Litmus Test

Evian Wong now has a firsthand taste of the new Hong Kong. The 33-year-old business executive is a follower of the Falun Gong spiritual movement that for the past 18 months has been the target of a brutal crackdown on the mainland. On Jan. 2, Wong awoke as usual at 6 a.m. and made the 10-minute walk from her apartment to a nearby park, where she spent an hour practicing the group's freeze-frame meditation exercises. When she arrived at the office, her boss was waiting. He bluntly told Wong she was fired—despite  having offered her a promotion two days before. "He had asked me several times to stop practicing Falun Gong in public because his business sometimes requires him to deal with mainland officials," she says. "I don't think he was firing me because I practiced Falun Gong, but because China had banned it."

If Falun Gong is a test of the Communist Party's resolve—the group claims more than 100 of its members have perished in Chinese prisons—it's also a critical trial for Hong Kong's ability to retain its separate way of life. The guiding mantra in the former colony is "one country, two systems," but the trend, many fear, is veering more toward a single country and less toward diverging systems. Prominent Hong Kong citizens with strong ties to Beijing are issuing shrill condemnations of Falun Gong and its activities in the territory, prompting speculation that a mainland-style ban may follow. Others are happy to jettison personal freedoms if that increases the chance of doing business with the mainland.

Coming on the heels of several other unsettling incidents, including the resignation of Hong Kong's top civil servant Anson Chan, many in the territory wonder whether the moment of truth has arrived: four years after Britain's colonial rulers sailed away, is Beijing about to drop its pretense of non- interference and force Hong Kong to toe the line on Falun Gong?

Last week Tung Chee-hwa, Hong Kong's genial but unpopular Chief Executive, looked into the political abyss and backed away. Speaking to Hong Kong's Legislative Council, he echoed Beijing's assertion that Falun Gong is an "evil cult." But he stopped short of saying he would follow the suggestions of pro-Beijing figures to ban the group. As one official put it, Tung was walking a "razor's edge," trying to keep mainland backers happy while avoiding comments that might suggest the city's vaunted autonomy and rule of law were crumbling. The situation is so precarious that even Democratic Party leader Martin Lee, a frequent critic of Tung, acknowledges the Chief Executive's dilemma. "I don't think Tung is in a position right now to completely cave-in and ban the group," Lee says. "If he throws one person in prison, there will be more. It's a big headache for him."

Chan's resignation in early January  ignited new fears about the erosion of Hong Kong's unique status. Though she said she was quitting to spend more time with her family, the move was widely interpreted as a sign that she was at odds with Tung, over, among other things, the pace of the terri-tory's democratic development. Chan has described herself as a symbol of the terri-tory's independence, inviting journalists to view her as the canary in Hong Kong's political coal mine. Her departure, therefore, is a signal that all is not well. Chan's resignation marks the beginning of Hong Kong's "second transition," according to William Overholt, an executive director of Nomura International in Hong Kong.

The chorus of concern grew louder when the first Chinese Nobel laureate in literature, exiled author Gao Xingjian (whose works are banned in the mainland) visited Hong Kong three weeks ago. Instead of being feted, he was pointedly ignored by officials.

What exactly Tung's mentors in Beijing expect him to do is unclear. There's no doubt that mainland authorities are enraged that Falun Gong is using Hong Kong as a rallying point in a campaign to protest their colleagues' fate on the mainland. Beijing reacted with fury in January when 1,000 Falun Gong members held a meeting at Hong Kong's City Hall. Nor is there any dispute that the impetus to crush the group is coming from the very top. "Jiang Zemin let it be known that he wanted the crackdown," says an Asian diplomat in Beijing.

Many take the view that the controversy is simply another milestone on a path that will someday lead to Beijing's complete control. "Pro-Beijing forces in Hong Kong are  in a strong enough position that they have plenty of time," says Jimmy Lai, the feisty owner of the openly pro-democracy Apple Daily who recently abandoned Hong Kong for Taiwan. "They don't need to rush. But change is coming—and it's not for the better."

Watching Falun Gong adherents pray, it's hard to see them as a threat. At the twice-weekly meeting in Kitty Fung's tiny Wanchai apartment, bodies are crammed everywhere. Most of those present keep their heads buried in copies of Zhuan Falun, the Falun Gong bible. Chanting the phrases together, they remain oblivious to anyone entering or leaving the room.

Evian Wong displays that kind of dogged faith, the attribute that has so infuriated the authorities in Beijing. Despite losing her job, Wong still intends to tell potential employers she is a Falun Gong follower. But she has no desire to take her case to the labor tribunal for unfair dismissal. "Falun Gong teaches us not to make people feel uncomfortable," she says. "And if my actions make other people suffer, I won't do it." If present tensions are any indication, Wong and her fellow Falun Gong believers will need all the fortitude their faith can provide.