AS THE sun set over Hong Kong’s Central district on October 11th they arrived in their thousands: groups of young people toting guitars and sleeping bags, parents pushing babies in buggies, people in wheelchairs and on crutches, high school pupils loaded with bags of homework. Many wore black and sported yellow ribbons or carried the umbrellas that have become the pro-democracy protesters’ trademark since serving as shields against the tear-gas and pepper spray that police used late last month in a vain effort to clear demonstrators from the streets. 
Approached by new arrivals wishing to stay overnight, organisers happily kitted each out with a brand-new donated tent (some marked with laminated yellow notes loosely quoting John Lennon in Chinese and English: “...not for a dreamer, but you are not alone”), a comfortable mattress, a sleeping bag, a soft pillow and a bottle of water. The occupant of "tent No. 5"—one of 50 new tents in a neat row—was dutifully noted on a list by a volunteer as she busied herself distributing cups of coffee donated by a well-wisher. 
Who's been naughty?
A man with a Jack Russell terrier named Manny had moved into tent No. 6. In tent No. 8 were a mother with her very excited eight-year-old son, Daniel (pictured), who together had travelled all the way from the New Territories district, near the border with mainland China, to join the protests because, as the boy put it, the police had been "naughty”.
Nearby a family with a seven-month-old daughter had set up camp. For them, as for most, it was the first night ever spent sleeping in a tent. Like the other protesters they busied themselves posing for “selfies” and photographing each other so they could one day show their daughter that she too had been there. The father said he was not afraid of the risk of having his daughter getting caught up in an unruly situation. If something were to happen, he said, he would grab the baby and “just run very fast”. 
The atmosphere of goodwill, camaraderie and exhilaration felt something like that of a Glastonbury rock festival, but with less music. As one of the organisers explained: “the entertainment industry is too afraid to upset China.” (Although, as we reported recently, some in the industry have overcome that fear.) Anyone who wanted could pick up a microphone; and behind the row of tents an elderly women passionately recalled her experiences in riots that broke out in Hong Kong in 1967, when police also used tear-gas. A documentary film was shown on a central stage about the role of students in America's civil rights movement, followed by speeches by a shareholder activist and business leader. But it was the student leaders who attracted the largest crowds.  
The undercurrent of anger beneath all this flower power showed itself in an outpouring of creativity. Protesters pasted their sentiments and demands on walls in the form of cartoons of politicians, especially the widely reviled chief executive, "C.Y." Leung Chun-ying; they hung their slogans demanding freedom and universal suffrage from bridges, barricades and trees. But nothing had been destroyed, no walls were sprayed with protest slogans, no cars were overturned and no tires were burned.
The students had made their headquarters in a well-barricaded, strategic spot on an intersection near the tent camps. One of their informal spokespeople was Gary Yeung, who was volunteering as an adviser. “The students are very young and inexperienced”, Mr Yeung, aged 25, explained.
An initiative by Helena Wong, a pro-democracy legislator, to help set up a “consultative group” comprising students, politicians and other protesters, met with a lukewarm response. Ms Wong said she wanted to be careful not to put too much pressure on the students, who are only loosely organised. Even a consensus on what to call the protests is elusive. 
Not everyone liked the term “revolution”, said Mr Yeung, because of its violent connotation. “However the majority still call it that because a ‘revolution’ signifies something that is worth fighting for. It is not just a ‘movement’—you don’t just move through it,” he explained.
Sometimes a lady needs more than an umbrella
By 2am the streets were still buzzing with debates and discussions. At the ladies’ toilet, equipped with donations of everything imaginable—high-quality face creams, soap, deodorants, toothpaste and even some dry-shampoo and large boxes of tissues and sanitary napkins—the queues were still moving slowly at 3am. When the occupant of tent No. 5 crawled into her tent to catch a few hours’ sleep she was soon awoken by Manny, the Jack Russell terrier, trying to get in. He was closely followed by the lens of a documentary film-maker’s video camera. 
(Picture credits: I.S./The Economist)