home the day prior. Volunteer registration forms continued circulating online. ‘Everyone keeps themselves busy while waiting for updates. Better to just walk in and see how we can help.’

‘There are a lot of elders in this kind of older neighbourhood’, she said. ‘I understand their needs well. They prefer warm water, and I know where their bodies tend to ache’. Yan was particularly concerned about the elders’ mental health. ‘Physicians might prescribe blood pressure medication. But depression? That’s beyond our scope.’ That is why next to the first-aid station was the counselling booth, set up by volunteers from social-welfare organisations.

Those Who Cannot Fight the Fire

‘My resources are limited—I can only offer my strength and my brain’, said Ah Cheng, one of the coordinators in the Kwong Fuk Estate’s courtyard. Ah Cheng wore a duckbill cap and mask, perpetually clutching a megaphone and a cell phone with work gloves strapped to her waist.

Ah Cheng, a native of Tai Po in her twenties, arrived the day after the fire. When a coordinator was requested in an aid group chat, she immediately volunteered. She had organised supplies in Tai Po all night long. ‘I figured no one wanted to become an identifiable leader for the relief work—it’s a huge responsibility, carrying so much weight. We can only do what we can afford. Lately, I’m in a relatively good place, so I want to do my best within my capacity’, she said.

On the first day of the fire, she watched the live news coverage of Wang Fuk Court but dared not go to the scene, fearing it would trigger her anxiety. ‘I asked myself why I felt this panic. I checked online threads and found many people were recalling incidents of the recent past. But I realised this is something I must face—ignoring it won’t make it go away.’ Since she couldn’t help with firefighting, she joined the supply group to assist.

By the evening of the 27th, volunteers noticed that the Kwong Fuk courtyard was cluttered with disorganised supplies. On-site volunteers decided to sort items into designated zones and ensure clear walkways. In preparation for the forecasted rain, the HKUST Student Union and other organisations lent tents. Volunteers also arranged sandbags to prevent water damage and used plastic sheets to protect food boxes from the wet ground.

Seeing the bustling crowd at the supply station—volunteers collaborating with vendors and donors—Ah Cheng remarked: ‘Once again, Hong Kongers unite, showcasing our city’s greatest warmth. We genuinely care about this disaster, and our hearts ache for the pain it causes.’ She added: ‘We truly shouldn’t take this kindness for granted. Given how much Hong Kong has endured in the recent past, it’s easy to become apathetic and feel detached from social issues.’

‘There’s always a way to contribute your value—no need to feel guilty. Just being on-site in the courtyard is a kind of help. If you’re standing there unsure what to do, I’ll spot you and call you over to assist’.

Harnessing the Power of Netizens

Social media platforms, Telegram groups, and other online apps have become vital resources for locating the fire victims. An app named ‘Wong Fuk Court Safety Check’ (宏福苑報平安) was launched within days of the fire, transforming a Google Sheet into a clean, user-friendly interface.

Affected residents could instantly report their safety status and post missing-person alerts for family and friends. Users could see which units were marked green (‘safe’) or red (‘seeking help’) on a clear, digital chart. The chart was organised according to building block, floor, and unit. If pets were trapped, residents could flag ‘complex situation’ in purple. The app also linked to an interactive relief-supplies map.

Over the past two to three days, the safety-check app recorded over 100 million views, with approximately 300,000 individual users. The peak number of concurrent users reached 20,000, while the average number of daily users hovers around 5,000.

The app’s main creator is a 30-year-old software engineer named Nathan. Nathan had not paid much attention to the news on the day of the fire until he returned home late around 10pm. He then read online that numerous missing-person searches and supply-collection forms were circulating, but he noticed some requests were inaccessible due to network traffic issues.

He knew he could use his expertise and experience to easily build a more user-friendly system. He immediately began manually updating data based on existing information online. From start to finish, it took him about 30 minutes. Afterwards, he joined several neighbourhood-initiated Telegram groups to share the app until 2am.

‘I never anticipated this much usage of the app. I just wanted those in need to access it easily’, Nathan said.

More volunteer netizens soon joined. Nathan explained that people ‘didn’t know each other originally. The creators of the safety-check Google Form and other resource websites got connected through grassroots Telegram groups and started further supporting one another’.

The app quickly became popular. He and other volunteers had to solve quite a few issues in response. At an early stage, the app was open to anyone to fill out forms without any verification process for the sake of convenience. This unfortunately led to some malicious submissions, such as marking entire rows within the safety-check chart in red or green, erasing existing records, or leaving irrelevant messages.

