Hong Kong, long plagued by sky-high property prices, was judged the world’s least affordable housing market for the 13th consecutive year this March. Yet a Yau Tong site which could accommodate thousands of homes has been lying idle for almost three decades.

Big developers and the government have repeatedly failed to agree on a land premium which landowners must pay before construction. With the developers currently hit by a 14-year high in interest rates and a property market slump, some experts say the site should be partially rezoned for public, rather than private, housing.

One developer has managed to sell all of its units on a small portion of the Yau Tong waterfront, but only after price cuts to levels last seen seven years ago.

Flats at Coast Line II were sold in August at an average of 15 per cent below the market rate -prices equivalent to the cost of a government-subsidised apartment. The cheapest flat was a studio apartment measuring 210 square feet, offered for HK$2.9 million, or HK$13,810 per sq ft – an 18 per cent reduction on the market rate.

The private homes, which have yet to be completed, are among the first of a proposed 12,000 flats scheduled to be built under a large-scale development project just a short walk downhill from Yau Tong’s mainly working-class neighbourhood.

Most of the seaview site spanning just under 14 hectares – made up of Yau Tong Bay and an adjacent industrial area – has been left idle for close to three decades. With the city’s housing market in a rut, it seems the wait will last even longer.

30 years idle

The Coast Line properties have been developed by CK Asset, the flagship developer of Hong Kong’s richest man – Li Ka-shing – and are part of a proposed large-scale private development project in the Yau Tong Industrial Area. It was once known as the “the ulcer of Victoria Harbour” for its heavy pollution before the government eventually rezoned it for residential and comprehensive development in 1998.

The adjacent Yau Tong Bay was originally part of the industrial estate and populated with shipyards and sawmills in the 1950s. The U-shaped plot, created by reclamation, was rezoned for comprehensive development in 1993 when the colonial government was still in power.

To Chan Kim-ching of development policy think-tank Liber Research Community, the Yau Tong “privatopia” illustrates the problem with private land development in Hong Kong.

For years, real estate oligarchs have been accused of hoarding existing land resources in the city. Developers are currently sitting on more than 1,000 hectares of agricultural land alone – not to mention urban land resources such as the Yau Tong plot. No taxes are imposed on land hoarding in Hong Kong.

Echoing Beijing’s characterisation of Hong Kong’s housing crisis as a “deep-rooted problem,” the Director of the Hong Kong and Macao Affairs Office (HKMAO) Xia Baolong has said he hoped the city would eradicate its infamous subdivided flats and cage homes by 2049.

“This reflects another side of Hong Kong’s land problem,” Chan said. “People always say there’s no land in Hong Kong, but the Yau Tong plot has been left idle for 20, 30 years.”

Land premiums

By the time construction for the Coast Line flats finishes in late 2025, less than a tenth of the 12,000 flats will be complete. Chan said private developers’ unwillingness to pay hefty land premiums was to blame.

In an interview with HKFP, the researcher said developers had repeatedly rejected land premium offers set by the Lands Department.

Henderson Land Development’s executive director Augustine Wong told reporters last month that the consortium in charge of the Yau Tong Bay project – consisting of Henderson, Sun Hung Kai Properties, New World Development, Hang Lung Properties, China State Construction, and Wheelock Properties – had refused to accept the latest deal.

The HK$24.5 billion premium was calculated at an average of HK$6,000 per square foot for the project’s 4.01 million square feet of buildable gross floor area.

Chan said the developers were appealing to the government to reduce the figure because the property market was falling faster than the premium. The consortium had previously turned down another offer in March 2021, also citing exorbitant costs.

The head of the Real Estate Developers Association (REDA) Stewart Leung has said in an interview with the Hong Kong Economic Journal that “there has never been a redevelopment so repetitive” and that the developers in the consortium each had their own interests to consider.

Norey Tsang, an assistant associate director at Midland Realty, said developers did not have hopes of making a big profit at Yau Tong and wanted merely to reduce the premium by around 20-30 per cent, to a level commensurate with the prices of the finished flats.

New World Development’s net gearing ratio – a metric of how much of a developer’s operations are funded by debt – stands at 46.9 per cent, while Henderson’s was 24 per cent, according to their latest interim financial reports. And with interest rates at a 14-year high, developers are wary, Tsang told HKFP in a phone interview.

“There’s no pressing need for them to take that [land premium] price,” he said. “They can afford to slow down the pace of development.”

Louis Loong, lawmaker for the real estate sector who is also secretary general of the developers association, declined to speak with HKFP, with his assistant saying he had no comment on matters regarding the Yau Tong development.

Gov’t intervention and market forces

The decades-long wait should have been enough to dispel the commonly-held belief that private developers are more efficient than the government, said Chan of Liber Research, arguing that the government’s “blind faith” in market forces had significant implications for future private development initiatives.

That would include development projects on proposed artificial islands to be created east of Lantau and envisaged as the city’s third business district, after Central on Hong Kong island and Kai Tak in Kowloon. Kai Tak was hit the hardest when Midland Realty recorded a cumulative 20,513 unsold flats in August.

That figure has been on the rise for months, with Centaline Property reporting 19,085 unsold flats as of the second quarter of 2023.

Chan said the idle Yau Tong plot could have been put to better use as a site for transitional housing for residents waiting for a public housing flat, or for flats under the Home Ownership Scheme (HOS) – the government’s subsidised-sale housing programme.

Flats under the scheme are considered public housing, as are subsidised flats built by private developers introduced under a new pilot scheme that the government says could help kickstart development on existing land.

In 2018, the government set a 10-year target to bring the proportion of public housing up to 70 per cent, with the remaining 30 per cent for private housing. That has become a holdover policy goal for Chief Executive John Lee’s administration.

Chan said zoning half of Yau Tong Bay as HOS flats would create a “sense of urgency” and speed up private development. “They [developers] will realise that they might lose their hold on the development project if the delays persist,” Chan said. “Why can’t the government take the lead and do what this city needs the most, which is to build public housing or subsidised flats?”

But rezoning the land at the Yau Tong waterfront would “change the rules of the game,” said Cody Chow, another researcher at Liber. “It would only be a last resort for the government.” A land hoarding tax, he added, would similarly be out of the question.

Ng Mee-kam, director of Urban Studies at the Chinese University of Hong Kong, said the government could take a more proactive role in better utilising land resources, if it chose to do so. “They can rezone the land. They can ask [the Urban Renewal Authority] to work on it, and they can initiate a public-private partnership,” she told HKFP.

Yau Tong West district councillor Lui Tung-hai, meanwhile, said the Yau Tong Bay project had been stuck in the pipeline for too long. “Drawing out the development doesn’t do any favours for residents,” he said.

Lui said residents and the council were both largely supportive of the development plan, but also hoped that there would be height and density limitations in place to ensure that the sea view was still visible to other residents.

While he supported the government’s push for more public housing, Lui had no hopes for government flats on the the harbourfront site. “Most of Kwun Tong district is public housing anyway,” he said.

Other than proposed major developments off Lantau and in the New Territories, site rezoning was listed as one of the methods for increasing housing supply in Lee’s maiden policy address last year. He also cited New Development Areas, brownfield and factory estate development, and major infrastructure projects.

In a reply to HKFP, the Development Bureau said zoning the Yau Tong sites for private development would “maximise development potential” to meet development needs.

“While the Government may not have control over the pace of these market-led redevelopment projects and the original use at these sites continues to exist before redevelopment, we consider this as a necessary process of urban renewal to replace old with new,” a spokesperson for the bureau said.

Homes or investments?

Midland’s Tsang, however, said building government flats at Yau Tong Bay would only cause the investment value of the area to fall, and negatively impact developers’ enthusiasm. He compared Liber’s suggestion to the situation at Kai Tak, where home prices plunged after private residents voiced concerns about a short-term public housing initiative that would block their sea views.

Even the current zoning plan could jeopardise property values. The Planning Department acknowledges that “interface problems” may arise while Yau Tong Bay is transformed into a residential area.

Chow said the area’s “Residential (Group E)” zoning bans “new industrial developments” but allows existing industrial buildings to remain until they are replaced by high-rise apartment complexes. This would make for “incompatible” land use over the course of Yau Tong Bay’s gradual transformation into a private housing enclave.

Right next to the Coast Line II complex, just several feet away from the lower floors, are two concrete batching plants that remain operational even though operator China Concrete Company faces 26 prosecutions from the Environmental Protection Department (EPD).

The operator has been refused licence renewals for both plants on several occasions since April 2021 for failing to limit air pollution, and the High Court this January rejected a legal bid to challenge the government’s decision. Just last month, the city’s Ombudsman found that the EPD had properly fulfilled its duties “from an administrative perspective.”

Ailing property market

Suggestions that stamp duty may be cut, a decade after it was increased to curb a property market bubble at the time, have fuelled speculation that home sales and prices could rebound.

As of October 11, after finance minister Paul Chan hinted last month that the measures would be scaled back, Henderson shares had surged 5.8 per cent to HK$21, Sun Hung Kai had risen 7.4 per cent to HK$85.25, and New World 3.9 per cent to HK$15.06. Yet it could be years before developers feel the tangible effects of relaxing what were once dubbed the “spicy measures.”

Meanwhile, disappointing land sales indicate that developers are still cautious. Only two of the 18 plots earmarked for sale in the current fiscal year have been sold so far, raising HK$10 billion in premiums.

Originally, the government hoped to raise HK$85 billion via the programme by the end of the fiscal year in March 2024, which would equate to some 13 per cent of its total expected revenue. It also hoped to rake in the same amount from stamp duties.

For the government, which faces an overall deficit potentially larger than the HK$54.4 billion it had originally forecast earlier this year, land sales are a significant source of revenue for funding infrastructure projects.

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At a Japanese restaurant in a Hong Kong commercial district, the eatery’s newest dishes raised eyebrows.

The menu advertised sashimi bowls layered with savoury blue jelly, or “radioactive water,” a tongue-in-cheek nod to recent curbs on Japanese seafood after treated wastewater from the Fukushima Daiichi nuclear power plant was released into the ocean. The dish did not, however, contain anything from Fukushima or other regions from which Hong Kong had restricted imports.

Days after HKFP visited the restaurant, it was inspected by the Food and Environmental Hygiene Department, asked whether it was using ingredients from restricted regions and ordered it to stop serving the “radioactive” bowls.

The stunt came after Hong Kong – the second-largest importer of Japanese seafood behind mainland China last year – banned aquatic products from 10 parts of Japan in late August, the same day the country began releasing the treated nuclear wastewater. Mainland China, Macau and Hong Kong are among the few places that have restricted Japanese imports. The United Nations’ nuclear watchdog said in July that Japan’s move was in line with international standards.

The blue-hued bowls – an apparent mockery of Hong Kong’s ban – was as far as the owners went in criticising the authorities. In a social media post a day before the import restrictions were enacted, the restaurant said it respected the government’s regulations.

The restaurant owner declined to speak on the record with HKFP, a reticence common among restaurant owners when asked what they think of the controls. Political experts said their hesitation reflected the reality in Hong Kong today where self-censorship is the norm – even in sectors unrelated to politics.

Developments in Hong Kong in recent years, from the disbanding of civil society groups under the national security law to overhauls of legislative and district administration electoral systems, left little room for criticism of the government, experts said.

“I think there is definitely a chilling effect in society that makes people unwilling to openly say anything that is against the government,” Liu Dongshu, an assistant professor who researches Chinese politics at the City University of Hong Kong, told HKFP.

In addition to the bans, the government has also started conducting radiological tests on all aquatic products from elsewhere in Japan, causing delays to food air-freighted from the country, restaurant owners told HKFP. Some said they had been forced to apologise to diners when ingredients were still at the airport at dinner time, forcing them to make last-minute menu changes.

The Food and Environmental Hygiene Department told HKFP that as of September 24, all samples tested had passed the radiological tests.

Y, the director of a Japanese izakaya in the Wong Tai Sin neighbourhood, said the restrictions had brought significant inconvenience. He asked to stay anonymous as he feared reprisal from the authorities.

Often, diners who wanted to eat more premium sashimi would reserve in advance. But due to delays, Y said he had to tell customers their orders would not arrive in time and ask if they could come the following evening instead.

“It’s most awkward when they’re not free the next day,” Y told HKFP, speaking in Cantonese. “If we are not able to sell the order to another table, then we will make a loss.”

The government has denied that the delays were related to radiation checks, attributing it to increased imports and importers not completing the necessary paperwork.

Y said that if restaurateurs spoke their mind, it could get them into trouble. He added he had read news reports of small businesses becoming victim of increased checks from government departments after being seen as critical of the authorities.

“This pressure [to stay silent] reflects that society no longer tolerates us expressing our views,” he added.

‘Loyalty’ to Beijing

There has been little international reaction to Japan’s wastewater discharge. But across the border, Beijing has banned all seafood imports from Japan and made strongly-worded remarks, rejecting Japan’s statements that the wastewater had been adequately treated.

 Japan was “putting its selfish interests” above people’s well-being and treating the Pacific Ocean as its own “private sewer,” China’s foreign ministry said. The hostility between the two countries dates back decades, to the Japanese invasion of China ahead of World War Two.

On Chinese social media platforms, people have called for boycotts of Japanese products, rallied behind local alternatives, and spread debunked rumours – including one about the death of a Japanese official who drank a glass of treated water from the nuclear plant at a 2011 press conference to prove the water’s safety.

The online chatter did not come out of left field. Since April 2021, when Japan first announced it would discharge the treated wastewater, Chinese state media – from national broadcasters to provincial-level platforms – have raised alarm, according to the Taiwan-based Information Operations Research Group.

Such messaging is amplified through YouTube channels, some of which came from content farms providing commentary on current affairs. They seemingly target Chinese users abroad, since the video hosting platform is blocked in the mainland.

The condemnation of Japan’s decision is less visible among the Hong Kong public, and the city has not banned Japanese seafood outright. But Hong Kong authorities have used similar language to the central government – describing the treated water as “nuclear-contaminated” – in press releases. Both governments have called Japan’s decision irresponsible, saying the discharge could impact the international community’s environment, ecology, and food safety.

Hong Kong’s restrictions include four landlocked places, raising questions about their scientific basis. Asked how the government decided to ban seafood from those regions, the Environment and Ecology Bureau did not respond directly.

“The discharge of such nuclear-contaminated water in such a large scale (130 Million cubic metres) and for such a long period (30 years) is unprecedented and there is no established international standards or practices for such discharge,” the bureau said.

The release of the treated wastewater came more than a decade after an earthquake in 2011 hit Japan’s Fukushima prefecture and damaged reactors at a nuclear plant. The country said it would discharge the water – which was used to cool the reactors – over a period of 30 years.

The water is being discharged in phases. The first was completed in mid-September, and the second phase of release began on Thursday.

Liu said that while he believed the Hong Kong government did have food safety concerns, it was “safe to say” that political factors were also at play. 

“[The Hong Kong government] faces tremendous political pressure to follow the central government more closely than before the social movement,” Liu said, referring to the protests and unrest in 2019. “Hong Kong [has to show] a kind of loyalty.”

In August, lawmakers and members of the city’s largest pro-establishment groupings – the Democratic Alliance for the Betterment and Progress of Hong Kong and the Federation of Trade Unions – held separate protests outside the Japanese consulate to protest Tokyo’s decision. Representatives had organised multiple petitions up to the day of the discharge.

They also called on the government to take Beijing’s lead and ban all Japanese seafood imports, not just those from certain regions.

Tetsuro Kobayashi, a former political communications associate professor at the City University of Hong Kong who is currently at Tokyo’s Waseda University, said the parties were merely echoing the central government. Both held similar rallies when US House Speaker Nancy Pelosi visited Taiwan, a trip that China’s foreign ministry said “seriously undermined” the country’s sovereignty, he said.

“I think the rallies [against Japan] were completely a performative act,” he added. “I don’t think there’s any scientific solid ground to ban [all seafood] from Japan.”

Lawmaker Bill Tang, a member of the Hong Kong Federation of Trade Unions who demonstrated outside the consulate, told HKFP he believed a complete ban on Japanese seafood would be “best.”

“We don’t understand how big the effect of the wastewater release would be. We need time to observe,” he said, adding that he did not think tests suggesting a negligible risk were comprehensive enough.

Asked if he thought the demonstrations were political, Tang said: “If that’s political, then I’d ask why the US government wants to ban Huawei.”

The lawmaker was referring to the US placing Huawei on a trade blacklist in 2019, meant to bar the Chinese smartphone company – which has become a symbol of the US-China tech war – from buying American software.

Tang also told HKFP he was not reducing his consumption of Japanese food. “I trust the government. If it’s passed [Hong Kong]’s radiation tests, I believe it is safe,” he said.

‘Very careful’

Restaurant owners with whom HKFP spoke said that while they saw a steep drop in diners right after the government enacted the restrictions, business had slowly been recovering.

Wu Chun-wa, a manager at a sashimi restaurant in the Shek Tong Shui neighbourhood, said he did not anticipate a serious hit to revenue in the long run.

“Diners are starting to come back,” Wu told HKFP in Cantonese after a busy Friday lunch hour in September. “Japan will discharge the water for 30 years. It’s not like people won’t eat Japanese food for 30 years.”

Restaurant owners said it was difficult to gauge the impact of the ban on food supply, because they ordered seafood from middlemen suppliers in Hong Kong. The options change daily and if certain items were unavailable, it was unclear whether it was because of the restrictions or for other reasons, such as there not being a fresh catch that day.

On the whole, they said their supply was not affected much, as most of the food they imported were from regions unaffected by the ban such as Hokkaido and Kyushu.

Kobayashi said he did not think most Hongkongers agreed with the government’s reaction to the wastewater discharge.

“The things that have transpired in the past three, four years in Hong Kong, people have a really good skill of discounting what the government is saying… they seek alternative information,” he said.

“It could be international media or the Japanese consulate,” Kobayashi said, referring to statements made by the Japanese consul-general that itwas “regretful” that Hong Kong authorities were referring to the treated waters as “contaminated.”

For Wu, the current restrictions were still acceptable as he could import the ingredients needed. But if the ban were to be expanded, as the pro-establishment groups had urged, Wu said his restaurant’s survival could be under threat.

“I think I’d gather with other restaurateurs and show my opposition. We’d have to make our own channels to speak out,” he said. “And we’d have to be very careful about our words.”

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“Hong Kong is back in business” has become a familiar phrase to fall from the mouths of government officials – uttered in at least 11 high-profile addresses since the beginning of the year, including five times in September alone. 

But for an elderly hawker in Yau Ma Tei, who cut a lonely figure along the northern end of Temple Street, business was far from back. His stall was the only one open at around 7 pm on a late-September Tuesday. Speaking to HKFP on condition that his name was not used, he said he was about to close for the day, hours earlier than he used to.

He had been selling wooden handicrafts and calligraphy brushes at Temple Street Night Market – described by travel guide Lonely Planet as a “tourist trap” and “Hong Kong’s liveliest market” – for about 40 years, reopening in 2022 after shuttering for much of the Covid-19 pandemic, during which visitors were essentially barred from the city. 

Things these days were different. Faded orange national and Hong Kong flags hung limply in the humid night air, and the once animated street was all but empty. He did not get many customers, the stallholder said, squatting on his plastic stool in front of an industrial floor fan. People seemed less keen to spend money, he added, and that included tourists. 

It was a similar story at a footwear store on Mong Kok’s Fa Yuen Street, better known as “sneaker street” and popular with a younger, historically cashed-up clientele. While a website dedicated to the area entreats anyone with “an itch to buy some athletic shoes at 11pm” to head over, the owner of three shops on the street said he had started closing at 9 pm.

Also speaking on condition of anonymity, he told HKFP he had cut staff from six to four during Covid so that he could stay open. But business was down by about 50 per cent compared to pre-pandemic levels, and quieter than it was while anti-epidemic restrictions remained in place. Once, customers would buy several pairs of shoes – now he was lucky if they bought one.    

In an effort to redress weak consumption and reinvigorate the city’s evening economy after Covid-related restrictions kept Hongkongers at home for the better part of three years, the government has launched a “Night Vibes Hong Kong” campaign. Much of it is centred around malls, pop-up night markets, and events already firmly entrenched in the city’s calendar – National Day Celebrations, the Hong Kong Wine and Dine Festival, and Halloween events at the city’s theme parks. 

It also runs from Mid-Autumn Festival, which this year fell in late September, until Lunar New Year in early February, traditionally the city’s busiest period for spending and for tourism. 

Speaking to reporters on September 19, Chief Executive John Lee said the campaign aimed to get people “out of their former habits of staying home early.”

“The whole intention and purpose of this Night Vibes Hong Kong programme is to develop a new culture for people to enjoy their night activities more,” Lee said, adding that “activities will mean more people; more people will mean more business and more consumption, which will be good for the overall economic development.”

The campaign kicked off with a weekend market hosted by the Avenue of Stars and shopping centre K11 Musea – both overseen by property and development conglomerate New World Development – along the Tsim Sha Tsui waterfront on September 22. In a statement, K11 hailed the first event as a success, with “thriving crowds craving for local specialties” resulting in a 30 per cent surge in footfall. There was no mention of an impact on sales. 

Among the local specialities on offer were quintessential Cantonese dishes such as siu mai, which went viral for costing HK$20 for four pieces – a lot by Hong Kong standards. The Fa Yuen Street sneaker store owner told HKFP he did not think the campaign would have a genuine impact, saying that you could buy such snacks on most Mong Kok streets but they did not bring people out.    

To make a real difference to the night economy, he suggested the government subsidise stores to stay open. He had started closing earlier during Covid because of a lack of customers and to save staffing costs, and now people were used to shops closing at a certain time and did not look to spend late into the evening. He called it a vicious cycle. 

‘Things have changed’ 

For much of three years, since Covid-19 was first detected in the city in January 2020 until Hong Kong’s border with mainland China was fully reopened in February, the city was subject to some of the most stringent pandemic restrictions in the world. 

While spared the strict lockdowns of cities like Shanghai or London, Hongkongers were limited in other ways, including in the number of people allowed to gather in public and around a table at a restaurant – both capped at two when outbreaks were at their worst. 

Many of the businesses associated with the night economy – bars, restaurants, karaoke lounges, massage parlours, nightclubs and live music venues – were forced to close completely or operate according to rigorous regulations and curtailed opening hours. Dinner service at eateries was banned for months on end. Several did not survive.

Dining out in large groups has long been part of Hong Kong’s food culture. “People used to go out 15 at a time, families, friends… but now, a lot of them go home at nine o’clock because they’re used to it,” Allan Zeman, the nightlife impresario behind Lan Kwai Fong, one of Hong Kong’s best known after-dark areas, told HKFP by phone in early September. 

“Covid changed a lot of habits for a lot of people… people are used to eating at home,” Zeman said. “Things have changed.” 

Syed Asim Hussain, founder of hospitality group Black Sheep Restaurants, echoed Zeman’s assertion that things were different. “The landscape has changed, it’s dramatically changed,” he told HKFP by video call in late September. “The message internally is we’re not holding our collective breath for things to go back to how they were in 2018.”

Without tourism, a pillar industry that in 2019 contributed around 3.6 per cent to Hong Kong’s gross domestic product and employed some 232,700 people, according to government figures, consumption in the city fell off a cliff in early 2020. Spending still lags behind 2019 levels, which were depressed during the protests and unrest that shook Hong Kong that year. 

Restaurant receipts have shown a more consistent rise, but likewise languish below the amount spent on eating out in 2019, with provisional data for the second quarter showing a decline from the first.  

Economic sociologist at the Hong Kong Polytechnic University Anson Au told HKFP that the impact of Covid on Hongkongers was “longitudinal.” 

Speaking via video call in September, Au spoke of the “disruption” many suffered. “If they had any spells of unemployment, which [many] did during that time, the financial effects are… long term, because you had to dip into your savings to basically recuperate, and that takes some time to bounce back,” Au said. 

The timing of Hong Kong’s reopening also played a role in people’s willingness to spend, he added. 

“We’re at this time when consumer confidence is a little bit lower than is normal because there is some concern about a recession on both sides of the aisle,” Au said. “We have concerns about slowdown in China, we have concerns about a slowdown in America, and whenever consumers are afraid about that, that usually shows up in discretionary spending – so that’s basically stuff that is a luxury but not a need.” 

Hongkongers have seemed keener to part with their money while overseas – another blow for domestic consumption. Even before the border reopened, a 2022 report from Mastercard Economic Institute highlighted a “sharp recovery in outbound travel” across the Asia-Pacific region, adding it was “notable” in Hong Kong, “where the demand has been growing since the implementation of the ‘0+3’ quarantine policy.”

Introduced last September, the 0+3 requirement replaced quarantine for arrivals with a complex series of nucleic and rapid tests, allowing Hongkongers for the first time in years to travel without having to undergo isolation upon their return.

The trend for overseas travel has continued since all border controls were dropped, with Hussain saying “revenge travel” – people’s desire to expand their horizons after not being able to do so – was evident. “Our guests that we would see a few times a week, they’re on the road all the time,” he said.

“The other thing that we’re seeing is guests even within our portfolio are trading down,” Hussain said, referring to the phenomenon of spending less than before.

Hongkongers are not the only ones taking advantage of the post-Covid opportunity to travel. However, the 1.3 million Chinese arrivals recorded in the city from January to July was still 41 per cent below 2019 figures for the same period, according to Hong Kong Tourism Bureau data, and international tourists were yet to make a noticeable return. 

Lan Kwai Fong’s Zeman said mainland Chinese tourists made up about 35 per cent of the area’s customers now, compensating for a drop in expatriates. “Our business has really been very good,” he said. 

He said that the type of mainland Chinese tourist had changed. “In the old days, all they wanted to do is go shopping in the shopping centres because the prices were a lot cheaper than in mainland China, especially for all the labels,” Zeman said. 

Deflated consumption trends in Hong Kong indicate that travellers, like locals, are less willing to spend. Retail receipts in almost every sector were down compared to before Covid, with clothing and department store expenditure particularly depressed. 

“Now that the tax [of luxury goods in mainland China] is almost equal to Hong Kong, they don’t come here. It’s a different kind of client who’s coming now. They’re much better dressed, they’re more sophisticated, they travel,” he said, adding that these tourists were looking for experiences unique to Hong Kong. 

Enjoying Hong Kong nightlife ‘prohibited’ 

The issue with that, said many involved in the city’s nightlife economy who spoke to HKFP for this article, was that Hong Kong’s unique culture had been eroded, and in some cases, commodified. 

Dai pai dongs – street food stalls that have served classic Hong Kong dishes for decades – are under threat because of government bureaucracy and no new licences have been issued since the 1970s, citing concerns over food safety and hygiene. Acknowledging their cultural importance, though, a dai pai dong will pop up at Wan Chai Harbourfront as part of the Hong Kong Night Vibes campaign offering “nostalgia” and “an enticing array of traditional Hong Kong-style street food,” according to a press release. 

Similarly, neon signs – visually synonymous with the city for many foreigners – have fallen foul of regulations and been removed, with some of what remains relegated to museums. Street performers, who drew crowds but were largely disliked by local residents and business owners, were popularly sent packing from Sai Yeung Choi Street in Mong Kok in 2018. Today the once pedestrianised area is quiet, both audibly and in terms of footfall.       

In Tsim Sha Tsui, street photographers who took tourists’ pictures against the backdrop of Victoria Harbour have mostly been moved on. Jumbo, one of Hong Kong’s floating restaurants fell victim to Covid restrictions then sank in the South China Sea in June 2022 as it was being towed away, sparking memes that it was a metaphor for Hong Kong’s future. 

Without even a hint of irony, the Government Records Service launched an exhibition on September 15 titled, “Yesterday’s Vacation in HK,” assembling images of bygone tourist attractions that “remain a crucial part of locals’ and visitors’ memory towards Hong Kong despite having become part of history.”

Becky Lam and Mike Watt, the duo behind popular Peel Street bar Shady Acres in Central, questioned why Hong Kong did not appear on any lists of the world’s best cities for nightlife. 

“Hongkongers are as creative, educated, cosmopolitan, youthful, and entrepreneurial as any other people in Asia, if not more so,” they said in emailed responses to HKFP, adding that the city had “the economic and human resources to sustain a world-class nightlife scene and then some. And yet why doesn’t it?”

The answer, Lam and Watt said, was simple. “Bit by bit, we’ve basically made key elements of nightlife all but illegal. We’ve hunted them to the point where they’re endangered or even extinct,” they said.  

“There are a wide variety of individual laws and regulations which, when you add them up, essentially prohibit the city from enjoying a world-class nightlife scene,” Lam and Watt added.

“Think of the ingredients that make up a thrilling nightlife destination: live entertainment, outdoor dining, street food, night markets, public performances, bars and clubs that seemingly never close, and so on. Offering these activities legally in Hong Kong is very challenging, frequently impossible, and therefore the opportunity to have those experiences is very limited relative to other major global cities.”

Lam and Watt said they were not advocating a “free for all” and regulations were essential. “It’s a balancing act.”  

Whether that act can be achieved by the government’s night economy push remains to be seen. 

Black Sheep Restaurants’ Hussain seemed unconvinced. “I feel like we’re playing someone else’s game, we’re not playing to our strengths,” he said, among which were “world class hospitality, excellent experiential dining.”

Zeman, whose Lan Kwai Fong was participating in the reinvigoration efforts by offering a series of performances and discounts mid-week , said: “We just have to keep on being innovative.” Night markets offering what he called “cheap, cheap, cheap stuff” were “not the answer to our problems,” he added. 

Hussain agreed that “cheap and cheerful” was not the way ahead. ” We’ve got to return back to things that made Hong Kong so glossy… We are a really dynamic city when we’re making space for arts and culture… those are the sort of events that I think we should be creating more space for.”

As for what was on the Night Vibes Hong Kong agenda, Zeman said: “I’ve talked to a lot of operators that are doing it because the government’s asked them to… I’m not sure it will bring a lot of business. It’ll bring more people out, for sure.” 

He continued: “I don’t know if that’s really going to bring out spenders, you know. A lot of these people, they might go to the shopping mall, they’ll look, but they’re not really going to be shopping.” 

Emigration, integration

After losing tens of thousands of residents to an emigration wave after the 2019 pro-democracy protests and the arrival of Covid-19 and the national security law the following year, recent mid-year population figures rose to 7.5 million. However, almost 250,000 of them were “mobile residents,” or those who do not live in the city full-time. 

The Hong Kong Public Opinion Research Institute last March found that 24 per cent of respondents planned to leave the city. An immigration route introduced for Hongkongers by the UK in January 2021 had resulted in 144,500 visas issued by February, and British magazine The Spectator reported in late September that 125,000 Hongkongers had entered the UK under the scheme thus far. 

