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Posts Tagged ‘national-security-law’

One of the interesting consequences of the way the law has worked since 2020 is the arrival in Hong Kong prisons of many inmates rather different from the usual inhabitants. A large influx of young, articulate and educated criminals whose offences are, if not explicitly political, well off the usual sex, violence and greed track has shone light into some neglected corners.

Practices hallowed by decades of history have been challenged, with interesting results.

The latest episode in this series stars Ms Chow Hang-tung, who has been enjoying correctional hospitality since 2021 and is currently awaiting trial on national security charges.

We may note in passing at this point an unintended consequence of the way national security cases work. Those convicted are not eligible for the usual discounts for good behaviour. So they can enjoy attempts to stick it to The Man without the apprehension which keeps conventional prisoners quiet – that The Man will, if provoked, perhaps find ways of sticking it to them.

Ms Chow’s complaint, which was aired in the High Court last week, is that prison clothing policy is discriminatory between the sexes (or if you prefer genders) because male prisoners are allowed to wear shorts in the summer, and female prisoners are not.

The resulting hearing was a good illustration of the way in which legal reasoning and conventions can take us a long way from the messy reality of the real world.

Of course nobody can stand up in court and say that Ms Chow is not really motivated by the minor unpleasantness of being trapped in long trousers through another of Hong Kong’s sweaty summers. She has noticed that the Hong Kong authorities are exploring every legal avenue in their determination to give her a hard time and is retaliating as best she can.

Nor would it be polite for counsel for the government to admit that the ban on shorts defies common sense, and is the legacy of decisions made decades ago when ideas about dress were rather different and sexual discrimination had not been invented. In those days respectable women did not wear shorts in the street while uniformed men had a summer get-up involving shorts.

The uniformed types have pretty much dropped shorts, but in civilian contexts women now wear them all the time. Ms Chow’s suggestion is nevertheless unwelcome, because it comes from her. Good order and discipline in local prisons is endangered if the Correctional Services Department is coerced into changing a rule by an uppity inmate.

So we can expect to see the government fight this all the way to the Court of Final Appeal, just as it did Leung Kwok-hung’s challenge to prison haircut rules.

One can only sympathise with the legal eagle, senior counsel Mike Lee, in charge of defending the prison uniform rules. Mr Lee argued that the ban on shorts resulted from consideration of a “basket of considerations” arrived at in decades of departmental consideration and experience. This had revealed, according to a CSD psychologist, that there were “inherent differences” between men and women. The women, consequently, did not in the department’s view wish to be allowed to wear shorts.

The saga will no doubt continue. I would respectfully suggest that Mr Lee drop the argument that uniform wearing is an essential part of maintaining “custodial discipline”, because this leaves him open to the question why custodial discipline in male prisons appears to be compatible with allowing shorts as an option.

I was also not impressed by the analogy to school uniform which, in Mr Lee’s view, “fosters a sense of learning” as “education is the prime objective”. Few educators subscribe to this view of uniforms, which are generally defended as concealing differences of wealth among students and fostering esprit de corps.

In any case some of the most successful education systems, like those of Finland and Denmark, do not require school uniforms at all. I note in passing that some of the most successful prison systems do not require uniforms very much either.

Another point I have some difficulty with is the suggestion that the department is defending the rule on long trousers because the prisoners like it. I know and admire quite a lot of correctional people – the department was at one time a hotbed of enthusiasm for the Great Highland Bagpipe – and I acknowledge the idealism and humane sentiments which animate much of the department’s work. But a prison is not a democratic institution and the whole concept of punishment involves NOT giving the prisoners what they want, which in most cases is to go home.

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A rare moment of public preoccupation has hit Hong Kong as a result of the incident which would in due course probably be called Messigate by the popular tabloids, if we had any left.

The hero of this debacle is Mr Lionel Messi, a footballer of sublime gifts who is now getting a bit long in the tooth. As footballers sometimes do at this stage of their careers he has moved from the highly competitive European scene to the US of A, where the football is worse but the money is better. Not so much a swan song as a goose with golden eggs song.

So Mr Messi now twinkles his agile toes for a new club called Inter Miami. The name is a straight lift from a legendary Italian club, Inter Milan. Inter Miami is not yet legendary.

But Mr Messi is, so when a local lifestyle magazine, backed by a government grant and official approval for the staging of “mega events”, arranged for Inter Miami to come and perform in Hong Kong there was great excitement among soccer fans.

