tim's experiment

Some reader wrote to my newspaper the other week saying that taxi riders who see the driver throw something out of the window should make an immediate report to the authorities. He had done this often, he said proudly, and in every case the driver had been prosecuted for littering. Well nice one son. Of course we don’t want people breaking the law. Still, I wonder if I am the only one who is a bit uneasy about people with European names and expensive tastes in newspapers, who report minor crimes by people who probably earn about a tenth as much as the amateur sleuth does. 

I have been through this before. Many years ago the newspapers reported a case in which a Western gentleman, finding that the doorman at his block of flats was asleep, had called the police. The doorman was then prosecuted and fined. It is a crime for someone with a watchman’s licence to sleep on the job. I wrote a column saying that the nocturnal vigilante should be ashamed of himself. The doorman was in his 70s. What could you reasonably expect at 3 in the morning?  It then turned out that everyone involved in this matter except the dormant doorman was a member of the Hong Kong Press Club, of which at the time I was chairman. The complainant had been whingeing in the bar about how difficult it was for him to get home after a night’s drinking because he had to wake up the doorman. Another member pointed out that for a licensed watchman to sleep at his post was an offence, and recommended an early resort to the constabulary.  A row then ensued between those members who thought that people who drank until the small hours of the morning should be more tolerant, and those who supported the law enthusiasts. For the law it was argued that watchmen should be awake for security reasons. For tolerance it was argued that this was a pointless provision when they had nothing to do and the front door could be locked.

Actually I am a bit dubious about the idea that this particular piece of legislation is really aimed at public safety. It is a relic from the days when Hong Kong had lots of laws shamelessly designed to keep servants up to the mark by threatening them with criminal sanctions. It used to be a criminal offence to resign without giving notice, for example. To modern eyes it looks odd to use the criminal law to enforce what is reallya contractual matter between a worker and his employer.

This does not help us with the more general point, which is when in a city marred by a huge and growing gulf between rich and poor it is proper for the rich to snitch on the poor. Obviously we are going to report serious crimes, fights, assaults, traffic accidents and what have you. But littering?  Presented with a beggar in the street one may give some money, or one may heed the beseechings of the authorities and discourage the pursuit by keeping the cash. But would you call the police and have the beggar arrested for obstruction?  If the answer to this question is “no” then you draw a line somewhere between what should be overlooked and what should be reported. The question is where. I suppose different people will put it in different places. Personally I think those of us who do not have a personal stake in the proposed minimum pay law should try to be tolerant of the peccadilloes of those who do.  And if you think littering is a serious offence, get your head checked.

When I was a kid it was customary for people who drove professionally, or wrote in the motoring magazines, to denounce “Sunday drivers” who commuted by public transport during the week and only got their cars out on Sunday. The theory was that these people got less practice, and hence were worse drivers, than those who drove every day.

When you were actually driving, or being driven, the singular characteristic of Sunday drivers was that they were not going fast enough. In retrospect this seems a bit unfair. Some, at least, of the people who aroused my father’s scorn were probably driving slowly to admire the scenery. Still there was probably something in it. When I worked as a taxi driver for a while I did notice an increase, not so much in raw speed but in the ability to get on with it, and in particular to squeeze through gaps which were only jsut big enough for the taxi, with whose size I was of course very familiar.

Anyway in Hong Kong all the Sunday drivers seem to be able to drive at the same speed as everyone else. The thing that shows them up is the parking. On weekdays you generally find that the person parking in front of you can get into a space perpendicular to the road (“L” parking as opposed to the “S” where you finish up parallel to the kerb) at the first attempt, or maybe with one forward movement to adjust his direction. On Sundays the standard plummets. The people you see painfullhy backing and filling in an effort to squeeze a monstrous Merc into a standard parking space are not Sunday drivers in the sense that they use public transport on weekdays. They are Sunday drivers in the sense that they only drive on the chauffeur’s day off.  It seems that nobody in Hong Kong learns to park properly.

I must admit that in this respect I had some underserved luck. Nobody did “L ” parking in the UK when I left. Multi-storey carparks were almost unheard of and you expected to park in the street. When I got my first Hong Kong vehicle, an elderly white van, I worked in Lai Chi Kok and parked on a patch of waste ground which has since become a shopping mall. The ancient gentleman who presided over the waste ground gathered from my early efforts that I was no good at parking and decided very generously to teach me. As we did not have a language in common this was a challenging experience for both of us but I have had no trouble with “L” parking since then.

