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The city of Lviv, now in Western Ukraine and said to be very beautiful, has had the misfortune of an interesting history. At various times in the past it has been called Lemberg, Lemberik, Lwow or Lvov.
A change of name usually signalled a change in political ownership. And this change, if there was time to think about it, posed a question to the inhabitants: to leave or to stay.
Unfortunately this usually involved a great deal of uncertainty about the practical prospects, and a range of subordinate questions, some of which had no obvious answer: will people like me be killed, enslaved, or deported, will my religion still be acceptable, may I continue to speak my mother tongue and may my children be taught in it, will I still be able to work in my present job, will there be law and order and if there is will it be fair?
This sort of dilemma seems very alien to Hong Kong expats, most of whom come from stable democracies which have not been invaded for a century or two. It will be all too familiar to some locals; I used to know several musicians who had fled Indonesia at a time of anti-Chinese pogroms, only to land in the mainland just in time for the Cultural Revolution.
Well if it seems alien to you it’s time to get used to it. Choices of this kind were familiar in the 20th century and one of their features was that delay was sometimes expensive or even fatal. Those who failed to make an early getaway from the then Czechoslovakia in 1948 found themselves in the Soviet block for the next 40 years. Citizens of East Berlin could simply walk to freedom until the construction of the Berlin Wall in 1961. After that, attempted emigration could get you shot.
Similarly those who failed to make a timely exit from Shanghai in 1949 discovered (if they were not shot as counter-revolutionaries) that after liberation they were no longer free to leave, or were allowed to leave but could take no belongings with them.
I was talking the other day to a Hongkonger of Jewish ancestry, and he was acutely aware of the need for timely choices in this matter, because some of his ancestors paid with their lives for failure to read accurately the political tealeaves in Central Europe.
And this brings us to Hong Kong, where it is clear that great changes are in progress. It is of course far too early to say whether they will quickly, or ever, reach a stage where it becomes difficult to get away, or at least to take your winnings with you.
The thought that this is one possible destination, though, adds some urgency to the matter. This seems to be more recognised abroad than it is here. I was still digesting the new national security law when the first offers of a temporary home in the UK arrived, closely followed by a warm endorsement from my brother of the Malaysian government’s scheme for elderly immigrants.
You can choose between two theories about what is going on now. One holds that the heat is being turned up gradually so that the frog will stay in the pot until it is cooked. The other is that the softly softly approach has been abandoned and our landlord would be quite happy if we all got BNOs and migrated to Scunthorpe, to be replaced by a similar number of loyal and well-behaved mainlanders.
What you cannot do, it seems to me, is to argue seriously that nothing is happening. There is a certain delightful irony in the fact that this manifest untruth is printed in newspapers which can barely squeeze the news in between full-page advertisements for properties in desirable destinations.
It was possible for some years to argue that “50 years without change” was a dynamic concept, in which a gradual and inevitable increase in the soft radiation from the Liaison Office would be balanced by a gradual increase in local democracy and control over our government. Well that is clearly not going to happen.
The change is naturally more evident in some areas than others. Journalism is in a precarious state. The future for lawyers looks murky. I am glad I am no longer working in the education business, which is clearly going to get the full Holy Inquisition treatment any time now.
Foreigners may feel that this has nothing to do with them. You can still be outspoken in English, as long as you are not a teacher. And they can go somewhere else at the drop of an alarming rumour.
On the other hand they are all potential hostages if their home government annoys our imperial authorities. I would personally be a bit concerned if I had an Australian passport just now.
So we all have to consider: will the end be quick or will it be slow, and at what point will it become difficult or impossible to leave?
There are no tempting choices in this situation. Emigration is always a painful wrench, and happy landings are not guaranteed. Expats who have lived in Hong Kong for half their lives are regularly warned that they will not, if they return, recognise the place they came from.
On the other hand, in another year or two Hong Kong may also be unrecognisable.

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Fed up with the stream of depressing news as Hong King is slipped into a new set of chains? So am I. Therefore let us, for a change, consider the bright side of totalitarian rule. The future is not all gloomy.

Living with dictatorship does have a bright side, difficult though it may be to appreciate it under present circumstances. So here is a rough list of the pleasures we can look forward to:

Cool uniforms: let’s face it, dictators do tend to have strikingly well-dressed minions. The gold standard for uniform design, by general if slightly embarrassed consent, was set by Hitler’s fashion team.

Of course it takes time to change these things, but we already have our own set of Men in Black.

Group callisthenics: nothing cheers up a drooping despot like the spectacle of a football pitch full of his loyal subjects, arrayed in neat rows and waving their arms around in a frenzy of healthy disciplined activity.

This was a big thing in Eastern Europe in the old Warsaw Pact days, and careful observers of the Beijing Olympics opening ceremony will have noticed that it goes down well in the Imperial capital as well.

Of course it is not just about the spectacle for the spectators. Participants are themselves taught the improving lesson that they are tiny cogs in a huge machine, and the alternative to discipline is chaos, as of course it is if you are trying to get several thousand people to do the same exercise at the same time.

Bigger parades: I’m afraid this is one area where democratic countries are a sad let-down. Apart from occasional bursts of Napoleonic nostalgia in France they do not do parades like their authoritarian competitors.

The Queen’s birthday is a good example. Just one Guards regiment doing an extended rendition of the sort of foot drill which won the Battle of Waterloo, and wearing uniforms from about the same era. Then you get a brief appearance from the Household Cavalry, and that’s it.

Your dictators, on the other hand, do not bother with nostalgic manoeuvres. They like their troops in solid square blocks, as here:

This is a formation of no tactical significance. Indeed it is of very little use for anything except marching straight along a wide boulevard or square. If you imagine everyone wielding a long spear you could mistake it for an Ancient Greek phalanx, but they went out of style somewhere between Alexander the Great and Julius Caesar.

