I hope that I will be the last victim in China's long record of

The words of Liu Xiaobo, “I hope that I will be the last victim in China’s long record of treating words as crimes,” rise from the depths of human courage and sorrow, like a final prayer whispered into the storm of history. They are the testament of a man who understood the immense power of words, and the peril they bring in a land where truth is feared more than violence. In this single sentence, Liu Xiaobo transforms suffering into sacrifice, and despair into hope—the hope that his imprisonment, his pain, and his death might awaken a future where speech is no longer shackled, and the heart no longer punished for what it believes.

Liu Xiaobo was a scholar, poet, and human rights advocate who spent his life speaking for those who could not. Born into a time of transformation and turmoil, he witnessed his nation rise in power but struggle in conscience. His voice, clear and unwavering, called for freedom, dignity, and truth—not through violence, but through words, which he wielded like a lantern against the shadows of oppression. For these words, he was silenced—imprisoned first for his writings and finally condemned for his role in Charter 08, a manifesto that called for democratic reform and respect for human rights in China. When he spoke this quote, he was already behind bars, his body captive but his spirit unbroken.

In calling himself a victim, Liu did not plead for pity—he proclaimed a truth born of centuries. For in his homeland, as in many nations throughout time, words have long been treated as dangerous weapons. From the burning of books under Emperor Qin Shi Huang to the silencing of scholars in later dynasties, the written and spoken truth has often been seen as a threat to those who rule through fear. Yet Liu, steeped in both Chinese tradition and global philosophy, saw words not as weapons of destruction, but of liberation. He believed that the pen, when guided by conscience, could redeem the soul of a people.

History is filled with kindred spirits who suffered for their words. The Greek philosopher Socrates drank poison rather than abandon his search for truth; the Italian astronomer Galileo was imprisoned for declaring that the Earth moves around the Sun; the Russian poet Anna Akhmatova was silenced under Stalin’s terror, her poems whispered from memory lest they be lost. Each, like Liu Xiaobo, stood before the might of tyranny and declared that truth cannot be chained. For though their voices were stilled, their words endured—and in that endurance, they triumphed. So too did Liu, whose message now belongs not only to China, but to the conscience of the world.

The power of Liu’s quote lies in its fusion of grief and hope. He knows the cruelty of his fate—knows that he will die a prisoner, far from his beloved wife, without seeing freedom bloom in his land. Yet still he hopes—not for himself, but for others. Such hope is not naive; it is defiant. It is the same flame that burned in the hearts of prophets and poets, revolutionaries and saints. It is the hope that one’s suffering can become a seed, that the next generation will rise unafraid to speak, to question, to imagine. In this, Liu Xiaobo becomes not a victim of history, but a teacher of it.

To treat words as crimes is to deny the essence of humanity. For language is the bridge between souls, the vessel of reason, and the breath of civilization itself. When rulers fear words, they confess their own weakness—for only lies tremble before the truth. The wise know that speech must be free, for only through dialogue can nations heal, and only through truth can justice be born. Liu’s words remind us that every time we speak with integrity, we honor those who lost their voices defending that right.

The lesson, then, is clear: guard the freedom of speech as one guards the breath of life. Speak truth, even when silence is safer. Use words not to wound, but to awaken; not to divide, but to uplift. Stand beside those whose voices are stifled, for their struggle is yours as well. And when you face power that demands obedience over honesty, remember Liu Xiaobo’s courage—for he stood unarmed before an empire and said, “I have no enemies.” Such is the power of the soul that cannot be conquered.

Let us, then, fulfill his final hope: that he indeed be the last victim of speech turned into crime. Let no society, no government, no generation forget that words are sacred, for they carry the essence of our shared humanity. And if ever they are silenced again, may new voices rise to break the silence—so that one day, as Liu dreamed, truth will no longer be punished, and every human being may speak freely beneath the open sky.