It seems that people who learn in Hong Kong are not so lucky. I suspect this is because of the universal habit among local driving schools of sticking some extra gadgets on the back of your learner vehicle to help. On vans this usually takes the form of what looks like a set of metal whiskers. On cars they sometimes have a piece of wood. It looks like something Boadicea might have put on her chariot to cut enemies off at the ankle, but of course the purpose of the gadget is to help the student to park and pass. Having passed the test, though, it seems that nobody, but nobody, every bothers to put a set of metal whiskers on the car he rides in every day. So only the professionals learn how to park properly.

Actually, driving is not the only thing Hong Kong people have to do for themselves on Sunday. As I dogwalk three times a day I know most of the local dogs by sight and many by name. I also know their regular walkers, but on Sunday the regular walker is in Central on her day off. Some of the local owners are a bit disturbed by the discovery that a complete stranger is on first-name terms with their dogs. Still, at least they do walk their dogs themselves on Sunday. It would be nice to think that they do a spot of cooking as well, but a bit optimistic. On Sundays our neighbourhood is alive with the sound of motor scooters with boxes on the back. Sunday is for slow parking and fast pizza.

Curious little court case the other week in which a man was jailed for persuading a woman that it would be good for her personal fung shui to have sex with him and some of his other followers. This is a little local eccentricity. There have been similar cases before. When I first landed in Hong Kong the whole town was talking about a man who had been dubbed by the Chinese press “the pork sword acupuncturist”.  I recall a later variation on the theme in which the offender claimed to have invented a new way of administering medicine, which involved him swallowing it and then having sex with the patient.

When I was a court reporter we did not encounter this sort of thing. Whether this is because people in North Lancashire are less ingenious or more suspicious I dare not say. There have of course been cases in Western countries where charismatic religious leaders demanded the supreme tribute from their female followers. But these were not like the Hong Kong cases. The ladies concerned had already donated themselves to the guru, handed over their property, abandoned their families and former lives. People in this condition are said to need “deprogramming” to restore their sense of reality. But in Hong Kong there is no suggestion of brainwashing. It seems some ladies need little prompting to accomodate the fung shui man right after they move the fish tank.

One does wonder about the justice of taking these cases to court, actually. It is difficult to believe that the “victims” were really swept away on a wave of quasi-religious enthusiasm. I suppose when the constabulary comes round it does not seem quite respectable to say that you didn’t believe a word of it but a girl needs a bit of nude wrestling from time to time. Or if you do say that there is no prosecution so we don’t here about it. We are dealing with adults here. Is it the law’s function to protect people from their own stupidity?

If it is, then the law seems to go about it in a highly selective way. I notice that the gentleman who may or may not have forged Nina’s will collected a wide variety of favours from the lady while she lived, on the most extravagantly spurious basis, without anyone suggesting that a crime was being commited. Local firms pay large sums to “experts” for advice on their buildings and furniture. Yet the authenticity of the advice or the qualifications of the expert are never questioned. Nor are his fees.

Then there is the whole area of Traditional Chinese Medicine. I do not doubt that somewhere among the numerous traditions there are some which have genuine therapeutic value. They will then become part of Medicine properly so called, which is a scientific activity based on experimental proof rather than tradition. There are people who swear by the traditional stuff, and there is an enthusiastic industry pushing the idea that this is a viable alternative. But this whole area is trappy. The fact is that a lot of people respond to suggestion. Every drug experiment finds some patients who get better though they are being given a placebo. Most of the minor ailments to which humans are prone will clear themselves up in two or three weeks whether you get medical attention or not. So any medical system can look good, in the sense of producing success stories.

I must not give the impression that Western civilization is a paragon in these matters. I continue to be amazed and disgusted by the amount of space which local English-language publications are prepared to devote to astrology, which is widely known to be bunk. The South China Morning Post has a politically correct astrology section, offering bunk in the Chinese style as well. Then we have pages devoted to loopy alternative health things involving candles, chrystals, rocks, odd exercise machines and wierd diets. There are probably some parts of this kaleidoscope which have real value (yoga? meditation? Kreisfeld?) but it is difficult to see which ones they might be, and the newspapers make no attempt to tell you. No theory is too outlandish for the “other medicines” page. I wonder if they do it for the advertising?

Then there are the traditional or conventional religions. I am not a militant (or any other kind of) atheist. But I am offended by the curious selectivity in local Christians’ desire to have the tenets of their religion incorporated in legislation. There are seven deadly sins, only one of which concerns sex. But nobody ever writes to the papers calling for legislation against, say, greed, envy or sloth. It’s always lust they’re on about. Yet surely, in a city of many races and religions, this is a matter which must be left to the individuals concerned. Even if they do it with the fung shui man.