The appearance is, though, most intimidating, which is no doubt the object of the exercise.

This brings us to Marching styles: Suggestions that Po-po, who set the local standard in these matters, should switch to something more Chinese, Russian, or (in origin) Prussian have so far been resisted. Only a matter of time, though, before we are treated to something like this:

Swifter elections: Don’t you find elections a drag? We have a solution for this. The leaflets, the loudspeaker vans, the queues, the noise, the people … all become unnecessary with a simple innovation: only one candidate is allowed to run for each seat. 

Our leaders are well on the way to achieving this very considerable saving in stress, cash and impact on the environment. 

Did you know that the total spending on the last round of elections in the US was nearly 11 billion US dollars. All that money down the drain. The next Legco election, by contrast, could come down to a simple government press release announcing the winners, which actually we will already have known since the close of nominations and disqualifications.

Shorter meetings: We really cannot have Legislative Councillors sitting at their desks for eight hours a day in case some trouble-maker challenges the quorum. It’s like having a real job, which is not what they signed up for at all.

The new, all-blue, opposition-free Legco will go back to meetings of what you might call colonial length: everything done and dusted in one afternoon on Wednesdays. Urgent matters will be transacted by email on a “let me know if you are not happy with this” basis.

The new-look Legco. Who needs members?

Nostalgics who remember the all-appointed Legco of the 80s, whose meetings were often derided as “scripted charades” can look forward to looking backwards.

More gardening: Many students of life under Communism in Europe have noticed the proliferation of small but lovingly tended plots. The owners of these mini farms often spent most of their free time in them.

This was no doubt partly in an effort to supplement food supplies, but flowers were grown as well. It seems to have been a sort of displacement activity: if you have no control over your own life you can at least bully your onions.

I expect to see a proliferation of those places in the New Territories where, for a small fee, you can cultivate a plot roughly the size of a small desk. No daffodils please. They’re yellow.

Shorter trials: It is an ongoing scandal that Hong Kong’s courts are wasting so much time deciding matters which are really, as Mr Henry Litton has pointed out, quite simple. But we can expect to see considerable economies in time as the mainland’s frugal habits leak over the boundary.

It is said that in the English legal system you are innocent until proven guilty, while in some Civil Law systems you are presumed guilty until proven innocent. In the mainland legal system life is much simpler. You are presumed guilty until you confess, and then you’re really guilty.

This is the destination towards which Hong Kong judges and magistrates are being pushed and it will entail huge savings. Mainland trials are generally over in a matter of hours and more than 99 per cent of them end in convictions.

You can see why people used to this system might find Hong Kong’s present practices a bit of a puzzle. 

Constitutional language: The reality is that it is a waste of time to read the Basic Law, because it means whatever our rulers wish it to mean. By way of compensation we will be treated to a great deal of elaborate constitutional verbiage.

Thus a cynical observer might suppose that we were now helpless under the successors of a bunch of rural bandits who shot their way to power and kept it by running a nasty police state. The politically correct way of describing this is that Hong Kong is now engaged in accurately and fully implementing ‘one country two systems’ in accordance with national policy and the Constitution of the People’s Republic of China. Doesn’t that feel better?

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It seems that no outrage perpetrated on Hong Kong can be allowed to pass without us being assured by Beijing’s supporters that this is all normal international practice.

Only last week, for example, we were told by one of the regime’s lapdogs that Australia, Canada and some US states had “snitch hotlines”, so complaints about the new Hong Kong one were unjustified because “everyone has one”.

It is going to be a bit of a struggle to cast a veil of normality over our incredible shrinking legislature, which with the accumulated toll of disqualifications and resignations is now down to a membership of 43 (one of whom is the chairman) out of a theoretical 70.

So let me help out here. There is a precedent, and moreover a precedent in London. Take that, Lord Patten.

The parliament in question was elected in 1640. Theoretically it ran on until 1660 but those 20 years were eventful. In 1642 the English Civil War broke out. There were then 503 members but the members who supported the king left. In 1646 some of these members were replaced by new elections, but some were not.

This left 460 members by 1648, at which point the house was purged (Pride’s Purge, named after the Colonel in charge) of members unsympathetic to the army interest, leaving 210 members. This remnant was known as “the Rump Parliament” and ran on, with a good deal of absenteeism among members who doubted the legality of Pride’s Purge, until 1653, when it was dispersed by troops on the orders of Oliver Cromwell.

In 1659, Cromwell being dead, the Rump was reassembled in the hope of designing and bestowing some legitimacy on a replacement for the Protectorate, now occupied rather incongruously by Cromwell’s son. This was not a success and the following year the parliament was unpurged, as it were, with the return of those of the missing members who had survived. It then dissolved itself.

Rather disturbingly from a local point of view, the Rump’s most conspicuous achievement was to authorise the execution of King Charles I. No doubt our local Rump will not be slow to press for prosecutions (this has already started) but we may hope things will not go as far as public decapitations.

Anyway when some apologist for the appalling tells you that worse things have happened to another legislature this is demonstrably, though not perhaps terribly relevantly, true.

The distinguishing feature of our own Rump is its dodgy relationship to the law. The law on Legco vacancies is very simple. The Clerk to Legco has the duty of keeping track of the membership, and on a vacancy occurring of notifying the Electoral Affairs Commission, whose job is to organise the election of a replacement.

The only exception allowed to this procedure is if the legislature would have only three months of its term left by the time the election was conducted. The Chief Executive is not mentioned at all, and there is no suggestion that by-elections require her permission.

