tim's experiment

The news that one of our senior officials has to be hooked up to a gadget every night to make up for the deficiencies of his kidneys unleashed a wave of heartrending stories about the hard life led by ministers. Recent casualties were enumerated, and touching quotes provided about the difficulty of being constantly answerable to the public. Some officials were reported to be working 14-hour days, some to be wilting from overwork.

Well hold your tears. This is predominantly a government of mature to elderly men. Such men generally have the odd medical problem. There is no evidence that being a minister in the Hong Kong SARG is more dangerous or wearing than other jobs commonly taken by men in their 50 and 60s. There is no evidence that appointees are sicker as a group than others of a similar demographic make-up. Nor is there any evidence that being answerable to “the public” is any more difficult and stressful than being answerable to some individual boss who may have his or her own prejudices and caprices.

I also doubt that they actually have that much to do. The big decisions are made in Beijing. I presume people would not have accepted appointment to our puppet regime if they were not happy with that. The small decisions can be left to one’s ever more numerous underlings and assistants. Anyone who is finding himself bowed by an excess of real work needs to sort out his priorities.

But on closer inquiry one finds that they are not bowed by an excess of real work. When you ask how the Secretary for Sewage can possibly justify working 14 hours a day you are told that he has very time-consuming social obligations. So the secretarial day goes something like this. The clock starts at 8 am, when he is collected by the office car and driver. By 8.30 he is in the totally unnecessary daily meeting known as “morning prayers” with all the  other bigwigs. At 9.30 he gets back to his own office and spends a couple of hours with the correspndence, emails, files, etc. Then it’s off to an official luncheon of the Sewage Conractors Association, at which he is the guest of honour. The afternoon is spent on an official visit to the North Kowloon office of the Department of Sewerage Services. Here the staff have spent the last two months making sure he will have a good time. Half an hour before he arrives a lift has been reserved for his exclusive use. The toilet seat has been warmed and the champagne has been cooled.

In the evening we are off to another formal dinner or two. Leading to our hero arriving home about 10 and feeling that he has clocked 14 hours on the job, after a strenuous day of meeting, eating, inspecting and adding to his collection of souvenir plaques. Now of course I realise that this is not as much fun as it sounds. Going to parties as a job sounds wonderful. It soon palls, even on reporters with a well-developed taste for free beer.  On the other hand, and considering the remuneration and the perks involved, the secretary’s routine  certainly beats a great many other jobs you can think of.

So one can offer two suggestions for ministers who feel the job is killing them. One is “get organised”. Send your deputy to morning prayers, limit your engagements, delegate. You are part of a municipal government, not a global empire. Rule one is don’t sweat the small stuff.  Rule two is: it’s all small stuff.

 The other possible course of action is to resign. You can then relax, take a lucrative job with the company which builds Hong Kong’s sewers, and explore the world’s golf courses. Do not be dissuaded by the argument that the government will have trouble finding a talented, enterprising and effective replacement for you. Why should they? How many of your present colleagues are talented, enterprising and effective? Conformist mediocrity is what they really want, and of that there is no shortage.