Many of them had the opportunity to watch a training session or to see Mr Messi from a distance. Less publicly, for a six figure sum people could get close enough for a selfie and a few words, although as Mr Messi is from Spanish-speaking Argentina the communication may have been a bit disappointing for everyone concerned.

The high point of the whole exercise was a friendly match against a Hong Kong team assembled from the local performers. More than 30,000 spectators turned up for this, paying between $800 and $4,000 for the privilege.

I was not one of them. Inoculated by five years as a professional watcher of football matches I am rarely tempted and “friendly” games in my experience usually disappoint. One of the reasons for this is that professional athletes are surprisingly fragile and reluctant to risk their livelihood in encounters which are merely entertainment. So there is a tendency for people to drop out at the last minute if they get a twinge somewhere.

And so, alas, it turned out on this occasion. Inter Miami did their stuff, and saw off the Hong Kong team handily, but they did so without the assistance of Mr Messi, who was down as a substitute but was not used.

Many of the spectators were extremely offended, and a speech at the end of the match from Mr David Beckham (who used to be a footballer but nowadays is famous for being famous) was booed.

Cue outrage on all channels that fans bad been scammed. The internet frothed with bitter complaints. Some irate fans resorted to the Consumer Council. Column inches were devoted to Mr Messi’s medical symptoms and history. Academics were interviewed.

After the organising magazine announced that under the circumstances it would not collect the government subsidy our leaders could wade in. Secure, for a change, from charges that they had misplanned an event or wasted the taxpayers’ money, they were free to express warm solidarity with disgruntled fans and call for money to be returned to them.

Which is all very well, and has provided a great deal of harmless media fodder. It has also, rather regrettably, consumed a large chunk of the rather small period allowed for people to comment on the up-coming national security legislation.

This is a pity. I was surprised by a recent offering in China Daily’s English version from Prof Lau Siu-kai. Prof Lau is an emeritus professor of sociology (a polite academic way of saying retired) and a consultant to the Chinese Association of Hong Kong and Macau Studies, a think tank where democratic ideas are drowned.

Those of us who were here at the time will remember as the high point of Prof Lau’s career his prediction in 2003 that the July 1 march would only attract 30,000 or so people, which turned out to be about 500,000 people light.

However if you want to know what the government is plotting then Prof Lau is your man, so I waded through his thoughts on “colour revolutions”. This involved a very elaborate string of definitions, understandable in a way because Prof Lau could hardly be expected to use the common-sense definition, which would be something like “a popular movement aiming at the overthrow of a despotic regime”. For Prof Lau a colour revolution is a Bad Thing.

He then proceeded to explain how the national security law would prevent colour revolutions in Hong Kong. Which included some interesting observations. For example:

…It will no longer be possible for political groups to freely participate in the leadership, planning, organization and mobilization of a “color revolution”. The Ordinance will stipulate: “If the Secretary for Security reasonably believes that prohibiting the operation or continued operation of any local organization in the HKSAR is necessary for safeguarding national security, the Secretary for Security may by order published in the Gazette prohibit the operation or continued operation of the organization in the HKSAR,” and “If a local organization is a political body and has a connection with an external political organization, the Security for Security may by order published in the Gazette prohibit the operation or continued operation of the local organization in the HKSAR.

This seems a little stark. No obligation to tell the society first, or give it a chance to explain itself; no avenue for appeal? It also seems a bit unnecessary. In 2018 the police withdrew registration as a society from the Hong Kong National Party on national security grounds. We are plugging a non-existent loophole.

Then there is this:

…It will be difficult for hostile forces to spread false information to slander the central government and the HKSAR government, to instigate hatred, division and opposition in society, and to instigate, lead and organize unrest.  That is because they would be committing the offense of espionage under the Ordinance, which includes “colluding with an external force to publish a statement of fact that is false or misleading to the public, and the person, with intent to endanger national security or being reckless as to whether national security would be endangered, so publishes the statement; and knows that the statement is false or misleading.

I quite see why one might wish to have a law against false statements, although this already seems to be covered by the sedition offence which we already have. But, at least in English, I do not see how this can be classed as espionage. This is a concern because espionage is generally treated as a very serious matter, whereas publishing a statement might in some circumstances be a fairly minor offence, if for example the publication was seen by very few people.

