Perhaps because I got the place so badly wrong at the beginning, I have found myself making amends to Hong Kong ever since. Arriving in 1994 from the exhilaration of South Africa as it became a democracy, I found my first six months in Hong Kong empty of meaning. Where was the political drama, the commitment to bigger ideas? I was alienated by the relentless pursuit of wealth that I imagined was the defining characteristic of the city. It was noisy, brash, ever-expanding, with the Chinese world and the late colonial world divided by language and, as I would later come to realise, a failure of understanding.
In those days, three years before the transition to Chinese rule, Hong Kong was filled with expats on the make, assuring newcomers like myself that the Hong Kong Chinese, and indeed most Asians, were far more concerned with money than with human rights. I also listened to endless recitations from regional statesmen about the primacy of so called “Asian values”, which promoted the security of the group above the rights of the individual. I came to the view quickly enough that most of this was not a coherent intellectual argument but an inverted Orientalism that patronisingly characterised Asians as unsuited to concepts like freedom of speech and one person one vote. It sounded increasingly like an alibi for elites who wished to monopolise power.
For as the months slipped from our first Christmas towards mid-summer, I encountered another Hong Kong: the crowded colony of ideas and free speech, of people like the lawyer Martin Lee, founding father of the pro-democracy movement; Emily Lau, eternally outspoken in defence of human rights; the trade union leader Lau Chin-Shek, who could galvanise thousands for rallies; the flamboyant tycoon Jimmy Lai, who rose from refugee to millionaire and prided himself on causing annoyance to Beijing.
Custodians of democracy
These were the public custodians of Hong Kong’s vibrant democratic movement. They were supported by millions of citizens immersed in a culture of argument that had thrived in the waning years of British imperialism when the old methods of coercion had been abandoned.
The students who thronged the streets in the last week are the children of that exuberant tradition. I met Martin Lee in the middle of the crowd. “Look at them,” he said, “aren’t they wonderful!”
It was the joy of a man who has lived to see his ideas inspire a new generation.
Like every observer who walked among them I was struck by their politeness. I also quickly came to the conclusion they would not violently confront the Chinese state. This was not a revolution. It was not an attempt to inspire an uprising against the Communist Party. The central idea of the protests may have been universal but their focus was local. As one long-term expatriate put it to me: “It’s about people wanting to elect the mayor of their own city and not having one imposed on them.”
Beijing does not see it like that. Obsessed with “national security” – for which read the security of the Communist Party – the leadership regards the Hong Kong protest movement as a potential catalyst for the destruction of its power.
Menacing statements
Reading the increasingly menacing statements from Beijing – via the party mouthpiece the
People’s Daily
– it became clear there would be no compromise on the electoral law. Only those approved by the party would be allowed to go forward for election. Apart from an offer of talks – about exactly what nobody is sure – with the Hong Kong leadership, Beijing can be expected to remain steadfast.
For while the focus of the majority of protesters is local, the party knows that yielding to their demands might inspire like-minded individuals elsewhere in China to protest.
The ghost of Tiananmen hovers over both rulers and ruled. The students fear they will ultimately fall entirely under the control of China’s all-powerful security state. The politburo dreads the rise of a popular movement sweeping across China. The party’s legitimacy derives entirely from its capacity to deliver better living standards for tens of millions of people, from being seen as the only institution in the country capable of delivering prosperity with stability.
The fear is not only of chaos – an eternal Chinese anguish – but of an alternative polity, one that might seek to hold the party to account for its failures.
Beijing’s reaction to the Hong Kong protests is not simply reflexive. It is not only about an immediate security concern. For the Chinese Communist Party, the battle for Hong Kong is inextricably part of the battle for China. The conventional wisdom is that China is too powerful to care about what the world thinks. There is some truth in that.
But the more relevant point is Beijing’s fear of what the Chinese people think. At the heart of it all is insecurity about the future of the party. A regime that was relaxed about its grip on power would have allowed Hong Kong to choose its leader with the minimum of fuss. Instead it saw in the elections for a bustling but small place a potentially deadly virus.
Made a stand
The students have not won. But neither have they lost. They made a stand that caught the attention of the world and sensibly gave way before provoking a major crackdown. In that sense they learned the lesson of Tiananmen: better to live and fight another day than draw down oppression that kills off your ability to mobilise for the future. In some form or other the ideas they championed will return. Fergal Keane is a BBC special correspondent who reported from Hong Kong for BBC World News
See his BBC report at : www.bbc.com/news/world-asia-29452764