Chinese University of Hong Kong cultural anthropologist Sidney Cheung pointed out that the decline in domestic spending was “much bigger than the percentage of people who are moving out,” a survey commissioned by Hong Kong-based digital life insurer Blue in 2021 highlighted other ways in which relocation plans may affect consumption habits. 

It found that Hongkongers on average saved a quarter of their monthly income, with two in five savers saying they intended to emigrate, many within five years. 

Zeman pointed to another factor at play in how and where residents splash their cash: Hong Kong’s role in the Greater Bay Area, a megalopolis and port hub that is critical to mainland China’s export industry spanning nine cities in Guangdong province, as well as Hong Kong and Macau. 

“On the weekend… a lot of locals are going to Shenzhen,” Zeman said, referring to the city just across the border to the north of Hong Kong. Connectivity and cost – both hotels and Michelin-starred meals were “half the price,” he said – were enticing Hongkongers to spend not only in Shenzhen, but Macau and Guangzhou, too. 

“It’s become what a future in the Greater Bay Area will be about,” Zeman said. “I think that’s really something we are living with at the moment.”  

Hussain, though, said he was “frustrated that we’re trying to sort of compete.”

“There is this narrative about how everyone’s going up to China for the weekend, and even if that’s true – and the numbers actually show that it’s true, if you look at the data I think some 300,000 people are going up north – even if that is true, I feel we’ve got to continue to play to our strengths instead of adjusting or pivoting to something that’s not really what makes Hong Kong special,” Hussain said.

“What’s really frustrating is… this sort of V-shape recovery post-Covid that places like London, Paris, Singapore, Tokyo, other tier-one restaurant markets, other tier-one cities [had]… didn’t happen for us,” Hussain added, referring to a quick, decisive economic recovery witnessed elsewhere after Covid restrictions were dropped. “We’re still kind of languishing.” 

As for whether the Hong Kong Night Vibes campaign will be successful, or if seasonal spending between the Mid-Autumn Festival and Lunar New Year will peak as per previous years, only time will tell. The Travel Industry Council has estimated that 1 million mainland Chinese tourists will visit the city during the Golden Week holiday in the first week of October.

“I think we need to know whether we are going to move back to the old model – like doing Mid-Autumn Festival or Chinese New Year at restaurants – or have we got used to the new model of ordering things and eating at home,” Cheung said. 

Au acknowledged he was “more optimistic” about tourism, saying that globally, “the big picture story for tourism is improving,” and adding that he did not see “any fundamental reason why Hong Kong would be left out from that.” 

However, he was less bullish on domestic spending, and whether changes catalysed by Covid could end up being permanent. 

“The short answer is, we’ll see,” Au said. “Because the pandemic did something to the economy altogether. That itself, the effects of that, remain to be seen. You know, we walked out of one of the most stringent lockdowns in the world, where we basically isolated ourselves from global flows of trade and capital, and that itself took a toll,” he said. 

“We will bounce back, but we’re also bouncing back at a time when there are recessionary fears in the world economy at large… whatever happens for night markets in Hong Kong, and tourism, and consumer confidence, will be driven by this bigger story.” 

Additional reporting: Kyle Lam

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Dressed in pink overalls with a matching lollipop in her mouth, mainland Chinese tourist Zeng crouched down next to a red Hong Kong taxi parked outside a waterfront coffee shop in Kennedy Town on a Friday afternoon. 

Her friend, Su, took out her phone and directed Zeng on how to pose as she composed each photo. Satisfied with how the images turned out, the pair went in search of other photogenic locations around the white café, distinguished by its floor-to-ceiling glass windows.

Their place was quickly taken by another group of stylishly dressed tourists, who assumed position and began to strike different poses. 

Zeng and Su were among 30-odd visitors gathered at Kennedy Town’s New Praya waterfront that cloudy August afternoon. Had the weather been bright and sunny, the crowd would probably have spilled into the road. 

The area in the western part of Hong Kong Island has become a favourite among mainland Chinese tourists, who have been returning to Hong Kong since the city reopened its border and dropped its tough Covid-19 restrictions earlier this year. 

Instead of lining up to shop in luxury stores in Hong Kong’s commercial heart, many visitors have turned their attention to local neighbourhoods, thanks to tens of thousands of travel guides on Chinese social media and e-commerce platform Xiaohongshu, nicknamed the Little Red Book.

Lin Jian, a digital cultures and platform studies scholar at Chinese University of Hong Kong, told HKFP earlier this month that the site, which launched in 2013, had grown in popularity during the Covid-19 pandemic, when people had to stay home under strict anti-epidemic policies. 

According to Lin, while people have long used the app to find out information about particular products, they were now turning to it for travel advice. Xiaohongshu’s algorithm was “straightforward,” Lin added – by packing four posts into the screen instead of showing one at a time like other social media apps, it was able to feed more targeted content to its users.

“This is how algorithms work in general, they keep pushing related content to you, based on previous activities online, but Xiaohongshu does it in a more aggressive way,” the scholar said.

‘Citywalk’

Exploring areas on foot, either aimlessly or along a designed route to visit unique locales, has become a popular mode of travel and discovery among young mainland Chinese in the post-pandemic era. Known as “citywalk,” it places an emphasis on wandering at a slow pace, and has already amassed more than 1 million posts on Xiaohongshu.

In Hong Kong, Kennedy Town has been identified as one of the best destinations for tourists to roam, with some Xiaohongshu users calling it “the most romantic neighbourhood” in the city.

People on the app have also shown interest in the book Hong Kong Strollology by Hong Kong urbanist Sampson Wong, one of the creators behind a YouTube channel about wandering around the city “when in doubt.” The book recommends 10 routes which Wong said would make readers realise “Hong Kong is really beautiful.” 

Suzanne, a 35-year-old blogger with more than 630,000 fans on Weibo, who spoke to HKFP under a pseudonym, said that last year’s frequent Covid-19 lockdowns in mainland China may have contributed to the rise of the citywalk phenomenon. 

The Beijing-based content creator said she found comfort in walking around her neighbourhood and speaking to others when she was not forced to stay at home. 

“During quarantine last year, I found it really relaxing when I got to go out to walk around, do some reading and interact with other people,” Suzanne, who requested anonymity due to fear of reprisal, said. “The opportunity for us to go out was very limited last year because the whole city was on lockdown,” she added.

“Following the stay-at-home order… I really wanted to go out and visit the park and the riverside. I really wanted to be outdoors.”

Outdoor activities such as rock-climbing, camping and fishing had also became increasingly popular in China during and after the pandemic, she said.

Mainland Chinese tourist Sue Chang, a solo traveller who also visited New Praya in August, also said the pandemic prompted people to appreciate the beauty of their neighbourhoods more, and focus on “living in the present.” 

“After experiencing the pandemic, my friends and I started thinking life was rather fragile. We realised we should go out whenever we can and try to live our lives well,” the 28-year-old said in Mandarin. 

Strolling became a global trend during and after the pandemic, Wong, who also teaches urban cultures and cultural geography at CUHK, told HKFP. Touring a city by roaming could help visitors’ appreciate the city’s environment more and feel its pulse, he said.

The scholar regularly monitors searches on Xiaohongshu related to walking in Hong Kong. He said his book was often mentioned when people wanted to “go deeper” with citywalk, which critics say describes consumerist behaviour of checking off certain spots and taking photos at photogenic locations.

Walking down a carefully curated route in a city often prompts people to “think more,” Wong said, such as the purpose of the walk and the route design, which would in turn deepen people’s understanding of the city.

“In the past, people may have simply shared locations for shopping and eating. But sharing a route feels like a level-up in a way, it is a more culturally sophisticated way of travelling,” he said in a Cantonese phone interview with HKFP.

‘Special forces’ travel

While sharing photographs of visually captivating destinations is common among travellers worldwide, some mainland Chinese have taken it further by adopting what they call a “special forces” itinerary.

This is an exceptionally demanding schedule that requires the traveller to brace for physical exhaustion, as they strive to cram in a multitude of activities. In extreme cases, some may even forfeit sleep to squeeze in a few more stops.

Tourists Zeng and Su, who were on a day trip to Hong Kong following a business trip in Shenzhen, told HKFP outside the café in Kennedy Town they needed to keep the interview brief. They had to cross off a few more places on their checklist before heading back to Jiangxi.

“I guess our itinerary today amounts to 50 per cent of those special forces schedules, because we are not feeling extremely tired yet,” 28-year-old Su said. 

Special forces travel, a variation of low-cost travel, has become a buzzword on mainland Chinese social media sites. Controversy about this travel mode emerged in Hong Kong last month, when the Chinese University of Hong Kong refuted online claims that tourists could stay at some of its facilities overnight for free.

The “unfounded” recommendation stemmed from a guide to “free accommodation” in Hong Kong on Xiaohongshu, with the content creator pointing to places at the university with sockets for charging and a 24-hour study space where people could stay overnight.

Both CUHK scholar Lin and blogger Suzanne said China’s struggling economic recovery in the aftermath of Covid could be one reason behind a rising demand for budget travel tips.

China’s recovery was “losing steam” following a post-pandemic reopening boost, the International Monetary Fund remarked in its quarterly World Economic Outlook published in July.

Although China’s manufacturing activity and consumption services rebounded at the beginning of the year after leader Xi Jinping abandoned the zero-Covid policy, unresolved real estate problems were impacting economic revival, the international financial institution said.

Inflation in China was described by the IMF as “well below target,” as key lending rates were cut by the Chinese central bank in a bid to spur growth.

But the country saw deflationary pressure ease slightly last week as consumer prices rose by 0.1 per cent in August year-on-year compared to a 0.3 percent decrease in July. 

China said on Wednesday that its economic recovery “will be a bumpy and tortuous process,” but insisted Western critics “will for sure be proven wrong.”

See also: Mainland Chinese flock to Hong Kong for higher interest rates, financial security, amid growing economic woes

The mainland’s slow economic recovery has aggravated the social phenomenon of “involution,” said CUHK scholar Lin. The Chinese term “neijuan,” popularised by anthropologist Clifford Geertz in the 1960s, was used to describe an agrarian society in which increased labour did not result in a proportional output. In the context of China, it has been used to describe the intense – and sometimes unhealthy – competition among young people in the labour market. 

Many people believed they did not have a choice but to “overexploit” themselves and “accept inequalities” as they strove to build a decent life, the associate professor said.

“Covid-19 really made a lot of people realise that this is not sustainable,” Lin said.

Hong Kong’s charisma

The changing preferences of mainland Chinese tourists in the post-pandemic era were noted by the Hong Kong Tourism Association last month, when its executive director Timothy Chui said visitors were now drawn to the city’s local customs, culture, and character. 

Blogger Suzanne observed that the allure of Hong Kong for mainland Chinese tourists went  beyond its reputation as a shopping paradise. Many individuals born between the 1980s and 2000s were deeply influenced by the city’s television dramas and films, which prompted them to want to personally experience the iconic locations showcased on screen.

“Hong Kong is a very charismatic city, with its history and its cultural industries, such as television dramas and films. Also the cityscape – it is a beautiful island, it is very different from other cities in mainland China,” she said. 

Scholar Lin agreed that many people in mainland China formed their impression of Hong Kong based on films from the 1990s. Such nostalgic “Hong Kong aesthetics” could definitely be a reason why people wanted to visit the city, he said. 

Although the portrayal of Hong Kong on Xiaohongshu may only highlight certain qualities of the city, Lin said the rise of this platform could help narrow the gap between Hongkongers and mainland Chinese, as discussion on various topics – including more controversial issues such as Hong Kong’s identity – could take place. Even if the discussion gets heated, it could still be beneficial to bridging understanding between people, the scholar said. 

“[A]s long as you have this sort of communication, you have a place for people from different backgrounds to share their different experiences on this platform. I believe communication can really help narrow down the gap and misunderstanding,” he said.

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In an upstairs unit of a Hong Kong industrial building, all eyes were fixed on a steaming cup of coffee held in a student’s trembling hand. Aided by an instructor, the student tilted a pitcher of freshly frothed milk, its foamy contents creating a tulip. Oohs and aahs filled the room.

By the end of the two-hour session on an August evening, the students had learnt the basics of latte art. But this was no ordinary class. None of the eight participants were self-proclaimed coffee connoisseurs or aspiring baristas, and only one said they had ever operated a coffee machine.

The group – of four males and four females – were on a different mission: to meet their potential love interest.

Across the city, a nascent industry is helping young Hongkongers find love through interest classes, workshops and more. Feijai Sketches, founded in 2016 as an art studio, has been offering such activities for around two years, making them an early entrant. A search on Instagram of Chinese hashtags such as “single [in] Hong Kong,” “singles’ matchmaking” and “exit the pool” – a local slang term meaning to leave the singles’ pool – brings up dozens of pages organising these matchmaking events. Most were created within the last year.

These businesses offer activities such as art workshops and board game nights with a romantic slant. When participants sign up online, they are often asked to introduce themselves and describe what they are looking for in a potential partner so the organisers can group like-minded people together.

Raymond, the founder of Feijai Sketches and a surveyor by day, said the matchmaking activities have seen over 3,000 participants, with around 30 to 40 couples produced.

“Back when I was teaching normal art classes, my students, who were mostly female, said that they had a hard time meeting guys,” said Raymond in Cantonese, declining to share his last name as his employer was unaware of his side business. “I realised there was something I could do.”

The classes at Feijai Sketches are for people who are heterosexual, as were almost all the activities that HKFP looked into on Instagram. Raymond said he had once put out an Instagram story asking if there was interest in matchmaking classes for gay people, but that there did not seem to be much demand.

‘Looking for a long-term relationship’

The commercialisation of love is nothing new in Hong Kong, where advertisements for large matchmaking companies are commonly seen in MTR trains or on minibuses.

Compared to traditional speed-dating events, these matchmaking activities are conducted in smaller groups, often centred around an activity, and promise more personalisation.

To sign up for Feijai Sketches’ classes, participants fill in a Google form detailing their age, horoscope and line of work. They are asked to describe their personality and expected attributes of a partner, and select from a range of activities including oil painting, making bagels and DIY perfume.

The studio then matches students accordingly and notifies them when there is an opening. The wait can be anywhere from a day – if somebody drops out at the last minute and a spot opens up – to three months, said Raymond.

Each class begins with introductions and ends with students taking a group photo and exchanging Instagram handles. Throughout it, a host ensures that the session is run smoothly and fills awkward silences to keep conversations going.

Another studio, called Daydream, began offering classes that combine handicrafts and matchmaking last December. The owner, part-time yoga teacher Carmen Cheung, said the idea came to her after her students told her they had joined those activities and found them enjoyable. Some said they met their partners there.

“I think people are interested in these classes because if they meet someone online, or at a bar, you don’t know if they are really serious,” Cheung, 26, said in Cantonese. “But the people who join these activities want the same thing. They are looking for a long-term relationship.”

Compared to traditional speed-dating events, these matchmaking activities are more appealing because they create a natural, non-purposeful environment that is about more than just meeting a potential partner, Sam Chan, an assistant professor at the Chinese University of Hong Kong who studies dating and relationships, told HKFP.

In some workshops, participants might make – and take with them – a physical object, like a flower arrangement or a dessert.

“We all know these activities are for dating. But at least you can pretend you are not really looking for someone to date,” Chan said. “You are experiencing, enjoying the moment. And the side effect, the side product, is maybe [you] find a date.”

The subtlety is also evident in the promotion of these activities, which skip pictures of affectionate couples in their advertisements. The Chinese words for “making friends” and “friendship” are often used interchangeably with matchmaking-related terms.

“In traditional speed-dating activities, you come with a purpose. I want to get a date out of this, nothing else,” Chan added.

Small social circles and dating app woes

The novelty of these matchmaking classes comes as Hong Kong’s average age of marriage has seen a marked upward climb, in line with demographic trends worldwide as education and employment opportunities among women have increased.

As of 2021, the latest year that information was available, the average age of marriage for men and women was 32.2 and 30.6, respectively. Twenty years ago, men got married at the average age of 30.2, while for women it was 27.5.

In Hong Kong, exorbitant housing prices are an additional factor driving up the average age of marriage, Chan said.

“There is a cultural expectation that you should own a flat when you get married,” he added.

Ahead of the latte art class at Feijai Sketches, most participants said they did not feel much pressure or urgency to find a life partner. But at the same time, they acknowledged that it was difficult to meet new people in their daily lives.

“When you get older, your social circle will naturally get smaller and smaller,” Dora, who works in sales and marketing, told HKFP in Cantonese. “My job is very busy and I’m not too close with my colleagues. My main interest is yoga, and in that circle there are not a lot of guys.”

Most of the participants HKFP spoke to declined to share their last names as they wanted to keep their dating lives private.

“I want to ‘chut pool,’” the 32-year-old added, using the common Cantonese slang. “I think that’s pretty normal. Of course, being single is a choice. I chose to be single for some time, too, but now I think I am ready for a relationship again.”

Many said they had used dating apps such as Tinder and Bumble before, but found it difficult to foster connections online. They were also wary of scammers who lurk on the apps.

“I think it can be quite tiring to use dating apps. Each time you meet a new person, you have to reintroduce yourself,” Athena, 28, who works in marketing, said in Cantonese.

Francis Hung, an insurance agent who also joined the latte art class, said he once got to know a woman who later turned out to be peddling a pyramid scheme.

“If they’re not [selling] a course, it’s some beauty product,” the 29-year-old said in Cantonese.

Realistic expectations

For all that demand, participants’ reviews of the city’s matchmaking classes have been mixed. After all, they are businesses in an increasingly crowded market, and the quality of their services naturally varies.

Phoebe, who also joined the latte class, said her experience at a yoga-themed matchmaking class in January had been “quite bad.” The yoga instructors who doubled as hosts did not do a good job easing conversation and the atmosphere was awkward, she added.

The 30-year-old company secretary said she paid around HK$800 for the class. “I didn’t think it was worth it at all,” she said. “I felt like they were using matchmaking as a gimmick, and just trying to make money.”

Athena said she believed one reason for the proliferation of these activities was the low barrier to entry. Instructors already offering interest classes can simply put a “matchmaking” label on their lessons and target a wider audience, she said.

HKFP caught up with the participants two weeks after the latte art class. They said they enjoyed the activity and thought everybody was friendly. Some had chatted with the others on Instagram, while Phoebe said she was asked out – but did not quite think the men were her type.

Hung said he was not disappointed with the event, despite not meeting anyone. While he thought these matchmaking activities were a viable alternative to online dating, it was difficult to really get to know somebody in a two-hour window.

His expectations were realistic, he told HKFP, adding that he was happy to go with the flow and let things happen when they did.

“For me, it’s more about having a good time in the moment and trying a new experience. If I find… a girlfriend, then that’s a bonus,” he said. “I think that’s a better mindset to have.”

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Hong Kong’s top court ruled in favour of recognising same-sex partnerships on Tuesday, saying in its judgement that “the absence of legal recognition has been seen to be essentially discriminatory and demeaning to same-sex couples.” 

It marked the latest in a long series of litigations surrounding LGBTQ issues, as same-sex couples in the city have been forced to carve out rights from laws often ruled as discriminatory since the city decriminalised sexual acts between gay men in 1991. Lesbian sex was never explicitly outlawed, although stigma surrounded such relationships, too.

LGBTQ rights remains one of the areas in which the city stands apart from mainland China, where same-sex sexual acts have been legal since 1997 but recent years have seen a crackdown on the community.

LGBTQ litigations

Marriage equality 

Tuesday’s ruling marked the culmination of a five-year court battle for marriage equality launched by pro-democracy and LGBTQ rights activist Jimmy Sham. 

Sham, who has since been detained since March 2021 under the national security law, married his partner in New York in 2013. He later launched a legal challenge in Hong Kong, arguing that his right to equality, protection against discrimination and privacy were violated by the failure of the city’s laws to allow same-sex couples to marry, failure to offer an alternative framework to recognise same-sex relationships, and failure to legally acknowledge overseas same-sex unions. 

That bid was dismissed in 2020, and a subsequent appeal went the same way in August 2022, before the Court of Final Appeal agreed last November to hear Sham’s appeal, saying the points raised were of great importance. 

In the judgement handed down on Tuesday, Chief Justice Andrew Cheung, Permanent Judges Roberto Ribeiro, Joseph Fok, Johnson Lam, and Non-Permanent Judge Patrick Keane, rejected Sham’s argument that gay couples had the right to marry under the city’s mini-constitution the Basic Law and its Bill of Rights, saying that right was enshrined for heterosexual partnerships. The appeal panel also dismissed an assertion that failing to recognise same-sex unions entered into abroad violated the right to equality. 

But judges Ribeiro, Fok and Keane acknowledged that there was a need for same-sex couples to have access to an alternative legal framework to meet basic social requirements, and gave the government two years to come up with that framework.

Jerome Yau, co-founder of Hong Kong Marriage Equality, told HKFP on Tuesday the ruling marked a “major development” for the recognition of same-sex marriage in Hong Kong.

Yau was echoed by Suen Yiu-tung, an associate professor of gender studies at the Chinese University of Hong Kong, who spoke at a press conference after Tuesday’s court proceedings. 

“Today, Hong Kong’s court finally took a step and said clearly that there should be an alternative framework for the legal recognition of same-sex relationships,” Suen said. “But the content of the alternative framework, or what the core rights are, remain unclear.”

Citing a 2019 study by the Equal Opportunities Commission, Suen said same-sex couples received differential treatment compared to heterosexual couples in more than 100 legal areas. Those areas included marriage, housing, employment, medical, inheritance, immigration and more.

Public support for granting same-sex couples the same rights as those enjoyed by married heterosexual couples has grown in the past decade, according to a long-term research project run by the University of Hong Kong, the Chinese University of Hong Kong, and the University of North Carolina in the US. 

The latest findings, published in May, showed that 60 per cent of Hongkongers who took part in a survey supported same-sex marriage, up from 38 per cent in 2013 when the poll was first conducted.

In 2013, the Court of Final Appeal gave transexual individuals who had undergone sex reassignment surgery (SRS) the right to marry as their affirmed gender.

Gender markers 

Hong Kong’s top court in February ruled in favour of two transgender men, affirming that it was not necessary for them to undergo invasive full SRS to change the gender marker on their identity cards. 

Like Sham’s long journey through the judicial system, the legal challenge against the government policy which stated that SRS was required to change an individual’s gender marker lasted five years. Launched by Henry Tse and two other trans men “Q” and “R,” it was dismissed by the city’s lower court. Tse and Q later lodged an appeal at the Court of Appeal, which upheld the government’s stance, before being heard at the Court of Final Appeal. 

In the written judgement handed down in February, a panel of five judges sided with the by then two appellants, Tse and Q, ruling that the policy violated the right to privacy under the Bill of Rights and “imposes an unacceptably harsh burden on the individuals concerned.”

See also: Hong Kong trans activist Henry Tse fought for the right to be recognised as a man without full surgery – and won

The panel also called SRS “at the invasive end of the treatment spectrum for gender dysphoria” and “not medically required by many transgender persons.” 

Following the ruling, HKFP learned in March that the Immigration Department had suspended accepting applications to change gender markers, even from those who had completed full SRS. 

The Immigration Department said it was “studying the judgement carefully and reviewing” its policy, adding that it would “seek legal advice on follow up actions to comply with the judgement.” It did not give a timeframe for its policy review, telling HKFP only that it aimed to complete it within “reasonable time.” 

Parental rights 

Same-sex parents were granted a pathway to joint guardianship of their children after a landmark Court of First Instance judgement in 2021. 

The court ruled in May that year that a non-biological mother should be granted joint custody of her children with her ex-partner, who was the biological mother.

Following the separation of the couple, the children’s birth mother sought to formalise the non-biological mother’s parental rights to guarantee her legal status to her children. Given that both partners always shared the care of their children, the court said it would not be in the children’s best interests if the application was unsuccessful.

While it remains that only a biological parent may be listed as legal parent – which, prior to the ruling, caused problems for couples who chose to have children with the assistance of a sperm or egg donor – it is now possible to apply to the court to formalise the parental rights of a non-biological partner. 

Spousal benefits, tax assessment 

In June 2019, the Court of Final Appeal ruled that employment-related spousal benefits such as medical coverage and joint tax assessment should be extended to same-sex couples who married overseas.

That case centred on a challenge put forward by immigration officer Angus Leung in 2015, whose employer, the Civil Service Bureau, refused to change Leung’s marital status or grant benefits to his partner, whom he married in New Zealand in 2014. 

Leung also argued that he was discriminated against on the basis of his sexual orientation by the Inland Revenue Department, which said he was not entitled to opt for joint assessment with his partner because same-sex marriage was not recognised. 

In 2017, the Court of First Instance sided with Leung in the spousal benefit application, with judge Anderson Chow writing that allowing benefits to same-sex partners would not constitute indirect legalisation of same-sex marriage.

However, the decision was overturned by the Court of Appeal in June 2018, which said that the Basic Law favours heterosexual marriage and therefore it is not discriminatory for gay people to be excluded from marrying

Leung was granted permission to take his appeal to the city’s top court that September.

In a unanimous decision, the Court of Final Appeal judges ruled that Hong Kong’s civil service and Inland Revenue Department both failed to justify their policy towards Leung, and by extension other same-sex married couples.

The judges wrote that the protection of heterosexual marriage was a legitimate aim, but there was no connection between that and the policies of Hong Kong’s civil service and taxation authority.

Dependent visas

Same-sex spouses have been eligible for dependent visas since a landmark 2018 case involving a woman known as QT, who was forced to stay in Hong Kong on a tourist visa after her partner, with whom she was in a civil union, moved to the city for work on the grounds that their partnership was not recognised under Hong Kong law. 

QT filed a legal challenge against the Immigration Department decision in 2014, which was dismissed by the Court of First Instance in 2016. However, the Court of Appeal reversed that ruling the following year, prompting the Immigration Department to file an appeal to the city’s top court.

In a unanimous judgement handed down in July 2018, the court agreed with the Court of Appeal that the differential treatment towards QT – namely denying her a spousal visa on the basis of marital status – amounted to unlawful discrimination.

See also: Hong Kong’s ‘blind spot’ – A British woman’s years-long fight against the gov’t to stay with her wife

The case was closely watched by LQBTQ advocates and the city’s business community, stoked by fears that if the Immigration Department’s policy held, it would have reduced the pool of quality foreign employees.

Inheritance rights 

While Hong Kong’s High Court ruled in 2020 that same-sex couples should enjoy equal rights under the city’s inheritance laws, the government has sought to appeal that decision. 

The September 2020 judgement, in which a judge said “the differential treatment accorded to same-sex married couples and opposite-sex married couples… cannot be justified, and constitutes unlawful discrimination,” was seen as a victory for the city’s LGBTQ community. 

It came after a legal challenge was filed by Edgar Ng over concerns his partner, Henry Li, would not be able to inherit a government-subsidised flat bought in Ng’s name in 2018 in the absence of a will. The couple were married in the United Kingdom in 2017.  

The court of appeal heard the government’s appeal against that decision last December, with the government’s lawyer arguing that treating heterosexual and same-sex couples differently under the city’s two inheritance laws could be justified because they were “materially distinguished.” 

HKFP reported in December that the appeal judgement was expected within six months, however, it has yet to be handed down. 

After death arrangements 

In late 2020, Ng, who had suffered from depression, died by suicide. Months later, Li launched a legal bid against the government for refusing to allow him to identify Ng’s remains and from attending to administrative arrangements surrounding his death without first receiving authorisation from Ng’s mother. 

A year later, Li dropped his challenge after the government clarified its position and regulations on after-death arrangements for surviving same-sex spouses in a letter to Li in July 2021. 

That October, the court heard that position, which stated “there is no distinction between same-sex and opposite-sex spouses for the term ‘spouse’” under the Coroners’ Ordinance.  

However, Li’s legal representative later noted that the government’s position excluded a host of other rights and treatments for same-sex widows and widowers in after-death matters, including the right to consent to organ donation for education or research, and their right to be buried together. 

Access to subsidised housing 

In March 2020, the High Court ruled that excluding same-sex married couples from access to government-subsidised housing as “ordinary families” was unconstitutional and unlawful.

The decision came after Nick Infinger, who married his partner in Canada in 2018, launched a legal bid that same year challenging the Housing Authority’s refusal to consider his application for public housing because his same-sex union was not recognised.

The court ruled in favour of Infinger, concluding the Housing Authority’s policy “plainly cannot be justified as a measure to ensure the administrative effectiveness in implementing the Housing Authority’s PRH policy, which is to address the housing needs of low-income families.”

A second case surrounding the Housing Authority’s Home Ownership Scheme was brought to court by Ng before his death, with Li taking over after his partner’s suicide. Ng launched the legal challenge after buying a government-subsidised flat and being told that Li was not eligible for joint-ownership because their marriage was not recognised.

In June 2021, the court sided with Li and his late partner, saying that the city’s subsidised housing policies, which do not acknowledge same-sex partners as a tenant’s family member, “constitute unlawful discrimination on the ground of sexual orientation.” 

Like the court’s ruling on equal inheritance rights, both of these rulings have been appealed by the government in a hearing last February.

The judgement has yet to be handed down.

Transgender public toilet access 

The High Court in January heard a challenge to the city’s public convenience laws, which argued that transgender people should be allowed to use public toilets designated for their chosen gender before they have undergone surgery.

The legal bid filed by K, who identifies as a male but was born a woman, sought to amend the Public Conveniences (Conduct and Behaviour) Regulations to allow a transgender person undergoing real life experience (RLE) treatment under the certification and care of a doctor to use public toilets of their identified gender.

RLE requires people who are transitioning to live in their identified gender consistently on a day-to-day basis, which can include the use of public conveniences of that gender.

However, the legislation in question currently criminalises people over the age of five entering public conveniences allocated for the opposite sex. As K has not yet undergone a full sex replacement surgery, at the time a requirement for changing their gender marker, they were legally banned from using male public toilets.

HKFP reported in January that a decision was expected the following month. No judgement has yet been delivered, but the ruling regarding gender markers may have implications for this case.

Age of consent, archaic laws

Perhaps the city’s first legal victory for the LGBTQ community came in 2005, when the High Court ruled that laws setting the age of consent for men who have sex with men at 21 was unconstitutional.

The age of consent for gay sex was set at 21 after it was decriminalised in 1991, higher than the age of consent for heterosexual activity, which was 16. However, it took until 2014 for the provisions to be formally removed from the Crimes Ordinance.

In 2019, another High Court ruling struck down a series of laws targeting male sexual acts for being unconstitutional because “no comparable offences exist for heterosexuals or female homosexuals.”

Two of the laws, for example, criminalised the procuring of a man for buggery or gross indecency with another man.

“These provisions are inconsistent with the right to equality… and discriminatory in nature. They are unconstitutional and should be struck down,” the written judgement read.