It used to be said that the British Army was always preparing to fight the last war, not the next one. Something rather similar seems to be afflicting our government. The HKJA is “not recognised” because of two disagreements in 2019, a play is cancelled because the founder of the drama group tweeted something in 2019, a legislator making reasonable points about tourism and police work is accused of speaking “dangerously” and sounding like some of the things that were said in … 2019.

Now we have national security legislation which appears to be an attempt to criminalise anything and everything people did in 2019 which didn’t please the government. The fear of an encore is unwarranted. The people who wanted the five demands have got the message. They are going or gone. Relax.

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Our leaders are awfully upset about Ms Agnes Chow. Ms Chow, if you have been abroad for a few days, was a young and charismatic leader of the protest movement when such things were still allowed.

Lately she has been free but on bail awaiting trial on a national security charge. It emerged last week that during this period she was taken by the Nat Sec police on a one-day tour of Shenzhen, featuring visits to a museum about the glories of modern China and to the headquarters of a mainland megafirm. She then penned a letter of confession and apology and, apparently as a reward for this act of contrition, was given back her passport, which she had handed over to the police under her bail conditions.

She then flew to Canada and promptly announced that she had no intention of coming back. Cue expressions of outrage, accusations of dishonesty and scorn for the rule of law, and promises that she will be “a fugitive for the rest of her life”.

The idea that Hong Kong people will be moved to horror and revulsion if somebody stays abroad to avoid a national security trial is a bit of a stretch.

Anyway the multiple channels condemnation has not entirely dispelled the suspicion that the national security people – as opposed to our political leaders, who have little control over them – may not have been entirely surprised or unhappy with this turn of events. Ms Chow would perhaps be a lesser problem for them as a traumatised exile in Toronto than she would be as a popular martyr in a Hong Kong women’s prison.

The strange thing about the official response was the frequency with which the “rule of law” was mentioned. Because what happened to Ms Chow does seem rather unusual by the standards of places where the rule of law is taken seriously.

I am puzzled by the assurance from government apologist and senior lawyer Ronny Tong that there is nothing to see here because bail conditions are routinely a matter for negotiation between defendants and policemen. I can see there may be room for some give and take when the bail is from the police, not a court, but compulsory tours outside the jurisdiction? Written confessions?

Those of us who fear that we may in future need the information will wonder how this actually works. Do the Nat Sec police appear suddenly at your home and whisk you off to the mainland for a bit of brain washing?

Or does the avuncular station sergeant to whom you have to report every week phrase it as an offer: “How would you feel about a free one-day trip to Shenzhen? Of course we’d have to give you your passport back for a while…”

Then there is the letter of contrition and confession. Is this done on police premises and is your presence there voluntary? Is advice offered: “I don’t think ‘misguided’ quite fits the bill; let us use ‘despicable’”?

What, one wonders, was really the purpose of the whole exercise? Chief Executive John Lee’s version is that the police were trying to “show leniency”. But that hardly seems to explain the compulsory tourism, which included, according to Ms Chow, an awful lot of photography. And what use was to be made of the letter?

Actually I am not too concerned about the tourism aspect, as long as the tourist is allowed to return to Hong Kong at the end of it. But if we are going to boast about our enthusiasm for the rule of law then negotiated confessions, with rewards offered – like access to a passport and, in effect, an escape route – should not be on the menu.

Haggling with the accused over her police bail terms is one thing. Eliciting a signed confession is quite another. While this important piece of authorship was in progress, could Ms Chow consult her lawyer? Was a lawyer present at all? Was she given the usual warning about self-incrimination?

If our leaders wish to preserve what they perceive to be Hong Kong’s international reputation as a haven of the Rule of Law, this requires more than ensuring that overseas business bods can get a fair shake in civil disputes with mainland companies. It also requires diligence in the protection of the rights of citizens accused of criminal offences.

Leaving aside the – shall we say unconventional – features of the national security law, further attention might usefully be bestowed on the matters of pre-trial publicity, the right to legal advice, and speed. Consider Judge Andrew Chan, who recently told 47 defendants, most of whom have already been in custody for three years, that to deliver a verdict at the end of their trial he and his colleagues would need “three to four months”, with “no guarantees” that it would not be longer. This is carrying judicial contempt for the value of other people’s time too far. Try harder.

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