No doubt the government will argue that because of the epidemic it is impossible to organise elections. This is revealed as a flimsy piece of work by recent events in the US. They may be having a bad epidemic there and the sitting president may be a dick, but they managed to organise a monstrous electoral exercise on the appointed date.

People can do what they really want to do.

Well we know what our leader really wants to do. She revels in the idea of a Legco composed entirely of Yespeople, which is what she has now got. The only question is how they are going to tackle the visual problem.

The television view of the Policy Address, for example, is going to look pretty odd with out local Duce orating to a half-empty chamber. Will they move the remaining members around so that the part of the chamber most visible to the cameras has a decent crowd in it?

But this would leave the other half empty, and you know photographers pick up that sort of thing very quickly. We may be tempted to import a cast of extras to sit in the seats formerly owned by democrats and look legislative, but is that legal?

A decorative solution would be to follow the example of the Korean football club which replaced its epidemic-barred fans with a row of (fully dressed) female sex dolls. But this would hardly appeal to the pro-government camp, whose attitude to woman legislators tends to be rather misogynist.

Help is at hand. You can now get male sexdolls here. Dress them up in smart suits, glue their fingers to the “yes” button and they will be pretty much like most DAB members. Well slightly quieter but much more handsome.

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People trying to assess the health of the rule of law in Hong Kong tend, quite understandably, to look at those high-profile cases in which the government is trying to ensure that by the time Legco elections do come round — a year late — all the plausible opposition candidates will be either in prison, disqualified or both.

This will transition us painlessly to democracy with Chinese characteristics, in which anyone can vote but you cannot run for office without the Party’s approval.

But these conspicuous examples are quite remote from the rule of law as the man on the proverbial Clapham omnibus encounters it. Most of the legal action which concerns the grass roots takes place unreported and unnoticed in magistrates’ courts.

So how are things going down there? Well here are some bits of flotsam which came down the great river of news and suggest that the answer might be ‘not so good’.

Let us start with the case of Mr Patrick Cheng, who appeared the other day in the Eastern Magistracy, his honour Cheang Kei-hong presiding.

Mr Cheng was accused of “obstructing a public place”. The facts of the case were that on November 11 (when some people were on a city-wide strike) he threw a tin can onto a road. Apparently the can concerned was a bit bigger than the sort of thing your beans come in, being more in the way of a paint tin.

In mitigation Mr Cheng’s lawyer said that one item could not do a great deal to obstruct a road. But the learned magistrate would have none of this, saying the defendant had had an “enormous impact” on people who wanted to lead their normal lives.

This seems a regrettable piece of oratorical overkill. Look at it this way, if Mr Cheang has used up “enormous impact” on throwing a tin can into the road, what is he going to use to describe, say, blowing up a power station or poisoning the water supply?

Still Mr Cheang went on to deduce from the “severity of the offence” that a custodial sentence was necessary and gave Mr Cheng 55 days. Mr Cheng was allowed bail pending an appeal.

Now take a look at an appeal case. Defendant Lee Kai-fat had appeared before a magistrate, not named in RTHK’s report of the appeal, on a charge of possessing offensive weapons: a petrol bomb and a laser pointer.

He was jailed for eight months in June and had served four months behind bars before his appeal came up before High Court Judge Alex Lee. The judge ordered his immediate release.

He was told that the defendant, a 32-year-old-man, had the IQ of an 11-year-old. The magistrate had not considered this a factor to be considered before passing sentence. In some jurisdictions this case would never have been brought. It is difficult to see how a sane and awake magistrate could have thought that a disability on this scale was entirely irrelevant.

An innocent error? OK then try this real horror story. Chan Tung-sing was convicted of possessing offensive weapons and obstructing a public place.

The police prosecuting witness said he had not actually seen Chan do anything illegal. The “offensive weapon” — a set of Alum keys — was an unlikely weapon.

But magistrate Norton Pang was not distracted by such trivia. The defendant, he said, “must have been involved in the protests because he was wearing the same black outfit as the others when detained.”

The distant rumble which careful observers could hear in the courtroom at this point was the sound of Mr Justice Geoffrey Lawrence turning in his grave. Mr Lawrence’s claim to fame in legal circles is his summary of the burden of proof in criminal cases, which goes like this:

“The possibility of guilt is not enough, suspicion is not enough, likelihood is not. A criminal matter is not a question of balancing probabilities and deciding in favour of a probability. If the accusation is not proved beyond reasonable doubt against the man in the dock, then by law he is entitled to be acquitted, because that is the way our rules work. It is no concession to give him the benefit of the doubt. He is entitled by law to a verdict of not guilty.”

Mr Pang has probably made legal history by convicting a man for wearing a black outfit. He compounded this error by refusing bail pending appeal, so Mr Chan is now serving three months in a “rehabilitation centre”. By the time his appeal reaches a higher court he will in all probability have served the sentence.

We are urged to be temperate in criticisms of judges, and temperate I shall try to be. But magistrates need, perhaps, to try harder to avoid giving the impression that considerations of fact and law — indeed possibly also of common sense — now take a subordinate place in their deliberations, behind the over-riding purpose of the proceedings, which is to consign protesters to prison in the largest possible numbers.

Recent redeployments in the magisterial ranks have, I realise, suggested that insufficient zeal in this important pursuit will lead to the judicial equivalent of a free transfer to a Division Two club.

It must also be said that some magistrates — I will not blight their prospects by giving names — continue to discharge their functions with an admirable care for the rights of the people arraigned before them, risking noisy abuse from Ta Kung Pao and silent frustration in the Department of Justice.