The government requested to amend other laws, including one that saw men face up to life in prison for having sex with a boy under the age of 16, while men who had sex with a girl under the age of 16 faced a maximum jail sentence of five years.

The judge agreed to temporarily equalise the penalty for both crimes at five years until lawmakers could write a new law.

Societal hurdles

Gay Games 2023

In 2017, Hong Kong was announced as the host city of the 11th Gay Games, prevailing over competing bids from Washington DC and Guadalajara, Mexico. It marked the first time in the 40-year history of the games it was handed to an Asian city.

The news, hailed as a stepping stone for advancing LGBTQ issues in the city, was quickly marred by attacks from conservative corners. Junius Ho, a pro-Beijing lawmaker, claimed during a Legislative Council meeting in June 2021 that Hong Kong did not want the event’s “dirty money”, adding that he was worried it might lead to the legalisation of same-sex marriage.

Originally slated for 2022, the inclusive sporting event was postponed until November and Guadalajara was added as a co-host because of the uncertainty surrounding Hong Kong’s enduring Covid-19 restrictions.

Beyond the pandemic, Gay Games Hong Kong has been hampered by a lack of government cooperation and internal strife, attracting 2,000 participants rather than the hoped-for 12,000.

Last month, the government issued a seemingly unprompted warning stating that the event must be conducted in a “lawful, safe and orderly manner.”

Government-subsidised conversion therapy

In 2003, the Constitutional and Mainland Affairs Bureau began administering an annual Equal Opportunities (Sexual Orientation) Funding Scheme to support projects promoting equality for sexual minorities.

However, since 2017, around HK$694,000 has been distributed to groups said to advocate efforts to change sexual orientation.

Hongkongers who engaged with one such Christian organisation spoke to HKFP about their experiences earlier this year. “I was torturing myself, but I rationalised it by thinking that Christians must go through pain,” Cheung said. “After all, Jesus sacrificed himself for us.”

Globally, efforts to change sexual orientation, commonly referred to as conversion therapy, have been accepted to cause long-lasting psychological damage and are viewed as inherently discriminatory. In 2020, the United Nations called for an international ban on the practice.

Only LGBTQ radio show axed

Government-funded broadcaster RTHK axed We Are Family, the city’s only radio show that promoted LGBTQ equality in July citing “programme rescheduling.”

Host Brian Leung, who fronted the show since its inception in 2006, said: “At a time when Hong Kong saw drastic changes, many things are just a matter of time, and we had mentally prepared ourselves for what may come.”

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In the more than three months since Hong Kong introduced a heatstroke warning system for outdoor workers, the city has sweated through its hottest summer since records began in 1884, according to the Hong Kong Observatory (HKO).

After the city was battered by Super Typhoon Saola and record rainfall caused by a trough of low pressure associated with Tropical Cyclone Haikui within a week, experts have warned that extreme weather will become the norm. With extreme heat, it will be outdoor workers who bear the brunt of it.

Designed to help those workers assess their risk of heatstroke, the thresholds of the three-tier Heat Stress at Work Warning system, introduced by the Labour Department in May, have been far higher than expected.

It consists of amber, red and black alerts and recommends different rest arrangements for employees working outdoors or without air conditioning – but none of it is legally binding, leaving employers with little obligation to offer the suggested breaks.

Ho Ping-tak, a construction worker and chairman of the Hong Kong and Kowloon Bamboo Scaffolding Workers Union, said he remembered one day when the temperature was 34 degrees Celsius, and even higher inside the construction site – his thermometer showed 57.4 degrees. Even so, the amber warning threshold was not reached.

“What will it be like if it is red [warning]?” Ho said in Cantonese. “We know that there will never be black.”

The Heat Stress at Work Warning alerts are issued according to the Hong Kong Heat Index (HKHI), which monitors the risk of heat stress for the general public.

Responding to inquiries from HKFP, the Labour Department said that from May 15 to August 15, warnings were issued on 45 days, for an average 2.6 hours per day. The department’s records show that only amber warnings were raised, which are issued when the HKHI has exceeded 30, a number that does not equate to the ambient temperature.

For a red or black warning to be issued, the index must reach 32 and 34, respectively.

‘What is the basis behind the system?’

Experts have challenged the science behind the thresholds.

“It is rarely 32 [on the HKHI]. There’s no such thing as going up to 34. What is the basis behind the system?” said Lee Boon Ying, former director of the Hong Kong Observatory.

The Labour Department said it relied on a 2015 research paper on the development of the HKHI by the Chinese University of Hong Kong and the Observatory to set the threshold for the lowest amber alert.

The research studied the impact of heat stress on excess hospitalisations, and found that the excess hospitalisation ratio “starts to pick up its rising rate” when the HKHI reached about 29.5. The ratio “rises rapidly” when the HKHI was above 30.3.

The Labour Department said it was “evident that the excess hospitalisation ratio rises rapidly” when the HKHI is above 30.3 – thus establishing 30 as the point at which the amber alert is issued.

However, meteorologists and medics have take issue with the department’s reasoning.

Mis-citing research

“The CUHK research paper talks about hospitalisation numbers, which are not directly related to those working outdoors,” Lee, the former HKO director, told HKFP. “Were those who were hospitalised equivalent to outdoor workers? It is unknown. No one knows.”

Yu Tak-sun, a doctor who chairs the Hong Kong Workers’ Health Centre, an NGO set up in 1984 to help workers with occupational injuries, agreed that the HKHI was not an appropriate way to measure the heat stress faced by outdoor workers.

Speaking in Cantonese, Yu provided a metaphor to outline his argument. He suggested imagining an allergy medicine that was developed from research focusing on children, and then using that medicine to treat elderly patients with respiratory infections.

“The HKHI was not developed to measure the heat stress impact on workers, which the Labour Department is suggesting,” Yu said.

The Labour Department said applying the index to the working population was justifiable because the background research had studied those aged 15-59, among other age groups. This, the department said, “comprises a large portion of the working population,” adding that there was a “very small difference” between excess hospitalisations within this group and those studied overall.

However, according to Yu, this was also a fallacy.

The 15-59 age bracket included students, housewives, people with disabilities and those with chronic diseases, Yu said. Additionally, very few industries required people to work in high temperatures and most people worked in air-conditioned offices.

“If [the department] says the age range fits, so we can refer to the research, to put it plainly, they are misciting the research,” Yu said.

Emily Chan, Assistant Dean of the Faculty of Medicine at the Chinese University of Hong Kong, developed the HKHI together with the Observatory. Asked if it should be used to measure heat stress on outdoor workers, she told HKFP: “We can only employ the best possible tool on hand. No doubt, more evidence is needed to understand health outcomes, behaviour uptakes and potential effective interventions to protect against heat stress on outdoor workers in Hong Kong as a subtropical urban environment.”

One system, two standards

When it came to setting the thresholds for the red and black warnings, the Labour Department said it relied on a different, international standard.

”The [CUHK and HKO] study only covers up to HKHI at 30.5. Therefore, it is necessary to suitably reflect the heat stress when HKHI rises beyond 30.5 by referring to other relevant international standards,” it said.  

It did not specify how the thresholds for the higher warnings had been calculated.

According to Yu, the department “just uses [the research] when they like it. When they don’t like it, they use another [standard].”

Lee, the former Observatory chief, tried to work out the basis for issuing the two higher alerts. ”Following the information and the paper [the department] provided… I still cannot calculate the thresholds they suggested. I don’t know how they calculate them,” he said.

He said the department should study whether there was a scientific basis for these warnings.

WBGT is preferred

Lee, Yu, and Greenpeace project officer Tom Ng all suggested the government follow the Wet Bulb Globe Temperature (WBGT) index instead of the HKHI to measure the heat stress on workers.

The internationally recognised WBGT measures the heat stress on the human body at work in direct sunlight, accounting for temperature, humidity, wind speed, the angle of the sun, and cloud cover, or solar radiation.

The HKHI is calculated using the same three measurements as the WBGT but its formula has different coefficients.

“Many places are using WBGT and they recognise it. Even mainland China is using it,” Lee said. “It really has a scientific basis, and other places have done a lot of research on it.” 

Ng said that in Japan, there were tools on every construction site to measure the WBGT and accurately measure the heat stress. He suggested the Hong Kong government provide the WBGT in different districts for workers to refer to.

Feasibility of rest arrangements

Critics challenge not just the scientific basis of the current warning system but also the feasibility of following its recommendations. 

According to the guidelines, suggested rest arrangements vary depending on physical workload. Under an amber warning, workers with a “very heavy” workload are recommended to rest for 45 minutes and work for 15 minutes every hour.

“I haven’t heard of any construction sites that are following [the guidelines],” said Ho, the union chief.

Most workers were bound by tight construction schedules, which would prevent them from taking the suggested rest periods, he said. “You ask workers to take rests, but their schedules remain the same. There are still four days allocated to build one floor of a building. In other words, it increases the workload of the workers.”

Roy Liu, a curtain walling subcontractor, agreed, saying that if workers were to follow the recommendations, construction progress may be delayed.

“If we cannot meet the deadlines, there will be a lot of trouble. The main contractor may think there is a problem with our company’s capability or management, which could affect us being employed to undertake other projects in the future.”

Liu said the main contractor could impose penalties of several hundred thousand Hong Kong dollars on subcontractors for delays.

Allowing workers to take the recommended rest would also greatly increase costs in an industry where wages were already very high, Liu said.

Curtain wall installers were currently paid HK$1,000 a day, up from HK$600 six years ago. “If everyone rests for 45 minutes [every hour], the total time lost for 20 workers would be 15 hours… That would equal a loss of about two workers per day,” Liu said.

‘It must be legislation’

Ho, the scaffolding unionist, suggested that rest arrangements could be modified but the system should be made legally binding. “It must be legislation, not a guideline.”

Workers’ rest time could be added to the delay allowance in the same way as rainy days were accounted for, so that any interruptions caused by heatstroke warnings would not result in contractors or subcontractors being penalised.

Ho also suggested the government set more generous construction schedules for public projects so workers could take adequate rest, leading the way for the private sector to follow.

The Labour Department said that from May 15 to July 31, it conducted about 8,500 inspections of workplaces with higher heat stress risks and issued more than 530 warnings to “relevant responsible parties.”

The parties were urged to conduct risk assessments on the heat stress of employees at work, “and take necessary preventive measures in accordance with the assessment results.”

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The only road into and out of two Hong Kong villages would partially reopen on Saturday evening, Chief Executive John Lee has said, after two landslides caused by record rain cut access to the coastal communities.

Lee said in a Facebook post on Saturday evening that the government anticipated that one lane would be reopened for light vehicles by 9 pm.

“Personnel will continue the maintenance work… with an aim that single-decker buses will be able to use the road by 6 am tomorrow, so residents can come in and out of Shek O,” he wrote in Chinese.

Photos of Lee speaking to workers on Shek O Road accompanied the 7.30 pm post.

People living in Shek O and Big Wave Bay – home to roughly 2,500 according to government figures – on Saturday morning joined efforts to clear debris blocking part of Shek O Road, taking shovels and wheelbarrows up to the site as an excavator worked to clear the landslip from the other side. 

But there wasn’t much they could do about a collapsed section of the road further along, caused by a second landslide on Thursday night, with local media reporting on Friday that it may take a month before the road was fully operational again.

Locals HKFP spoke to on Saturday ahead of Lee’s evening announcement expressed concerns about elderly residents and maintaining hygiene, as well as frustration over a lack of messaging from officials.

“There isn’t any information,” Lawrence, who has lived in Big Wave Bay for six years and asked that HKFP only use his first name, said via WhatsApp. “Everything is being coordinated by people on the ground who live here. There doesn’t seem to be any place we can go to find information,” he added. 

“I’m particularly worried about elderly and those with disabilities who cannot hike out or get to the next village and who may not have enough fresh food.”  

Southern District Councillor Paul Zimmerman, who spoke to HKFP by phone on Saturday, said: “if you look at who is responsible in an emergency situation, that is the Security Bureau. The Security Bureau is supposed to coordinate the various… government departments responsible.”

It was also the down to the Security Bureau to communicate how the various departments were responding in a crisis, Zimmerman said. “They may decide that the message should go via the Home Affairs Department and their channels, but the message itself needs to come from the Security Bureau… I don’t see that they are ready.”

The Home Affairs Bureau, which oversees the local-level District Offices, “should not do the messaging, they do the channelling,” Zimmerman added.

News of an evacuation occurring from Shek O, which ultimately took about 200 residents by Fire Services Department boat to North Point and Causeway Bay, reached many in Big Wave Bay the way that most information did – via Chinese- and English-language groups on messaging apps.

Frequently used to coordinate lifts or share updates regarding community matters, residents of both villages were on Saturday swapping pertinent information about the road closure, although it was not always clear from where the information had originated.  

“At the end of the day, we need credible information from one source – the government,” Kaya, who spent part of her childhood in Big Wave Bay before returning as an adult, told HKFP on Saturday afternoon. 

“Everyone’s all over the place because no one knows what to believe” she added. 

“It would be good to hear from officials, because they are the ones that are supposed to be representing the people that live in the area,” Kaya’s husband Matt told HKFP. “If there was just a bit more clarity, then at least you can make informed decisions.”

Asked to comment on criticism that there was a lack of timely official messaging, a government information officer referred HKFP to an English-language statement issued at 10.41 pm, more than an hour after Shek O Road reopened.

“The Chief Executive, Mr John Lee, instructed all departments to race against time to repair roads, provide necessary supplies to residents and carry out evacuations,” the statement read.

Communications were hampered, too, by a lack of internet and service from most mobile phone providers, which cut out almost simultaneously at around noon on Friday. “I don’t have Wi-Fi, I don’t have cell phone [service], so I’m in the dark,” Philip, a long-term Big Wave Bay resident, told HKFP in person. 

He said he had got most of his information from the radio so far. “They were actually feeding us the information, but apart from that, I think it’s just good that our communities got together.”

SIM cards were delivered by the same fireboat that took Shek O residents out on Saturday afternoon, and internet and phone services resumed soon after the road became passable.

‘Issues have not been resolved’

The major downpour was the second extreme weather event to hit the city in a week after the arrival of Super Typhoon Saola caused the Observatory to raise its highest storm warning last Thursday. Seven days on, and a lot of debris from Saola remained uncleared, which, according to Zimmerman, was one of the reasons that the rainstorm caused so much damage.

“How do we expedite the cleaning up? I think this is a real question that needs to be asked,” Zimmerman said, particularly with the risks posed by the climate crisis.

Another reason was the general state of the old mountain roads on Hong Kong Island: “they [have] very outdated drainage systems and very outdated road infrastructure.”

“It’s an issue that we’ve seen many times before. This isn’t the first time Shek O Road has collapsed after a rainstorm,” Zimmerman said, referring to an incident in 1995 when part of the road fell away after heavy rains brought by Severe Tropical Storm Helen.

“The Drainage Services Department has known and has published its own reports on the risk of severe rain already for many years. They have calculated that we’re going to have less rain in a year, but when we do have rain, we’re going to have much more severe rain,” he added. 

“The issues have not been resolved.”

Questions put to the Highways Department about whether outdated infrastructure played any role in the road collapse went unanswered, with a department spokesperson also referring HKFP to the government’s Saturday night statement.

Community spirit

Kaya, Lawrence, Matt and Philip were among dozens who assembled in the heart of their village at 10 am on Saturday morning to discuss how best to manage waste in the face of potentially weeks without collection services.

A system was soon established to try and reduce rubbish as much as possible, with residents asked to keep non-perishable refuse at home and dispose of food waste in bins as far away from residential areas as possible. Rats and boars were an issue, they said. 

From there, people split into groups, one of which went to clear the landslide, while the others set to work helping those whose homes were submerged during the historic deluge that began on Thursday night, when 158.1 millimetres of rain fell within the hour between 11 pm and midnight, the highest since records began in 1884.

High water marks, left by mud and debris on the outside of some houses, showed flood waters had reached above a metre, with people forced to climb out of windows to escape. 

Despite being battered by the elements, though, residents of both Big Wave Bay and Shek O remained positive and commended their communities for coming together.

“It’s just that we’re bloody stranded,” one Shek O resident, who did not give their name, said, before news of the road reopening was announced. 

HKFP has reached out to various government departments for comment.

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The record-high rainfall and serious flooding that hit Hong Kong on Thursday night were a reminder that “climate change is really here,” former Observatory director Lam Chiu-ying has said, as he called on the government to enhance the city’s resilience in face of natural disasters.

The torrential rain, which brought severe flooding and landslides to multiple districts across Hong Kong would have been “unimaginable” half a century ago, retired meteorologist Lam told HKFP on Friday after the city was largely paralysed by the extreme weather event.

Images of people struggling to make their way along submerged streets and through flooded MTR stations and shopping centres circulated widely online in the early hours of Friday, shortly after the Hong Kong Observatory issued the first Black rainstorm signal of the year at 11 pm on Thursday. At least two people died during the rainstorm, one of which was being treated as a suicide, and 115 others were injured as a result of the downpour.

An hourly rainfall of 158.1 millimetres was recorded in the hour after the Black rain warning was hoisted, the highest since records began in 1884. It was 12.6 mm more than the 145.5 mm in 2008, the previous record.

“The flood reminds us that climate change is really here,” Lam, who led the Hong Kong Observatory between 2003 and 2009, said in a Cantonese phone interview with HKFP.

Extreme weather scientist Professor Chu Jung-eun of the City University of Hong Kong told HKFP on Friday that the heavy downpours were a result of the meeting of air movements steered by powerful typhoons Saola and Haikui.

The Observatory issued the top-level Hurricane Signal No. 10 last Friday as Saola hit Hong Kong as a super typhoon, bringing serious flooding, fallen trees and blown out solar panels. Chu said while the tropical cyclone moved away from the city, it still had indirect effects on the city by a southwesterly monsoon flow.

The air movements formed by the two typhoons met in Hong Kong on Thursday evening and resulted in very strong and heavy localised precipitation, the CityU scientist said. Both typhoons also showed rapid intensification, she added, meaning their intensity increased more than 50 km per hour within 24 hours.

Chu said based on the climate simulations she conducted and consensus shared by academics in the field, typhoons are expected to become stronger with heavier precipitation under the effects of climate change.

“Climate change will definitely influence the intensity of typhoons,” she said, adding that typhoons also received more energy from warmer oceans as a result of the El Niño effect, which is a natural phenomenon that raises the sea surface temperature regardless of human activities.

Professor Jed Kaplan of the University of Calgary, Canada told HKFP on Friday that the world has seen record-high ocean surface temperatures, including in the northern portion of the South China Sea offshore of Hong Kong. Such warm ocean temperatures led to more humidity in the air, which could fall as rain under the right meteorological conditions.

Hong Kong is experiencing climate change not only through tropical cyclones, but also through extremely hot days and nights, said Kaplan, who conducted research at the Department of Earth Sciences at The University of Hong Kong from March 2019 until he left the university earlier this month.

“All of these meteorological phenomena lead to conditions that can be difficult for people to handle: increased incidences of heatstroke and other heat related illnesses, damage to infrastructure from rain and flooding, hurricane-force winds, and landslides all contribute to economic damage and costly investments in repair and mitigation of future risks,” he said.

To cope with more extreme weather conditions, the Hong Kong authorities should review past disaster preparation measures and take into account new data when evaluating the efficiency of its systems for preventing slope failure and flooding, former Observatory chief Lam suggested.

“Climate change is here. Extremes will become normal… there is a need to enhance the climate resilience of our city,” he said.

Improving Hong Kong’s resilience meant ensuring the city’s infrastructure could withstand extreme weather conditions, and post-disaster recovery must be well-planned, too, Lam said.

The city should also broaden the scope of its disaster preparation to include measures for handling “secondary disasters,” such as the collapse of mobile network during a storm.

Lam also reminded Hongkongers to step up their disaster awareness and be aware of the “vulnerabilities” of a city.

“There is a lack of disaster awareness. People think that houses in Hong Kong are very well-built and the government is doing a good job and they do not have to worry because they assume someone would protect them. But when a disaster comes, you can only save yourself,” he said.

This should be ‘a learning experience’

A man who gave his name as Liu, 30, spoke to an HKFP reporter in Wong Tai Sin, where floods remained on Friday afternoon. He said he had been at a friend’s home in Ho Man Tin when the warning was hoisted on Thursday night, and had to take a detour to find his way back to his home in Wong Tai Sin.

He said he did not have enough time to take proper safety precautions at home.

“If the government is able to predict that the emergency conditions will have to be in place hours in advance, shouldn’t it also be able to send the [initial] warning much earlier?” he asked. “They should take this as a learning experience.”

Additional reporting: James Lee

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Part of a series on Hong Kong’s historic place names.

Hong Kong’s street names offer a glimpse into its rich history as a former British colony on Chinese soil and a global trading hub. They tell a compelling story about its past and its connections to the wider world, showing that perhaps Hong Kong does – after all – deserve its self-proclaimed title of Asia’s World City.

This is the third part in a series about street names in Hong Kong. Click here for Part One, which explores how transliterations resulted in some bizarrely named roads, and click here for Part Two, which focuses on anglicised street names with no British origin.

British influence

London transplants

As a former British colony, it is no surprise that many street names bear British influences. In the early days of the city’s development, some street names were directly borrowed from London, based on their similar functions. 

One of the first priorities for the British was law and order. In 1842, they completed Victoria Gaol in Central, which later became Victoria Prison and is now part of Tai Kwun. The British not only brought their judicial system from their homeland but also named the new streets around the prison after two streets in London.

Old Bailey Street (奧卑利街) was named after the historic institution in London, also known as the Central Criminal Court. Chancery Lane (贊善里) is a small street behind Victoria Prison that got its name from a street in West London where the Court of Chancery and many law firms are located. Perhaps the name was chosen to symbolise the right to a fair legal defence for those undergoing trials near Victoria Prison.

When a cattle quarantine depot and slaughterhouse were constructed in Kennedy Town in the 1890s, the area was given the name Smithfield (士美菲路), after a street market and meat wholesale centre in London.

Other transplanted street names include Great George Street (記利佐治街) in Causeway Bay, after the same street in Westminster which houses the headquarters of the Royal Institution of Chartered Surveyors, and Lambeth Walk (琳寶徑) in Central, after a street in South London, which has its own song from the musical Me and My Girl.

Hills and rivers

Up in the New Territories, a British surveyor and his team of Indian technicians conducted a comprehensive survey of the area in 1901. They incorporated a mix of British and Indian place names into the region. Over time, many of these names have either fallen out of use or have been replaced with local names since the city’s Handover from British to Chinese rule in 1997.

Certain areas were named after geographical similarities, for example, the region around Tai Mo Shan was designated as Cheviots due to its resemblance to rolling hills on the Anglo-Scottish border. Fanling became known as Cotswolds, inspired by a hilly region in Gloucestershire, England. San Tin’s lowlands and hills were respectively named North Downs and South Downs after areas in southern England. 

Lin Ma Hang was named Mendips for a range of hills in Somerset, England. Ngau Tam Shan (大牛潭峒) and Hung Fa Chai (紅花寨) were named Snowdon and Ben Nevis, after the highest peaks in Wales and Scotland respectively. 

They didn’t forget India either. The largest rivers in the New Territories were once named River Indus, River Jhelum, River Chenab, River Sutlej, River Beas, and River Ganges, influenced by the Indian connection.

Located in Lok Ma Chau, Mount Kirkpatrick is a curious case. Although it shares its name with the highest point in the Transantarctic Mountains in Antarctica, discovered and named by the British Antarctic Expedition in the early 1900s, further investigation suggests that the mountain was actually named after George Macaulay Kirkpatrick, a Canadian who served as the Commander of British Forces in China from 1921 to 1922. The two other mountains in the area were named after his successors, John Fowler and Charles Luard.

Under control

Streets near government and military establishments in Hong Kong often have names of British locations. For example, the roads surrounding former government quarters on the Peak, such as Mansfield Road (文輝道), Watford Road (和福道), and Guildford Road (僑福道), are named after British towns.

Route Twisk (荃錦公路), once a military road, passes through the former Shek Kong Camp, with streets nearby named Northumberland Avenue (諾森伯倫路), Shropshire Road (史樂信路), and Staffordshire Avenue (士達福信路).

For all the adventure-seekers out there, the World War Two tunnels in the Shing Mun Redoubt offer a fascinating exploration opportunity. This defensive position played a crucial role during the ill-fated Battle of Hong Kong in December 1941.

The tunnels, part of the Gin Drinker’s Line, were constructed by the British military in the late 1930s. Each entrance, passage, and exit bears the name of a street in Central London, such as Regent Street, Shaftesbury Avenue, and Charing Cross. 

Garden city

In the 1920s, Legislative Council member Charles Montague Ede led a group of British merchants to develop the land near Kowloon City into a “Garden City.” As most of the investors were British, the streets were named after English counties such as Essex Crescent (雅息士道), Rutland Quadrant (律倫街), and Kent Road (根德道). 

When the Hong Kong government developed the then-barren area of Kowloon Tsai into a residential area in the early 1950s, the streets were also named after English counties, such as Oxford Road (牛津道), Cambridge Road (劍橋道), and Durham Road (對衡道).

Naval side quest

Located on Ap Lei Chau, London Lane is a small and inconspicuous alley that holds a hidden story of a naval encounter. The area was once a harbour busy with fishing boats, sampans, shipyards, and warehouses. Residents would unload goods like grain, oil, and groceries in a sandy area called Tozai Tau (渡仔頭), from where they could be transported to various shops on Main Street.

In the 1960s, a group of British sailors from HMS London visited the area and decided to build a rudimentary pier. To mark its completion, the locals erected a cast iron sign reading “London Pier.” Sadly, the pier fell into disrepair after a few years but the road leading to it was later renamed London Lane (倫敦里) in honour of that little naval adventure.

Chinese connections

Watery paths to Kowloon’s streetscape

As you walk through the lively streets of Kowloon, you will come across many names that transport you to mainland China. However, it all began with two streets on the other side of the harbour. 

In the mid to late 19th century, Wan Chai became a hub for maritime trade and business. Companies established offices, docks, and warehouses along the coast. One of them, Dent & Co, mainly traded with Chinese ports like Xiamen and Shantou.

When the original dock area shifted inland due to land reclamation, Amoy Street (廈門街) and Swatow Street (汕頭街) were created. These names were derived from the Romanisation of Hokkien and Teochew dialects spoken in those cities, and these two streets were among the first in Hong Kong to be named after cities in mainland China.

Seeing double

In 1860, after the British claimed the Kowloon Peninsula, road construction began in the bustling district of Tsim Sha Tsui. Several new roads sprouted up, starting from what is now known as Nathan Road.

However, many had the same names as their counterparts on Hong Kong Island, which caused some issues with postal delivery. To solve this problem, the government renamed several important streets in Kowloon in 1909.

Many of these new names were chosen to represent mainland provinces and cities closely connected to Hong Kong’s trade. In Tsim Sha Tsui, Chater Road was renamed Peking Road (北京道) and MacDonnell Road became Canton Road (廣東道).

In Yau Ma Tei, First Street, Second Street, and Fourth Street became Kansu Street (甘肅街), Pak Hoi Street (北海街), and Ning Po Street (寧波街), respectively, and Station Street became Shanghai Street (上海街), among others.

This naming practice continued throughout Kowloon’s development, leaving its mark on Sham Shui Po and Hung Hom too.

Laying Hung Hom’s foundation

Two streets in Hung Hom tell the story of the area’s early development. In the early 20th century, the expansion of the Whampoa dockyard and the presence of companies like Green Island Cement Company and China Light and Power Company drove the area’s development.

The Hong Kong and Whampoa Dock Company was established in the 1860s. Over the following decades, the company acquired various docks in Hung Hom, expanding its operations. “Whampoa” in the company’s name originates from the harbour at what was then known as Whampoa Island in Guangzhou.

It was the chief anchorage for ships engaged in Guangzhou’s foreign trade, and the company owned another dockyard there.

In 1897, the Green Island Cement Company relocated from Ilha Verde, Macau, to Hong Kong. The following year, it partnered with the Whampoa shipyard to undertake a substantial land reclamation project, establishing a cement factory in the newly reclaimed area. When the area was redeveloped in the 1980s, traces of these companies could still be seen on streets such as Whampoa Street (黃埔街) and Tsing Chau Street (青州街), meaning “Green Island Street.”

Honouring the ancestral home

In the early 20th century, Chinese businessman Lee Hysan acquired land in Causeway Bay and constructed numerous commercial buildings, including Lee Garden and Lee Theatre. To pay homage to his ancestral home, the streets in the area are named after places in his hometown, Siyi (四邑) in Guangdong.

As you stroll through the area, you will find yourself immersed in the four counties of the Pearl River Delta via Sun Wui Road (新會道), Hoi Ping Road (開平道), Sunning Road (新寧道), and Yun Ping Road (恩平道).

Poetic connections

Some streets in Hong Kong that are named after Chinese cities have no direct connection to their namesakes. In Aberdeen, a businessman opened the Tai Shing Paper Manufacturing Company (大成紙廠) in 1905.

A reservoir was also constructed on the hill behind the mill to store water for powering the machines. Although the paper mill is no longer operational, the street on which it was located is named Lok Yeung Street (洛陽街), after the poetic idiom “Luoyang paper is expensive” (洛陽紙貴).

Subsequently, several new streets in the area were named after provinces and cities in mainland China, despite having little trade or historical connection to Aberdeen in Hong Kong.

These streets include Sai On Street (西安街), Chengtu Road (成都道), Fung Tin Street (奉天街), Wu Pak Street (湖北街), Wu Nam Street (湖南街), Nam Ning Street (南寧街), and Tung Sing Road (東勝道).

The ones that have been lost

Over the years, large-scale land reclamation and redevelopment projects have led to the disappearance of many streets in Hong Kong. Fuk Ts’un Heung (福全鄕) next to Tai Kok Tsui, was a settlement for local fishermen and farmers in the early 19th century.

Located near the border and the bay, it served as a port for cargo transportation and business activities, with streets such as Newchwang Street (牛庄街), Chungking Street (重慶街), and Foochow Street (福州街).

The three main streets in Fuk Ts’un Heung, however, became infamous due to neglect and the prevalence of illegal activities and were even given the nickname of the “three infamous alleys” (三陋巷). Around 1926, the area started to merge with parts of Tung Chau Street (通州街), Tai Kok Tsui Road (大角咀道), and the extended sections of Boundary Street (界限街). The old remaining street was later renamed Fuk Tsun Street (福全街) to commemorate Fuk Ts’un Heung.

