Hong Kong is not China yet, but that feared day is coming ever nearer Louisa Lim Mon 17 Jun2019 01.19 BST Theextradition law was delayed after a million people took to the streets, but thefight for the territory’s values is far from over
Hong Kong has become a place whosepresent is unresolved and whose future is unimaginable. After the unexpectedviolence of the last week, no one can predict how the events of this afternoon,tomorrow, this week will play out. The only certainty is that Hong Kong’s wayof life is under immediate threat and its people are coming out in force todefend it. But the curse of living in theeternal immediate present is that the stakes for this “last fight” could not behigher, especially since young Hong Kongers fear that if they are defeated inthis battle, there will be nothing left to lose. The failure of the Umbrellamovement five years ago, when Hong Kongers occupied important thoroughfares for79 days, seeking greater democratic participation, to win any concrete gainshas raised the stakes further still this time round. “HK is not China! Not yet!” Thesefew words hastily scrawled on to a piece of A4 paper and tacked on to theconcrete strut of a walkway aptly encapsulate the political crisis roiling HongKong. The territory has been plunged into instability after police fired rubberbullets and 150 rounds of teargas to break up a huge rally on 12 June, justdays after a million people peacefully took to the streets to protest againstextradition legislation. “Not yet” is a reference to theterms of the joint declaration governing Hong Kong’s return to Chinese rule in1997, which promised that the territory’s way of life would remain unchangedfor 50 years, until 2047. When it was signed, in 1984, the year 2047 seemedimpossibly far off, but the proposed extradition law brings 2047 much, muchcloser. By permitting the rendition ofanyone on Hong Kong soil to face trial in China, it would effectively removethe firewall between Hong Kong’s common law system and the mainland’sparty-dominated legal system. Though the government has now suspended the bill,the process has unleashed a firestorm of fear and anger. Since the Umbrella movement, HongKongers have already seen irrevocable changes to their way of life: popularlyelected lawmakers have been disqualified by the courts for saying their oathstoo slowly or with the wrong intonation; politicians have been forbidden tostand for election; a political party has been banned; activists have been sentto prison on public-order offences; now the police have used violence againsttheir own people. The unseemly rush to pass this unpopularextradition law has also weakened each of the territory’s institutions. Thelegislature descended into unseemly brawls, with fist fights breaking out ascommittees duelled. The civil service and judiciary are no longer seen aspolitically neutral. The police force, once seen as Asia’s finest, is an objectof popular hatred, and its relationship with the public is irretrievablydamaged. The chief executive, Carrie Lam, isso unpopular that protesters carried pictures of her face stamped with the word“Liar” and 6,000 mothers turned out to accuse her of not being fit for office.Even though the bill has been put on hold, the process has already permanentlydevalued the institutions that HK people hold dear. Hong Kong’s status as a city ofprotest is also under threat. The ability to demonstrate has become animportant expression of local identity that distinguishes Hong Kong from Chinaand over the years Hong Kongers have enthusiastically marched with performativeflair, mounting shopping actions, carol singing rallies and artistic protestsagainst censorship with blank placards. Yet the designation of Wednesday’sprotest as a riot, combined with court verdicts finding activists guilty onpublic nuisance charges, strike at the very heart of the ability to stage a protest. Today, any call to public action,even the act of giving speeches to a rally, requires a greater degree ofcaution. The young activists involved in recent protests have switched tacticsto form leaderless, anonymous collectives, hiding their identities with facemasks and using messaging apps to organise. The government has begun to actagainst these, arresting one Telegram group administrator on suspicion ofconspiracy to commit public nuisance. Many activists no longer welcome theirphotos being taken or doing interviews with foreign media. Within the course ofa week, they are becoming as cautious as mainland Chinese dissidents. Byshutting young people out of the political process, the government may wellhave created an underground resistance that sees that radical action can haveresults. But the core values that HongKongers cherish include universal values, press freedom, judicial independenceand civil rights. These are seen by Beijing as among the “sevenunmentionables”, putting Hong Kongers on the frontline of the clash betweenwestern “universal” values and the Communist party’s need for total control. Faced with these existentialthreats, Hong Kong’s default position has in recent years been a defensivecrouch. “We don’t have a grand strategy,” the political scientist Ray Yep fromCity University told me before this round of protests had broken out. “In everysituation, you just defend what you can the most. This is how you defend HongKong values. We defend what we have. It’s defensive but it can be offensive aswell.” When one in seven of the population turns out to protest against theextradition legislation, defence becomes attack, particularly in the eyes ofBeijing. The protest messages on the piecesof paper flapping on the overhead walkway underline the confusion, shock andanger reverberating through the territory in the wake of last week’s violence.“Stop shooting students.” “Is protesting a crime?” “Is speaking a crime?” But equally, there’s a flintydetermination that underpins the realisation that, even if this struggle overthe extradition law is won, there will be the next fight, then the next.Because Hong Kong is not China yet. Not yet, but 2047 moves ever closer at anaccelerating pace. One message simply said: “Keep going till the end.” Louisa Lim is the author of The People’s Republic of Amnesia
