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Little watched, Hong Kong's democratic fever is reaching its crisis...
Illustration by M. Morgenstern
Illustration by M. Morgenstern
THE struggle for democracy in Hong Kong is not like the struggle elsewhere. One venerable warrior takes holy communion alongside the territory’s chief executive before spending the rest of the day lambasting him. Another, a bluestocking barrister, struggles to pump her fist in time to the campaign music, after listening to Mozart at home. A former high official turned freedom fighter, dubbed “Hong Kong’s conscience”, famously peeled off from a march to pop into the hairdressers. Democrats and their “pro-Beijing” adversaries alike send their sons to Ampleforth, Winchester or other snooty British schools.
Part of the flavour of Hong Kong’s democracy struggle comes from the close intertwining of the elite in a small territory of 7m. And, as a columnist, Michael Chugani, puts it, the democratic fight is waged with democracy-style freedoms. People take to the streets, mock their rulers in the press, or take them to court. When Britain handed Hong Kong to China in 1997, these freedoms were not certain to endure. Yet the Communists in Beijing have endured too. Their opposition to radical change has given politics the air of a theatrical set-piece. Everybody knows his part.
That impression was reinforced on November 19th, when the chief executive, Donald Tsang Yam-kuen, proposed reforms aimed at widening democracy in 2012, the year of elections for his successor and for a new Legislative Council (“Legco”). The democracy camp, with 23 out of 60 seats in a Legco that is still rigged against it, condemned them as little different from earlier proposals, which Legco voted down in 2005. In the chamber, the official explaining the plan waited for the inevitable missile hurled by “Long Hair” Leung Kwok-hung, one of Hong Kong’s very few anarcho-Trotskyites. It proved to be a cardboard microwave oven, symbolising warmed-up fare. All good fun.
Though democrats rarely admit it, political theatre, within bounds, has brought incremental improvements. In 2003 protests led the government “temporarily” to suspend a deeply unpopular anti-sedition law imposed at China’s behest. In the 2005 debate about political reform, democrats’ main beef was the absence of a timetable for universal suffrage, promised in Hong Kong’s mini-constitution, the Basic Law. But in 2007, aware of growing local anger, China ruled that it would apply starting in 2017 for electing the chief executive, and from 2020 for Legco.
Five years seems neither here nor there. So why make a fuss about 2012? One reason is that it is still far from clear what China means by “universal suffrage”. Take the “functional constituencies”, a British legacy. These are made up of companies, professional bodies and trade unions, in which 16,000 organisations and just 211,000 individuals “elect” half of Legco’s members. The latest proposals leave the functional constituencies intact. Stephen Lam Sui-lung, secretary for constitutional affairs, argues that the chief executive in 2017, elected through universal suffrage, will have the mandate to reform them. Democrats naturally want these rotten boroughs abolished in favour of purely geographical seats, but Mr Lam says that “the government has not reached such a strong conclusion.” A bastard system may prevail. As for the chief executive’s post, high barriers to nomination might yet debar candidates with a democratic bent.
Audrey Eu Yuet-mee, head of the Civic Party, says Hong Kong needs a “road map” for getting to the final democratic arrangements. Now frustration is driving some to bolder theatre. Long Hair Leung’s League of Social Democrats and the Civic Party, made up mainly of barristers, propose that a legislative councillor in each of Hong Kong’s five geographical districts now resign, sparking by-elections in which each will campaign on the single issue of universal suffrage. They intend the by-elections to send a resounding popular message to Beijing. If that fails, some want democratic legislators to resign en masse.
The plan is a huge gamble for the pan-democratic camp, putting at risk the 20 seats democrats need to wield a veto, without which any old political package might pass. Worse, says Ronny Tong Ka-wah, a founder of the Civic Party, the proposal is splitting political parties, the pan-democratic camp, and Hong Kong at large. In particular, the Democratic Party, veterans of the democracy movement but against the by-election plan, are lambasted by younger radicals as traitors. Rather than hastening political reform, all this may encourage China to resist it. “For 20 years Beijing has wanted to divide us,” says Mr Tong. “Now we’re destroying the democratic movement without Beijing lifting a finger.”
Rotten boroughs, rotten fruits
Since legal freedoms have survived, some question whether democracy really matters at all. The answer is certainly yes, it does. As it is, Mr Tsang and his unelected team struggle with declining popularity and problems of governance. A point never acknowledged by China (unsurprisingly) is that democratic legitimacy would help the executive branch. Nor is it true, as China has argued, that Hong Kong is an “economic city” whose go-getting residents care not a fig for politics. That ignores Hong Kong’s under-represented poor. A highly skewed distribution of political rights is mirrored by equally skewed wealth. The average living space per person in public housing is 12.5 square metres (135 square feet), half that in China, which is eight times poorer. Thousands of men live in “cage homes” like livestock coops.
