Hong Kong's Defiance — page 3

If mainland China more closely mirrors Hong Kong in the material sense, what does Hong Kong represent to its overlords in Beijing? To the Chinese, Hong Kong is a dynamic illustration of freedom-under-communism that will persuade Taiwan to reunite with the mainland. (That theory has taken a bruising since direct elections were nixed; Taiwan's people, after all, elect all their leaders.) It's also a proud showcase to the world as China's most modern and functional city. What Beijing never intended it to be was an experiment in democracy on Chinese soil. "China doesn't want to see any democratic progress in Hong Kong because that could be a big threat to the mainland itself," says political scientist Wu Guoguang, a professor of government at the Chinese University of Hong Kong, who before 1989 was an aide to Party chief Zhao Ziyang, who was purged after Tiananmen. "Given the widespread social discontent among China's rural poor, Beijing wants to prevent Hong Kong from serving as a [BRACKET {democratic}] model for the mainland."

To that end, Beijing first offered carrots. In addition to sending armies of shopping-obsessed tourists to Hong Kong, it has tried to buck up the territory's economy by signing an economic pact that gives Hong Kong-based businesses preferential treatment in mainland China over other foreign firms. Yet the central government has received little of the gratitude it might have expected. "They can't buy the people," says Emily Lau, one of Hong Kong's pro-democracy legislators pilloried by Beijing this spring. "Our goals are modest: Hong Kong people recognize we are part of China, but that it would be good to have a democracy under Chinese sovereignty."

	Beijing wants to prevent Hong Kong from serving as a [democratic] model for the mainland. —WU GUOGUANG,  professor of government

Faced with such recalcitrance, Chinese officials have reached for the stick. There's the intimidating public rhetoric designed to scare voters from electing too many democrats in Legco's coming election in September, which promises to be a referendum on Tung and Beijing. And there's private pressure of the sort that persuaded the three talk-show hosts to quit their jobs. Albert Cheng, who abandoned his popular show in May, says he's learned the value of keeping his trap shut, eschewing his onetime reputation as Hong Kong's most outspoken man: "I go to the races, I wine and dine, but I won't say anything political. It is too dangerous. That should tell you enough about what I think about the present situation in Hong Kong." Many ordinary Hong Kongers also think it's now wise to lie low. In Victoria Park last Friday, retired business-management professor Paul Fang, 77, gathered with a bunch of fellow teachers, as they have for each of the past Tiananmen memorials. But several members of the group didn't show up: they had been warned by their employers not to go at the risk of being fired. Fang sympathized: "They have to keep their jobs."

Politicized Hong Kongers say their only choice is to keep pushing for democracy to show Beijing that its golden goose won't merely lay eggs without honking. They're hoping that hundreds of thousands will come out into the streets again on July 1 for the anniversary of last year's massive demonstration. The bigger test is in September, when the pro-democracy groups will try to capture as many seats as possible in the Legco election, although a majority is almost impossible: only half of the 60 places are voted for by geographic districts. The other half are voted for by industry and social groups, and usually go to conservative candidates. China will undoubtedly keep up the pressure, public and private. "Beijing is scared of an opposition legislature," Lingnan University's Li says, "an idea that is totally new to them." Though direct elections for the Chief Executive have been ruled out until 2012 at the earliest, some groups are pushing for an expansion of the body that appoints the territory's top dog to make it more representative of Hong Kong's different constituencies. But that's just a proposal—and maybe a pipe dream.

It's a strange place that Hong Kongers now occupy. Consider Wong Tak-wai, an idealistic 22-year-old who just graduated from Lingnan University with a political-science degree. Last week, Wong was in Victoria Park at the Tiananmen rally, standing up for Hong Kong. "We can't do anything to stop the central government except vote in the election in September," he says. But this week, Wong is doing charity work on the mainland: he and a few friends have flown to Guizhou, one of the poorest provinces on the mainland, to help teachers and students improve education for the poor. Classmate Elaine Leung, 23, a major in Chinese culture, is accompanying Wong into the distant boondocks, but with some trepidation. "I know China's our mother," says Leung, "but there are certain things I just don't agree with her about." Leung confesses that her own identity is "very complicated," and getting more so each day. "There's something scary," she says, "about mainland China."

With reporting by Aryn Baker, Chaim Estulin, Neil Gough and Carmen Lee/Hong Kong

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	Shocked Jocks [May 25, 2004] Hong Kong's incendiary political climate claims another outspoken radio host Who's in Charge Of Hong Kong? [Apr. 09, 2004] To the dismay of democracy advocates, China is tightening its control over the territory Push and Shove [Mar. 09, 2004] It's not just Taiwan. China also has to deal with growing pressure for democracy in Hong Kong More Related Items | Search all issues of TIME Magazine