The Long March — page 2

Although colonial-era security laws that remain on the statute books are in some ways more Draconian, the Article 23 bill is nonetheless felt to be more threatening to civil liberties because it will be Beijing, not Britain, that applies it. Driving this concern is the fundamental mistrust of the mainland that Hong Kongers have obligingly contained since the handover but which is now erupting, with all the predictable urgency of long-suppressed and unresolved emotion. Even those unopposed to the Article 23 bill—such as Shiu Sin-por, director of right-wing think tank One Country Two Systems Research Institute—are prepared to concede this. "The opposition to Article 23 is a manifestation of fundamental differences between Hong Kong and China," he says. "The really fundamental difference is a lack of trust of the communists in Beijing, and that's something no one can change. If you don't trust the central government, then this type of proposal, no matter how good, means you won't feel safe."

Though Tung on Saturday announced half-hearted concessions—scrapping provisions relating to arbitrary police powers to enter homes and requiring that organizations banned in the mainland be likewise curtailed in Hong Kong, and adding a safeguard that would protect media that publish "sensitive" information so long as publication is in the public interest—he has failed to address the crisis of confidence in his government. In mishandling the Article 23 bill since it was introduced, the Tung Administration has inadvertently raised the stakes so that protestors now want more than amendments and blandishments. They want real, tangible evidence of openness and, eventually, universal suffrage. "Now I'm definitely going to march to Legco on July 9," says Ricton Cheung, a 41-year-old advertising executive who echoes the sentiments of many Hong Kongers. "The amendments are beside the point, because that's not what the people are requesting."

The concessions themselves may prove a disastrous gambit on Tung's part. It is a political dictum that unrepresentative regimes are at their weakest not when they ignore dissent but when they make belated attempts at conciliation. Tung's concessions do not go far enough to appease the crowds now baying for his head, although making any concessions at all is a de facto admission that he has been guilty of misreading the public mood. Indeed, the reaction to what Tung considers a major effort at rebuilding public trust was swift and uncompromising. Even former Chief Secretary Anson Chan, who retains significant personal popularity in Hong Kong, broke her usual queenly composure. "Both the government and the Legislative Council have demonstrated that they were not responsive to community aspirations," she proclaimed. "I think that the sooner the government allows a proper debate and discussion about the pace of universal suffrage, the better it would be for everybody ... It almost seems as if they're daring the people to take to the streets."

Democratic Party Chairman Yeung Sum said he was pushing for the postponement in order to allow a fresh round of consultations with the public, and had hoped that Tien's Liberal Party, whose eight seats were to be the swing votes in this week's Legco showdown, would also ask for deferral. "We need time to heal the pain between the government and the people," says Yeung, "so the only thing is to defer." Wish granted. As Liberal Party legislator Miriam Lau confirmed, "our Party stance right now is that we prefer deferment, to allow more time for the community to discuss this."

Although deferment of or amendments to the bill may satisfy some conservative elements reluctantly drawn into last week's protests, they are not expected to diminish the democracy movement's broad base of support. Once broken, trust is not easily won again, least of all by perfunctory concessions. Even archconservative David Chu of the Hong Kong Progressive Alliance was heard on a radio talk show saying that "today, even if the government wanted to pass a free-lunch bill they would have difficulty." And although a deferment will allow both government and protestors to cool off, if it is not followed by a sincere and open public consultation, deeper social unrest is all but guaranteed.

China's leadership cannot be pleased with a democracy movement suddenly flowering in soil that had long been considered arid. Developments last week showed Beijing bigwigs distancing themselves from Tung's predicament. Three days before his resignation from the cabinet, Liberal Party chief Tien said that Liao Hui, head of the Hong Kong and Macau Affairs Office in Beijing, had indicated to him that China was OK with postponing the vote and that it wasn't concerned about the details of the law so long as it was eventually enacted. Most notably, when Chinese Premier Wen Jiabao was in the territory, he seemed to go out of his way to appear as the anti-Tung. He went on impromptu walkabouts (hugely popular with the public), rocked in his arms the baby of a mother who perished in the sars epidemic and generally conveyed the impression that he cared about Hong Kong. Not once, it was widely noted, did he say that Tung was doing a good job—usually a pro forma statement from visiting Chinese leaders. Says Tsang Yok-sing, head of the pro-Beijing Party in Legco, the Democratic Alliance for Betterment of Hong Kong, and an adviser to Tung: "The Chief Executive still has the support of the central government—I think."

Even if Tung survives, observers reckon it will become increasingly difficult for his Administration to push through other unpopular measures, such as proposals to raise taxes or cut welfare benefits. "When people don't trust their government, they doubt everything," notes political activist Christine Loh. "So the government can't get anything done and is in continual crisis."

The irony for Hong Kong, and China, may be that such a crisis could end with a rejuvenated, more confident city that is once again viewed internationally as a dynamic center of culture and commerce. Contrary to Beijing's and perhaps Tung's fears, increased freedoms for Hong Kong may mean greater stability in the territory. (For an example of a stable Chinese democracy, see Taiwan.) Multinational corporations and international investors would be reassured that rule of law exists, public opinion matters and due process is observed—in short, that Hong Kong is not just another Chinese city. "Democracy is not a free gift," says the Democrats' Yeung Sum. "We have to fight for it." It's a fight that, if won, could mean Hong Kong's salvation—and future.

—With reporting by Aryn Baker, Neil Gough, Carmen Lee and Bryan Walsh/Hong Kong, Matthew Forney/Beijing, and Joyce Huang and Donald Shapiro/Taipei

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