Other streets that have disappeared over time include Hainan Street (海南街) and Lin Chau Road (連州道／廉州道) in Sham Shui Po, Nanning Lane (南寧里), Suchow Lane (蘇州里), Tientsin Street (天津街), Wuchow Terrace (梧州台) in Yau Ma Tei, Fukien Street (福建街) and Honan Street (河南街) in To Kwa Wan / Hung Hom, and Kwang Tung Street (粵東街) and Kwangsi Street (粵西街) in Kowloon City.

From Hong Kong with love

Remembering the lives lost

Hong Kong has places named after unexpected locations, some of them chosen by the British military to pay tribute to fallen personnel. Streets in Tsim Sha Tsui, such as Minden Avenue (棉登徑), Minden Row (緬甸臺), and Blenheim Avenue (白蘭軒道), were named after Royal Navy ships that were themselves named after German towns where battles took place.

In Yau Ma Tei, Waterloo Road (窩打老道) and Pilkem Street (庇利金街) were named after Belgian towns where the Battle of Waterloo and the Battle of Passchendaele took place, with many British soldiers losing their lives.

The British military camps and training areas in the northern New Territories were named after major battles that Britain fought in both world wars, such as Gallipoli Lines and Vimy Ridge from the First World War, as well as Cassino Lines and Burma Lines from the Second. 

A distinctive feature of Burma Lines is the Hindu temple, which, though vacant since 1996, remains almost intact and was once used by the camp’s Gurkhas for worship. The temple is dedicated to Shiva, the Hindu god of destruction, and is organised in a hexagonal structure with five entrances, resembling a lotus flower — a symbol of beauty and holiness in Hinduism.

Asia calling

Hong Kong’s history as a trading hub is evident in streets named after partners in Asia. One significant trading partner during the 19th century was Indochina, with Vietnam being particularly important.

During the French colonial period, trade relations between China and Vietnam were maintained through three main routes: the Lao Cai-Yunnan railway, the Hai Phong Port to Hong Kong and Guangdong, and the Saigon Port connecting to Guangdong, Hong Kong, and Shanghai.

During the renaming of Kowloon streets in 1909, Hong Kong paid tribute to the connection by renaming three streets after Vietnamese cities. Elgin Road became Haiphong Road (海防道), East Road was changed to Hanoi Road (河內道), and Third Street became Saigon Street (西貢街).

In Sham Shui Po, Tai Nan Street (大南街) was named after Danang, a port city in Vietnam. Tonkin Street (東京街) may confuse some readers as it translates to “Tokyo Street” in Chinese, but it is actually named after the northern region of Vietnam.

The term “Tonkin” is a Western adaptation of Đông Kinh, which means “eastern capital” in Vietnamese. Although historically used in China and neighbouring countries, it now specifically refers to Tokyo, the capital of Japan.

Other streets named after port cities include Ki Lung Street (基隆街) in Sham Shui Po, named after Keelung in Taiwan and Malacca Street (馬來街) in Hung Hom.

Going Dutch

Despite its small size, the Netherlands has left its mark. Dutch Lane (荷蘭徑), a path situated above Bowen Road and below Peak Road, dates back to 1902 when Dutch shipping company Java-China-Japan Lijn (JCJL) opened a branch in Hong Kong. JCJL’s staff quarters were situated on Peak Road and employees probably used the path to walk from their homes to their offices.

The story of JCJL did not stop at Dutch Lane. After the Second World War, JCJL, which had become the Royal Interocean Lines, built its head office in North Point. The adjacent road became Java Road (渣華道), reflecting the Dutch colonial period’s association with the Indonesian island of Java.

The origin of Holland Street (荷蘭街) in Kennedy Town is still a mystery. It first appeared on a map along the coast in 1889. Since this was before JCJL officially had a branch in Hong Kong, it is unclear whether the street was named after the area where Dutch ships used to unload or after Holland Street in London’s Kensington district.

Selling units

Developers understand that choosing the right name for their projects is crucial in attracting potential buyers. To create a sense of sophistication and prestige, they have been using English, French, or Latin names for the past few decades.

In Hong Kong, where potential buyers often can’t physically see the finished product, the name holds particular significance. In the New Territories, you can find streets named after locations such as California, Rome, Kensington, and Versailles.

Jardine Matheson has been a prominent figure in the international business community since the British arrived in Hong Kong in 1841. The company constructed a pier, warehouses, factories, offices, and residences along the western shore of Causeway Bay on Hong Kong Island.

Following World War Two and the subsequent changes in the commercial market, Jardine started selling or redeveloping its properties, transforming them into commercial and residential buildings. Streets such as Houston Street (厚誠街), Cleveland Street (加寧街), and Kingston Street (京士頓街), were named after North American cities that held trade relations with the company.

Located in Kowloon, Mei Foo Sun Chuen is home to a few surprises. It was built between the 1960s and 1970s and was the first large-scale private housing estate in Hong Kong. At one point, it held the title of the largest private housing development worldwide.

The estate was built on land that was previously a petroleum-storage facility of Mobil and was redeveloped by Mei Foo Investments Limited, a subsidiary of Mobil Oil. Two streets within the complex are named after the company’s New York origins — Broadway (百老匯街) and Nassau Street (蘭秀道).

However, the origin of the third street, Humbert Street (恒柏街), remains a mystery. While there is a Humbert Street in both New York and New Jersey, it appears to have little significance.

Time For A World Tour

Throughout Hong Kong, you can find street names reflecting the global influences that have shaped its identity, from British and Chinese cities to trading partners and even some unexpected locations.

In fact, if you head to the New Territories, it’s just a 10-minute ride from Zurich to Rome.

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On a Cathay Pacific flight from New York to Hong Kong in July, the four people on the flight deck were discussing their plans to leave the city’s flagship airline.  

Benjamin, an airline captain, told HKFP about that conversation in a cafe in Central soon after disembarking. It was not, he said, an uncommon topic. “There was one guy that’s staying with Cathay, but everyone else is leaving,” he said, adding that a pilot exodus from the airline had been going on for three years already. 

An experienced pilot from the Royal Australian Air Force, Benjamin, who asked to use a pseudonym, joined Cathay in the 1990s. At the time, the Hong Kong carrier was a popular choice among foreign pilots. “It was the highest pay, the highest standard, and the most difficult to get into,” Benjamin said.

But, he added, everything had changed since 2020 – and he had decided to quit. 

After surviving almost three years of stringent Covid-related travel restrictions that brought Hong Kong travel and tourism to a standstill, Cathay Pacific announced plans to fast-track its recovery.

On Wednesday, it posted its first half-year profit since pandemic, vowing to “share the success” with its staff. It has also set a target of restoring 70 per cent of its pre-pandemic passenger flight capacity by the end of this year, and 100 per cent by the end of next year.

However, according to several pilots HKFP spoke to, for them, the journey ahead looks less promising. 

Paul Weatherilt, chairman of the Cathay pilots’ union the Hong Kong Aircrew Officers Association and a captain with Cathay, told HKFP he was very worried about what he termed a massive shortage of pilots, especially senior ones. 

According to union estimates, nearly 1,000 pilots resigned over the past three years and most of them were senior staff – experienced captains and those providing training to junior ones.

“Cathay has a privileged position… It’s Hong Kong’s airline, but they haven’t really done enough to address the shortage of pilots, ” Weatherilt said, sitting in the union’s Tsim Sha Tsui office. The downturn began in 2020, he added, saying it stemmed from pay cuts, a loss in trust, and the union’s paralysed relationship with the company. 

In an interview with HKFP, Jack Bennett, general manager aircrew at Cathay Pacific, said he could not provide pilot resignation figures for the past three years, but said the airline “has sufficient pilots to support out current schedule.”

“I think it’s not a secret that the morale has taken a hit over everything that’s happened in the last few years,” Bennett said. “What we’re focused on is trying to rebuild the business trying to get as many of our crew back up and flying, get the promotions going and get the careers back on track… so that they can benefit from the productivity elements of the contract.”

A ‘proper’ contract

After flying with Cathay for over 30 years, Ethan, an Australian who also requested to use a pseudonym, resigned as a senior captain in the summer of 2022 to join another airline as a second officer – third in command on the flight deck. 

It usually takes around 10 years to become a captain, progressing through the ranks from trainee to second officer, first officer, and then captain – of which there are several ranks. But leaving one airline for another often means starting all over again from the bottom. 

All Ethan wanted, though, was “a proper contract,” one which he felt fairly reflected his workload and offered stable terms.

In October 2020, with the pandemic raging around the world, Cathay gave its pilots an ultimatum: sign a new contract or leave the company within two weeks. It also announced the closure of regional carrier Cathay Dragon, as well as 5,900 redundancies across the company, including all 550 Cathay Dragon pilots and some 80 pilots for Cathay Pacific.  

That new contract had been introduced for new joiners in 2018, and around 700 pilots have been hired since its implementation, according to Bennett. After Covid hit, it was extended to the entire crew.

According to the union, the new arrangements resulted in a pay cut of up to 60 per cent during the pandemic, and 25 per cent once pilots were back flying. The company pension contribution was reduced by 35 per cent and the education allowance was slashed by up to 50 per cent. 

The generous housing allowance offered to some on older contracts was replaced with a reduced fixed allowance, with Cathay providing a transitional allowance for those moving to the new contract.

More importantly, the new contract changed the way pilots were paid: from a guaranteed salary to a more flight hours-based system, at least 30 per cent of which is what the company calls “a productivity pay”. At Cathay, flight hours are subject to the company’s roster and are out of the control of pilots. 

Cathay’s Bennett acknowledged that the contract had been “a big adjustment” for aircrew.

Terms ‘may be varied’

All the pilots interviewed by HKFP said their current terms of employment were based on a staff handbook rather than a fixed contract.

A copy of the Cathay Pacific Employee Handbook for Pilots obtained by HKFP listed salary rates and allowances for different ranks of pilots, and said that those benefits and allowances “may be varied or amended by the Company from time to time”.

When Cathay introduced the new terms, Ethan said his total package was reduced by 50 to 60 per cent. But with the global aviation industry grounded by Covid, he had no choice but stay.

Like Ethan, many pilots agreed to the new contract conditions in 2020 despite disappointment and anger at the new terms. As international travel started to recover in 2022 – and Hong Kong remained isolated – and other top airlines resumed recruitment, a wave of resignations swept through the aircrew.

When an offer came in for Ethan from another top airline in 2022, he made up his mind to leave Hong Kong, a place he once called home and where his three children were born.

A weak position

According to the union, before the pandemic the Cathay group had a total of 3,835 pilots, including those from Dragon. While Cathay took over many Dragon flights routes after the latter’s dissolution, the carrier currently has 2,461 pilots including 767 captains, 54 per cent of the pre-pandemic level. 

Bennett confirmed the airline had around 2,500 pilots currently. He said that included 250 former Cathay pilots who had returned to the airline.

In January 2021, Cathay said 2,613 pilots had accepted the new contract. According to Weatherilt, that figure showed that Cathay had failed to increase crew numbers amid pilot resignations. 

Back in 2020, the union, which then represented over 70 per cent of Cathay’s pilots, proposed a different approach to “keep the team together” during the pandemic. 

Mason, a senior pilot from North America, who was actively involved in those negotiations, told HKFP that in early 2020 most union members had agreed to take a 50 per cent pay cut and no paid leave for two years to help the company out, but Cathay showed no interest in this approach. He also requested to use a pseudonym. 

In July 2020, the union was informed that the company would be terminating its recognition agreement on October 14. According to the agreement, signed in 2013, the company recognised the union as the sole representative of its pilots. 

Within a week of the recognition agreement ending, the carrier announced its new contracts to “ensure the Group’s survival.” 

Mason learned of Cathay’s redundancies and new contracts through news reports, and thought it was not the time to fight the company while the aviation industry was crippled by the pandemic.

“​​If we appear to be fighting, we’re going to look as though we’re trying to destroy the company,” Mason said, “but you could see it coming. You saw everything coming. That they’re just taking over.”

Weatherilt said the company took a big step to cut manpower costs permanently while the pilots were “in a weak position”, a move that seriously eroded trust in the company. 

‘Everyone is angry’

Mason signed the new contract with Cathay, mainly because he did not want to start again from the bottom at a new airline. 

But he said he now felt “stuck” in a company where morale was low and the working environment was “toxic,” a word used by several of the pilots HKFP spoke to. During flights, both aircrew and cabin crew often complained about the company, Mason said.  

With the new contract, flight attendants also suffered a significant pay cut. According to the flight attendants’ union, cabin crew saw a 14 to 36 per cent pay cut, with the basic monthly salary of junior attendants capped at HK$9,100. 

“It’s non-stop. Everyone is mad. Everyone is angry,” Mason said, adding that the culture had been different when he joined about 10 years ago. 

Looking back at the union’s approach in 2020, Bennett said the company had been focused on how to withstand Covid.

“We we were in survival mode. And nobody knew how long the pandemic was was going to go on, and quite how much of an impact [it] would have particularly for us in Hong Kong, for Cathay Pacific,” Bennett told HKFP.

Like many airlines globally, Cathay took a severe hit during the pandemic and accepted a HK$39 billion government-led bailout in June 2020, which the airline has to buy back in the form of preference shares. In an emailed response, Cathay said the group had lost HK$34 billion in the past three years. 

Bennett said the airline had made a few changes this year to ensure competitive renumeration, such as increasing the basic salary by 3.3 per cent, improving several pilot allowances, and offering a bonus of up to six-weeks’ pay. In 2022, the airline raised average pay for aircrew by 1.5 per cent and provided a discretionary bonus of up to one-month pay to eligible staff, he added.

Natural evolution

Yuen Chi-lok, a senior lecturer at the Chinese University of Hong Kong specialising in the aviation industry, told HKFP that while demand for air travel had recovered, supply as far as Hong Kong airlines were concerned was restrained by a manpower shortage.

“Pilot recruitment is subject to the rules of the free market. If the carrier cannot hire enough pilots, in the end it has to raise salaries,” Yuen said, speaking in Cantonese. He said Cathay should also consider the valuable role unions played in improving staff morale and developing a corporate culture. 

However, Shukor Yusof, an aviation industry adviser, said Cathay “is not really rushing to go back to 100 per cent full capacity”, but rather was focused on restructuring.

“If you want to be very honest, they have taken the opportunity of Covid to slim down… to become a leaner airline… to get rid of unnecessary staff, and to reduce costs,” Yusof told HKFP by phone. A former aviation reporter, Yusof is the founder of Singapore-based aviation advisory firm Endau Analytics.    

Founded in 1946 and one of the oldest airlines in Asia, Cathay used to rely heavily on expat pilots, when Hong Kong had few locals to fill the posts. However, Yusof said those expats were very expensive.

In order to survive long-term, Yusof said Cathay must hire cheaper local pilots, which would also align with its repositioning as a Chinese airline. 

“Whether we like it or not, there is stronger political pressure from mainland China to bring Hong Kong closer to China… Cathay Pacific may no longer be the same airline as it was 10 years ago… it has become more of a mainland airline than a Hong Kong airline,” Yusof said. 

Under the contract introduced in 2018, there are no more expat packages. Mason, the pilot from North America, acknowledged those packages might have been “a bit generous”, but he said people often had a false impression of how much pilots earned.

According to Weatherilt, the most senior training pilots, of whom there are about 50, could have earned up to HK$3 million annually, including allowances, before 2020.

“That’s really a small group of pilots, those who joined the company probably 30 years ago,” Mason said.

Before the new contracts were introduced, junior pilots could expect to start on around HK$40,000 per month, and junior captains earned between HK$120,000 and 130,000 per month.

Yusof said that with the pay cuts the package was no longer attractive to pilots from Australia, the UK and the US, and the company would explore new recruitment markets in mainland China and in the rest of Asia.

“It’s a natural evolution… [Cathay] will remain a very strong international airline but the make-up of the employees in future will be more Chinese than foreigners.”

New joiners from mainland China

Mason acknowledged the sentiment. “It’s like getting rid of expats here. If you’re gonna stay here, you’re gonna follow this rule… There is no more fighting,” he said. “It’s a feeling of Hong Kong, not just Cathay.”

Launched in 1988, Cathay’s Cadet Pilot Programme has, for the first time, opened its door to mainland Chinese applicants this year. Previously, only Hong Kong residents could apply. The group aimed to hire 800 cadet pilots by the end of 2024.

“There is no shortage of manpower in mainland China… and they will cost a fraction of the salaries that foreigners are paid,” Yusof said. 

Responding to why the airline took this move, Bennett said Cathay “always had an intention to recruit a portion of our crew from the mainland,” adding that it also hoped to share its knowledge and expertise with more people.

Weatherilt said the cadet pilot training programme was a good plan for the future. “It’s a 10 to 20 year plan,” he said. 

But to solve the immediate pilot shortage, Weatherilt said the company must address concerns over reduced wages and low morale. 

Comparing the number of flights and available seat miles of Cathay Group in June 2019 and Cathay Pacific in June 2023, the current capacity is at 49 per cent and 51 per cent of pre-pandemic levels.

According to Cathay, the group was close to 60 per cent of pre-pandemic levels, including the capacity of HK Express, which was acquired by Cathay Pacific in July 2019.

“We are always happy to help. We helped during SARS in 2003. We helped during the global financial crash in 2008. At the end of it, we were back on, we were on the same contracts,” Weatherilt said. But currently there was no official dialogue between the union and the company, and he had turned to the media to address the issue.  

“​It’s dysfunctional because the more I speak to the press, the less [Cathay] want to speak to me, ” Weatherilt said. Currently, the union represents 50 per cent of the aircrew. 

“At the moment, we feel the most efficient way to [communicate with the pilots] is to talk to our crew directly, ” Bennett said. “But, you know, when the union writes to us, we always respond to them, when they ask for meetings, we will meet with them.”

Bennett said the flagship carrier needed to be competitive and efficient.

“We understand that there are reasons for leaving… when there’s been such a big change, and we respect those decisions. But we have to be competitive, right? When we look at our competitors, not many of them are offering the kind of pay that our old contracts did… And that’s why we see a lot of people coming back,” Bennett said.

But Benjamin said he did not think things would improve.

“When you walked through the airport with your Cathay uniform, you felt like everyone knows…your profession is of a very high standard,” Benjamin said. “That’s all gone and that will never come back.”

He said he hoped the company would learn to value experienced pilots. Compared to decades ago, planes are very safe, he said. 

“But if something goes wrong, when there’s a typhoon, when the aeroplane loses an engine, or there’s a bomb on board… that’s why we get paid. It’s kind of like insurance. So we’re there in case something really bad happens, we can manage that issue and everyone will still survive.”

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In recent years, Beijing has expanded its efforts to isolate Taiwan – which it considers a breakaway province, to be united with mainland China by force if necessary – on the global stage.

Taiwan has its own democratic government, currency, and passport, and has been self-governed for more than half a century. However, under its one-China policy, mainland China maintains that nations cannot have official relations with both Beijing and Taipei, resulting in the island enjoying formal diplomatic ties with just 13 sovereign states.

Taiwan and its passport-holders have been blocked from attending United Nations events – including, most notably, the World Health Assembly – and forced to compete in international sporting events such as the Olympics under the moniker “Chinese Taipei.” Increasingly, the private sector has also been pressured. In 2018, American and European airlines and hotels began removing any mention of Taiwan as a country on their booking platforms and websites.

“It’s ridiculous to see that entities or individuals in democracy would subscribe to China’s discourse,” Yu-Jie Chen, an assistant research professor at Academia Sinica in Taiwan, told HKFP by phone. “These companies censor themselves for the sake of business, and that’s very unfortunate.”

‘We should expect more of these organisations’

But what about civil society? Analysis of 50 major Europe- and North America-based global non-profit organisations – focused on issues ranging from the environment, human rights, press freedom, poverty, and health – showed that environmental and climate groups were the most likely to include Taiwan as part of China, or exclude it altogether, in maps and reports. 

“If non-profits exclude Taiwan, it’s a form of hypocrisy,” said Chen. “We should expect more of these organisations than [we do of] businesses that are trying to make a deal in China.”

Of 21 major global environmental non-profits, 12 published maps or reports between 2018 and 2023 that included Taiwan as part of China. Most others either did not publish maps of Asia or list the countries they operated in. Only three non-profits – 350.org, the IUU Fishing Index, and Global Energy Monitor – included Taiwan as a separate entity.

Taiwan was included as part of China in The Nature Conservancy’s 2022 impact report, WildAid’s 2018 Sea Turtles report, and on the websites of the Coalition of Rainforest Nations and Global Fisheries Watch. None of these groups responded to several requests to clarify their position on Taiwan, and whether they considered it part of China. 

The World Resources Institute (WRI), which has a map on its website showing Taiwan within China’s borders, responded by email saying it did “not take a position on or endorse geographical or political boundaries. The boundaries and other information on any map displayed by WRI do not imply an opinion on the legal status of any territory or endorsement or acceptance of such boundaries.”

The Worldwide Fund for Nature’s (WWF) international media department provided a similar emailed response, saying: “WWF uses UN maps… We are a non-partisan organisation and this does not imply the expression of any opinion concerning the legal status of any country, territory, or area.”

Taiwan is also missing from environmental and climate data sources released by non-profit organisations. Climate Action Tracker has no listing for Taiwan and WRI’s data platform, Resource Watch, has no data from Taiwan for numerous indicators, including climate, biodiversity, and water. 

Global Footprint Network’s data platform, which measures how many ecological resources are used, similarly has no data for Taiwan. 

For I-Chan Cheng, deputy secretary-general of the Environmental Quality Protection Foundation, a Taiwan-based non-profit, this is worrying. 

“The incorporation of Taiwan data into China is not welcome, as this cannot help us understand the real situation in Taiwan,” Cheng said by email. “As the country with the 21st largest GDP in the world, Taiwan deserves to be included in the evaluation by various international organisations in various indicators.”

A spokesperson from Global Footprint Network, by email, said that they “use internationally available data from multiple datasets for all countries,” but did not respond to follow-up questions asking if they would add Taiwan if that data was provided or available.

In fact, Taiwan has been recognised by groups including non-profit Open Data Watch and OpenGov Asia, a content-sharing platform, for its open data and transparency. The island’s Ministry of the Interior has also made available data on land use, protected land, and commodity production.

Data access did not appear to have been a barrier for groups like Transparency International, which ranks countries based on corruption, the Global Peace Index, or the Trans Rights Index, all of which include Taiwan as a separate entity.

Chien-Huei Wu, a research fellow at the Institute of European and American Studies in Taiwan, thinks other factors are at play.

“Environmental and climate change groups have a stake in China, so they have to care about what China might do,” Wu told HKFP by phone. “I believe the explanation is that they are tempted to comply with the demands and requirements of the Chinese government.”

Only one, Netherlands-based Solidaridad Network, explained why it included Taiwan as part of China in its annual report, saying by email that “at the request of our colleagues in China we have coloured Taiwan as part of China in order to follow the official Chinese government regulations.”

‘A difficult position’

Solidaridad has an office in mainland China, along with nine of the 12 climate and environmental non-profits that excluded Taiwan or considered it part of China. To operate in China means following its strict NGO law, which came into force in 2017. It requires foreign non-profits to register with a ministry and have their yearly plans approved by the Chinese authorities. 

“Environmental non-profits are in a difficult position, they have to protect their Chinese staff, who are a lot more vulnerable than their Western staff,” said Isaac Stone Fish, formerly a China-based journalist and now CEO of Strategy Risks, a consultancy that supports organisations operating in China. “That risk matrix really highlights the difficulty of maintaining operations in China with your values intact.”

The argument seems to be that the benefits to environmental protection and climate action of collaborating with Beijing are worth it. This is a choice that does not exist for human rights, civic, and press freedom groups, which have never been able to operate in mainland China and were the most likely to include Taiwan in their reports.

“They don’t have a market in China,” said Wu. “Because they focus on freedom, democracy and human rights, they are hated by China and they also hate China to some degree, if I put it very bluntly. So the influence of China or the possibility of being sanctioned is of little to no significance for human rights or press freedom groups.”

They are, notably, now also increasingly limited in Hong Kong, where many civil society groups have disbanded since the passage of the national security law in June 2020. The following year, Amnesty International cited concerns about the law’s impacts on its human rights advocacy when it announced the closure of its office. Other organisations, like the New School for Democracy and the Global Innovation Fund, moved to Taiwan, which had been ranked by Civicus as the place in Asia that best respects freedom of assembly, association, and expression.

Invisible environmental borders

Over the past few years, Beijing’s efforts to influence discourse in democracies have attracted increasing attention. The fact that so many US and European environmental non-profits are willing to accept the Chinese narrative on Taiwan, without protest, should be of greater concern, Chen said.

“International organisations are supposed to be impartial and objective,” said Wu. “But in practice they are more and more subject to Chinese interference, and I think this is a very serious trend. Their behaviour or their conduct has to be held accountable.”

For the Environmental Quality Protection Foundation, such interference also limits its opportunity to engage globally on core issues.

“Many Taiwanese NGOs have difficulty interacting with China and China’s allies because of their close interaction with the Taiwan government,” said Cheng. “The main annoyance is that it creates an invisible barrier to work in environmental matters, which should be the most borderless.”

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She launched a legal battle against her employer over months-long pay arrears totalling tens of thousands of dollars and won her case – but along with other delivery riders, is still waiting for payment.

“Everything we’ve done was so that we could get back the wages that the company owes us, but we might not even be able to do that,” said the rider, who asked to be identified only as Cousin when she outlined her plight to reporters.

Cousin was one of the six workers whom the Labour Tribunal ruled were employed by Zeek, a delivery platform ordered in May to pay outstanding arrears.

The tribunal’s ruling was seen as a test of whether delivery riders such as those working for Zeek are covered by existing labour legislation. Riders such as Cousin did not get contracts, or any other written employment agreements, only verbal ones.

The Riders’ Rights Concern Group, part of the Hong Kong Christian Industrial Committee with members from delivery platforms including Zeek, Deliveroo, and Foodpanda, has urged the government to regulate the digital platform economy and improve legal protections for its workers.

The concern group describes gig workers as “between employment and self-employment.” As such, they do not generally enjoy benefits such as wage protection, paid leave, or compensation for work injuries as provided by law.

The six Zeek workers sought to recover wage arrears ranging from HK$28,166 to HK$148,471, payment in lieu of notice ranging from HK$49,546 to HK$61,276, paid annual leave of HK$23,547 in the case of one claimant and paid statutory holidays worth HK$29,792 for another. Two of the six asked for HK$5,000 in legal costs.

But despite their legal victory, Cousin said they would have to claim arrears from a government fund after Zeek’s CEO Chiu Ka-ki told the Labour Tribunal the company had gone bankrupt.

Wages withheld

Cousin said she could count on earning HK$55,000-65,000 per month at Zeek as a “fixed-route driver” by making around 60 to 80 deliveries a day within a specified district. She would work both day and night shifts, meaning her workday could last up to 14 hours. That was before she quit in November after a year and three months at the company.

Established in 2017, the firm began rolling out delivery services in 2019, just months before the pandemic hit the city. Two years later, it was widely reported that the company had accumulated total funding of US$25 million (HK$195 million).

Zeek started delaying salary payments in mid-August last year, with delays lasting up to two months, according to Cousin. “The riders would think, ‘As long as we get our money eventually, it’s fine.’ But things got out of hand,” she said, adding that she was eventually owed HK$81,000 in wages from the period from October 2 to November 19 last year.

Cousin said the tribunal ruled that she was owed more than HK$195,000 in total, including salary and paid leave arrears, as well as payment in lieu of notice.

Other Zeek employees, including sales and customer service staff and warehouse workers, also had their wages withheld. Drivers ended up “selectively” striking in October, Cousin said, by only picking up certain deliveries or by working one shift per day.

They would then get calls from customer service staff reminding them to work, “but we’d just demand to get paid first,” Cousin said. In response to the strike, drivers from rival delivery companies were hired to make up for the lack of manpower at Zeek, Cousin added.

She first took her case to the Labour Department last December, just weeks before Zeek announced it had ceased operations citing “cash flow problems,” then launched her case against the company in January.

Former Zeek riders, some of whom say they are owed more than HK$100,000, initially gave up on filing claims, believing that they would be better off earning the money back instead of having to pay legal fees and spending time in court. “But when the ruling came out, they realised that they could actually file those claims,” Cousin said.

According to the concern group’s estimates, Zeek still had 2,000 warehouse workers and drivers in February and March. More than a hundred claims have been filed by Zeek employees, and the Labour Tribunal’s May ruling will be considered a “test case” for them, said Mak Tak-ching of the concern group.

What is an employee?

The tribunal’s ruling affirmed that Zeek employed the six and they were thus entitled to legal labour protections, according to a summary of the judgement issued last month by the concern group. The ruling referred to 11 factors listed in a 2007 Court of Final Appeal case that granted employee status to an air-conditioner repairman, making the employer liable to pay compensation.

One of those factors is the degree of control exerted by the employer, such as control over wages and penalties for failing to meet the company’s standards. In particular, Mak pointed to the company’s ability to monitor drivers via an app as a feature of working relationships under the digital platform economy.

Delivery apps typically have a built-in GPS tracker and riders who veer off their designated routes are warned. Another volunteer at the concern group who identified himself as Hing said he was fired by Deliveroo for making too many detours.

Drivers who broke the rules would be penalised by having their ratings and priority lowered. Furthermore, Hing added that riders’ orders could be halved if they were the subject of complaints. “In effect, that means your salary gets cut in half,” Hing said.

Asked whether there was a standard procedure for handling complaints at Zeek, Cousin said the company would investigate and check with riders, but the riders were not allowed to appeal against complaints.

Deliveroo and Foodpanda, unlike Zeek, provide personal accident insurance but riders say payouts are stingy. Hing told reporters he received HK$300 – the equivalent of 75 per cent of his usual salary – daily for six months after he broke eight ribs in a traffic accident while driving for Deliveroo in April 2020. Full employee status would have made him eligible for hundreds of thousands of dollars, Mak said.

Last July, riders petitioned Foodpanda to improve its insurance plan after a driver died in a crash on his way to work. The company said the policy only covered accidents when a worker was on shift.

Calls for regulation

“We’re tired: we’ve had to make time to go to court and see the [Labour Department] officers, to prepare documentation and proof. The whole process took a lot of time but in the end [Zeek CEO Chiu] didn’t even have to pay out of his own pocket,” Cousin told a press conference in June.

“We just feel so helpless. We won, but we’re not happy, because the employer didn’t get his comeuppance.”

Employees owed wages or other outstanding payments from insolvent companies can receive payment from the government’s Protection of Wages on Insolvency Fund.

“We had to apply to claim from the fund, which doesn’t allow you to claim the full sum,” Cousin said. According to the Labour Department, the payment for wage arrears is capped at HK$80,000. Claims for wages in lieu of notice are capped at HK$45,000, and pay for annual leave and untaken statutory holidays has a ceiling of HK$26,000.