It does seem, though, that those humble miscreants who appear in local courts are partaking in a bit of a lottery. Will justice be blind … or dumb?

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I have felt a certain protective affection for Finland since, many years ago, I was one of the Faculty Advisers to the Baptist U team at a Model UN. Teams participating in these things are allocated a country each to represent, and we drew Finland.

My fellow adviser did the current issues and topics and the UN procedure, leaving me with the more pleasant task of introducing our team to Finland’s history and culture, on which the local Consulate was very helpful.

This was just as well because like most people I knew very little about Finland. During my war studies period it was held up as a bad example: “Finlandisation” was a rather pejorative label stuck on countries which were “Not Standing Up to the Russians” enough to please the members of NATO, of which organisation Finland was and is not a member.

Apart from that Finland was a source of hot racing drivers with names whose spelling was a problem for the Sports Desk, the origin of the sauna, and one of the three countries claiming to be the home of Father Christmas.

So it was a pleasure to discover that it had in fact a fascinating history. Being so far north it was for a long time barely habitable. I understand Finnish historians no longer believe that it was completely empty in cold climate periods, but certainly the climate rules out the sort of farming conducted in temperate areas, and the inhabitants traditionally survived by herding, hunting and trapping.

The south of Finland, where most of life happens, is littered with lakes. This makes it quite unsuitable for conventional warfare, which consequently took place in the winter when the climate is extremely hostile but the lakes freeze hard enough to carry men and horses. Finns are a tough bunch. They were already notorious for this in the 17th century, when they supplied most of Gustavus Adolphus’s cavalry.

The language is a puzzle. Its only European relative is Hungarian. The music is pleasing and relies heavily on a sort of horizontal harp.

In other ways Finland is recognisably Nordic: parliamentary democracy, welfare state, rule of law, all that sort of thing. So how did it arouse the ire of Mr Grenville Cross, who has accused it of weakening global justice, no less?

Finland is among the growing number of countries which have cancelled or suspended extradition treaties with Hong Kong since the arrival of the national security law. You can argue about the need for this. Most extradition treaties exclude political offences, many of them exclude offences which are not criminal in the country from which the suspect is to be extradited, and in any case if an application looks suspicious extradition can be refused, treaty or no treaty.

But this is not enough for Mr Cross, who spins a glorious conspiracy theory in which the national security law is a mere pretext, and what is really happening is that Finland is going along with a campaign against China waged by the US.

This starts with a joint statement last year to mark the 100th anniversary of diplomatic ties (Finland was not a country before 1919) by the two presidents. This, as is customary on such occasions, included such platitudes as “our relationship is stronger than ever … exceptionally strong cooperation … tackling common challenges” and so forth.

Then we are told that “Given Finland’s strategic location as Russia’s neighbor, the US has decided to ramp up its involvement there and to woo its leaders,” for which the only evidence we are offered is a meeting on July 3 between the US Secretary of State, Mike Pompeo, and his Finnish counterpart Pekka Haavisto (you see what I mean about the interesting spelling).

A mere ten days later, says Mr Cross, Mr Haavisto “announced that the extradition treaty will no longer be applied.” Actually he did not. What he said on July 13 was that the treaty “should not” be applied, a statement of opinion about what was desirable, not a legal abrogation of the treaty.

In fact it remained in force until October 16, when the President of Finland announced its suspension.

People who know their Finnish history will need a good deal more than this to convince them that there are any ulterior motives at work here.

Finland’s experience in the first half of the 20th century was as unhappy as everyone else’s, but in a different way. In the winter of 1939 they were subjected to a Russian invasion.

The two obvious possible sources of help, France and the UK, were already at war with Hitler and ducked. Sweden was determinedly neutral. The Germans had just divided Poland with the Russians pursuant to the freshly signed Nazi-Soviet pact. So the Finns were on their own, and after a stirring defence were compelled to cede a large swathe of territory to the Soviet Union.

When Hitler invaded Russia in 1941 the Finns took the chance to resume their war with the Russians and take back the lost territory, along with some earlier concessions. After the defeat of the German invasion this advance was reversed and in 1944 the Soviets imposed a peace treaty which involved some further concessions.

Finland was then treated as a defeated Axis power, although they had not actually signed up for the Axis, and subjected to an Allied Control Commission, which was mostly Russian. Several Finnish politicians were convicted of “waging aggressive war” and jailed.

Finland did not become part of the Warsaw Pact. Nor did it join NATO, or benefit from the Marshall Plan. It did sign a treaty with Moscow pledging to resist any attempt to invade Russia through its territory. During the Cold War it was emphatically neutral, and no doubt there is something in the suggestion that Finnish leaders took care not to provoke their neighbour to the east.

Finland has nothing to thank “the West” for. The idea that a few honeyed words from Mike Pompeo could turn Finland into some sort of American puppet is inaccurate and insulting.

Curiously Mr Cross concedes the point cited by Mr Haavisto as justifying a suspension of the extradition agreement. The National Security Law does, he says, allow “circumstances in which people accused of violating national security can be tried on the mainland”. But this can “only occur in exceptional circumstances”.

Well exceptional circumstances have a way of coming up sooner or later, and countries which take their obligations seriously will adjust their arrangements accordingly. Admirers of the national security law need to get their heads round the fact that Hong Kong now no longer meets the standards to which countries enjoying the rule of law aspire.

Blaming the growing number of countries which take this view (Ireland, another compulsive neutral, suspended its extradition treaty with Hong Kong last week) on an American conspiracy is just as stupid as blaming the COVID outbreak on a Chinese laboratory.

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Suspicions that our government is no longer running anything very much in Hong Kong these days will not have been allayed by an interview this week with the Dear Leader, Ms Carrie Lam.