The local higher education industry is slowly preparing for four-year degrees in 2012. One of my colleagues attended a talkfest on the topic, and heard an interesting statistic. The impression most people have picked up is that under the new system all the people who would have gone to university for three years will instead go for four. But the official planners do not expect this to happen. They expect about a fifth of our students to go and study in the UK.

This is an unintended consequence of several groups of people doing their best. The new 3-3-4 arrangement requires a new qualification, to replace A Levels. It will be taken at the end of Form 6, instead of at the end of Forms 5 and 7 as the present examinations are. Clearly overseas countries who have their own Form 6 exam already can easily be persuaded to regard ours as equivalent to theirs, and in many cases this has been done.  The UK presents a problem because there is no Form 6 exam there. So basically ours can either be equivalent to the Form 5 one or equivalent to the Form 7 one. To the great satisfaction of the people in charge of this problem the UK has been persuaded to regard Hong Kong’s new diploma as equivalent to British A Levels.

Now we come to the unintended consequence. This means that a Hong Kong student who has completed Form 6 can hie himself off to the UK and complete an internationally recognised degree in three years.  From the parental point of view this is an interesting saving. Of course you have to pay for more travel but a year’s fees and subsistence could add up to a few airfares easily enough. And in the saved year the student might be earning some serious money.  Hence the guess, and in these matters a guess is all we can expect at this early stage, that 20 percent of the potential students will skip Hong Kong higher ed altogether and go to dear old Blighty. Well, I suppose it’s one way of dealing with all those complaints about falling English standards.

This is not quite in the same class as the one about the monocle and the Colonel’s wife, but it is of some interest. I went to the Hang Seng branch in Shatin to use their ETC machine. They have two such machines. I took the most promising queue, and for once it was not headed by someone who was trying to rewrite “War and Peace” on the keyboard. I made reasonable progress until I was number two. Looking over the head of the small lady in front of me I happened to see what was happening on the screen. A brief message appeared saying that “this transaction is cancelled”, followed by words to the effect of “do you want to try anything else?” And the lady had, evidently, not been concentrating. She pressed “no” and then held her hand hopefully under the money slot. And of course no money appeared. The machine spat out her card and a piece of paper, then waited expectantly for the next customer.

After a few moments the customer realised that something was adrift. She started making distressed noises. I tried to look sympathetic. Real gentleman do not, I decided, contribute at this point something along the lines of “I was evesdropping – the machine told you to to take a running jump.” I looked at the piece of paper, hoping it would clarify the situation, but it seemed at least at first glance that she was supposed to have received $1,000. The lady departed for the counter where, I hope, she raised Hell, because my situation was now also a problem. The people in the next queue were convinced that my machine was not working. One kind lady actually grabbed my hand to stop me pushing my card in it. So that was out. On the other hand all the people who had been lined up behind me had now switched to the other queue, which was now about ten people long. Nobody was proposing to let me in. So I went to another bank.

So the question is, firstly why is it considered rude to look at the computer screen while someone else is using an ATM? It’s a public place. You are not going to get any personal data because you don’t know who the customer is. Still it seems people don’t like you doing it, and indeed when I find myself doing it without particularly meaning to I feel guilty. Secondly under what circumstances should one admit to having looked and seen something the customer has missed. If life is in danger, obviously (philosphers love these unlikely possiblities) but to save inconvenience? I hope the lady got her money sorted out. I was late for lunch.

Everyone seems to be very pleased with the new rules on plastic bags, which require supermarkets to charge you for them. Enthusiasts boast that the number of plastic bags dished out in Hong Kong shops has dropped considerably. A success for the environment lobby?

Not so fast. The number of bags has dropped but the nature of the bags has changed. In the old days a supermarket plastic bag was a whispy little thing. Our week’s shopping often filled 12 of them. If you put too much in they broke. Awkward shaped items made holes. They were certified to be environmentally friendly and bio-degradable. Often they were degrading visibly before you got out of the shop.

Now that supermarkets are forced to charge by the bag, the standard bag has changed. Supermarkets wish, after all, to give you value for money. So nowadays a supermarket bag is the size of a small parachute, and is constructed from some close relative of the stuff they use to make flak jackets. Archaeologists of the year 40,000 will puzzle over the layer of durable deposits which appeared in Hong Kong sometime just after the beginning of the 21st century. Because these bags are going to be here for ever. It is certainly true that we use fewer bags. When I forget to take the old ones, as often happens, our weekly shop now fits into three or four of the new Dreadnought class supermarket bag. But is the planet better off, one wonders. Or did our leaders fall for a trendy catchphrase just when the invention of biodegradable plastics had made it obsolete?