Nathan promptly deleted these entries and implemented verification measures within the app, including Gmail authentication, a whitelisting system, etcetera. However, this often required having a small group of volunteers manually review and input data. ‘This significantly increased our workload.’

Watching the safety-check chart turn green or red day after day, his greatest concern was that outdated and erroneous data would mislead people. Nathan said that although he doesn’t personally know anyone affected by the fire, he ‘wishes safety for everyone’.

Conflicts and Controversy

The grassroots collaboration over the past few days has not been entirely free of conflicts and controversy.

The first problem was the overwhelming volume of supplies. Since Hong Kongers spontaneously organised relief efforts after the fire, influxes of new volunteers and supplies continuously poured into Tai Po. Volunteer organisers had announced online that they were temporarily halting donations. Some volunteers reported their disputes with non-affected residents who repeatedly took relief supplies.

The second problem was the viral circulation of unverifiable messages. Some Hong Kongers chose to directly approach the on-site volunteers in the courtyard rather than rely on online information. Others decided to see the situation for themselves, disregarding the circulating news.

Volunteer B, for example, an 18-year-old man serving at the daily necessities station, said he travelled about 40 kilometres from Tuen Mun to Tai Po and stayed overnight for a dozen hours. Several other young men came from the more nearby neighbourhoods of North District (18 kilometres away), Wong Tai Sin (20 kilometres), and Lam Tin (25 kilometres). People typically didn’t know one another beforehand, but they gathered here by serendipity.

Volunteer C, a 22-year-old from North District, remarked: ‘There are differing opinions across many groups. We all came out to help individually without a set agenda—that’s the way it is. We share the same goal, but our approaches differ. Some think government officials should take over the responsibility; some think the government should not interfere with grassroots relief efforts. Differences are normal—we’re human’.

At the daily necessities station, someone took photos with their phone and they were immediately reprimanded by a volunteer: ‘What are you photographing?’ The volunteer inquired about the photo-taker’s affiliation, and the latter responded that they were from the Baoding Overseas Friendship Association (保定海外聯誼會), a Beijing-sponsored organisation, and that they were simply taking a photo with no other intentions.

As the situation unfolded, the District Services & Community Care Teams (關愛隊)—a public service recently established by Hong Kong’s Chief Executive John Lee Ka-chiu—arrived at the disaster site. Their presence added to the layers of conflict. Stella was an on-site volunteer who had arrived the second night of the fire and worked primarily at the shelter at Fung Leung Kit Memorial Secondary School (馮梁結紀念中學). On the evening of the 26th, Stella and others began organising large quantities of supplies using pragmatic methods developed on their own. ‘It wasn’t until around 9 or 10 in the morning that the Care Teams arrived.’ She noted that the Home Affairs Department later requested volunteers leave the shelter for the Care Teams to take over, prompting Stella’s temporary departure.

When Stella and other volunteers returned to the shelter, the Care Teams refused their entry and blocked their delivery of supplies. ‘I thought to myself, why didn’t anyone come when we called for help on Telegram?’ After failing to negotiate with police and district councillors, Stella and others attempted to deliver supplies over the fence.

At the Tung Cheong Street Sports Centre (東昌街體育館) in Tai Po, Ming Pao reported similar incidents. Volunteers told Ming Pao reporters that the Care Teams claimed they were taking over the sports centre, demanding volunteer groups leave and abandon their supplies. Alice Mak Mei-kuen, the Secretary for Home and Youth Affairs, responded that conditions at some shelters were ‘quite chaotic’, filled with many non-affected residents. According to the Ming Pao article, Mak explained that shelters generally prohibit entry to non-staff members so as to protect residents’ safety and privacy.

Police officers frequently patrolled the courtyard. Ah Cheng, the coordinator, said she wasn’t overly concerned about police dispersing them. She believed communication could resolve potential conflict with the police. She planned to explain how she would guide people to leave the venue safely and how she would clear the supplies on-site.[4]^⁠

As midnight approached on the 27th, more and more Hong Kongers gathered on the courtyard, swiftly sorting supplies.

A dozen police officers lingered in the centre of the courtyard surveying the situation. Police officers in military uniforms also arrived to question volunteers about who would be collecting supplies. The atmosphere quickly grew tense. Volunteers warned each other not to open new boxes, fearing they might be forced to leave any moment. Several young men volunteers stepped forward to communicate with the police, but the officers only said they hoped everyone would keep their voices down and avoid blocking others or disturbing the surroundings.