We should perhaps note here that the interview was not conducted by me, so this version of it depends on the alert ears and nimble pen of the Standard’s Michael Shum.

Ms Lam was asked to comment on a strange suggestion from the Hong Kong Real Property Federation (whoever they are) which involved 60 square kilometres of reclamation to solve the housing shortage.

This reclamation should take place, the federation suggested, round Guishan Island. There are two obvious drawbacks to this suggestion. One is that the island is off the south western tip of Lantau. It would be a long commute to almost anywhere.

The other problem is that the island is not currently part of Hong Kong. It is not in Hong Kong waters and is administratively part of Zhuhai.

These points did not, curiously, come up. Ms Lam’s first objection to the plan was that “President Xi does not favour reclamation due to environmental concerns”. This is heartening news, which will no doubt be a cause of rejoicing to endangered species everywhere. President Xi’s concern for the environment is nice, though a bit like hearing that Hitler was kind to dogs … true, but maybe beside the point.

Apparently, though, the presidential concern for the environment does not extend to the Lantau Tomorrow plan, which envisages a huge reclamation in the Western Anchorage.

This is a puzzle because, obviously, there is only one environment. A reclamation east of Lantau should, you would think, be just as damaging as one south of Lantau. No man is an island, as Mr Donne had it. In environmental terms, no island is an island.

Ms Lam went on to say that she had heard various proposals for mainland spaces of one kind or another being used to enlarge Hong Kong, but she had “never heard the central government mention such a plan”. Has anyone asked?

Then we came to the big surprise. I quote: “These suggestions would mean wrecking the central government’s policy for Hong Kong housing problems, as Beijing attaches great importance to the environment”.

Leaving the environment out of it for the moment, the question which now arises is of course why the central government has a “policy for Hong Kong’s housing problems”. No doubt the central government is entitled to have opinions, make suggestions, or offer advice. But have we now reached the stage where the role of the Hong Kong government’s Housing Department is merely to carry out a policy determined in Beijing?

I realise that the “high degree of autonomy” we were once led to expect has been much eroded over the years but if we no longer control such manifestly local issues as housing then there seems little left for the expensive and elaborate machinery of consultation and government to do.

Well, Ms Lam is apparently concentrating on “mid- to long-term policies”. On these it seems she has some decision-making power still, but it is not being shared with the rest of us: “As we would need to solve a lot of problems to develop land, regardless of the size, I therefor chose to develop 1,000 to 2,000 hectares of land at one go.”

The problems to be solved? Those pesky people who share President Xi’s affection for the environment. Here is Ms Lam on the shifting political sands: “In the past, society was not that concerned about Victoria Harbour, the wetlands and conservation in general. But now, people will rail against the government for these issues, causing delays to development plans. Developing land is at least eight to 10 times tougher compared to 1997.”

Never let it be said, though, that Ms Lam has not picked up the proper buzzwords: “If we solve land problems by rezoning sportsgrounds and building houses wherever we see a gap, it would be highly unsustainable. It is only a short-term pain-killer.”

Ms Lam appears to think that the rezoning of sports grounds and filling of gaps would eventually run out of sports grounds and gaps. This is not what people usually mean by “unsustainable”. What they mean by unsustainable is projects which inflict irreparable damage on the environment, like … well reclamation.

Really whether the grounds and gaps approach is sensible depends on the size of the grounds and gaps concerned. People who want less space devoted to sport do not have their eye on what we usually mean by a sports ground: a football pitch or a tennis court. They are referring to the rolling acres devoted to golf and horses.

Filling in the gaps does not really do justice to the large areas of the New Territories which are devoted to mysterious small industries, or the even larger areas which are occupied to no good purpose by the PLA.

There is also the question of timing. Lantau Tomorrow will not, in fact, appear tomorrow. Like most mega-projects run by the government it will take longer than expected. In the meantime Hong Kong people will continue to pay ludicrous prices for tiny flats. “Choosing” to go for 2,000 hectares is choosing a long wait.

Still, help is at hand. The central government has a policy for solving our housing problems and Ms Lam knows what it is. Any chance of the rest of us being told?

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Jacques Mallet du Pan was an 18th century journalist who is now remembered mainly for observing as the guillotine reaped a bloody harvest in Paris that “Like Saturn, the revolution devours its children.”

This adage has since been applied to other revolutions, as well as the Spanish civil war and even the Brexit campaign in the UK. I did not expect to see it applied in Hong Kong but we are seeing a lot of unexpected things these days.

Consider the sad fate of Mr Kevin Yeung, the Secretary for Education. Mr Yeung has loyally followed the local descent into despotism with Chinese characteristics. He has condemned what he is supposed to condemn, hounded the people he is supposed to hound, and generally repeated the words he is expected to repeat.

That has not kept him safe from bitter criticism from the local ayatollahs of political correctness, in whose view he is dragging his feet in organising a sweeping purge of the teaching profession.

It is not enough that he has procured the de-registration of a teacher for producing a lesson plan which may have explored the topic of — horror – independence, over-ruling the teacher’s colleagues and superiors, who thought the lesson plan educational. The actual de-registration was conducted by the Permanent Secretary for Education.

Mr Yeung must have realised at some point that this was going to put the final kiss of death on his reputation with a majority of local educators. But we all have to make sacrifices.

He has nevertheless come under fire from Mr C.Y. Leung, who wants to see more heads roll, and Mr Tam Yiu-chung, who objected to Mr Yeung’s suggestion that if children asked about independence they should be told that it was unfeasible, and so not worth discussing.

I should perhaps warn readers that this part of the proceedings was conducted in Cantonese; some publications translated the offending word as “impractical”.

