tim's experiment

It was a normal week in Hong Kong. One story told of a series of legal gymnastics which resulted in a developer putting a monstrous block of flats in a part of Tsim Sha Tsui reserved for commercial development, and thereby making a great deal of money.  Another story told us that thousands of flats had been kept vacant for years by the government and the Housing Society lest their sale to the public result in lower prices and profits for developers. And another story told of an old man who died sleeping in the street during the cold spell.

In a sense, no doubt, it would be unfair to see any link between these stories. Developers who put up posh flats for sale to mainlanders with money to launder are just responding to the situation in which they find themselves. Building accommodation for poor people is not lucrative. So why bother? No doubt the official who promised the Real Estate functional constituency that Donald Tsang would cherish their financial interests if he received their support had the interests of Hong Kong people at heart. He sincerely believed that a few more years of Donald would be good for us. Nobody concerned in these manoevres intended to kill anyone. Everybody concerned went home in the evening proud of another day’s work in the interests of the community.

But still, there is a connection. Because the accommodation for poor people is given a lower priority than featherbedding millionaires, the housing available to such people is crowded, dirty and unattractive. So they live in the street. And if enough people live in the street some of them will die in the street. I do not blame the millionaires. You do not get seriously rich without being seriously greedy. We are what we are. The officials are another matter. It is too easy when all your work comes to you on paper to forget the human consequences of it all. Memos circulate, agendas are approved, memoranda are drafted, regulations promulgated, legislation proposed and policies implemented. And at the end of all this, somewhere out in the grubby world beyond the office window, someone suffers or rejoices, lives or dies. It is too easy to maim or hurt or kill when you don’t have to see the victim’s face. But the consequencews are there all the same. We live in a city where poor old men die of exposure in the street. I am ashamed.