The insolvency fund, which is financed by an annual levy of HK$150 on business registrations, only covers “wages owed to an applicant in respect of services rendered to his insolvent employer during the period of 4 months prior to the last day of service,” according to the Labour Department.

But the point at which gig workers cease to provide services can be ambiguous, said Mak. “When it comes to platform gigs, just because you’re not working doesn’t mean you’ve been let go. So you can see that the law can’t catch up with the platform economy,” he said, adding that what counts as a “service” is up for the Labour Department to decide.

“Under these new labour relationships, there should be new laws to cater to the rights of workers,” said Mak. “The technology is only going to improve, and when more and more people are depending on these platforms to make a living, shouldn’t the government and society at large adapt to these new systems?”

“Right now, it’s mostly just food delivery. But once more employers figure out that they can save money by operating in these legal grey areas, workers in more and more industries will lose protections,” Cousin added.

Winding up

A former office employee at Zeek who asked not to be named for fear of repercussions told HKFP that the company had continued to receive payments from its clients – including IKEA, McDonalds, KFC, and HKTVMall – last December. He also said Zeek’s offices in Singapore, Malaysia, Thailand, Vietnam, and Taiwan were still operating smoothly.

Three companies were named in the Labour Tribunal’s case against Zeek: Kin Shun Information Technology (Hong Kong) Limited, Kin Shun Information Technology Limited, and Kin Shun Information Technology Management Limited.

A marketing agency called KAShow Limited, is listed alongside Kin Shun Information Technology Management Limited as the parties in a winding-up petition to be heard at the High Court next Wednesday, July 19. According to an annual return filed in January, Chiu is listed as a director of KAShow, in which another company founded by Chiu, UNIKI Group Limited, holds a 90 per cent stake.

According to the Labour Department, employees – as creditors – can petition the court to wind up the company.

HKFP has contacted Chiu and two of Zeek’s executive-level employees for comment. Former Chief Commercial Officer Eric Kong declined to comment, while former Chief Strategy Officer Vincent Fan said he had “limited knowledge” of Zeek’s operations. Chiu has not replied to inquiries.

Government funding

The government’s Innovation and Technology Venture Fund and the Hong Kong Science and Technology Parks Corporation – a government-backed statutory body – both contributed to Zeek’s US$10 million (HK$78 million) funding round in December 2020.

The Innovation and Technology Commission, which manages the venture fund, said it made a one-off payment of US$680,000 (HK$5.32 million) to Zeek at that time.

The commission said it has ordered Radiant Tech Ventures, which is responsible for recommending suitable investment targets, to follow up with Zeek’s management.

“The fund managers, in addition to looking after the investment from a business perspective, should also play a role in assisting the investees to grow and expand their business,” the commission said. Separately, the Labour Department has been studying measures to protect the rights of digital platform workers.

“The department is studying measures adopted by other economies to protect digital platform workers and commissioning the Census and Statistics Department to arrange a Thematic Household Survey to collect data on the working situation of workers,” a spokesperson told HKFP.

“We will continue to explore appropriate measures for enhancing the protection for platform workers.”

Kin Shun Information Technology Management Limited and its director, Zeek CEO Chiu, were prosecuted by the Labour Department in April and July this year for failing to pay employees. They were fined a total of HK$293,000, and ordered to pay an outstanding sum of more than HK$666,000.

The department said the ruling would send “a strong message to all employers, directors and responsible officers of companies” that they must pay wages within the time limit stipulated by law, along with other payments ordered by the Labour Tribunal or the Minor Employment Claims Adjudication Board.

Correction 16/7/23: The former office employee at Zeek said client payments continued in December, not February, as an earlier version of this article erroneously suggested. We regret the error.

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After leaving Hong Kong’s top court on a warm June morning, Bao Choy was overwhelmed by a mixture of jubilation and sadness. 

Embroiled in a legal battle since 2020, the veteran journalist had just won an unexpected victory when the Court of Final Appeal quashed her conviction for making false statements linked to accessing vehicle records for a documentary about the 2019 Yuen Long mob attack.

The judgement was hailed as a rare victory for press freedom, seen as increasingly under pressure in the city. However, it doesn’t mean things will simply return to normal.

“I won in the sense of social justice. Yet we’re very clear that even with the top court’s ruling, the government can do anything to change the game. It is not a long-lasting victory,” she told HKFP. 

Choy Yuk-ling, now 39, is better known as “Bao,” a nickname once given to her to describe her round face. But following her ordeal over the past three years, she has lost weight and her features have become more angular.

After her arrest in late 2020 she joined the Nieman Fellowship at Harvard University, then returned to her home city and established a new media outlet called The Collective – handling all the procedures associated with her court case along the way.

The Yuen Long mob attack on protesters and other passengers was seen as one of the key moments of the months-long unrest that shook Hong Kong in 2019, sparked by protests against a controversial amendment to the city’s extradition bill.

On July 21, 2019, over 100 rod-wielding men in white stormed Yuen Long MTR station, leaving 45 people injured – including journalists, protesters, commuters and pro-democracy lawmaker Lam Cheuk-ting. Police were criticised for their slow response to the incident, with some officers seen leaving the scene or interacting with the white-clad men.

Bao was making a documentary about the events that night for Hong Kong Connection, a programme on government-funded broadcaster RTHK. To trace the owners of vehicles pictured at the scene of the attack, and to establish who might have been involved, Bao and her team accessed vehicle records from a government website. It was this that led to her arrest.

Even after her court victory, she is unwilling to celebrate a win. “The damage has already been done,” she said. 

“The police said they followed the law [to arrest me]. But the outcome was one stone, several birds – it hit Hong Kong Connection and it hit RTHK. There was also discussion about whether the government had hoped to suppress journalists reporting 721, to which I had no answer,” Bao, referring to the attack by the date it occurred, as is common in Hong Kong. 

Dubbed “Master Bao” by supporters and hailed as an unwavering icon of Hong Kong journalists, Bao said she did not see herself as making waves. Instead, like many Hongkongers, she feels she is simply struggling against the tide of change sweeping through the city.

‘A luxury’

Five months after her arrest, Bao was convicted of “knowingly making a false statement” to access vehicle owner information for the documentary. She was fined HK$6,000 at the West Kowloon Magistrates’ Courts.

She shed tears when she walked out of the courtroom, as crowds chanted: “Journalism is not a crime!” 

The arrest and conviction of a journalist shook Hong Kong, at a time when such events were still rare. Nearly 100 journalists waited for her response outside court.

In the week following her conviction, she agonised about whether to appeal. “If I filed an appeal, I should be ready to go to the top court. That usually means a commitment of around three years, and I would have to pay a sum of seven digits for legal fees if I lose in the top court, as I would have to pay legal fees for the other side, ” Bao said. 

While her worried family advised her to be “rational” and just let the matter go since she had not been sentenced to jail, Bao felt her conviction was not just a personal matter but an attack on the entire media industry.

In Hong Kong, you must declare your reasons for wanting to obtain vehicle data on the government-run website. From a scroll-down menu, Bao clicked “other traffic and transport-related matters,” which the prosecutor argued did not include journalism.

“People in the industry would not have dared to access vehicle data with my conviction,” Bao said, adding it would have a chilling effect on everyone in the media. “If I didn’t (file an appeal), I would probably regret it. And that’s something irreparable, that cannot be undone.”

Driven by a sense of responsibility to her profession and a desire to defend press freedom, she said her “sensibility prevailed.”

When she lost her appeal in the High Court last November, her legal team immediately started to file a second appeal. 

“I’d made up my mind to appeal to the end,” Bao said, comparing her situation to the thousands of Hongkongers – including some employed in the media – who were arrested and jailed over the past few years.  

Since her conviction, Hong Kong has seen the closure of Apple Daily newspaper, Stand News and Citizen News. When Bao walked out of the High Court, the number of journalists awaiting her was reduced to around 10.

Unlike others, Bao did not have to face losing her personal freedom. “All along, what I dealt with was mainly about legal fees,” Bao said. “It is a luxury for me to resist!”

A broken egg

Veteran journalist Cheng Sze Sze had worked with Bao to produce investigative documentaries for RTHK’s Hong Kong Connection before Bao’s arrest. 

“I still remember at the beginning I dared not talk with Bao, though I knew she was going through a period of crisis. There was tons of sadness and guilt… I kept asking myself: Why was she arrested, not me? Why was she forced to leave RTHK while I could stay for two more episodes?” Cheng recalled.  

Following the arrest, RTHK immediately suspended Bao. Cheng, however, stayed for a while. From 2021, the government drastically transformed the public broadcasting service; replacing its head, transferring producers of Hong Kong Connection to other departments, deleting content, and making many senior staff quit. 

“It was heart-wrenching seeing the changes at RTHK, ” Bao said. Before she rejoined RTHK as a freelancer in 2019, she had worked at the broadcaster for over 10 years, a period when she enjoyed editorial freedom. It was like she was “sheltered under a large tree”, she told HKFP previously. 

“But later I thought to myself: it’s just like many things happening in Hong Kong; When the nest is toppled, how can the eggs remain intact? It’s a broken egg and no one can save it.” 

When she left Hong Kong in August 2021 for the one-year Nieman Fellowship at Harvard University, Bao did not expect to witness “more and more eggs broken in Hong Kong” while she was thousands of miles from home.

A year after the Beijing-imposed national security law came into effect in June 2020, the city saw a broad crackdown on civil society and media. Bao said she wept while reading news of Hong Kong, and began to self-censor when invited to give talks about the city. 

“I just couldn’t help thinking: ‘if I talk about something, would it mean I couldn’t return to Hong Kong’?” She also felt guilty about being unable to experience all the radical changes in her home city. 

‘Inner voice’

Campus life at Harvard was a different world. Bao took courses centred around social justice and reconciliation, dictatorship and populism, war and peace, leadership, and also documentaries.

In her favourite course Leadership from inside out: Self, Identity, and Freedom, students were encouraged to recognise their various identities, and how those identities influence their “inner voices.” 

Bao grew up in a low-income household in Yuen Long. She didn’t have much by way of entertainment except for going to public libraries and watching television. It was an episode of Hong Kong Connection, featuring a social worker serving ethnic minorities in Hong Kong, that sparked her dream of becoming a journalist. 

“You realised that there were powerless people in need of help. We might offer help by becoming a journalist – somehow I gained that feeling,” Bao told Initium Media in 2021.  

She joined Hong Kong Connection in 2012, seven years after starting in the television industry following her graduation from university. 

And after completing her fellowship in the US, she went back to a city in the midst of major changes.

Every small change

“When I returned to Hong Kong, I didn’t want to get a job in mainstream media any more, ” Bao said. She soon came up with the idea of establishing a small-scale media outlet to cover local news, focusing on feature stories. 

“We have to admit that Hong Kong is gradually getting worse. And it will continue to deteriorate, ” Bao said. “But it is still important to meticulously document every small change of the city. ”

“For those who are still living here, every small change affects us, right?”

Setting up a new independent media outlet in Hong Kong is considered tough and risky. “Our friends kept telling her ‘you should be mentally prepared – we’re now living in a complete different Hong Kong’,” said Fanny Kwan, Bao’s friend and also a former producer at RTHK.

“Apart from the difficulties of dealing with red lines and money, it is also very hard to hire passionate and qualified journalists as many of them have emigrated or turned to other professions, ” Fanny told HKFP. “But Bao is very persistent. You can’t change her once she has made up her mind. “

With the efforts of Bao and co-founder Lui Tsz Lok, The Collective was officially launched in February. 

Over the past four months, it has covered how former district councillors and small groups persist, the current situation of university student unions, and the arrests on the 34th anniversary of the Tiananmen crackdown, as well as stories about injured workers and their rights. 

“Currently we don’t have many limitations as to what can’t be covered – except for issues on which the court has ruled, such as the slogan ‘Liberate Hong Kong, revolution of our times’,” Bao said. 

But, Bao said, the outlet was still struggling to attract subscribers and “take root.”

An ordinary woman

Recently, veteran journalist Cheng wrote a profile of Bao for Ming Pao: “Every time when she left the court, she would scroll her phone to check if her pictures [in the news] were pretty,” Cheng wrote. “Indeed, she is just an ordinary woman. If she can defend press freedom, persist until the end, and manage her fears, why can’t we?”

Bao said: “The changes in the political situation in Hong Kong are ongoing, and it is unclear when they will come to an end. The wave is vast, and there seems to be no end in sight. It’s so big that we can’t even see the edges and where we stand in the midst of it.”

But she knew she could do is to persist as a journalist, “to document every small change of the city.”

Bao herself said she was just struggling in the tide without having a clear picture of how big the waves are.

Bao is still waiting for the government to return her fine of HK$6,000. She has considered donating the sum to an NGO.

“But my friends said I should mount and frame the cheque. That’s a better idea I think, for the sake of this memory!”

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Pitt Cheung was scrolling through Facebook one Friday evening when he saw a post by a local media outlet. “CCTV footage of the stabbing at Plaza Hollywood,” it read, referring to an incident at a Hong Kong shopping mall that had just taken place.

The 41-year-old hairdresser said he clicked onto the article link to learn more about the incident that was behind the numerous news notifications on his phone.

Immediately, a 50-second CCTV clip began playing, showing a man chasing two people with a knife. Before Cheung knew it, he had witnessed the pair being brutally attacked by a stranger, in a shopping mall just one subway stop from his home. Both were pronounced dead soon after.

“I am not normally afraid of gruesome stuff. But this was really horrifying,” Cheung said.

He added that, while there was a content warning, its text appeared as the footage began, not before it.

As the CCTV footage circulated, some local media outlets mistakenly reported that the victims were a male and a female. They also cited rumours that the female was the wife of the killer, whilst a foreign LGBT+ news website shared a tweet alleging it was a hate crime. Police confirmed in a press conference later that the victims were both female, and that the man did not appear to know them.

Days later, the alleged murder of three young children at a Sham Shui Po subdivided flat also made headlines. Local media outlets initially said their mother was Pakistani, adding that her husband was the suspected killer.

Later, it was the mother, an Indian national, who was arrested and charged on suspicion of murdering her children.

One news outlet published 10 stories on the night of the attack. Another made a dedicated page on the killings, complete with a timeline of the incident and the developments after.

Between the circulation of graphic content and inaccurate reporting, the two incidents – rare cases of violent crime in Hong Kong – have put a spotlight on how local media outlets report breaking news.

A changed media landscape

Globally, the digitalisation of the news industry has seen outlets exploit sensationalism and employ clickbait to drive traffic, which is often connected to advertising revenue. In Hong Kong, the race for eyeballs has been compounded by a large volume of newspapers and media companies in a city of 7.3 million people, as well as the changes to the media landscape in the wake of the national security law.

Since the legislation was imposed on the city in 2020 – criminalising secession, subversion, foreign collusion and terrorism – several pro-democracy news outlets including Apple Daily and Stand News have shut following the arrests of top editors and executives. Both outlets conducted hard-hitting investigations that unveiled scandals involving government officials and large business conglomerates, and were known for their coverage of political demonstrations.

Without politics or protests making headlines, Ronson Chan, the head of the Hong Kong Journalists Association (HKJA), said news outlets were more reliant on breaking news coverage to drive traffic.

“The focus now is on breaking news. When something happens, everyone wants to be first,” Chan told HKFP, adding that the rush to share gory images and information before sufficient verification was part of the competition.

A media industry colloquialism suggests that “if it bleeds, it leads” – which is true of newspaper frontpages, as well as news site traffic trends. HKFP’s initial article remained the most popular story – attracting more clicks than all other articles put together – in the four days that followed the incident. The single write-up outperformed blanket coverage of the Tiananmen crackdown anniversary, receiving just over 50,000 “pageviews,” whilst the next most popular story received around 11,600 views.

Veteran journalist Allan Au said that there were “fewer and fewer topics” that could be explored openly, whether by media outlets or online.

“It’s rare for media to have a big news story that they can really discuss,” Au said. “So when there is, they use a lot of manpower, resources and speed to capture the audience’s attention.”

Au added that the mistakes made in the reporting of these two incidents could be related to a departure of experienced journalists from the industry locally.

According to a study by the Association of Overseas Hong Kong Media Professionals (AOHKMP) published in April, journalists “began to leave the city en masse in 2020, likely in the hundreds.”

“The loss of veteran reporters, the manpower shortage, the competition for click rates – all of these are reasons why verification efforts are lacking,” Au said. “This is my observation.”

Shortly after the Diamond Hill and Sham Shui Po tragedies, the HKJA issued guidelines to media outlets in response to their coverage.

“Media outlets should not share videos showing the process of death, and should be mindful of whether the use of violent or bloody videos can deepen the public’s understanding of the news event. [Media outlets] should refrain from casually publicising tragic pictures to attract readers,” the group wrote.

The HKJA also advised media outlets issue corrections that “clearly state the mistake, the content after the edit is made, and the time of the clarification.”

Au said most local media outlets did not have a practice of publishing corrections after making and amending an error. “Media outlets are not doing a good enough job when it comes to transparency,” he added.

The age of social media

While inaccurate information published by media outlets ultimately gets corrected, the use of graphic images can leave a lasting scar on readers. This is especially so in the age of social media, researchers say.

“Previously, you would have a news cycle, you might have some graphic images, and then the news cycle is done and then the story is kind of over with,” said Odile Thiang, a lead clinical advisor at mental health charity Mind HK.

With content easily going viral and algorithms that amplify images, prolonged exposure to graphic visuals could heighten public anxiety and fear, Thiang said.

Emily Cheng, an assistant professor in the Chinese University of Hong Kong (CUHK)’s social work department, said the CCTV footage of the Diamond Hill stabbings was “vivid” and had a “detailed presentation” that could make people feel as if they were there.

“It was not necessary to show that video,” Cheng said. “There’s no benefit at all.”

According to a study published by Cheng and other researchers in 2014, Hong Kong outlets reported suicide-related events “more frequently and sensationally” than in Western countries. Hong Kong reporters cited satisfying commercial competitiveness, wanting to reflect societal problems beneath the tragedies, and responding to readers’ interests as among the reasons for reporting on such events.

Chinese media reporters said they considered the suicides of non-celebrities as newsworthy, differing from local English reporters, the study also found.

Grace Leung, a lecturer at the CUHK’s journalism school, also said the rise in news consumption through social media had caused outlets to sacrifice values in an attempt to chase views.

“Media outlets may not refrain from publishing bloody scenes because the images are already circulating on social media, so there’s no harm done if they share them, too,” Leung said.

“But a professional media organisation is not just a random person on the internet. They should hold themselves up to professional standards,” she added.

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Hong Kong’s public library system has been in the spotlight recently, with local media reporting that political titles have stealthily been removed from shelves since 2020. While books about civil disobedience were the first to disappear, the genre of those included in the purge were not limited to politics.

On May 15, Ming Pao reported that at least 195 “political” items had been taken off the shelves in the past two years. Among them were documentaries about the 1989 Tiananmen crackdown produced by public broadcaster RTHK, reference books for defunct secondary school subject Liberal Studies, romantics essays by democrat Roy Kwong, and travel books by veteran journalist Allan Au.

In the wake of public library removals, primary and secondary school libraries and state-controlled bookstore chains were also found to have also pulled titles from their shelves, according to local media reports.

Responding to questions about the purge, Chief Executive John Lee said last Tuesday that libraries must ensure books did not breach Hong Kong laws. Days later, he told lawmakers that the government had a duty to identify books with “bad ideologies.” 

“Titles removed from public libraries can still be bought from private bookstores,” Lee added.

In an emailed response to HKFP, the Leisure and Cultural Service Department (LCSD), which manages public libraries, said it would review and destroy books deemed inappropriate.

The department added that while one copy would be be kept for preservation, copies in the public library system would be “disposed of by way of paper recycling” if they were found to be “not conforming to the library development.”

Scholars and political figures were quick to express their concerns. Former Chinese University of Hong Kong lecturer Leung Kai-chi posted on Facebook offering to help send copies of affected titles to overseas libraries.

Leung was not alone.

A directory of disappearances

Soon after the news broke, Sung Chor-on, who teaches Chinese, began compiling a list of “vanished books” on Facebook, encouraging others to contribute titles that have disappeared from the library system.

“Since public institutes have failed to fulfil their duty, private entities need to step in and fill the void… [I] will try to do whatever I can, save as many books as possible,” the 41 year-old wrote on his page. He added that he welcomed any requests to borrow books from him.

Four years ago, the book enthusiast launched a Facebook page called Teacher Sung’s Books and Archives to share his thoughts on books and newspaper clippings he found interesting. However, since campaigning to keep track of disappearing titles, the fame of Sung’s page has grown.

As of May 24, nearly 300 “disappeared books in libraries” had been catalogued in Sung’s open-to-all database, although many had been input by the public and have not been verified.

“I don’t know what the booklist can achieve yet. I definitely don’t have the money to purchase all those titles, but book names are also part of our memories,” Sung told HKFP, adding that if one day the books were proven not to be problematic, at least Hongkongers would have an archive.

LCSD has never revealed the list of books that have been removed from the library system since the implementation of the Beijing-imposed security law, saying that making the list available “may lead to wide circulation of such library materials with malicious intent.”

The legislation, promulgated in June 2020 following months-long protests and unrest, criminalised secession, subversion, foreign collusion and terrorism. Officials say it has restored stability to the city, while critics condemn the impact it has had on fundamental rights in the city.

Among the books that have disappeared from libraries are those about the Tiananmen crackdown on June 4, 1989. Hundreds if not thousands died that day after the People’s Liberation Army cracked down on protesters in Beijing. In 2009, the Home Affairs Bureau made public a spreadsheet of 149 books about the crackdown. By November 2021, HKFP reported that 29 were no longer available. 

At the time of writing, 146 of those 149 titles have been removed from the public library system, according to local media reports.

Calling the practice “pathetic,” Sung said libraries were supposed to be places where collective memories could be preserved. Even if few people ever took such books out of the library, it was important they remained accessible for researchers and in the system for archival purposes.

“That was the original function of libraries. People who want to pursue knowledge are the ones who will suffer because of this policy,” he said.

Censorship in the market

Ironically, independent book stores have seen sales of some books – including “prohibited” political titles that were not previously known for selling well – surge after news that books had been removed from public libraries broke, and after Lee’s comments about such titles being available to buy.

“I think the people [who are buying these titles] are not the ones who would have to borrow books from public libraries in the first place, but the libraries’ actions have sparked a sense of urgency – they have suddenly realised they might not be able to buy these books again,” independent bookstore owner Kris Lau told HKFP.

Lau’s bookshop, Have A Nice Stay, sold out of over 50 reprints of a travel book within days of the title being listed among the items removed from public libraries. 

However, he said that it was the only book purged from the public library system that was available in his bookstore, as most of the other titles were either out-of-print or old publications that not many customers would be interested in buying.

“As business owners, our primary focus when ordering books to sell is to meet customer demands… this is the main difference between libraries and bookstores – the function of a library is to keep an archive,” Kris said.

When asked whether he had any concerns about selling books that the government considered unsuitable for libraries, the bookstore owner briefly paused before giving his answer. “If [the authorities] want to censor titles, they should be the one to make a list of banned books. I believe it should not be our responsibility to censor books,” he said. 

Kris also described bookstores as “downstream” of publishers and distributors, who were the ones who made the call when it came to which titles were available on the market.

“As much as I would like to thank the chief executive for asking people to buy books from independent bookstores, this situation has also made publishers and distributors more worried about selling books on particular topics. I heard that some have refused to sell certain titles even though they still have them in stock,” he added.

How bookstores survived in China

The owner of second-hand bookshop Prejudice Books, who asked to be referred to by his surname Fan, said he had received hundreds of enquiries about Zunzi’s publications since the political cartoonist’s comic strip in Ming Pao was suspended amid government criticism.

Fan said he had noticed a trend of people purchasing books about the Tiananmen crackdown and civil disobedience before emigrating over the past two years, but added that demand had slowed. 

Even as some bookstores stopped stocking books that may be considered sensitive, the 52 year-old with long hair said he was “not so worried” about selling such titles. 

“Only the ‘sheep village’ children’s book has been officially outlawed so far, not the books on June 4 and civil disobedience,” Fan said. “Even though everyone knows they can sue you for selling those titles anytime, I feel it’s not good to stop before anything happens.”

The “sheep village” children’s books were published by a defunct speech therapists’ union, five members of which were jailed after being found guilty of conspiring to publish books with seditious intent. Two men were arrested in March over alleged possession of the books.

While Fan said that launching a private library specifically to lend titles pulled from libraries – a suggestion he has made before – would be “suicidal,” there was still room for independent bookstores to survive.

“We are familiar with the book market in mainland China. The ways mainland bookstores survive would be how we survive, too,” Fan said, adding that he thought the Hong Kong government was simply copying mainland authorities.

“[This bookstore] was never meant to become a ‘political bookstore,’ we wanted to focus on selling literature… you can see mainland officials don’t have problems with literature and films, and that leaves room for bookstores to survive,” he said.

The next step

A number of the titles purged from public libraries were published by the same publisher, the owner of which has left Hong Kong and requested anonymity. HKFP will refer to him as Noah.

The decades-old publisher Noah owned published over a hundred titles, including books on the Tiananmen crackdown and Hong Kong’s 2014 Umbrella Movement. However, his company ceased business in 2020 following the city’s political overhaul.

Noah said he predicted that books would be removed from public libraries. “I foresaw long before 2019 that Hong Kong would become just like any other city in the mainland. If a book cannot exist in Beijing or Guangzhou, it cannot exist in Hong Kong, either,” he said.

For Noah, which books are stocked in public libraries should not be up to civil servants, but residents. “However, the power is currently in the grip of the government, which is against the principle of building a civil society,” he said.

As an independent publisher, Noah said he would rather do his work elsewhere, as he saw almost no way to distribute politically sensitive titles in the city anymore.

“The next step for the government, I guess, would be outlawing books, just as they did with the ‘sheep village’ books,” Noah said.

He compared Hong Kong with Taiwan under martial law when books promoting liberal values were banned, saying: “Even possessing banned books could be illegal.”

‘We should do whatever we can’

Despite his outlook, the publisher has worked with libraries overseas to include all the titles he published in their Hong Kong collections.

“We do not need to feel disappointed, “ Noah said, adopting a lighter tone.

“People nowadays don’t rely solely on printed publications to acquire information. We have YouTube and podcasts to convey messages to the public. I believe the government’s efforts will be in vain.”

Sung also shares the same optimism. When asked about why he chose to be interviewed using his real name, and if he had thought about leaving the city, the teacher expressed his desire to contribute.

“We should try to do whatever we can in whatever position we are in. When we’ve tried everything, at least we won’t have any regrets.”

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When Paul Zimmerman rides through Pok Fu Lam on his motorbike, he knows he has left his mark.

The trees that line a main road in the southern Hong Kong Island neighbourhood are courtesy of a planting project, one of his first initiatives after being elected as the area’s District Councillor in 2010. Benches at bus stops – placed there in response to residents’ wishes – are an attempt to make the locale more liveable.

“If you allow people to sit, then the area becomes a bit more social,” Zimmerman told HKFP. “Even if they’re not waiting for the bus, it’s a place where they can relax.”

Zimmerman is the vice-chairperson of the Southern District Council, where he represents Pok Fu Lam, a quiet, middle class residential area home to a number of international schools.

His time as a District Councillor, however, is coming to a close. When the current District Council term concludes at the end of the year, so too will his tenure.

A day after the government announced earlier this month that it was planning to “improve” district administration, an overhaul that would see the number of publicly elected seats slashed, Zimmerman wrote to the 5,000-odd residents who have subscribed to his email newsletter. He said the changes would “ultimately [be] a loss for everyone – the public, the city, and the government at all levels.”

Authorities said change was necessary after District Councillors had “intentionally divided the society,” objected to the national security law and supported Hong Kong independence, without citing evidence for their accusations.

Zimmerman is an independent democrat who was formerly a founding member of the pro-democracy Civic Party.

 “At the end of this year, I will have reached the age of 65. It will be a good time to step back,” he wrote in his newsletter.

‘The last real democratic institution’

Hong Kong’s colonial government established District Boards in 1982 with the aim of promoting participation in local affairs and residents’ sense of belonging. The municipal-level bodies, which oversaw neighbourhood day-to-day matters, were renamed District Councils in 1999.

These days, the District Councillors that remain in their roles do everything from handling complaints about noisy neighbours to meeting with government officials to oppose looming infrastructure projects.

During the last District Council elections in 2019, pro-democracy candidates – riding on a wave of support from Hongkongers sympathetic to the protests that year – saw an overwhelming victory, unseating pro-establishment members, many of whom had held their posts for multiple terms. Of the 479 seats, all bar 27 – which were reserved for rural committee chairs representing indigenous New Territories villages – were publicly elected.

More than half of those seats, however, have been vacant since 2021, when authorities mandated members to take an oath pledging allegiance to the Hong Kong government. Dozens were ousted after the government deemed their oaths invalid, while others resigned in protest.

Under the proposed overhaul, the number of publicly elected seats will be reduced to just 88, or less than 20 per cent. The remainder will be appointed by the chief executive or nominated by small-circle committees, members of which are chosen by the government.

Candidates for public election would also need to secure at least three nominations from each of the three small-circle committees, on top of nominations from voters in their own constituencies.

Hong Kong’s mini-constitution, the Basic Law, states that district organisations are consultants to the government and are “not organs of political power.”

According to Zimmerman, the current structure of the local bodies allowed District Councillors to build intimate relationships with their community.

“The District Councils are a very effective and efficient way of providing services to the community and bridging the gap between government policy inaction and the community’s desires and needs,” Zimmerman said. They were, he added, the “last real democratic institution” in the city.

Future District Councils stacked with appointed members would make it harder to “get things done,” he said, adding that they would be unlikely to oppose plans advocated by the very government that gave them their jobs.

In Pok Fu Lam, where the government is spearheading a number of long-term development projects including a deep technology centre run by the University of Hong Kong and the expansion of the office complex at Cyberport, Zimmerman said he was concerned that such initiatives would go ahead without considering residents’ concerns.

The Democratic Alliance for the Betterment and Progress of Hong Kong, the city’s largest pro-Beijing party, has thrown their support behind the overhaul.

“The District Councils’ former composition had a number of flaws and loopholes… introducing improvements to the nomination threshold and a screening mechanism can prevent those causing chaos to Hong Kong and China from entering the District Councils, [therefore] protecting national security and comprehensively implementing the ‘patriots governing Hong Kong’ principle,” the party said in a statement.

Janet Ng, a District Councillor representing the Kowloon neighbourhood of Mei Foo, however, said future District Councils would be “top down” and merely execute government policies.

“[The new District Councillors] won’t even be living in the districts they represent. So how can they know what residents’ needs are?” Ng, an independent democrat, said.