This was not enough for Mr Tam. Indeed it is difficult to see what would have been enough for Mr Tam. I suppose independence should, in his view, be roundly condemned as irrational, unlawful, unpatriotic, heretical and malicious. Any student who utters the word should be required to wash his mouth out. Only a moment of carelessness as Moses descended the mountain deprived us of the 11th commandment, which of course should have been “Thou shalt not discuss independence in the classroom.”

Still it is a pity that Mr Yeung’s suggestion was not more warmly received. It has the merit of being true, which means that people with a wide range of different views on independence will be able to offer it to students without feeling that they are betraying anything.

Certainly independence is unfeasible. Or if you prefer impractical. We are a colony of a nasty police state whose attitude to its borders is, as the old saying has it, “anything which is not nailed down is mine; anything I can tear loose is not nailed down”.

We have a puppet government, a garrison, and a local branch of the secret police. Independence is a dream, or if you prefer a nightmare, but it is certainly impractical. This is a conclusion towards which you could nudge your students with a clear conscience

Indeed I imagine that any teacher who was covering this topic in Life Education would probably find that the class reached this conclusion without his assistance. The sin, in the eyes of Messrs Tam and Leung, is not in the danger of coming to an improper conclusion, but in discussing the idea at all.

The result of this approach is that the penalty is far too ferocious for the crime. After all the lesson plan only covered 50 minutes. Nobody has suggested that a campaign was in progress. If this particular teacher was considered too controversial on current political topics he or she could have been moved to one of the many less sensitive topics covered in primary education.

The de-registration, shockingly, is a life sentence. According to the lady who made the decision, Permanent Secretary for Education Michelle Li, “There is no provision on the validity period of the cancellation, so that means once cancelled it’s cancelled… we consider the cancellation of registration an appropriate and reasonable penalty.”

Appropriate and reasonable? One of the results of being de-registered, apparently, is that you are barred from every school campus in Hong Kong. You cannot be employed as a secretary, a school bus aunty, a janitor or a security guard unless the school has obtained the written permission of the Secretary for Education for you to set foot in its territory.

So here’s the deal: if you are a fraudster, a rapist, a murderer or a pedophile, then education officials are happy to leave it up to the school whether it wishes to employ you or not. You may be a religious nut who believes the world is flat or a rightwing fanatic who believes the world is run by a secret global network of Jews. You may refuse to teach evolution, or insist on teaching that Mao was a superman who didn’t really kill 50 million people. It doesn’t matter. You may be registered, and you may stay registered.

Draw up a lesson plan which goes down badly with Ta Kung Pao, on the other hand, and you face banishment for life from the profession.

Mr Yeung, who is rapidly learning how to say that two plus two equals five when the political parameters require it, stoutly denied that the fate of this teacher would have an intimidating effect on others.

This roughly coincided with the news that the English Schools Foundation had circulated a warning to member schools that the classroom should no longer be regarded as a “safe space” where any topic of interest could be discussed without fear. Indeed they might have said the same about the rest of Hong Kong while they were at it.

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I had resolved a few weeks ago to stop complaining about violations of the law on contempt of court, but my resolution wilted in the face of a specimen from a very senior lawyer.

Mr Henry Litton, a former QC and a retired judge of our top court, has taken to airing criticisms of his successors on the Bench in the pro-government press. His latest effort started with the observation that the judgement of the High Court in a named case should “send alarm bells ringing in the Judiciary”.

Unfortunately Mr Litton was so distracted by the alarm bells that he overlooked an important detail. The case about which he was complaining – Tong Ying Kit v the HKSAR – concerned whether Mr Tong would be admitted to bail.

Clearly Mr Tong will in due course face a trial – that is why he is in custody. It accordingly behoves media performers not to publish material which suggests that he is guilty, or for that matter innocent.

The sub editor of the page on which Mr Litton’s masterpiece appeared, a mere journalist, followed the rules in his caption on a picture of Mr Tong, saying that he “allegedly rammed a motorcycle into a group of police while sporting a ‘Liberate Hong Kong’ flag”.

Mr Litton, on the other hand, cheerfully committed the offence known as strict liability contempt of court, by saying that the case concerned the man (already named in the previous paragraph) “who, on July 1st, furiously drove a motorcycle at police lines, eventually seriously injuring police officers. He was carrying a rucksack, from which protruded a black flag…” and so on. Not an “alleged” or “accused” to be seen.

It is not yet certain, but it is quite possible, that Mr Tong will be tried by a jury. Any juror who has read Mr Litton’s view of the matter has already been polluted by a prejudicial account.

After all it is quite likely that part of the proceedings will concern the question whether Mr Tong did drive “furiously” and whether he intended to hit the policemen. I have no idea what the defence might say about any of this: Mr Tong swerved to avoid a dog, was distracted by a bee which had found its way into his helmet, or more plausibly that he was aiming for a gap in the police line but the policemen threw themselves into his path in their eagerness to arrest him. I do not know, you do not know, and Mr Litton does not know. But Mr Tong is entitled to a trial which is not preceded by newspaper copy which assumes and states his guilt.

Under the circumstances it could be considered that Mr Litton was in some danger of complaining about motes in other eyes while ignoring a beam in his own.

He does not, and nor do I, dispute the correctness of any of the court’s decisions concerning Mr Tong, who was in fact refused bail. The Tong legal team applied for a writ of “habeas corpus”, an unusual way of seeking to overthrow a decision about bail, and as it turned out not an effective one.

However counsel for Mr Tong also contended that there were deficiencies in the new National Security law which meant that it should not apply yet, or at least should not have been applied on July 1st.

