They weren’t letting cars in anymore — we’d have to take the crowded train, get off at the next station, and make our way to the hired driver. This was the greeting I received when I stepped off my flight in Hong Kong on a Monday night, as a fourth day of protests at the city’s international airport reached a breaking point. It was a little surreal. I walked past chanting (but exceedingly polite) protestors clad in black, most of their faces concealed by gas masks or bandanas, stocked with plenty of literature about their city and their concerns about its future.