‘I thought they were going to kick us out’, one young man said.

‘They’re not kicking us out’, another young man confirmed with the others.

‘I Don’t Know if I Can Help. How Can I Help? Pull New Apartments Out of Thin Air?’

At one of the small supply stations outside the Tai Po Market MTR Station, known as ‘Tai Po Market A’ among the volunteers, Chad, in his twenties, was busy responding to inquiries from neighbours. Dressed in gym attire—black shirt and shorts—he looked sturdy. Now a soda-machine repairman, he’d previously worked on construction sites for two years.

‘Why didn’t the government shut down [the building contractor Hong Yip 宏業]? The government knew the company bribed officials, yet they let it continue?’ He fumed, continuing to discuss the possible cause of the fire, including whether the scaffolding netting was sufficiently fire-resistant. Contrary to the government’s reasoning, he defended the long history and the necessity of deploying bamboo scaffolding in Hong Kong. ‘In these political turbulent times, I dare not say too much, but I would say the fire was human-made.’

Chad was a resident of Kwong Fuk Estate. Since around 8am the day before, he had been moving heavy items between different Tai Po supply stations. When the fire department called for water, he was up for the task. ‘Whatever they needed, boom boom boom boom (I carried it over). If you need me to move stuff, just call me. No need to be polite. This is what a Hong Konger, a Tai Po resident, can do.’ He said that ‘the familiar sense of Hong Kongers helping one another had suddenly returned because of this.’

Today, even more volunteers arrived, and affected residents gradually relocated. Often, one request drew immediate responses from multiple volunteers. Supplies were already piled high when volunteers arrived. Community halls and firefighters reported a surplus of materials, asking the public to pause donations. Chad said: ‘Now we can say we’re on standby.’

‘I feel I haven’t done much. Supplies have been untouched at the distribution centre’, he murmured softly. ‘Honestly, we spent all day yesterday shuffling supplies around the station. I only wish what I did was helpful.’

‘If one member suffers, all members suffer together’, he quoted a line from the Bible. ‘But I can’t help them. I don’t know how to help. What can I do? Pull new apartments out of thin air? Give back the lives of the dead? What about cats and dogs? What about their kids?’

He consoled himself that prayer might still have some effect. Yesterday, he prayed for the safety of a family with an infant, and in the end, the baby was rescued wearing an oxygen mask. ‘Non-believers might see it as mere psychological comfort, but that’s okay. The most important thing is people’s safety.’

Now that supplies seem to outnumber needs, she began to question how much more they could really do. Ah Cheng, who coordinated at a supply station, didn’t have such doubts at first, but as time passed, she began to feel differently. She acknowledged that everyone was uncertain about what to do at this stage. ‘People want to contribute, to feel like they’re accomplishing something.’

‘I’m no hero,’ she said. ‘If I were, I wouldn’t want anyone to die. I allow myself to feel inadequate, but I’ve done my best. I try to mend or balance things in different ways.’

Chad was thinking about chatting with affected neighbours next, and praying for them. ‘There’s so much we want to do, so much we can’t help with, and so little we’ve actually accomplished.’ He paid attention to the investigation process, pursuing truth and accountability. He also started keeping an eye on other major building renovation projects nearby. ‘The bereaved families need justice. Hong Kong, and all of us Hong Kongers, need the truth.’

‘Can donating supplies bring the dead back to life? If it could, I imagine aid supplies from all over Hong Kong would pile up until the Tai Po District exploded. But it can’t. All we can do are the things at hand. And to those who truly hold the power to act (the government)—I hope they take action and prevent these tragedies from happening again.’

Respecting interviewee wishes, Volunteers B and C have been kept anonymous.

Cover Image: One day after the severe fire broke out at the apartment complex of Wang Fuk Court in Hong Kong’s Tai Po District. Many residents who were not affected by the tragedy spontaneously donated money and helped evacuate affected residents to community centres and halls, 27 November 2025. Photograph: Tang Ka-Huen 鄧家烜 / Initium Media.

[1] Translator’s note: All dialogue was written to reflect the Cantonese topolect in the original journalist article.

[2] Translator’s note: As of 4 December, the death toll had increased to 159.

[3] Translator’s note: See this bilingual website for more aid groups on the well-being of children, elderly, and animals during the crisis.

[4] Translator’s note: On 29 November, one day after this article was published, it was reported that national security police had dispersed volunteers and grassroots supply stations at the Kwong Fuk courtyard. See this other article by Initium Media for more details.