The court rejected all these arguments, but Mr Litton is not happy with this. He is not happy because the court devoted 25 pages to giving its reasons for rejecting them.

In Mr Litton’s view it is unacceptable for a Hong Kong court to even consider that there may be a constitutional problem with a law emanating from Beijing, and judges have a “prime constitutional responsibility” to “nip the mischief in the bud”.

The idea that Hong Kong courts have no jurisdiction over mainland legislation may well be an entirely accurate description of the law, and an entirely accurate description of the practical situation. Any failure to follow the Party line will be over-ruled or ‘reinterpreted”. I have some difficulty with the idea, though, that this is in all cases so self-evident that judges should simply refuse to entertain any argument on the matter.

It is an important principle that judges should explain the reasoning behind their decisions and when the arguments are long and complex the reasoning will be long and complex as well.

After wading through some details of the particular case, and a long quote from the Chief Justice about the importance of open justice, you get a rather worrying indication of where Mr Litton is coming from.

He says the court in Mr Tong’s case has “failed to discharge its constitutional function.” This function comes in a long string, starting with “to judge effectively”, with which we can all agree, “clearly”, which is ambiguous in the context, and “in a manner which the ordinary citizen can understand.”

Surely not? Judges have never had a constitutional obligation to state their conclusions in a manner which the ordinary citizen can understand. My acquaintance with constitutional matters is of some antiquity, like Mr Litton’s, but I think I would have remembered an obligation to be understandable to the ordinary citizen, because it is so often flouted.

Some judges, like Lord Denning, accept a moral obligation to phrase their conclusions, as far as possible, in language which the litigants will be able to understand. Most judges, though, feel that reaching the right decision is hard enough without abandoning the technical language of the law, so they leave explaining their mysterious craft to the legal advisors of the people involved in the case.

Of course we all agree with the need for open justice, but I do not think even the Chief Justice, or perhaps anyone except Mr Litton, believes that this requires all judgements to be written in a manner which will be instantly comprehensible to the man in the street. How many ordinary citizens read High Court judgements, however snappy?

The destination to which Mr Litton’s “constitutional function” is heading is “ensuring the resolute, full, and faithful implementation of the policy of one country, two systems.”

I respectfully disagree totally. It is not the constitutional function of the courts to implement government policy, resolutely, fully, faithfully or otherwise. The relevant principle is usually attributed to Lord Mansfield’s judgement in the case of John Wilkes in 1768, and like so many legal antiques it is in Latin: “fiat justitia ruat caelum”, which means “let justice be done though the heavens fall”.

This is the standard to which judges should aspire. Under the circumstances it is something of a relief that Mr Litton is no longer one of them.

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Hong Kong’s white elephants are, if you will forgive a mixed metaphor, coming home to roost. Extravagant projects were launched on the dubious basis that tomorrow will be much like today, only more so. Well we have changed all that.

Much writing about the pandemic assumes that when it is all over – a vaccine or a dependable cure having appeared – we will all go back to doing what we did before. 2002, or whenever the happy year is, will be like 2019, but without the protests.

The more plausible alternative, though, is that this will not happen. Some of the changes made by Covid will not reverse themselves. There will be a new normal, and for some people this may not be pretty.

In particular the old idea of travel as an entertaining diversion without a downside as long as you could afford it has been decisively quashed. People have found themselves trapped by distant diseases in countries where they only intended to stay a few days.

There is no point in going on holiday if you have to self-isolate for a fortnight when you get back. Nipping across the boundary for a few cans of baby food is not going to make sense if you have to pay for a medical check-up first.

Then again, some of our compatriots may have got the message that they are not entirely welcome.

The breeze has already been felt at Ocean Park and Disneyland. The former is being kept afloat on a government hand-out, the latter has been told that it will never expand to what Walt’s heirs thought was its full size.

Well both these establishments have been going a long time and given a great deal of pleasure. We must not discourage fun palaces. What are we to make, though, of more recent innovations, intended to be practical?

There is, for example, the cruise ship terminal. This has never been very busy, though it was increasing patronage steadily until this year. But now? Cruise ships are being moth-balled or scrapped all over the world. This is due to the discovery that your oceanic experience may include being trapped in your cabin for a week or two while the crew desperately searches for a port which will let your disease-laden vessel drop its anchor.

Cruise ship passengers have traditionally been elderly folk who were not looking for adventure. They have been put off.

This is good news from the pollution point of view. In what now seems a stroke of prescient parsimony the government dismissed as too expensive the suggestion that the cruise terminal should be equipped to supply visiting ships with shore power. So they all run diesel generators all the time. Fewer visits, fewer fumes.

Then there is the third runway, still under construction and a monument to the view that air travel could only go onwards and upwards. At the moment we do not even need two.

What the new normal post-pandemic will be remains to be seen, though it will not be seen by some of the more financially fragile airlines currently on government life-support. An interesting suggestion is that passengers will no longer be willing to change planes. Large hub airports will lose business as the airlines switch to running direct flights between more places.

Another possibility is that people will simply rearrange their lives so that they do not need to fly so much. It seems quite likely that we will never actually need the third runway. We will not get our money back.

Same goes for the most elephantine project in Hong Kong history, the express rail link. Before Covid there was some discussion of whether it would make a profit. This was an abuse of language. The express rail link will never make a profit because it will never repay the enormous cost of building it, which the government effectively wrote off as a donation to national unity.

The question was actually whether the income from fares would cover the running costs. I infer from the prolonged silence on this point that it was not doing so before January, and six months of care and maintenance with no passenger income at all have certainly not helped. No doubt further donations from the government will be needed. The link is the gift that keeps on taking.