The pearl-wearing freedom fighters understand this. So do their conservative opponents. In the early 1970s industrialists insisted that an end to the seven-day week would spell doom for Hong Kong. Their sons today argue against a minimum wage, a social-safety net and an end to the functional constituencies. The difference is that their fathers would never have expected the Chinese Communist Party to be their staunchest ally.
Part of the flavour of Hong Kong’s democracy struggle comes from the close intertwining of the elite in a small territory of 7m. And, as a columnist, Michael Chugani, puts it, the democratic fight is waged with democracy-style freedoms. People take to the streets, mock their rulers in the press, or take them to court. When Britain handed Hong Kong to China in 1997, these freedoms were not certain to endure. Yet the Communists in Beijing have endured too. Their opposition to radical change has given politics the air of a theatrical set-piece. Everybody knows his part.
That impression was reinforced on November 19th, when the chief executive, Donald Tsang Yam-kuen, proposed reforms aimed at widening democracy in 2012, the year of elections for his successor and for a new Legislative Council (“Legco”). The democracy camp, with 23 out of 60 seats in a Legco that is still rigged against it, condemned them as little different from earlier proposals, which Legco voted down in 2005. In the chamber, the official explaining the plan waited for the inevitable missile hurled by “Long Hair” Leung Kwok-hung, one of Hong Kong’s very few anarcho-Trotskyites. It proved to be a cardboard microwave oven, symbolising warmed-up fare. All good fun.
Though democrats rarely admit it, political theatre, within bounds, has brought incremental improvements. In 2003 protests led the government “temporarily” to suspend a deeply unpopular anti-sedition law imposed at China’s behest. In the 2005 debate about political reform, democrats’ main beef was the absence of a timetable for universal suffrage, promised in Hong Kong’s mini-constitution, the Basic Law. But in 2007, aware of growing local anger, China ruled that it would apply starting in 2017 for electing the chief executive, and from 2020 for Legco.Five years seems neither here nor there. So why make a fuss about 2012? One reason is that it is still far from clear what China means by “universal suffrage”. Take the “functional constituencies”, a British legacy. These are made up of companies, professional bodies and trade unions, in which 16,000 organisations and just 211,000 individuals “elect” half of Legco’s members. The latest proposals leave the functional constituencies intact. Stephen Lam Sui-lung, secretary for constitutional affairs, argues that the chief executive in 2017, elected through universal suffrage, will have the mandate to reform them. Democrats naturally want these rotten boroughs abolished in favour of purely geographical seats, but Mr Lam says that “the government has not reached such a strong conclusion.” A bastard system may prevail. As for the chief executive’s post, high barriers to nomination might yet debar candidates with a democratic bent.
Audrey Eu Yuet-mee, head of the Civic Party, says Hong Kong needs a “road map” for getting to the final democratic arrangements. Now frustration is driving some to bolder theatre. Long Hair Leung’s League of Social Democrats and the Civic Party, made up mainly of barristers, propose that a legislative councillor in each of Hong Kong’s five geographical districts now resign, sparking by-elections in which each will campaign on the single issue of universal suffrage. They intend the by-elections to send a resounding popular message to Beijing. If that fails, some want democratic legislators to resign en masse.
The plan is a huge gamble for the pan-democratic camp, putting at risk the 20 seats democrats need to wield a veto, without which any old political package might pass. Worse, says Ronny Tong Ka-wah, a founder of the Civic Party, the proposal is splitting political parties, the pan-democratic camp, and Hong Kong at large. In particular, the Democratic Party, veterans of the democracy movement but against the by-election plan, are lambasted by younger radicals as traitors. Rather than hastening political reform, all this may encourage China to resist it. “For 20 years Beijing has wanted to divide us,” says Mr Tong. “Now we’re destroying the democratic movement without Beijing lifting a finger.”
Rotten boroughs, rotten fruits
Since legal freedoms have survived, some question whether democracy really matters at all. The answer is certainly yes, it does. As it is, Mr Tsang and his unelected team struggle with declining popularity and problems of governance. A point never acknowledged by China (unsurprisingly) is that democratic legitimacy would help the executive branch. Nor is it true, as China has argued, that Hong Kong is an “economic city” whose go-getting residents care not a fig for politics. That ignores Hong Kong’s under-represented poor. A highly skewed distribution of political rights is mirrored by equally skewed wealth. The average living space per person in public housing is 12.5 square metres (135 square feet), half that in China, which is eight times poorer. Thousands of men live in “cage homes” like livestock coops.
The pearl-wearing freedom fighters understand this. So do their conservative opponents. In the early 1970s industrialists insisted that an end to the seven-day week would spell doom for Hong Kong. Their sons today argue against a minimum wage, a social-safety net and an end to the functional constituencies. The difference is that their fathers would never have expected the Chinese Communist Party to be their staunchest ally.
Economist.com/blogs/banyan
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