Hong Kong and Insect Rhetoric: The Spatial Politics of Pokémon GO

Key insights

7 takeaways

01
Public space per resident in Hong Kong fell to as little as 0.5 to 1.5 square meters in the late 1990s, versus roughly 4.5 square meters in Singapore, and government accounting has counted privately owned amenities such as mall piazzas toward public space totals.
02
The paper uses the 2016 launch of Pokémon GO as a lens where nostalgia, urban anxiety, and fears of "mainlandization" converge, most visibly in the localist backlash to the game's change of Pikachu's name from its Cantonese to its Mandarin form.
03
Dehumanizing terms such as "cockroaches" and "locusts" were used by police, Chinese state media, and local nativist groups against protesters, mainland Chinese residents, and other groups, with the paper drawing explicit comparisons to historical genocidal rhetoric.
04
During the 2019 protests, demonstrators reappropriated insect imagery as a form of self-identification, and Pokémon GO served as an organizing tool that tied the game's spatial logic to this identity.
05
The paper argues that Hong Kong identity and collective nostalgia remain deeply contested between pro-Beijing and localist camps, who draw on competing visions of the city's past and future.
06
The author contends that the failure of the "One Country, Two Systems" framework is a premise shared by both pro-Beijing and localist positions, even though each side interprets that failure differently.
07
The analysis is scoped to Hong Kong around the 2016 game release and the 2019 protest movement, drawing on urban studies, political communication, and media analysis.

Summary

Hong Kong's spatial politics form the central concern of this analysis, which uses the mobile game Pokémon GO as a lens for examining shrinking public space, urban density, and the "right to the city." The paper highlights a striking statistic: public space per resident in Hong Kong fell to as little as 0.5 to 1.5 square meters in the late 1990s, compared with roughly 4.5 square meters in Singapore, and that government accounting has counted privately owned amenities such as mall piazzas toward public space totals. Against this backdrop, the game's launch is treated as a revealing moment in which nostalgia, urban anxiety, and concerns about "mainlandization" converge, most visibly in the localist backlash that followed the 2016 change of Pikachu's name from its Cantonese to its Mandarin form.

The analysis then turns to the language of dehumanization that has accompanied these tensions. Terms such as "cockroaches" and "locusts" have been deployed by police, Chinese state media, and local nativist groups against protesters, mainland Chinese residents, and other groups, with the paper drawing explicit comparisons to historical genocidal rhetoric. The 2019 protests reappropriated the insect imagery, and Pokémon GO served as an organizing tool that tied the game's spatial logic to this self-identification. The paper situates these dynamics within a wider pattern of spatial and identity contestation in the city.

The central conclusion is that Hong Kong identity and collective nostalgia remain deeply contested, with both pro-Beijing and localist camps drawing on competing visions of the city's past and future. The author argues that the failure of the "One Country, Two Systems" framework is a shared premise across these positions, even as each side reads that failure differently. The scope is Hong Kong specifically, focused on the period surrounding the game's 2016 release and the 2019 protest movement, and it draws on urban studies, political communication, and media analysis.