These examples are monuments to the planning fallacy: the misguided notion that we know what the future will look like and can make massive investments in the confidence that they will pan out. Actually the record of short-range predictions is pretty rough and the long-range ones are hopeless.

This brings us to the one grandiose project which we can still hope to see cancelled: a monstrous reclamation between Hong Kong and Lantau, construction to be spread over 30 years.

I do not know, you do not know and the planners do not know what will happen to Hong Kong’s population figures in the next 30 years. Perhaps – perish the thought – the place will become less attractive, a project which seems to be dear to the heart of the Liaison Office. Perhaps increasing wealth will lead as it usually does to lower population growth.

Or perhaps the sea level will rise by a couple of metres, putting the whole project underwater either literally or financially, which ever you prefer.

Nobody can be blamed for failing to prophesy the future in a complex and changing world. They can be blamed, in this uncertain environment, for making massive bets on one view of the future being correct.

Covid should have taught us one thing: that we do not know what will happen next and should act accordingly, rather than “planning” for a future which may never come.  

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I came across an unusual spectacle in the Tsimshatsui underground station: a little group of policemen were handing out small packets to passers-by.

This was intriguing. So I passed by and was in my turn awarded a small packet, which turned out to be a wallet-like item in blue plastic. The policeman who gave it to me misunderstood my puzzled look completely.

“I’m a policeman,” he said. “Yes, I know,” I replied. And went on my way home. On closer examination the wallet-like object turned out to contain two tissues. It was printed with messages in two languages urging citizens to join the fight against crime.

In English this message was rather generic and included a couple of phone numbers for reporting your suspicions to. I am told the Chinese part was rather more specific about the risk of having your pocket picked, which I imagine is quite high in TST.

I will leave to more fanatically environmental pens the question whether distributing pieces of plastic is a planet-friendly way to fight crime. I thought I might find a use for the little wallet and the two tissues will come in handy.

As I wandered on I felt a wave of nostalgia. When I was a kid it was considered acceptable, and indeed healthy, for mothers to shoo their children out of the house on sunny days to play in the fresh air with their mates in the neighbourhood.

I do not remember any serious harm resulting from this practice but people are more timid about children in public places these days. Anyway there was one problem, which was how your offspring would know when it was time to come home.

In those days watches were far too expensive and fragile to be entrusted to children, at least in my family’s income bracket. Outside town centres there were few public clocks. One useful indicator was the “lighting up time”.

In those days the street lights did not have the light-sensitive switches which turn them on in the middle of the day if it gets too gloomy. They were on a timing arrangement; the time to switch them on was fixed in advance and they all came on together.

Because in European latitudes the length of the day varies considerably through the year the timing of the lighting up also varied and the current week’s time was published in the newspapers. When the street lights came on you went home.

The trouble with this was that in the summer the lighting up actually came quite late. The other recourse which we were recommended was to ask a stranger politely for the time.

Actually in those days many strangers did not have a watch either, but there was one group for whom it was a professional requirement: policemen. Policewomen had not been invented. Policemen also had the advantage of being respectable and generally helpful. Parents thought it useful for their kids to be accustomed to friendly encounters with The Law.

So we were frequently reminded – and the catch phrase became so common it was eventually turned into a song – that “if you want to know the time ask a policeman.”

Your policeman in those days had a distinctive dark blue uniform, topped with a historic helmet: think Rorkes Drift movie but in dark blue. Paramilitary policing had not been invented either so when you were old enough to go to demonstrations and public protests you encountered the same uniform, for which many of us had learned an instinctive respect.

Well times back in the UK have changed. All kids have mobile phones these days. The police helmet has gradually disappeared because it is awkward for an increasingly car-born force. And some people have developed a pretty prickly relationship with the forces of order.

This was a slow process. Hong Kong’s claim to historical fame is the rapidity with which our cops managed in just over a year to pass from somewhere close to “If you want to know the time ask a policeman” to “if you don’t eat your spinach I will call a policeman who will take you away to be tortured at a black site in the New Territories”.

And the Force is still, it seems, picking unnecessary fights. The fuss about who is a reporter is hopelessly old-fashioned. In this age when everyone effectively has a small camera in his pocket, anyone can be a reporter. This is a fact of life.

No doubt it is very offensive to the constabulary’s feelings that a shopping mall should be filled with a handful of protesters and 250 “reporters” filming them. But if there were only a handful of protesters perhaps the best solution would have been to reduce the number of policemen.

Let us give some thought to curbing over-violent policing methods. Clearly the complaints mechanism is going to be no help here. Could there be some subtle change which would encourage a less macho approach without offending the law and order industry?

It is well established that people are surprisingly responsive to small cues in their environment. So it would help if we did something about those uniforms. Do riot squads have to be in black? I realise the young men wearing the gear probably do not make the visual connection to Hitler’s SS, but black is the colour of piracy, Death’s Head Hussars, Darth Vadar’s cloak, the bad guy’s hat in the Old Westerns…

Surely the gear would be just as good at protecting the wearer and much less likely to put unhelpful ideas into his head if it was all pink. This might require a name change but I was never happy with “Raptors”. We do not need a predatory police force. They would be much nicer as Pink Panthers.

Alternatively we could take the new tolerance of unauthorised badges to its logical conclusion and sell the space on the riot gear for advertising. Police people would then be like Formula One racing cars, in which the underlying colour is barely visible under all the salesmanship.

Alas this presupposes that the Force wishes to be loved rather than feared, which on present form seems unlikely. The management seems quite happy to be the dogs in our local Animal Farm, loyally supporting the ruling pigs.

They should remember that in that famous closing scene, when the pigs are entertaining humans in the old farm house and the other animals can no longer tell the two groups apart … the dogs are left outside.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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