When she attempted to raise concerns about the overhaul at a District Council meeting last week, government officials walked out, claiming the discussion was “out” of the District Councils’ scope.

“I definitely will not run again,” Ng, who was elected in 2015, told HKFP. “There will be no room for us to really help residents.”

The Democratic Party, Hong Kong’s largest pro-democracy party which has seven members serving as District Councillors, said it was undecided on whether it would take part in the elections.

“We still need to talk to our members and collect their views. We have to consider things such as what our role would be, and what abilities we would have,” Lo Kin-hei, chairperson of the party, told HKFP.

‘Very hard’ for amateurs to run

On the other side of Hong Kong, independent democrat Osman Cheng admitted he was a relative newcomer to the world of district work. The 36-year-old, who represents the On Tai constituency in the Ma On Shan neighbourhood, was elected to the Sha Tin District Council in 2019.

Before the former advertising manager took the reins, the area was represented by members of the city’s largest pro-Beijing party, the Democratic Alliance for the Betterment and Progress of Hong Kong.

“I haven’t decided [whether to run again]. But actually, it’s not for me to decide as I will need to get nominations from those three committees,” Cheng said, referring to the small-circle groups. “Not just myself, but for any amateurs who intend to run, it would be very hard.”

Currently, Sha Tin district is split into 41 constituencies, each represented by one District Council member. If the proposed overhaul is implemented, the district will be split into just four, with each represented by two District Councillors.

Widening the area that each District Councillor represents would stretch them thin, Cheng said. Future District Councillors may not have the time – or without the mandate of an elected figure, the will – to assist residents on bread-and-butter problems, he added.

“I also help elderly residents apply for government subsidies. Or when they’ve just returned from the mainland and don’t know how to switch the SIM cards back to their Hong Kong ones, they ask me.”

With around six months left of the current District Councils’ term, Cheng said he still has a couple of projects on his agenda. He told HKFP he was fighting for a circular bus route in Ma On Shan, a proposal that he said the Transport Department has agreed to.

The District Councillor also continues to ask residents living across the river from a sewage plant to report information about its stench, such as the wind direction and time of day when they smell the foul odour. He then compiles this data to send to the Drainage Services Department in hopes of addressing the persistent problem.

He added that he would miss serving residents, but that he questioned the effectiveness of future District Councils largely made up of members who did not go through the “baptism” of elections, in which candidates had to build relationships with the public and win their support.

“When the system has changed so much, I have to think about what my original intention [of being a District Councillor] was,” Cheng said.

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An advisory firm in China has asked their staff to review each source they obtain data from, after Chinese authorities raided three firms in the sector, an executive from the company has told HKFP.  

“It put us all on alert,” the executive, Connie, said, whose firm provides data and advice on Chinese market for large foreign corporations. The source was granted a pseudonym over fears of repercussions.

China has taken measures against three advisory firms over the past few months. All firms were US-headquartered, global groups involved in data collection, investigative and strategic analysis. 

At the centre of the latest crackdown was Capvision, a New York-headquartered company with offices in five Chinese cities. State media reported on Monday that the National Security Bureau of Suzhou province and other departments took part in a joint enforcement action against Capvision. The authorities reportedly claimed that they “handled the company under the law and regulations.”  

The raid took place at the end of last year and two Chinese scholars accused providing “classified information” to Capvision and their foreign clients were arrested. One of them was sentenced to six years in prison for “stealing national secrets” after they “confessed” to their crime on state TV.

Earlier, two international firms were raided in China. In a March 24 statement to Reuters, US corporate due diligence firm Mintz said that the Chinese authorities had raided and closed its office in Beijing, and detained five staff – all Chinese nationals. On 27 April, police questioned staff at Bain & Company’s Shanghai office, a company spokesperson told HKFP on Friday.

Connie, the Chinese executive, said that – after Beijing passed an amendment to the anti-espionage law – the recent crackdown prompted a chilling effect among the industry: “We just don’t understand how the government defines espionage. Will we be accused of being spies when we are collecting Chinese data?” 

HKFP has reached out to Capvision and Mintz for a response.

Foreign firms ‘lured scholars‘

Hong Kong due diligence researchers and consultants also told HKFP they felt intimidated. One researcher at a locally-based global firm said that colleagues were anxious to know whether the enforcement targeted specific cases, or whether there was a large-scale crackdown on the whole foreign advisory industry underway. 

“It’s scary. It’s completely unknown where the five staff of Mintz are in more than one month. Many companies are worried because they have offices in the mainland. My company has not set up one because of the risks in China,” they said. 

Due diligence firms, often viewed as part of the advisory services industry, usually work with hedge funds, mutual funds and companies to provide credible information and intelligence about large investments, mergers and acquisitions, or provide background checks for clients who are recruiting.

Capvision’s website says it offers its global clients access to a network of over 450,000 Chinese scholars with different professions. The company has filed to go public in Hong Kong twice, but the listing application lapsed. According to its 2022 IPO prospectus, scholars working with Capvision provided 150,000 hours of consultation for its clients, bringing in an average income of 520,000 RMB (HK$586,755) from each client. 

Chinese state media claimed that the company lured scholars to leak state secrets with high consultation fees, without disclosing that the information would go to foreign companies. The popular TV show Focus Talk reported on the enforcement against Capvision with the headline “The consultation sector with an ulterior motive,” as it accused foreign institutions of leveraging consulting companies to obtain Chinese secrets.

Widened definition of espionage

Alfred Wu, an associate professor of the school of public policy at National University of Singapore (NUS), said that it was unclear why the authorities recently took intensive moves against foreign companies, when Beijing has said it was seeking to boost the economy after the lifting of harsh anti-Covid measures.

“But the trend in recent years is that the authorities always put the importance of safeguarding national security first, rather than economic development,” said Wu, who specialises in political economy of China.

Beijing passed amendments to the anti-espionage law on April 26. The revised law, coming into effect on July 1, will see an expanded definition of espionage by including “agents of spy organisations.” It also makes reference to “stealing, spying, bribing, illegally providing state secrets,” as well as engagement in activities that “instigate, lure, coerce, or bribe national personnel to defect national personnel.”

Wu said espionage is loosely defined in the revised law: “What are ‘national interests’ exactly? Will it be considered to be spying if people dig out statistics of Chinese vaccines? In the long run, it will intimidate researchers into not entering China,” Wu said. 

Cross-border data transfer curbed

The Hong Kong-based researcher used to rely on Chinese database platforms to collect statistics. However, since early May, platforms including Tianyancha and Qichacha – critical portals providing Chinese company registry search online – halted access for offshore users.

Wind Information Co, a financial database based in Shanghai, has prevented overseas access to its company registry data in recent months, Bloomberg has reported.

Meanwhile, China National Knowledge Infrastructure, a large database comprising of academic papers and Chinese statistics, announced that it will suspend overseas access to four of its databases – including China Statistical Yearbooks – from April 1. 

Even some local Chinese government websites cannot be reached in Hong Kong, Canada, the US, UK and Australia, tests by the researcher and HKFP have found. Access to municipals websites for provinces such as Guizhou, Hebei, Fujian and Shandong, as well as the cities of Chaozhou, Guizhou, Dali, were blocked as of Friday. Each were still accessible in mainland China, whilst websites of some other cities and provinces were still reachable internationally.

“There are some local government websites I could still reach two weeks ago. One day, around 10 days ago, it suddenly blocked overseas access,” said the researcher. “Doing research about current China is extremely difficult today. ”

An individual who picked up the phone at one local administrative office admitted that the local government website was inaccessible to those abroad, when HKFP called, posing as a tourist.

Wu, the NUS scholar, said that limiting cross-border transfers of data is seen by Chinese authorities as an important way to safeguard national security and maintain social stability. 

The Cyberspace Administration of China launched a new rule last September specifying that firms that need to transfer “important information” overseas should apply for permission from them beforehand, without providing a clear definition of “important.” Different institutions and companies have nevertheless had to develop compliance procedures since the rule took effect. 

Tit for tat

News of the crackdown on US firms came amid ongoing tensions between China and the US.

The raids were partly triggered by several US think tank reports, reported the Wall Street Journal, quoting a source with direct knowledge of the matter. One of the think tanks analysed online purchase orders in China, showing that the military had access to advanced chips designed by the US and manufactured in Taiwan and South Korea.

Victor Shih, associate professor at UC San Diego and an expert on Chinese politics, said that the US and China are involved in tit-for-tat moves. Washington slapped sanctions on Chinese companies in the internet, bio-technology and pharmaceutical industries, while Beijing barred US arms manufacturers from investing in China. However, taking action against global advisory firms “took things to the next level,” he added.  

Shih said the due diligence and advisory services industries are essential for both foreign and domestic investment in the Chinese market: “You can’t give away your money when you don’t have enough information. And we all know you will come across scams like the case of Sino-Forest Corporation or Luckin Coffee,” he said in reference to recent corporate scandals. “It’s important to invest carefully.”

“Why are there all these consulting companies in China trying to do research on China’s economy and Chinese companies? It’s not like a plot, it is just because China is important.” Shih added. “It’s very puzzling considering Beijing says that it will boost foreign investment and entrepreneurial spirit. It seems like the right hand doesn’t know what the left hand is doing.” 

Following the raids on the three companies, Eric Zheng, the president of the American Chamber of Commerce in Shanghai, issued a statement saying: “We are concerned by recent reports about investigations [into] US companies in China that specialize in due diligence or consulting. It would be helpful if the authorities would more clearly delineate the areas in which companies can or cannot conduct such due diligence. This would give foreign companies more confidence and enable them to comply with Chinese regulations.”

Chinese Foreign Ministry spokesperson Mao Ning said on March 27 that Mintz was suspected to have run an illegal business and the case is under investigation.

There was no update as to whether the five Mintz staff had been released as of the time of publishing.

On May 8, Capvision published a since-removed poster on their WeChat account highlighting April’s National Security Education Day, saying that “[n]ational interests are above everything else” and the company will “completely implement the concept of national security development.”

Two days later, the firm announced that it would set up a board of compliance to implement requirements ordered by national security bureaus.

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Fertility rates have been falling in high-income countries and territories across the world, and Hong Kong is no exception, with the number of births declining drastically.

Indeed, Hong Kong has the lowest fertility rate in the world, according to a report by the United Nation Population Fund released on April 19. And the impact of this years-long demographic trend has already surfaced in society.

In recent weeks, the city’s education secretary Christine Choi has said that five primary schools will not receive funding for first-year classes due to too few pupils enrolling. The schools might get “killed,” as some local news outlets reported it.

“If you say [withdrawing subsidies for] a class that is short one pupil amounts to a lack of compassion, then the same could be said for withdrawing it from a class of 14. What [class size] would be reasonable, in that case?” Choi asked a reporter at a press conference about the cancelled Primary One classes.

“It is an indisputable fact that the school-age population is declining,” the Education Bureau said in a document submitted to the Legislative Council in March. By 2029, the school-aged population aged 12 is expected to fall by 16 per cent from 71,600 this year to 60,100.

At the same time, there has been a marked increase in the median age of first marriages from 26.2 for females and 29.1 for males in 1991 to 30.4 and 31.9, respectively, according to the Census and Statistics Department.

A 2023 survey by the Hong Kong Women Development Association (HKWDA) showed that over 70 per cent of respondents aged 18 or above told researchers they had no plans to give birth.

Such sentiments are not limited to adults.

The Family Planning Association of Hong Kong surveyed over 8,000 secondary school pupils in 2022. The results showed that the number of boys and girls who wanted to have children in the future had plummeted from 84 per cent and 80 per cent, respectively, in 2011 to 70 per cent and 55 percent in 2021 – implying a more drastic change in young females’ attitudes to reproduction.

“It’s strange that secondary school students have lost faith in marriage and giving birth at such an early stage,” the chairperson of the research committee, Paul Yip, said during the press conference releasing the figures. The 2019 protests against the extradition bill, Covid-19 and the ensuing exodus from Hong Kong might have impacted the younger generation. Yip added.

He concluded that the government and individuals both contributed to this phenomenon, adding: “[we] need to build a society that makes the youth feel hopeful, so that they will stay and have kids.”

Not the best place for raising children

HKFP spoke to three young women born and raised in Hong Kong – a young mother, a physical trainer who now lives overseas, and a working woman who does not want to give birth – about their views on raising children in the city.

“I didn’t want kids, not that I don’t like them, but I just feel like they would be miserable… or at least not so happy growing up in Hong Kong,” Jinn, a 26 year-old physical trainer, told HKFP.

After the 2019 protests and unrest, both the UK and Canada launched fast-track residency pathways for Hongkongers. Jinn and her high school sweetheart Roy were among the young Hongkongers who have started afresh in Canada.

Initially, Roy, who studied in the US, was far from enthusiastic about emigration. However, he changed his mind after talking with Jinn about their future.

“She had not been a fan of marriage and kids since we began dating. However, after Canada announced its ‘lifeboat scheme,’ she told me one day that she thought starting a family there might not be a bad idea… and I was so shocked,” Roy said.

Jinn said she thought of Hong Kong as a place that prioritised financial success over other qualities.

“It felt like there was no other route to success beyond getting into university and becoming a professional,” she said.

‘Non-marriage doctrine’

Unlike Jinn, Stephanie said she had no intention of revisiting the idea of giving birth.

“For a long time, I’ve known I didn’t want to have a goddamn kid. But after 2019, I became really, really, really sure I didn’t want a goddamn kid,” Stephanie said, half jokingly.

Referring herself as an anti-nativist and “believer in non-marriage,” Stephanie said she refused to make the same mistake as her parents, who had “failed to perform their parenting duties.”

The 24-year-old, who works in marketing, also spoke about her lack of confidence in the future and in Hong Kong’s educational system. Regardless, it was financially impossible for her and her boyfriend to emigrate at the moment, she said.

“Most importantly, I simply don’t see how squeezing a baby out of me would benefit my life,” she said.

For Stephanie, a rising fertility rate was simply about maintaining the labour force and keeping society running – it had nothing to do with her well-being. “But I am the one who needs to devote my life to the decision [to have a baby],” she said.

The young Hongkonger said that her boyfriend was on the same page when came to marriage and children, adding that most of her friends in their 20s were not considering kids, either.

“I could never understand why anyone would want to have kids,” she said.

‘Teacher mum’

Fiona, a 24 year-old mother of a two-year-old son who works at one of the five primary schools directly impacted by declining demographics, said she understood why other Hong Kong women did not want to have children in the city.

“After becoming a teacher myself, I realised the problem lay with the educational system of Hong Kong,” she said.

Fiona recalled when she was teaching primary school pupils STEM – referring to Science, Technology, Engineering, and Math-related classes – most children would not answer questions as they were too afraid of being scolded if they made a mistake.

Instead of encouraging pupils to speak up, her superiors advised her to stop asking questions that required “higher order thinking.” Just ask the students questions to which they could memorise the model answers, her fellow teachers said.

“I dare not say my son would be happier growing up in a foreign country, but at least he would be encouraged to be creative instead of being spoon-fed the correct answers,” Fiona said.

“Not to mention the removal of Liberal Studies, the emphasis on [Mandarin], and the politicisation of education after 2019,” she added.

Syllabus revamped

In June 2020, Beijing inserted national security legislation directly into Hong Kong’s mini-constitution – bypassing the local legislature – following a year of pro-democracy protests and unrest. It criminalised subversion, secession, collusion with foreign forces and terrorist acts, while requiring schools to allocate teaching hours to national security education.

In the years since its implementation, the curriculum has been overhauled. A core secondary school subject that encouraged debate and critical thinking, was replaced by a new course called Citizenship and Social Development course that has a greater emphasis on national security and identity.

“Even if I try to teach my son critical thinking at home, say whether it was reasonable to take the national anthem too seriously, he could be in legal danger if he accidentally leaked a word about the discussion at school,” Fiona said. In 2020, Hong Kong passed a bill that criminalised insulting China’s national anthem.

This was the critical factor that prompted her to make plans to emigrate to Australia with her husband and son next winter.

Even though the young mother is currently looking for jobs because of the potential school closure, being a primary teacher is still considered a stable and well paid occupation. Moving to Australia, though, means that Fiona will have to give up her career.

The worst case scenario would be working as a cashier, she said.

“Our future would be full of uncertainty, but at least that way we could finally have something to look forward to,” the young mother concluded.

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Despite being a churchgoer, Alvin Cheung never prays. Hymns send a chill down his spine, and the last time he touched a Bible was over 10 years ago.

The 38-year-old is a regular at his LGBTQ-friendly church, but avoids weekly worship meetings as he finds them triggering, a reminder of the darkest period in his life.

In 2005, as a university student, he was desperate to change his sexual orientation and attended counselling sessions run by a Christian organisation that said he could be “straightened.”

Over the course of a year, he attended one-to-one and small-group counselling sessions at the organisation, listening to hymns and reciting Bible verses. Each session was focused on a different topic, such as how to build “healthy” same-sex friendships and deal with “relapses.”

“They amplified the message that I had internalised growing up: that same-sex attraction was not normal, that it was unnatural, that it was not right,” he said, adding that they were “brainwashing” him.

The organisation, New Creation Association, is among a number of Christian groups receiving funding from a government scheme to promote the rights of sexual minorities. The groups have been said to encourage sexual orientation change efforts, a practice globally condemned as dangerous and traumatic.

‘Holistic development’

In 2003, the Constitutional and Mainland Affairs Bureau (CMAB) began administering an annual Equal Opportunities (Sexual Orientation) Funding Scheme to support projects – from workshops to counselling programmes to drama performances – run by community organisations.

However, since the scheme's early years, groups said to advocate sexual orientation change efforts have been among those to receive funding.

According to information on the CMAB website, around HK$694,000 has been distributed to such groups since 2017 - about 10 per cent of total funds. Figures for years prior to 2017 were not available on the website, and the bureau said it had no further information.

As well as the New Creation Association, the scheme's beneficiaries include the Post Gay Alliance and the Hong Kong Psychosexual Education Association. The groups, which share a founder and describe themselves as "sister" organisations, avoid language explicitly suggesting sexual orientation change efforts on their websites, but said they supported those perceiving their homosexuality to be in conflict with their Christian beliefs.

Globally, efforts to change sexual orientation, commonly referred to as conversion therapy, have been accepted to cause long-lasting psychological damage and are viewed as inherently discriminatory. In 2020, the United Nations called for an international ban on the practice.

Last April, lawmaker Tik Chi-yuen asked government officials in the Legislative Council whether they were aware of "concern relayed by some community organisations" that certain groups which received funding had made "discriminatory remarks" against the LGBTQ+ community, therefore "contravening the original intention of the funding scheme."

In response to HKFP, Tik said some groups had "reflected" these views to him, and that he hoped the government would address them. "Any form of discrimination cannot be tolerated," he said.

He added, however, that he had not followed up with the government since.

HKFP has reached out to the aforementioned groups, all of which declined interviews and did not respond to emailed questions.

A New Creation Association spokesperson said on a phone call that the group “did not know what conversion therapy was,” and that it offered counselling for "holistic development."

The CMAB did not respond to a question about why it continued to fund groups offering such controversial practices.

'I was torturing myself'

For Cheung, who describes himself as a conversion therapy survivor, a year undergoing counselling with New Creation Association resulted in deep-seated trauma that continues to affect him almost two decades later.

Raised by religious parents and having attended a Christian school, Cheung told HKFP that he sought out New Creation Association in 2005. He recalled seeing a pamphlet printed by the organisation that claimed a 70 per cent “success rate” among people leaving behind a homosexual lifestyle.

“When I called their hotline, the woman who answered told me that her husband was a ‘success case,’” Cheung, a social worker, said. “They said they could help me become straight.”

"They didn't force me to finish their counselling, but it was not easy to leave when these [anti-gay] messages become so ingrained, and when you are so determined to change."

Instructed to suppress all sexual desires while believing he could be “cured” if he "worked hard enough" and trusted in his faith, Cheung - then a university student - fell into deep depression and was unable to concentrate on schoolwork, he said, adding that he also felt suicidal.

"All my life I have worked hard, whether at school or practicing music," Cheung, who played the clarinet at a professional level, said. "Who knew that in this case, hard work could almost kill you."

The association also advised participants to read books advocating sexual orientation change efforts, he said, a suggestion he took on diligently. One book encouraged readers to analyse the reasons for experiencing same-sex attraction, which Cheung said brought on waves of self-hate and disparaging thoughts.

In a diary entry from the time, Cheung wrote that his skin was too pale, his shoulders too narrow, and that he easily became jealous, was fearful of abandonment, and lacked direction in life.

"I was torturing myself, but I rationalised it by thinking that Christians must go through pain," Cheung said. "After all, Jesus sacrificed himself for us."

Another former participant of New Creation Association’s counselling sessions, Fung Chow, said his counsellor would describe same-sex attraction as the work of the devil.

Unlike Cheung, Chow said he was not emotionally traumatised by his experience. The 31-year-old took part in the sessions in 2017 and said he respected his younger self's decision to seek out the group.

“But still, they gave me false hope,” Chow said. "I am angry at them but also at my own ignorance, which was a product of the church and society's teachings."

Now a regular at Blessed Ministry Community Church, a church that welcomes the LGBTQ community, Chow said he no longer believed that Christianity defined same-sex attraction as a sin. "It's people's ideology. It's unrelated to religion," he added.

'They don't stand for equality'

In the face of criticism, the groups and their supporters have maintained that they do not discriminate against LGBTQ individuals or force them to change their sexual orientation.

The founder of New Creation Association, Post Gay Alliance and the Hong Kong Psychosexual Education Association, Hong Kwai-wah, has previously told Christian media outlets that people have the right to pursue change if they are unhappy with their same-sex attraction. 

A receptionist at Hong's psychiatry clinic told HKFP that he was not available for an interview.

Diana Kwok, an associate professor at the Education University of Hong Kong’s Department of Special Education and Counselling, said it was concerning that the government would fund efforts that research had shown causes guilt, self-stigma and internalised homophobia.

“The assumption of sexual orientation change efforts is wrong. The assumption is that homosexuality needs to be cured. It does not need to be cured,” Kwok told HKFP.

Kwan Kai-man, a religion professor at the Baptist University of Hong Kong and a former consultant for New Creation Association, however, said he did not think such efforts were harmful.

“Some people feel unsatisfied [experiencing same-sex attraction] and they think homosexuality is not the solution for them, so they seek help,” Kwan said.

He added that there was “no demonstrated case” in Hong Kong of people developing trauma as a result. He said he also doubted the credibility of studies and media reports suggesting otherwise, calling the topic a “very political issue.”

Cheung, who founded a group that promotes affirmative therapy - a practice that advocates for self-acceptance of gender identity and does not try to "repair" it - said he had been in touch with other “survivors” of New Creation Association’s counselling programmes. He said the organisation’s approach appeared to have softened over the years.

One day in 2016, he received a call out of the blue from his former counsellor, who apologised, saying he had "lacked experience" back then and was now accepting of people choosing to embrace their sexual orientation.

Kit, a lesbian who asked to use a nickname, got to know the group in a different capacity to Cheung and Chow. Raised in a Catholic family, the 40-year-old spent her university years going from one counsellor to another to try to change her sexuality. She believed she succeeded - she said she no longer wanted to date and identified as "post gay," a term used by many Christian groups to refer to people who no longer experienced or acted on same-sex attraction.

In 2016, she began volunteering at New Creation Association, working with parents struggling to accept that their children were gay. Then, she met a woman who she began seeing. They are still dating today.

"When I told people at the group [that I was seeing a girl], I felt the feedback they gave me was bad. The tone was that I've sinned," Kit said.

"Around that time, I stopped going to New Creation Association," she continued. "I realised our views on LGBT issues, as Christians, were too different."

Kit said her mental health was "in a good place" and despite being surrounded by messages that she has since realised she did not agree with, she was emotionally unscathed. But she did not think New Creation Association and its related groups stood for her or the LGBTQ community.

Such groups have expressed their opposition to the legalisation of same-sex marriage, calling them a threat to traditional family values.

"Equality is about, 'I'm gay, and I have all the rights that others do'," Kit said. "I don't understand why these groups are receiving government funding that's meant to promote equality."

If you are experiencing negative feelings, please call: The Samaritans 2896 0000 (24-hour, multilingual), Suicide Prevention Centre 2382 0000 or the Social Welfare Department 2343 2255. The Hong Kong Society of Counselling and Psychology provides a WhatsApp hotline in English and Chinese: 6218 1084.

See also: HKFP’s comprehensive guide to mental health services in Hong Kong

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As the last students stepped out of Hong Kong’s university entry test venues after sitting the Liberal Studies exam on Thursday, the moment marked the end of the subject’s short-lived yet controversial history.

Introduced in 2009, Liberal Studies was one of the four core subjects in the senior secondary curriculum – meaning that every secondary school student had to sit an exam in it. That changed in 2021, when the subject was revamped and renamed, making those who took up Liberal Studies in 2020 while in Form 4 the final cohort.

The new Citizenship and Social Development course has a greater emphasis on national security and identity, half the teaching hours of Liberal Studies, a pass-fail assessment instead of a grading system, and a study trip to mainland China to replace the Independent Enquiry Study (IES) – a self-initiated research task.

The curriculum shift came after officials and pro-Beijing figures – including former chief executive Tung Chee-hwa – blamed the subject for encouraging students to take part in the 2019 pro-democracy protests and unrest.

During the Policy Address in 2020, then chief executive Carrie Lam said that Liberal Studies’ “deviation” from its objectives would be rectified. Before that, she told a state-backed newspaper that her administration could not allow the city’s education to become a “doorless chicken coop.”

Teachers that HKFP spoke to, however, treasured the space the Liberal Studies subject gave students to discuss a spectrum of opinions on current issues.

‘Informed, rational and responsible citizens‘

Before the last ever Liberal Studies exam, in a fine drizzle, a former Liberal Studies panel head reluctantly took a stack of textbooks and teaching materials to a recycling station. He had been accumulating them since 2012, when he began teaching the subject as a teaching assistant.

The teacher, who asked to use the pseudonym Chris Wong for fear of retaliation, said he spoke to the piles of paper as he discarded them, saying they should become something “useful” in the future. “Don’t ever be Liberal Studies textbooks again,” he said.

Before the social studies subject was introduced, the education authorities stated that Liberal Studies would adopt a student-oriented approach to help students understand themselves, and their relationships with others and the environment they live in.

“The intention is not to turn students into specialists… but to enable them to become informed, rational and responsible citizens of the local, national and global community,” the curriculum read.

It was in this spirit that Wong found his greatest sense of achievement as a Liberal Studies teacher – when he took his students on field trips and they connected what they were learning with the world around them.

The teacher could still vividly recall taking his students to a local wet market. While it was Wong who kicked off the conversation with the stall holders, the students – initially shy – followed up with their own questions and found out one of the vegetable sellers used to be a farmer who grew her own crops when the neighbourhood was still farmland.

“They began to understand the impact development could have on a community, as they learned that their home used to be a farm, and then they thought more deeply about the importance of local agriculture,” Wong added.

Through such first-hand experiences, Wong found that his students gained a more profound understanding of different issues, and began to think from other perspectives.

“You realise in those moments, their life has been changed,” Wong said.

Wong also cherished the IES report, which was axed from the curriculum in 2022. The assignment required students to do their own research on a social topic of their choice.

“Frankly speaking, it was tough… when you had to read 60 to 70 IES reports. But when you saw that two or three of them were brilliantly done, you would be very happy,” he said.

Wong recalled one student who shot a documentary of the final days of a pedestrian zone in Mong Kok and interviewed the performers, passers-by and nearby shop-owners – all of whom held different opinions. Wong said the project helped the student see the nuance in current issues and inspired them to go on to study journalism-related courses.

“Even if a student was just casually looking up information, at least they Googled and did research… Now Liberal Studies is gone, all that’s left [in the remaining subjects] is practising past exam questions, it feels like something is missing,” Wong, who now teaches Citizenship and Social Development, added.

Students’ say

With the original curriculum gone, Ah Man, who began his career as a Liberal Studies teacher in 2019, feared the teaching method that favoured open discussion would also cease to exist.

Worried that what he said would be viewed as unprofessional by the city’s education authorities and thereby affect his career, the teacher asked HKFP not to disclose his full name.

Since Ah Man left behind is Citizenship and Social Development teaching job and switched to another school in 2022 to teach Geography, he has found the in-class discussions “completely different” from those in his old subject.

“They were based on points [of academic knowledge] but not… points of views generated by students themselves. The latter would drive the direction of a discussion in a [Liberal Studies] lesson,” he added.

For Ah Man, Liberal Studies was not a perfect subject. He said its scope was perhaps too wide, including, as it did, topics from current affairs in Hong Kong, mainland China, and the world, as well as environmental issues and people’s self-development.

But he said the core of Liberal Studies – asking students to consider both sides of an issue and to entertain opposing opinions – was beneficial to students’ personal development and their ability to think.

However, under the revamped curriculum, Ah Man said there was little room for such expression.

“The exam questions of Citizenship and Social Development… do not require students to have their own opinions,” he said.

Echoing Ah Man, Wong said the most demanding part of being a Liberal Studies teacher was to get students to care about and contribute to society. It was also, however, one of the most rewarding.

“The mission of Liberal Studies teachers was not to teach students about a particular issue, or how to answer a question. I hoped to teach them to think in a comprehensive manner, so they would be equipped to make value judgements, and, hopefully, make wise decisions.”

Wong added: “I liked teaching Liberal Studies.”

De-politicised exams, classrooms

Even before Liberal Studies was officially axed, classroom discussions had become less lively, Tin Fong-chak, the ex-vice-president of the disbanded pro-democracy Hong Kong Professional Teachers’ Union and a former Liberal Studies teacher, told HKFP.

Tin said he had noticed that, since 2019, students began to self-censor their opinions. He said that some had asked “how there could be problems” in government suggestions, or said “there are no social problems in China.”

“If you ask me, I think they were kidding. But it also reflected some of their considerations and fears,” Tin said.

From 2012, the first year of the Liberal Studies exam, to 2020, questions about Hong Kong’s political system, people’s right to protest, and press freedom were a recurring theme in the Liberal Studies paper of the Hong Kong Diploma of Secondary Education (HKDSE) – the city’s university entry exam.

However, the teachers HKFP spoke to said that feelings that certain political topics should not be discussed as they were outside “the red line” had been looming since 2019.

The 2021 HKDSE exam, which came after Beijing implemented the sweeping national security law in Hong Kong and revamped the city’s electoral system to secure “patriot only” public polls, did not include any overtly political questions.

Ah Man said he was indifferent to the de-politicisation of exam questions. But he said he did care about how classes were impacted by the political atmosphere, which made people – including teachers – “cautious” about what they were saying.

He said he started to avoid saying “things that we used to believe to be correct,” such as discussing the separation of powers, something the government said never existed in Hong Kong’s constitutional system.

