Many people have asked me why I would take the risk of founding

the Forget-Me-Not Foundation.

It’s a fair question. My life is stable, my career fulfilling. As an immigrant from mainland China who came to the United States, I have already achieved what many would call the “American Dream.”

In China, “June Fourth” remains a forbidden phrase — officially labeled a “counterrevolutionary riot,” erased from textbooks, deleted from the internet, and silenced in classrooms.

I was there. I lived through it.

In the spring of 1989, the student movement for “anti-corruption and democracy” spread rapidly from Beijing to cities across China. I was a college student in Tianjin, just an hour away by train. Like many of my classmates, I believed it was our duty to make our country better. We marched, we sang, and we dreamed of freedom and truth.
I visited Tiananmen Square several times, filled with hope and youthful idealism.

On the night of June 3rd, I wasn’t in the Square — but one of my roommates was. She was like my own sister. 
She escaped and told me she had seen a shirt soaked in blood.

That moment broke my heart. 

After the crackdown, every student was forced to write a report describing “when, where, and what” they did during the movement.

Many college students were punished by being assigned undesirable jobs — or no jobs at all.
After graduation, my roommate disappeared. No one knew where she went. It was as if she had vanished from the world.

I have been searching for her ever since.

June Fourth changed an entire generation.

Even more cruelly, it was forbidden to be remembered. Books omit it, the internet censors it, classrooms deny it.
The families of the victims are still not allowed to publicly mourn their loved ones.

I often think — if a child were born in 1989, that person would be over thirty now. Tragically, if they grew up in China, they might have never even heard the words “June Fourth.”

And my dear roommate, my sister in spirit, has vanished into the shadows of history. That is a pain I will carry forever.

As time passes, public memory fades, and truth is deliberately buried. I realized I could no longer remain silent — and no longer live in fear.

On the 35th anniversary of June Fourth, I decided to act:
I founded the Forget-Me-Not Foundation and organized a global online candlelight vigil.

My purpose was simple —

to uncover the buried truth,
to preserve the silenced stories,
and to make sure the next generation remembers what truly happened.

Today, the mission of the Forget-Me-Not Foundation reaches beyond borders and beyond one single event.
We stand for human rights and civil rights. It is a global commitment — to defend justice and truth, and to honor all who stand for freedom and human dignity.

One person’s power may be small. But if we join hands, the truth will not be forgotten, and hope will not fade.

Join us — and let us raise our voices together for freedom and human rights.