I have become resigned over the years to the fact that any computer running Windows will sometimes not work.  Bill Gates may be the world’s most generous man but I suspect that may be a sign of a guilty conscious. You may get rich on a small scale by doing a fair day’s work for a fair day’s pay. But for record-breaking levels of wealth it is difficult to beat selling over-priced rubbish. 

A new technology is entitled to our indulgence for a while. Early personal computers were temperamental and sometimes downright difficult to deal with. But they were pioneers in a new field. Users, makers and programmers had a lot to learn. We have now all learned something. Users have learned that if you can afford it you should buy an Apple. I know there is a continuing argument about the rival merits of the two systems. But this is conducted between computer geeks who are advanced users. For the ordinary working stiff who just wants something reliable and easy to use, Apple wins hands down. Makers have learned that they are at the mercy of the software people. And the software people have learned that they can get away with a lot.

Consider my current computer. I have now had about as many computers as I have had cars. As it is impossible to get any meaningful repairs done to them I buy the cheapest possible computer and throw it away when it starts behaving badly. This is a cheap system as long as you keep the old monitor. Compared with cars, though, my computer is a grossly unreliable piece of work. The car – OK it’s a Toyota – starts when you switch it on. Failure is so rare that you do not consider it a serious possiblity. The computer, on the other hand, is so prone to reluctance to start that it comes with a free “start-up repair” programme which you run, sometimes in vain, when it refuses to start. This refusal can take two forms. In one it goes through all the motions and then dies. The screen goes blank. The CPU mutters to itself. In the other version you are treated to a little animation which indicates, mendaciously, that something useful is happening. After a while you realise that actually nothing is happening except the graphic display. Underneath it is a little line of type which claims copyright in what is going on for Microsoft Corp. I’ll say. Failure to function as expected is their signature dish.

Last Tuesday I made a new discovery. We had failure to start of the blank screen variety. I checked the hardware, which was fine. I ran the start-up repair, which made no difference, back-dated the system twice and floundered about a bit. Then I noticed that there was a flash drive in one of the ports and removed it. At this point a little window opened and announced that failure to start when a memory device was in a USB port was an established Vista glitch. It even had a registration number. That made me feel much better.

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.

All right I know the daily fluctuations have nothing to do with it but why is it getting so damn cold? I managed to walk the dog for an hour today, but it took me ten minutes to get dressed. I finished up in the fur hat I bought in Prague – feeling guilty because when would one wear such a thing in Hong Kong? I also dug out the gloves I wear on winter trips to Beijing and suchlike places where snow is expected. A kind friend had given me a beautiful lined dogwalking coat, which I thought might be in the same category as the Prague hat, but it was just the ticket. The overall effect was not fashion statement, but it worked.

The distressing weather has brought one unprecedented event. We bought a coat for the dog. I have been giggling at the displays of dog coats in our local department store for ages. But what can you do? He’s OK if it’s dry but if walked in the rain he comes back looking like a drowned rat. And he doesn’t like being towelled. So now he has a rather snazzy mac in pale yellow. It doesn’t seem to bother him but I feel … conspicuous. All the other dogs are wearing coats except Christie, who is so hairy she looks like a Polar Bear already. It is too cold for them and it is too cold for me. Could someone tap the Observatory?

My son called the other day to say that he was engaged. This was not, I gathered, a request for advice. A relief. As President De Gaulle said about the Cuba Missile Crisis, “I was glad to be informed; I did not wish to be consulted.” As filial phone calls go this could have been worse. Some parents whose children are overseas only get the phone call after the wedding. Still this is one of those moments when you realise that parenthood is a state of gradually increasing helplessness. The right to control dwindles gradually away, as Lord Denning put it, until it amounts to nothing more than the right to be consulted, and even that… I now understand the rather strained approval which greeted some of my own early errors in the matter of marriage and such like. Whatever you parentally think, you have to keep to yourself. Then if it all ends in tears at least they are not your fault.

These are not cheering thoughts. My first reaction was, as one of my former Standard colleagues put it on Facebook, that “we chicks are too young for this sort of thing”. But we chicks aren’t. This is one of those moments when you hear the distant roar of that waterfall over which time’s inexorable river is going to waft us all, sooner or later.

But we must look on the bright side. The wedding will be here. The prospective bride is beautiful. And I always thought it would be nice to have a daughter…