‘Can easily be misinterpreted’

Responding to concerns about the government decision to restructure Liberal Studies, the Education Bureau said in a 2021 statement that the existing curriculum was “open and flexible and can easily be misinterpreted by a minority of people, resulting in deviations in its implementation.”

Citing “criticisms” of the subject, the bureau said it placed “too much emphasis on discussion of current affairs,” carried “polarised” discussions that were “too focused on political issues as a result of… the direction of question setting in the public examination,” and misinterpreted “critical thinking” as “a readiness to challenge authority and criticise and object indiscriminately.”

“After the curriculum has been implemented for more than a decade, the problems [relating to] its content, teaching strategies and even assessment are getting worse. There is an urgent need to reform the subject,” the city’s educational authority said.

Both Ah Man and Wong told HKFP that they did not think students could be that easily swayed by political discussions.

“When I was having trouble chasing my students for their homework… How could I be capable of poisoning them with Liberal Studies lessons, or inciting them to do anything?” Ah Man said.

Citing research commissioned by the government’s Central Policy Unit in 2016, Tin said students were found to be more considerate of different opinions and less likely to carry out radical actions after studying Liberal Studies.

Tin added that, until 2019, officials used the study to defend Liberal Studies and rebut claims that the subject had radicalised students. But the government’s attitude turned “180 degrees” after the months-long unrest in the latter half of 2019.

‘Scapegoat’

The new Citizenship and Social Development course emphasises improvements brought by the country’s policies but omits challenges felt by society – such as rural issues and problems faced by underprivileged workers – that students would have been allowed to discuss under the old curriculum.

While Tin agreed that students should learn about the nation, he thought the revamped civics subject should not have excluded those parts: “Otherwise, how can I make the country better, or help with its development?” Tin asked.

Ah Man, who studied to become a Liberal Studies teacher at university, said he felt the subject had become a “scapegoat” for Hong Kong’s political controversies in recent years.

He said the subject was not introduced by a group of teachers with “ulterior motives,” but was suggested by the government itself as part of a high school curriculum reform.

Sharing the same opinion, Tin said the government had never provided any evidence to support its claim that Liberal Studies had “deviated” from its initial objectives.

While a government task force produced a report in 2020 of recommended changes to the four core subjects, it had only suggested trimming the content of Liberal Studies, allowing students to opt out of the IES report, as well as potential vetting of textbooks.

Tin said it was “terrifying” that the government carried out a large-scale overhaul of the subject, adding that there was “obviously” political pressure.

The former Liberal Studies teacher said the government’s criticism was “groundless.” For example, Tin said the subject’s public exam papers had been criticised for being too political, but in recent years the examination authorities had already stopped asking questions that were directly related to politics.

Ideals ‘collapsed’

After graduating as a sociology student, Tin said he decided to join the education sector in 2011 because of his interest in Liberal Studies. He resigned from teaching last year after finding the new course “unbearable.”

He said he felt the new curriculum was “unprofessional,” as its level of difficulty was a “mismatch” when it came to student abilities. The new course only required them to recite hard facts, answer questions by copying provided materials, and score a pass in exams, he said.

“People like me, who became a teacher because of Liberal Studies, realised that their ideals collapsed: You wanted to cultivate student’s critical thinking skills, you hoped to encourage students to care about society or have deeper reflections, you wanted to design lessons that allow learning through cooperation, you enjoyed having the space for in-class discussions – now all of these have gone,” Tin said.

Tin added that it had been difficult for teachers to decide what could still be discussed as Liberal Studies reached the end of its lifespan.

“This is just how the bigger societal environment is now… As a school, you would not know what could or couldn’t be asked.”

“It is difficult for Liberal Studies to have a future in this era,” he added.

Find a way

While Wong admitted that it has become much more difficult to encourage students to engage in the new subject, he was still finding a way to make things relatable to students.

“I wouldn’t say that, when a curriculum is gone, then there is no space at all. In fact, a professional teacher should be thinking about how to increase student motivation for studying,” Wong said.

Although Liberal Studies is already history, Ah Man said teachers could still “pass on the spirit” of the subject by encouraging students to approach matters with balanced and critical thinking, whether in or out of the classroom.

Ah Man said he was grateful for the opportunity to teach the topic, even if only for a short three years. Having already left the school where he taught, he said he wished he could pass on a message to his former students: “It has been the greatest honour and privilege of my life, to share your home for three years and to have some responsibility to your future.”

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Part of HKFP’s partnership with The Guardian.

The narrow pavements of Hong Kong commercial district Wan Chai are no stranger to the lunchtime rush, with queues spilling out from restaurants and promoters being ignored as they push flyers on passers-by. But on an otherwise unexceptional Monday in March, one main thoroughfare saw more commotion than usual.

Metres behind a bus stop on Hennessy Road, a crane truck pulled into a “no stopping” zone, where two neon signs – measuring around three metres tall – rested on a metal trolley. Workers deftly hooked a rope to them and, one by one, the signs were lifted onto the truck and driven off into the distance.

For Cardin Chan, this was just another day at the office as the general manager of Tetra Neon Exchange, a non-profit collecting Hong Kong’s neon signs as they are taken down.

Due to tightened government regulations, neon signs that for decades have hung outside bakeries, clothing shops and restaurants have been ordered to be removed – stripping the streets of their once-familiar glow.

There is no authoritative figure of how many neon signboards remain. The Buildings Department, which oversees building codes and safety, told HKFP that in 2011 there were about 120,000 signboards, but added that it did not keep statistics on the number of neon signs in Hong Kong. Chan said her team put the number at 400 last year when freelancers visited a number of districts to count, but the survey was ultimately unfinished.

“We’ve been notified to deal with sign removals more often recently,” she said. “I’m not too sure if they’re just receiving notices from [the government] at the same time, or if our organisation is becoming more well known, so people inform us quicker,” she added.

“We’re under the impression that more signs are coming down quicker.”

Tetra Neon Exchange has collected close to 10 neon signs in 2023 alone. Since it was founded in 2020, the non-profit has received almost 60 signs, storing most of them at a lot in a rural part of Yuen Long in the New Territories. There, signboards – some with their neon glass tubes still fixed, others with them detached for better protection – are raised atop wooden planks to prevent them from being damaged by potential flooding.

The number of removal orders for overhanging signboards – including but not exclusively neon signs – issued by the Buildings Department has increased over the past years, with 1,119 orders last year compared to below 700 in 2015.

Businesses generally have 60 days to remove their signboard after receiving the order, the department told HKFP.

Fading lights

Hong Kong’s neon lights saw their heyday in the second half of the 20th century as the economy prospered. The signs were not limited to big brands or major department stores – family-run businesses also installed them.

“Traditionally, shop owners wanted their businesses to be passed on through the generations,” Chan said. “They invested a lot in getting a sign commissioned because, to them, a sign carries the soul of a business.”

Essentially a form of advertising, these signs were so ubiquitous that neon-drenched streetscapes became an iconic symbol of the city, lending a cyberpunk backdrop to Hollywood blockbusters from Blade Runner to Ghost in the Shell.

But, in 2010, the government began issuing “very tight policies for removing unauthorised neon signs,” Brian Kwok, an Associate Professor at the Hong Kong Polytechnic University’s School of Design, said.

Since then, scores of signboards have been deemed illegal. Owners informed that their signboards are unauthorised can remove the signboard and install a new one, or apply to have it retrospectively approved under the Signboard Validation Scheme.

But the procedures are cumbersome and the associated costs can be prohibitive, Kwok said. Business owners must submit extensive paperwork documenting the signboard’s specifications and arrange inspections by a government-recognised contractor every five years.

The Buildings Department received 932 applications for signboard validation between 2013 and 2022, less than half of which were approved.

“A lot of owners would rather just take the signs down,” Kwok said, adding that they may replace them with LED signs which are “cheaper and [capable of] presenting information in a more colourful way.”

Chan said that of the cases Tetra Neon Exchange has dealt with, less than half of the business owners who removed their signboards erected new neon signs. In some cases, the signs are undoubtedly gone for good as the business owners are retiring.

Wu Chi-kai, a veteran neon craftsman, has been working in the industry for almost four decades. Standing before a messy desk in his one-man workshop, the 56-year-old demonstrated how neon signs were made. First, he heated a thin glass tube over a flame, rendering it malleable enough to be bent into shape. Once satisfied, he blew into the tube to prevent its walls from caving in.

Depending on desired glow, he might use a clear glass tube or a colour-coated one. The type of gas the tubes are filled with also determines the colour – neon gives off a red hue, while argon emits a blue glow.

The glass tubes would then be affixed to a signboard – although it has been over 20 years since Wu last worked on one. Now, he mostly receives small, sporadic assignments such as office decor or display cases for exhibitions.

With not much to keep him occupied, his days pass slowly. “I guess there are maybe eight or nine neon masters left in Hong Kong,” Wu said.

Still glowing strong

Hong Kong’s disappearing neon signs, however, have put a spotlight on the fading craft.

Kwok said he has observed more conservation efforts and local media coverage of the city’s neon signs in recent years. There is also an ongoing neon signboard exhibition at M+, a contemporary art museum said to be one of the largest in the world.

And for some businesses ordered to remove their signs, the lights are not out for good. A number have installed new neon signs, albeit more modestly sized and not extending as far into the street.

Tai Ping Koon Restaurant, an eatery with over 150 years of history, took down the neon sign outside its Tsim Sha Tsui branch in February. It has since been replaced with another featuring the same iconic design.

“The new sign is about one-third smaller,” Andrew Chui, the brand’s managing director, said. “Even though [making a new one is] expensive, our sign is very special and has appeared in a lot of old photos and music videos. So we want to preserve it.”

The new sign, Chui added, was made partially in Hong Kong and the Chinese manufacturing hub of Shenzhen.

Koon Nam Wah Bridal and Tak Cheong Noodle Shop, both of which removed their signs in the past two years, have also installed new ones. Another business that took its sign down in December, Tai Tong Bakery, told HKFP it had submitted an application to the government for a new sign. But it was exploring ways to make the sign cheaper, and reviewing the company’s finances, before making the decision.

Chan, of Tetra Neon Exchange, hesitated to say Hong Kong’s neon industry was “in demise.”

“I think neon still stands a chance in the city,” she said. “But I also want people to realise a sense of urgency. It’s really disappearing very fast, and if we don’t take the right action right now, it would disappear for good.”

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By Maggie Holmes

Kaushiki Chaturvedi spent a Saturday morning in late March inspecting human body parts in a dissection lab. “It was kind of gory, but it didn’t smell that bad,” she said. 

Kaushiki, a Form Four student at Creative Secondary School, was taking part at Med Start, a two-day programme at the University of Hong Kong (HKU) and the Chinese University of Hong Kong CUHK) designed to give secondary students a taster of life at medical school. 

Academic lectures, campus tours and information on admission procedures are supplemented by the chance to wield a stethoscope in the clinical skills lab. 

“I was already thinking about applying to medical school and these two days have made me more interested. Now I feel I have more options to study medicine in Hong Kong and don’t need to be as stressed about getting into a school in the UK,” Kaushiki told HKFP.

Kaushiki was one of five students from ethnic minority groups, whose MedStart course fees were subsidised by the DIMPLE Fund, an initiative which aims to encourage more non-Chinese students to apply for medical school. 

Charlotte Ma, president of the Asian Medical Students’ Association Hong Kong, the student body which organises MedStart, says entrance to medical school seems an impossible dream for many students from ethnic minority groups. 

“Low representation of ethnic minority staff in the healthcare sector creates the illusion that a career in medicine is hard to achieve,” she says. 

Ma believes providing role models is an important first step to achieving wider ethnic diversity on campus and in the medical profession.

“We hope we can make ethnic minority doctors more visible, expose ethnic minority students to the healthcare sector and encourage more ethnic minority students to become doctors,” she says.

Hong Kong faces a serious shortage of doctors, with only two doctors per 1,000 people, compared to 2.8 in Singapore and three in European countries and North America. Recently the Chief Executive of the Hospital Authority Tony Ko led a team of health sector dignitaries to the UK to recruit non-locally trained doctors to work in Hong Kong.

This follows an amendment of the Medical Registration Ordinance in October 2021 which allowed graduates from 50 non-local medical schools to practise in the public health system. 

Within a shrinking field, doctors from ethnic minority groups are even harder to find, especially in the public healthcare sector. 

In a statement, the Hospital Authority (HA) said as an equal opportunities employer it does not hold statistics on the racial or ethnic identity of its employees. The HA employs 6,700 doctors across its 43 public hospitals and network of clinics – a browse through the staff lists reveals names that signal an overwhelmingly Chinese employee base.

Representation in public health care

The most recent government census showed that in 2021, Hong Kong’s ethnic minority population stood at 619,568 people – or 8.4 per cent of the total population – representing an increase of 37 per cent from a decade earlier. Some parts of the ethnic minority population rose more than others: the number of South Asians grew from 65,521 in 2011 to 101,969 in 2021, an increase of 56 per cent.

As such, Rohit Verma, a locally trained doctor, says more medical professionals from ethnic minority backgrounds are required to meet the needs of the growing ethnic minority population. 

“Ethnic minority people have different socio-cultural views; they are looking for people that look like them, can speak their language and who they can trust to deliver their medical care.” 

Verma, who speaks seven languages – including fluent Cantonese, Hindi, Sindhi and Urdu – says having a doctor from their own community can affect every aspect of a patient’s medical care. 

“Often the older people in our community have limited health literacy; they don’t know the importance of taking medications, they might not show up to clinic or not want investigation. Poor communication can delay diagnosis, management, treatment – everything,”  he says.

Verma stresses the importance of training ethnic minority medical professionals to work, and remain working, in the public sector.

“Many patients from ethnic minority groups… don’t know about the importance of insurance and can’t really afford private care, so there is an additional value for training local-born ethnic minority doctors,” he says. 

Sukhdeep Singh is currently the only baptised and turbaned Sikh working as a doctor in Hong Kong’s public healthcare system. Fluent in Cantonese, he believes the healthcare sector has much to gain from a multilingual team of doctors. 

“If there are more doctors who belong to different sub-communities in Hong Kong or speak multiple languages, a wider strata of patients can enjoy a better experience at public hospitals,” he says.

“Naturally, a Punjabi-speaking patient who speaks little Cantonese or English, will benefit from a doctor who speaks Punjabi,” he adds.

Cantonese a barrier, and a necessity

Aspiring medical students can choose to apply to the faculties of medicine at either HKU or CUHK. 

The biggest challenge faced by students from ethnic minority backgrounds who are interested in studying medicine is the Chinese-language requirement. 

HKU’s website states medical school applicants must have “a good working knowledge of Cantonese.” Prospective students must also demonstrate their Chinese-speaking ability during admission interviews. 

Ivan Hung, clinical professor at HKU’s Department of Medicine, says Chinese-language skills are a necessity for medical students during their clinical training and when working in the local healthcare sector. 

“We are bound by the patients we look after, who predominantly speak Cantonese. If you can’t communicate with them and you can’t take a proper medical history, that’s a major problem,” he says.  

“It will be very difficult for us to accept candidates who cannot speak Chinese at all, even if they do very well academically or in the other parts of the interview.” 

However, Hung points out that Chinese reading and writing skills are not required and lack of Chinese-language proficiency does not always lead to a closed door. 

“There are exceptional cases where we admit students who can barely speak Cantonese or Mandarin and we help them with Cantonese language training during their pre-clinical years,” he says. 

CUHK has a Chinese-language requirement for general admissions across the university, but Winnie Chu, an assistant dean of admissions, says the medical school offers a Chinese waiver, where necessary. 

“[Lack of] Chinese does not affect a candidate’s chance to be admitted,” she says.

“Nevertheless, the faculty always emphasises the willingness of picking up Cantonese after admission, as students are expected to be ready for their ward duties at public hospitals in the future,” she says. 

Chu says CUHK admits around 10 non-Chinese speaking medical students every year and provides them with Chinese-language training courses. 

“From our experience, the tight bonding between our students, local or international, has proved to be the greatest help when it comes to adapting into local culture and picking up the language, ” she says.

Nandini Dulani is a second-year medical student at CUHK. She says the more relaxed language policy makes the CUHK medical programme more attractive to students from ethnic minority families.   

However, she believes an overall lack of clarity about required levels of Chinese proficiency remains a huge obstacle to students from ethnic minority groups considering medical school in Hong Kong. 

“I think a lot of ethnic minorities are very scared right now. If they cannot speak Chinese fluently, they wonder if they should even apply to medical school, and this fear really holds them back.”

Nandini speaks conversational Cantonese and intends to take Cantonese lessons over summer.  Surrounding herself with Chinese speaking students at CUHK has also boosted her language skills. 

“If you know you want to do medicine, don’t let the language barrier hold you back,” she advises. 

Caught in a linguistic bind

Students from ethnic minority groups who are educated in the local system often find themselves caught in a linguistic bind. Those studying in schools that use Chinese for teaching may have the option of taking the Hong Kong Diploma of Secondary Education Examination (HKDSE) Chinese. 

Passing HKDSE Chinese demonstrates a high level of Chinese language proficiency, but the exam is notoriously difficult and failure to achieve a high mark could rob students of the chance of entering medical school. A spokesperson for the Education Bureau (EDB) told HKFP that in the 2021-2022 school year, only 100 non-Chinese speaking students took the HKDSE Chinese paper, and out of them only around 20 students gained Level 3 or above – the mark generally accepted for admission to post-secondary education.

This represents a small population of the approximately 1,400 non-Chinese speaking students who studied in Form 6, during which the HKDSE is sat, that school year.

Theresa Cunanan, associate programme director at Hong Kong Baptist University’s College of International Education, says the current examination system creates a glass ceiling for students from ethnic minority groups who hope to go to university. 

“There is no equity in the HKDSE programme for students; it’s a one-size-fits-all blanket curriculum. The HKDSE is hard for local Chinese kids, so it will be doubly hard for ethnic minority students who don’t have exposure to Chinese at home.”

Ethnic minority students attending schools that teach in English are taught Chinese as a second language and take alternative exams such as the General Certificate of Secondary Education.  

Cunanan says this language pathway does not provide the level of language competency required for students hoping to work in professional fields such as medicine.

“It’s a lower calibre language qualification and I don’t think it’s going to be enough to speak, read and write Chinese at the required level,” she says. 

Nandini Dulani agrees that systemic problems in the education system lead to under representation of students from ethnic minority backgrounds at medical school. 

“I feel the whole education system is built to disadvantage us because we have Chinese as a second language,” she says. 

“We are disadvantaged from the beginning, we are segregated at school, but when we get into the workforce, people say ‘that’s your fault’, the blame is on you – why don’t you know Chinese?”

An EDB spokesperson told HKFP: “As [non-Chinese speaking] students regard Hong Kong as their home, it is hoped that they will attain the Chinese proficiency level that could facilitate their integration into the local community.”

The spokesperson said student admission was a matter for government-funded universities to decide according to their own situations under institutional autonomy.  

Despite CUHK’s more relaxed Chinese-language policy, ethnic minority students still form a tiny minority of medical undergraduates. 

“I feel it is quite strange that I’m the only Indian student in the entire cohort,” says Nandini. 

“There are so many young Indians of my age who I’m sure might be interested in medical school but the fact that there is only one out of 250 students doesn’t seem right,” she points out. 

Marginalised in post-secondary education

The language requirement is not the only challenge facing students from ethnic minority groups hoping to attend university. Low rates of admission to medical school reflect a wider problem of under-representation of ethnic minority students in post-secondary education. 

The 2021 census shows that close to 60 per cent of Hong Kong Indian students attended post-secondary education, while only 15.4 per cent of Thais went on to post-secondary education. The rate for Nepalese stands at 22.2 per cent, and Pakistanis at 25.1 per cent. The number falls further when migrant domestic workers are excluded.

Miron Bhowmik, assistant professor at the Education University of Hong Kong’s Department of Education Policy and Leadership, says Chinese-language proficiency is not the only factor at play. 

“Our research shows ethnic minority students are sometimes doing pretty well in Chinese, but may not be doing well in subjects like mathematics, science or liberal studies [now Citizenship and Social Development]. Under-achievement is a complex process and is often the result of a combination of inter-related factors,” he says. 

Bhowmik adds that students sometimes face problems of racial discrimination and the school environment fails to empower students to aim high.   

“Some teachers have low expectations and we know that if teachers have low expectations that is going to impact the students’ educational achievements,” he says.

Negative perceptions about ethnic minority people in Hong Kong are a constant source of frustration for the community. Shalini Mahtani, founder and CEO of The Zubin Foundation, says these attitudes are at odds with the way South Asians are viewed overseas and are demoralising for ethnic minority students.

“In the UK and the US, we see that a significant percentage of doctors, specialists and consultants are South Asian, yet in Hong Kong we tend to assume ethnic minorities are not capable. But it’s the same population.”

The tide does appear to be turning. Mahtani says the community is starting to reach a “tipping point.” More students from ethnic minority groups are applying for university and The Zubin Foundation has seen a surge in applications to its scholarship programme.  

“In the academic year, 2022-2023, we had over 200 applicants for 43 scholarships, compared to around 89 applications when the programme started three years ago. Things are changing and they are changing quite fast.”

‘A pool of untapped talent’

As Hong Kong faces the prospect of an ageing population coinciding with a shortage of healthcare workers, Mahtani views students from ethnic minority groups as “a pool of untapped talent.”

 “Universities need to actively communicate their commitment by going into secondary schools and motivating ethnic minorities to apply for medicine, nursing and STEM subjects. They need to be putting ethnic minority faces on their websites, pamphlets and brochures,” she says.  

The inclusion of ethnic minority students on university promotional materials may seem like a small step. However, locally trained physician Verma believes the presence of more ethnic minority doctors at medical school and in the local healthcare system can help change mindsets.

“It’s not just about making minority patients comfortable, it’s about improving our representation in the community,” he says. 

Singh agrees. “I always hope that my patients and their relatives would see Sikhs in a better light after they received care from me. This can extend to their perception of South Asians and of foreign-looking individuals,” he says.  

“I hope we can find ways to allow more passionate people to be given an opportunity to serve the people of Hong Kong.” 

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On March 25, 2020, two weeks after the World Health Organization declared the outbreak of Covid-19 a pandemic, Hong Kong sealed itself off from the outside world. 

It stayed that way for much of the following three years, until early very recently, when most restrictions on border crossings between the city and mainland China were lifted. As of February 6, Hong Kong tourism has been back in business – or so officials would have us believe. 

Certainly, recent arrival figures have been promising, even if February’s much-touted 1.4 million visitors were just a quarter of pre-pandemic levels. But it is not good news across the board. For those who rely on arrivals from long-haul markets to make a living, business is far from back. 

“Right now, I don’t see many people who are purposefully travelling to Hong Kong,” tour guide Jacky Wong told HKFP. “They are not coming back.” 

Wong started showing people around the city in 2010, setting up his company, This is Asia Tours, in 2016. It caters to tourists “from the United States, Europe – basically English-speaking countries.” 

“It is improving,” Wong said of the inbound tourism industry. “There has been an increase in interest since the border opened, but right now we are seeing that flight tickets to Hong Kong are still very limited.” 

According to provisional figures from the Hong Kong Airport Authority, there were 10,665 passenger flight movements in January, compared with some 31,000 in January 2019. In a March 16 statement, the city’s flagship carrier Cathay Pacific assumed an upbeat tone. It had carried 1.1 million passengers the previous month, it said, an increase of 3,467 per cent compared with February 2022. 

But that was just 39 per cent of February 2019 passenger traffic. “By the end of March, the Cathay Group will be operating approximately 50% of pre-pandemic passenger flight capacity, covering more than 70 destinations,” the statement read.

Furthermore, of February’s 1.4 million visitor arrivals, only 75,628 came from long-haul destinations. More than a million came from mainland China, which has long been the city’s largest source market, swollen by those who cross the border for the day – some for sightseeing, others for shopping. Since reopening, Hong Kong has seen a resurgence of low-cost “forced-shopping” tours, according to local media reports.

Industry insiders have said that regional airlines are struggling to ramp up flights in what was once an Asian aviation hub. Staff shortages, as well as fee hikes of 30 to 100 per cent among ground handling companies, have dented Hong Kong’s appeal, they said in January.

‘Is Hong Kong safe to visit?’  

Not only is the city contending with the ramifications of three years of Covid restrictions – which stayed in place long after regional rivals such as Singapore or Bangkok had emerged from coronavirus confinement – it also made international headlines in 2019 for months-long pro-democracy protests that saw sometimes-violent scenes beamed around the world.  

“[Demand] has been very slow to pick up. Much slower than in other countries,” tour guide Laura Blackhall told HKFP. 

Originally from the UK, Blackhall moved to Hong Kong in 2011, later leaving the corporate job she had relocated with to set up Hello! Hong Kong in 2013, running small group and private tours for mostly Western tourists around her adopted home. 

“During the protests we received a lot of cancellations,” Blackhall said. “We also received a lot of emails from people with bookings asking if it was safe to visit… Those that still came were, on the most part, completely unaffected by the protests, but huge numbers of people simply didn’t come given the perceived risk.” 

The protests were put down in 2020, partly by stringent social distancing measures that prevented groups from gathering and partly by the enactment of a security law that June, under which swathes of opposition figures were detained. 

Then, by March of that year, international arrivals were shut out of the city. And once they were allowed back in, Blackhall said she was again fielding inquiries from overseas about the risks associated with visiting. 

“The ongoing anti-epidemic measures have resulted in people questioning: is Hong Kong safe to visit?” she said. “That means safe from a health perspective and also from a ‘what’s going to happen to me if I test positive or accidentally break a rule’ perspective.” 

Type “Is Hong Kong” into Google today, and one of the search engine’s first predictions for how users may want to end that sentence is with the word “safe.” Inquiries about safety also crop up often on the city’s Reddit forum.

Although all pre-departure and post-arrival testing requirements for arrivals were removed on April 1, the coronavirus situation still frequently comes up in questions Blackhall gets asked by customers.

People wonder about any lasting measures, why so many still wear masks, and whether there have been any long-term behavioural changes as a result of the pandemic. Another common question, she said, was how Hongkongers had survived such stringent measures and the economic fallout. 

Blackhall survived on savings, money she had put away for her eventual retirement. “It has been extremely difficult,” she said. 

As for Hello! Hong Kong, “all of the tour guides have taken other jobs,” Blackhall said. One has returned to the company, but “the others have not.” The company is currently hiring. 

Wong was more euphemistic about how This is Asia Tours kept going during Covid, simply saying that it “cut costs.”

The impact of cost-cutting and career changes is likely to be lasting, though, with the sector facing “a manpower shortage,” as Ricky Tse of the Travel Industry Council put it during an RTHK radio interview on March 16. The Travel Industry Council declined to be interviewed by HKFP, saying it “could not arrange for the interview this time.” 

During Covid, the government told tourism professionals to retrain and find employment in other industries, and, Blackhall said, many of them did. As a result, “Hong Kong now faces major labour shortages in tourism,” she continued, adding that her staff were “reluctant to return to what is now a risky industry. What if something else happens and they are not safeguarded again?”

Paul Chan, co-founder of Walk in Hong Kong, whose small group and private walking tours strive to tell lesser-known stories of the city, agreed that the lack of flights and personnel were problems for the industry’s recovery. “It is very difficult to find guides,” he said, “quite a lot of them simply changed jobs.” 

Thanks to what Chan called “a balanced portfolio” – a pre-existing mixture of local and international clients – Walk in Hong Kong weathered Covid relatively well. Hongkongers, historically well-travelled, “turned to local itineraries” when they couldn’t go overseas, “and we somehow benefited.” 

Walk in Hong Kong also ran online, live-streaming tours. “And it did pay off,” he said. “We’re actually expanding our team and we were expanding our team during Covid times. We kept all the guides, which is very crucial for recovery.” 

But Chan said that, while demand from the local market continued, calls from abroad were slower to rebound. “Honestly, overseas, not yet… we have started to get inquiries,” he said. “The recovery won’t be very imminent. I would say it will definitely come back, but a more full recovery would only happen next year.” 

‘Hello Hong Kong’

The government is doing its bit to put Hong Kong back on the map for international tourists, giving away half a million plane tickets – not quite for free – as part of its “Hello Hong Kong” drive. 

A Hong Kong Tourism Board (HKTB) spokesperson told HKFP that the “global promotional campaign… was launched on 2 February to send a message to the world that Hong Kong is now back to normal and welcomes back visitors.” 

The HKTB was investing “at least” HK$100 million to promote Hello Hong Kong at home and abroad, the spokesperson said. The initial phase of publicity had reached 100 million viewers as of the end of February and resulted in more than 4,000 media clippings in major media outlets worldwide, according to the Board. 

“It has certainly done a great job in bringing attention back to Hong Kong,” Blackhall said. “People all over the world have heard about this campaign and there has been a huge amount of interest in it.” 

Despite this, Blackhall said she had “mixed feelings” about it – not least because it shared a name with her company “and as you can expect, people think that we are the ones running the campaign.” 

“We have been inundated with emails from people ‘applying’ for the free flights. A very large percentage of the people are telling us they can’t afford to pay for a flight at the moment and that is why they want to win one. And this is why I have mixed feelings: it’s not a very sophisticated campaign and it will not have a long-lasting benefit.” 

Blackhall said she “would have liked to see a multidimensional campaign that was more focused on what Hong Kong has to offer as a city and on the people of Hong Kong… Hong Kong people have such a vibrant, tenacious spirit. I personally would have liked to see a campaign which showcased that, alongside some of the unique and heritage aspects of the city.”

“I think people are more discerning in their decision-making when it comes to choosing a holiday destination than this particular campaign gives them credit for,” she said, adding “but as I said it has still generated a big buzz, which is great.” 

Chan also expressed ambivalence about Hello Hong Kong. “I think it’s necessary… but it probably needs something more,” he said. “Whether your city is attractive enough is the most important or the most determining factor.”  

“For your city to attract tourists, you need to do some soul-searching to know what is its core cultural essence, to know what really defines your city, what makes your city so unique and different from other cities,” Chan said. “We should rely on our core cultural essence to attract people instead of… milk powder and cosmetics. Cosmetics and powder, they won’t tell Hong Kong stories.” 

Put quite simply, Chan said: “Keeping heritage is one of the ways to save the tourism business in Hong Kong.” 

“In London, you won’t knock down Big Ben and build a high rise… but in Hong Kong, that’s exactly what we have been doing.” 

Chan and Walk in Hong Kong were instrumental in lobbying for Grade 1 listed status for the State Theatre, a mid-century cinema in North Point that was in danger of being demolished. Thanks to its elevated conservation status, the theatre is currently undergoing renovation as property giant New World Development constructs a high-rise residential and commercial complex around it. 

