Aaron Huynh

When I was around three years old, my mum—driven by an urgent need to speak out against the persecution of Falun Gong that erupted on July 20, 1999—left our home in Australia and traveled to China to appeal directly to the Chinese regime. Families were being torn apart simply for holding to the values of Truth, Compassion, and Tolerance, and their fates were being decided by the Chinese Communist Party. My mum and aunt left behind the comfort of Australian life and their family to stand up against the grave injustices wrought upon good people.

At that time, my dad was overwhelmed with work, carrying the weight of supporting our family on his own while my mum was away. He was exhausted and had little time or energy to care for me. With no other option, my parents made the heartbreaking decision to leave me in the care of family friends.

Before my mum and aunt could even make their voices heard, they were detained in Beijing. Because they were Australian citizens, China didn’t do anything to them and eventually released them. They made it home safely—but they were blacklisted and never allowed to return to China again.

I was too young to understand where they had gone or why they had left. But in a photo from that time, my mum later pointed out how I looked sad, a little lost, and withdrawn—perhaps because I couldn’t comprehend why my parents weren’t there.

It feels almost trivial now to think I was upset, because I still had something many others didn’t: my parents came home. They are still with me to this day. 

But in China, there are children who don’t have that gift, and they have even been orphaned by the persecution. Compared to what countless Falun Dafa practitioners continue to endure in China, my own hardships feel small. To carry on my mother’s mission, I now perform with Shen Yun—to shine light on this ongoing persecution and give a voice to those who have been silenced, imprisoned for their faith, torn from their families.

Their courage reminds me why I chose to keep pursuing dance, even after more than a decade. It strengthens my resolve to keep going—to keep telling their stories—as long as there’s still a place for me in Shen Yun.

I dance for the freedom I have to voice my beliefs, and to share the wisdom and beauty of ancient China. I dance for the millions who cannot speak, for the children still waiting for loved ones who will never return.

Their courage moves me. Their stories fuel me. And their hope flows through every movement I make.