Expected to be completed in 2026, New World Development CEO Adrian Cheng said in a statement in April 2021 that it would return “as a culture and arts landmark with more riveting stories to tell.” 

“The State Theatre – with its glorious history and its strong connection to the community – it deserved a chance to be a cultural highlight in Hong Kong,” Chan said. “So then we keep our heritage, we keep our memory, but it’s not only about looking back, it’s very forward-looking. With the right intervention, and with the right conservation efforts… when people come to Hong Kong, it can be an attraction.” 

Redevelopment, however, still threatens some of Walk in Hong Kong’s most popular tours. One, a wander through Kowloon City “where we combine the history of Kowloon Walled City with a food adventure in the neighbouring streets,” also suffered as a result of the coronavirus. “Before Covid that was hugely popular, but during Covid, most of the food spots we visited closed down,” Chan said. “We visited six stores and four of them closed.” 

Besides businesses that did not survive the pandemic, Kowloon City is also the subject of an Urban Renewal Authority development scheme to build a “liveable and walkable community.” Colloquially known as Little Thailand, local media reported that residents were worried that the soul of the area would be erased. 

“Even before the redevelopment, [Kowloon City] had already undergone [a transformation]. Partly because of Covid and the impact on local businesses, and secondly because of the MTR… it has become more and more accessible – which is a good thing – but the other point is the rent, and then there’s a pull factor for other developers,” Chan said.

“We can’t really stop it, we can only accept it, but it’s quite… frustrating for us to rely so heavily on these authentic local scenes that are really vulnerable to these external changes.” 

Blackhall, too, expressed frustration. “We’ve lost some of the main attractions of Hong Kong, Jumbo being one of note. Why that was not preserved as a cultural icon is beyond me.” The floating restaurant met a watery demise somewhere in the South China Sea as it was being towed to Cambodia after closing during Covid.  

“Iconic restaurants, neon signs, generations-old stalls are all being wiped out. This loss of heritage will certainly negatively impact Hong Kong’s appeal,” Blackhall said. In the space of a few years, much of the city’s postcard-perfect neon heritage has been dismantled in the name of safety.

“That said, it’s not too late, Hong Kong still has a lot going for it,” she added. “It is a city that people want to visit and I hope to see some smart ideas for encouraging not only tourists back to the city but workers back to the tourism industry.”

Chan agreed: “We are at the end of the tunnel. We can see the light.” 

Correction 9.4.23: A previous version of this article incorrectly stated that all arrivals must produce proof of a negative Covid-19 rapid test result to enter Hong Kong. In fact, all pre-departure and post-arrival testing requirements for arrivals were removed on April 1. We regret the error.

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As the fourth anniversary of the 2019 pro-democracy protests nears, the city’s courts have yet to finish handling all cases relating to the citywide unrest.

Police told HKFP that 2,899 of the 10,279 people arrested between June 9, 2019, and October 31, 2022, have been prosecuted, with 765 charged with rioting. Those convicted face a sentence of up to 10 years in prison.

In mid-March, the Commissioner of Police Raymond Siu told reporters that police would announce how they planned to deal with the remaining 6,000 cases that month.

In response to HKFP’s enquires on March 29, the police did not give a definitive answer about the timeline, but said they would “review the evidence in these cases, consider multiple factors – including their severity – and consult the Department of Justice when needed, in striving to decide how to deal with them as soon as possible.”

According to publicly available court judgements compiled by HKFP, a total of 295 defendants have been tried over their alleged participation in riots during the anti-extradition law protests and unrest. Fifty-six were subsequently acquitted.

How did the court decide that these 239 defendants – while pleading not guilty initially – indeed partook in a riot? How did protest attire and gear factor into the convictions? What were the judges’ comments on the rioting cases, and on the protest movement? HKFP analysed hundreds of court judgements and reasons for sentencing to find the answers.

What constitutes rioting?

Rioting is outlawed by the Public Order Ordinance, which states that any unlawful assembly can become a riot when someone involved “commits a breach of the peace.”

The same legislation says that an assembly may become unlawful if a group of three or more people conduct themselves in a “disorderly, intimidating, insulting or provocative manner,” if they intend to, or are likely to, cause fear that they will breach the peace or provoke others into doing so.

While critics had complained that the legal definition of rioting was “vague and arbitrary,” government lawyers did not see much success when they began to charge alleged rioters over the demonstrations against the extradition bill.

In the first eight riot cases in which defendants pleading not guilty, only six out of the 25 tried were convicted. Five were proven to have directly participated in violent acts or arson. The remaining protester was found to be fully equipped in protest gear and running away from police at a riot, as his companion attacked an officer.

Meanwhile, District Judges Anthony Kwok, Frankie Yiu and Sham Siu-man acquitted the rest of the 19 defendants as they said the prosecution could not prove their offences beyond a reasonable doubt.

While some defendants were found wearing black attire and protective gear commonly used by frontline protesters – such as helmets, gas masks, goggles and gloves – the judges still cleared them of their charges, citing a lack of direct proof over their alleged participation in riotous assemblies.

In his judgement acquitting Henry Tong, Elaine To and Natalie Lee, Judge Kwok also ruled that the doctrine of “joint enterprise” in common law – whereby a secondary offender may be found guilty of the same charge as a primary defendant – could not be applied to rioting and unlawful assembly cases.

But the judge’s decision was challenged by then-justice secretary Teresa Cheng. A Court of Appeal ruling handed down on March 25, 2021, overturned Kwok’s interpretation, saying the exclusion of the common law principle for such cases would “have dire consequences for the maintenance of public order.”

Citing an UK court decision in 1970, the Court of Appeal said both the people who participated in the unlawful assembly or riot – or those who “actively encouraged or promoted it” – should be held equally liable of the offence.

The higher court added that unlawful assemblies and riots “involve a myriad of participants playing various roles,” including individuals who give directions or provide funds and material to the direct participants. “Some may not even be present but are clearly participants under the doctrine of joint enterprise,” it said.

The Court of Appeal ruled that, while a merely being present would not render individuals liable for unlawful assembly or rioting convictions, they would be subject to legal sanctions if they became “involved in the violence or threat of violence as a principal or an accessory or a party to a joint enterprise.”

Common purpose

The Court of Appeal’s judgement was subsequently cited widely by different judges when making their decisions in riot cases. Between April to October 2021, the court convicted a total of 25 people for rioting. While there was no direct evidence of what act or threat of violence 16 of them had committed, they were found to have been present at riots and shared a “common purpose” with other perpetrators.

The first verdict handed down to rioting suspects who had pleaded not guilty following the Court of Appeal’s decision was penned by District Judge Ernest Lin.

In that case, Lin convicted all four defendants who appeared in court. A fifth had jumped bail and fled. While there was direct evidence of one of their actions during the riot, the others were found guilty as they had remained with protesters on the scene, and were therefore seen as encouraging others to engage.

Among those found guilty of rioting during that period were five members of the mob who stormed Yuen Long MTR Station on July 21, 2019. They indiscriminately assaulted passengers, reporters, pro-democracy protesters and then-lawmaker Lam Cheuk-ting.

While there was no direct proof that the trio had actually attacked anyone, Judge Eddie Yip still found them guilty as they either encouraged others or shared a common purpose to “beat up those wearing black” at the railway station.

Then, after October, another landmark court ruling was handed down. This time, Henry Tong brought his case to the city’s top court, together with Lo Kin-man, who was previously jailed for rioting during the 2016 Mong Kok unrest.

‘Facilitating, assisting and encouraging’

In a judgement on November 4, 2021, the Court of Final Appeal dismissed the views held by the Court of Appeal and ruled that prosecutors could not charge individuals who were not present at an unlawful or riotous assembly under the doctrine of joint enterprise “in its basic form.”

Nevertheless, the city’s top court ruled that absent defendants promoting a criminal assembly, or helping it move forward, could still be covered by “secondary and inchoate liability offences,” such as conspiracy or incitement.

The court also clarified how someone could “take part” in a riot – by committing a breach of the peace; “or acting in furtherance of such prohibited conduct by facilitating, assisting or encouraging those taking part in the criminal assembly.”

While restating that merely being present at a riot would not give rise to criminal liability, the Court of Final Appeal said a person on the scene might be held guilty if they provided “encouragement by words, signs or actions.”

It also urged lower courts to take into account the “possible fluidity” of a criminal assembly, as well as the communications shared among participants when determining the time, space and scope of the situation.

HKFP analysis found that, as of February, 154 of the 208 defendants who initially pleaded not guilty had been convicted of facilitating, assisting, or encouraging a riot – or having the intention to do so – following the top court’s decision.

Instead of any direct engagement in violence or threatening to do as such, these 154 offenders were found to have “amplified the momentum” of the riot by remaining on the scene with other protesters. The court also ruled that 145 of them had encouraged others at the riot by wearing similar clothing, or protective gear, to fellow protesters.

Six were found to have intended to assist other participants of the criminal assemblies by bringing medical supplies – such as saline solution, which was commonly used by protesters to ease the effects of tear gas.

After the top court’s ruling, the prosecution also sought to overturn some of the earlier court decisions that had cleared protesters of wrongdoing.

According to The Witness, government lawyers had asked the District Court in December 2021 to grant an order to re-arrest the eight defendants cleared of rioting by then-judge Sham back in October 2020. The prosecution’s appeal application was heard in January this year.

Judges’ stance on 2019

When handing down sentences in rioting cases, some judges made comments about the defendants’ situation, as well as the 2019 unrest as a whole.

As Judge Amanda Woodcock jailed Sin Ka-ho on May 14, 2020 – the first instance of a rioting conviction from the 2019 protests – she stated that the freedom of assembly was not absolute.

“Once a protester becomes involved in violence or the threat of violence, a breach of peace, then that protester crosses the line between constitutionally protected peaceful assembly and demonstration to an unlawful activity which is subject to legal sanctions,” she said.

“There is such a line to protect public order because society is prone to descend into anarchy if public order is not preserved.”

Four months later, when Judge Anthony Kwok handed down a sentence for the first defendant convicted of rioting over the 2019 protests following a trial, he said that the court “should not, and would not, consider the underlying political factors when handling this case.”

“The court has no intention to make any judgement over the background of the incident or political disputes of that time,” he added.

Meanwhile, some judges were more vocal about what happened during the months-long demonstrations.

In June 2021, Judge Ernest Lin criticised violent protesters for “hijacking” what had began as peaceful protests in mid-2019. He then jailed two defendants who pleaded guilty to rioting in Causeway Bay in November 2019.

“In the end, their acts, means and logic became the same as that of the tyranny they said they were opposing. Their freedom did not tolerate others’ freedom. What they did was another form of tyranny – that they could legitimately treat dissidents with violence and silence their voices,” Lin said.

The idea that pro-democracy protesters had forced their beliefs on others and gone against the democratic principles they claimed to pursue was persistent in the reasons Lin gave for his sentencing.

When jailing a defendant who brought a blowtorch, as well as an umbrella, to a riot, Lin made reference to the 79-day pro-democracy street occupations in 2014. “The Umbrella Movement was a peaceful means of protest that used to be a source of pride for Hongkongers – with a dignified, non-violent, and persistently humble stance,” he said.

But Lin said the city’s pro-democracy movement had been hijacked by violent demonstrators: “On the surface, wielding an umbrella was a non-violent means of protest, and a symbol of peaceful resistance – but, under the cover of umbrellas, they committed all kinds of atrocities.”

Another judge, Stanley Chan, repeatedly said the rioting cases he handled were “social tragedies”, where misguided young people committed offences and were jailed while the “hidden hands” who encouraged them remained free from penalty.

As Chan handed down a sentence for six offenders over a riot on September 29, 2019, he cited some of them as saying that there were protesters – or rioters – handing out free respiratory masks and helmets. “These ‘bystanders,’ who were not present on the scene as true facilitators – have they compensated for the misery of the six defendants, and their families, or sought to mend the huge losses faced by the defendants who lost their freedom, as well as their lifegoals?” he asked.

When sentencing a 20-year-old to a training centre on March 27, Chan questioned the defendant’s initial description of the 2019 protests as a “social movement.”

“Speaking from any perspective, what happened then were thorough, organised acts of social disturbance and violence,” Chan said, adding that the defendant’s stance may have stemmed from a “biased hearing of opinions, misunderstandings or wrongful judgments.”

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In recent weeks, Hong Kong has been gripped by a series of headlines, often tragic ones, starring women as victim or protagonist.

Abby Choi’s murder made front-page news locally and around the world on February 24. Choi, often referred to as a “model” or a “socialite” by local news platforms, was a mother of four and married to the son of a well-known Hong Kong noodles franchise tycoon. She was allegedly murdered and dismembered by her ex-husband and members of his family.

The news went viral on social media and online forums, with extensive media coverage of the grisly details of the homicide and Choi’s personal past, particularly her appearance. Even now, searching for Choi’s Chinese name on Google yields “plastic surgery” as one of the top suggestions.

A week later, Netflix released the documentary In the Name of God: A Holy Betrayal, which exposed systematic rapes by Korean religious leaders. The first episode featured the confession of 29-year-old Hongkonger Maple Yip, a former cult follower and victim, as well as the major whistleblower.

The episode sparked doxxing and discussions, not only about the Korean cult but also about Yip’s history as a “brainwashed” or “calculating” former cult member, as well as her recent relationship with a famous Hong Kong actor.

Online slurs which falsely described both Choi and Yip as prostitutes were common, along with claims that the murder and rape were merely the outcome of “labour disputes.”

On the other hand, the Japanese debut of Hong Kong-born porn star Erena So in mid-March received overwhelmingly positive feedback on the face of it, with local tabloids branding her as “the glory of Hong Kong” and praising her for practising bodily autonomy.

However, a fake government statement congratulating the adult video actress led to legal action by the authorities, raising questions over whether So’s unprecedented career move was genuinely respected by the general public or instead viewed as another subject of ridicule.

These three headlines have created an opportunity for both the press and public to reflect – what should we talk about, when we talk about the stories of women?

A thought experiment

Annie Chan, a sociology scholar at Lingnan University and a board member of the Association Concerning Sexual Violence Against Women, proposed a thought experiment: “What would we be discussing if the killer was a woman and the victim was a man?”

Chan believes the answer is clear: the woman would likely remain the centre of attention, with the focus on her personal background revealing how she became an “unconventional woman” capable of killing rather than being killed.

In fact, from 2016 to 2020, 45 per cent of female homicide victims in Hong Kong – 29 out of 64 – were murdered by their intimate partners or family members, according to a database compiled by the United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime. In contrast, only one out of 82 male homicide victims during the same period were killed by their partners or family members.

Femicide – referring to intentional killing of women and girls because of their gender – is not just an issue in other countries, but also in this Asian financial hub known for its low overall crime rates.

Chan attributes the prevalence of femicide to women spending more time at home than men worldwide, increasing their likelihood of being killed within households. She also notes that discussions of femicide tend to involve victim-blaming more than conversations about crimes targeting men.

“The first question that springs to most people’s minds when they find out a woman was killed is: what have they done to deserve this?” Chan said. 

Pepper Siu, a veteran journalist and a Hong Kong-based columnist who has been monitoring the development of the feminist movement in East Asia, has written several articles criticising this misogynistic phenomenon . 

“There are three main reasons considered [by misogynists] to be legitimate excuses for killing a woman – when the woman was cheating, being disobedient or being overly dominating,” Siu summarised. 

While most people assume women to be heartbroken after being cheated on, the same act is considered an insult to men, Siu told HKFP. This mindset has served as an easy explanation for femicide in some cases, including when Hongkonger Chan Tong-kai – whose proposed extradition plan set off the 2019 protests in Hong Kong – murdered his girlfriend in Taiwan.

According to Annie Chan, the deeply ingrained cultural association of a woman’s identity with her sexuality accounts for this kind of victim-blaming and rape myth. In this cultural context, men are considered “normal” if they “inevitably” lose control due to a woman’s sexual attractiveness.

“But that’s not the truth. In fact, they can learn to control the desire,” Chan said, adding that men are also victims of this underlying misconception.

A review of online comments and news reports reveals how female victims’ sexuality is often used as a weapon to denigrate them. Chan points out that the labels “model” and “socialite,” as well as the frequent use of Choi’s profile in news reports, may have reinforced impressions of her as a shallow and unproductive gold digger – even though she was later reported as having been the CEO of several companies.

“It would surely give a different impression of me if you referred to me as a ‘socialite’ instead of a ‘professor’…Why not focus more on the other aspects of Choi, instead of how she looked?” the sociologist asked.

Professionalisation of journalism

According to Siu, femicide has been treated lightly by Hong Kong society in the past and the news industry is partly to blame. 

“The ecosystem of Hong Kong news industry is inseparable from its desire for hit rates,” said Siu, who worked for major local newspapers, online media and international news outlets in the past decade.

She said Hong Kong journalism has yet to undergo a process of professionalisation. Local news organisations, unlike news agencies, tend to undervalue training on news ethics. As a result, frontline reporters are encouraged to reveal victims’ pasts – mostly gossip that should not be a matter of public interest.

“Even when some journalists have received professional news training before, do local news outlets really need that type of talent? Are they willing to pay more for talent? Or do they merely want someone literate enough to provide whatever content they want?” Siu asked rhetorically.

She said reporters should strive to make victims less one-dimensional, helping readers understand that they were not just newspaper images but actual human beings.

“While we follow guidelines on how to report suicides, why can’t we also take reference of guidelines on reporting femicide?” Siu asked.

An undercurrent of misogyny

While some believe Hongkongers have become more open to feminist campaigns and bodily autonomy, Siu argues that an undercurrent of misogyny persists. 

She cites the example of Erena So, the first major Hong Kong-born porn star in the Japanese industry.

Since the trailer for So’s adult video was released on a Japanese porn publisher’s website on March 15, Hong Kong netizens have been voicing their support by ordering DVD copies of her work. The website has reportedly stopped loading because of heavy traffic.

While some people claimed to be inspired by her bravery, a number of netizens thanked her for not being a “digital prostitute” – a Cantonese slang term for women who sell seductive photos online. That was So’s side gig before acting in porn movies.

“Let me start with my conclusion – I think even though the public seem to be positive and open, the undercurrent is still misogyny – just misogyny presented in a ‘friendly’ way,” Siu said.

The columnist agreed it was progress that the public did not shame the porn star as they would likely have done 20 years ago, but the compliments were mixed with other sentiments.

“Men’s appreciation for women’s bodily autonomy occurs mostly when a woman devotes herself to the sex industry. You could imagine the applause given to women becoming firefighters would not have been so loud,” Siu said.

Siu also cited the satirical online post – mimicking an official press release – that congratulated So on her latest career development. The Culture, Sports and Tourism Bureau responded to the doctored statement, saying it had reported the case to the police.

In Siu’s opinion, the incident showed that both parties – netizens and the government – did not see “porn star” as an occupation worthy of respect. “On the one hand, people said all jobs are equal; on the other hand, they used it to mock the government…and the officials took it as an insult too.”

Who changes first?

Chan, who teaches courses on gender and sociology at Lingnan University, believes that education on gender equality in Hong Kong still has a long way to go. 

She argues that deeply rooted mindsets and sexual jokes in the office are the most difficult to remove. Suggestions that another person stop making such jokes may backfire so she usually does not step into that area. 

The associate professor said the younger generation, despite a stronger awareness of gender bias and discrimination, did not see the broader inequality in the city. Their school days had been comparatively free of discrimination, so they could not recognise the underlying patriarchy in society unless faced with specific cases of sexual harassment or discrimination.

Siu suggested a few questions she would ask if she had a chance to interview Erena So, including whether So had been sufficiently well-informed about the possible cost of becoming a porn star, or why she told the press she was reluctant to watch any of her videos, including her first adult video.

“But raising questions like these could be misunderstood as discrimination in this social context, while those covering the story from a single perspective would be deemed as ‘progressive.”

Who should change first, the media or the public? Chan and Siu do not have a definite answer. However, they agree that while the media cultivates readers’ taste for news, readers also play a part in shaping the media.

Correction 3/4: An early version of this article referred to Anna Chan as opposed to Annie Chan – we regret the error.

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Small instant photography service stalls have long been part of the vibrant scene at Tsim Sha Tsui Promenade, frequented by tourists – and sometimes locals – who want high-resolution snapshots of themselves against Hong Kong’s iconic skyline and Victoria Harbour.

Their business was hit hard over the past three years as tourism ground to a halt due to compulsory hotel quarantine, mandatory testing and other strict Covid-19 policies imposed on arrivals.

While the government axed most curbs and launched a HK$2 billion “Hello Hong Kong” campaign to lure overseas visitors, some vendors are facing a new hurdle to reviving their business in the post-Covid era – running their photography booths without a licence.

Sitting on a plastic foldable chair next to a camera on a tripod and a hand trolley with two printers stacked on top of each other, photographer Mango Tsoi was on the lookout for staff from the government-managed Hong Kong Cultural Centre while he waited for customers on a Friday night in early February.

The 34-year-old found his first batch of patrons at around 7.30 p.m., a little over 20 minutes after hauling his cart from his nearby home to a relatively quiet corner of the promenade. A family of three visiting from mainland China bought two large photos for HK$120 from Tsoi, quickly followed by another mainland Chinese family.

But as soon as a small crowd began to gather around Tsoi’s booth to inspect the 20-odd laminated sample photos on display, the photographer was approached by staff from the Hong Kong Cultural Centre.

“Don’t put me in a difficult position please,” one said as he instructed Tsoi to close his stall.

The vendor responded by switching off a small lamp attached to his display board and hurriedly finished editing and printing his photos on the spot. He moved his equipment slightly toward the direction of Victoria Dockside, another harbourfront space which is privately owned and managed by New World Development.

Moments later, security personnel for the property giant also came over and cautioned Tsoi, saying he should know he could not operate within the zone.

The photographer said although he was determined to find ways to keep his business running, encounters like those made it a “mystery” as to whether he could continue to make a living with the booth.

“Sometimes I can open the stall, sometimes I cannot,” he told HKFP on Thursday, around three months after losing his permit.

His current setup was a lot simpler and more portable compared to December last year, when he was still licensed to operate his booth outside the cultural centre.

Tsoi and other accredited vendors had been assigned a standardised kiosk, which he jazzed up with tinsel for Christmas and a large artificial rose bouquet as props for his clients. He also had a small cushion attached to a movable box to rest on.

But following the termination of the scheme offering licenses to those who operated outside the cultural centre on December 30, Tsoi now risks being told to pack up and go every time he tries to set up shop.

According to the Leisure and Cultural Services Department (LCSD), the termination, which came more than two decades after the scheme was launched, was a result of the government’s decision to review the use of the piazza for “future mega events with different types of installations along the promenade.”

Several large-scale art installations were recently put on display, the department said, as part of its commitment to bring vibrancy to the public space of the Tsim Sha Tsui waterfront and support the administration’s pledge to promote arts tech.

Asked if the cessation of the permit scheme meant anyone could provide live photography service in the area, the department said no-one could erect a booth or carry out any form of trading activities without permission in LCSD venues.

“The LCSD will continue to monitor closely the operation of unauthorised photography service stalls and take appropriate actions,” the department told HKFP in January.

One unauthorised photography stall had been identified and the vendor directed to leave the piazza in accordance with the Civic Centres Regulation, the department said in a separate email last month.

Despite the risk of operating without a licence, Tsoi, a Fujian native who came to Hong Kong at the age of 13, was reluctant to give up on his business. He reminisced about the days when he helped out at his father’s photo service booth as an assistant, before obtaining his own permit through annual accreditation assessments.

They were required to conduct photo demonstrations and submit their work to an LCSD vetting panel for evaluation. A limited number of successful applicants – capped at eight for the 2022 contract – paid a registration fee of around HK$3,000. They were also subject to a list of regulations, including operating on alternate dates and running the booth for at least two consecutive hours.

“Around 10 years ago, when tourists saw [my dad] could take such beautiful photos of them, it was like they stumbled upon a treasure and they would spread the news around,” Tsoi said as he described how his father managed to beat competition from unlicensed vendors offering lower prices.

Instant photo booths were struggling to stay afloat long before Covid-19, when the Avenue of Stars closed for more than three years for extensive renovations that began in October 2015.

That was followed by the 2019 extradition bill unrest which saw mass protests often erupt on the weekends. Visitors from mainland China, the majority of Tsoi’s clientele, “did not dare to come to Hong Kong,” the photographer recalled.

At present, live photography stalls similar to the one run by Tsoi can be spotted near other tourist attractions, including Golden Bauhinia Square in Wan Chai and the Central Harbourfront Promenade, where Tsoi’s father’s booth is located.

Asked if he had considered relocating his stall, Tsoi said he still vividly remembered how the view of Victoria Harbour took his breath away when he saw it for the first time. No other cityscape could replace the one-of-a-kind skyscrapers across the water, he said.

“I want tourists to be taken aback like I did when they look at this view for the first time. They would be really happy if they had a beautiful photo. This is why I insist that this business will always be around.”

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In Ukraine, the sound of shelling has become background noise. People hear relentless explosions in the distance, but no one flinches. 

Next Friday marks the first anniversary of the Russian invasion which triggered the full-scale war. Some Hong Kong journalists, who had covered the city’s protests in 2019, have been reporting the conflict ever since.

All of them became so emotionally involved that they changed study plans and flights to stay longer in Ukraine, willing to undergo the tough times along with its people.

‘They want victory, not only peace’

Kaoru Ng was among the first to go. When a massive Russian military presence was spotted along the Ukraine border and rumours of invasion intensified in February last year, he decided to take off for Kyiv and see for himself what was happening. 

The bleak prophesies came true, and Kaoru became a war correspondent. “My plan was to stay in Kyiv for a month, but I ended up staying in Ukraine for nine months.” 

Kaoru started his journalism career as a photojournalist in 2019, visiting protest sites to capture Hongkongers’ anger. The following year, Beijing imposed the national security law. The city’s largest pro-democracy paper Apple Daily, which once employed Kaoru as a freelance journalist, shut down in 2021 after its editors were arrested. 

In light of the shrinking space for freedom of expression, Kaoru, like tens of thousands of other Hongkongers, chose to leave. He has not been back to the city for over a year. 

But the days in Ukraine reminded him of his home city. “When Ukrainians are helping out each other so selflessly, it reminds me of Hongkongers in 2019. I mean, isn’t this Hong Kong’s core value? When you see others suffering, you want to help.”

The suffering of Ukrainians was all too visible, with the UN verifying a total of 7,155 civilian deaths as of February 5. Kaoru described the scenes he saw as “heartbreaking” – homes reduced to rubble, eyes out of their sockets, bodies unburied. But he emphasised that “Ukrainians want to win, not only to make peace. They don’t like the word ‘peace’. Peace implies a ceasefire, but that doesn’t mean that they will get their territories back. They don’t want to compromise on this.”

Speaking about the Ukrainians he talked to, including some living in the east who had supported Russia during its 2014 incursions, Kaoru said: “They understand so well the consequences without political autonomy. During the Soviet Union period, Russia had been oppressing Ukrainians. It’s just that they used famine as a weapon. That’s why they want a true victory.”

Kaoru said the conflict was often framed in the context of international relations, such as the European Union’s support and the issue of grain exports. “I really want to focus on covering the stories of ordinary Ukrainians, how they live their lives and how they think about the war.” 

A mirror for Hong Kong

One scene which stuck in his mind was a six-year-old girl tending to her family’s cows near Bakhmut, while missiles flew right over her head.

“These 20 cows are all we have. Where can we go?” the girl said. For Kaoru, a Hongkonger who had left the city, the girl’s answer left a bitter taste. 

“Ukrainian history made me reflect on Hong Kong’s democracy movement, which has temporarily stopped, or failed, I don’t know. But I think it’s also important to think about what to do after you gain power. Ukrainians did not discuss it.”

Kaoru described Ukraine, after 2014, as a country steadily moving towards democracy. “But you have such a country [Russia] next to you. What choice do you have?”

He compared the Russia-Ukraine stalemate to the China-Taiwan relationship, “It’s a war between totalitarianism and freedom.”

Asked why he had never come back to Hong Kong, Kaoru paused before answering: “You know some people who had protested in Paris and London [to support Hong Kong’s pro-democracy movement] were arrested when they came back to Hong Kong. Some went to the mainland and were detained by security officials. I don’t know where the red lines are. I won’t go back to Hong Kong if there is nothing urgent.”

‘I adopted a cat’

Every morning, Alex Chan Tsz-yuk wakes to the sound of shelling in the east of Bakhmut – and the mewing of a stray cat.

The 27-year-old freelance photojournalist, with tanned skin and countless little scars on his hands, started his career covering the 2019 mass protests. When the Ukraine war broke out, he volunteered to go to the frontline. 

At first he stayed at a hostel in Bakhmut, a city shattered by Russian shellfire with water and electricity supplies unstable. One blackout lasted two days and Alex was told to leave. “The hostel staff felt sorry, they didn’t want to charge us without providing proper services.”

Alex was standing marooned on the street with all his baggage when a Ukrainian and a French journalist bumped into him and suggested he walk one hour to the east with them, where they knew some houses had been abandoned. That’s where Alex met his cat.

One month later, he had to head to the city of Dnipro because of work. The cat went with him and he decided to adopt her. His Ukrainian friends named the animal Javelina in tribute to the anti-tank missile provided by the US. 

‘You’re on your own’

When Russia was pouring in fresh waves of troops to try to break Ukraine’s grip on Luhansk, Alex teamed up with Kaoru to go there. A bridge connecting Ukrainian troops and the frontlines was under Russian surveillance but they risked crossing it a few times to get a closer look at the battlefield. 

One day, their party was hit by suspected howitzer fire.

Their fixer, Mykola, was wounded in his right arm and Alex and Kaoru rushed him to hospital. A doctor said he would take at least a year to recover from nerve damage, meaning the fixer could not support his family including his three-year-old daughter.

Alex posted video of the attack recorded by a camera on his forehead to social media and sought donations for the family. Some expressed sympathy, while others – mostly experienced foreign journalists – bombarded Alex’s mailbox with criticism of his alleged recklessness and tardy response to the family’s needs. 

“But I don’t have a big company’s financial support,” Alex said. “Mykola still has a three-year-old daughter at home. Kaoru and I already gave all we could, but it’s still not enough. So what could I do?”

“You have to understand that I’m a freelance photographer. That means you’re on your own. If I don’t go to the frontlines, how can I get paid?”

“It’s not only about the money, but to get good pictures, sometimes it is crucial to get close enough.”

Hong Kong Baptist University, where Alex is studying journalism, does not allow students to take a gap year except for medical reasons. Alex has been away for nearly one year covering the war and is currently back in Hong Kong to catch up on his studies. When he graduates this summer, he says he will return to Ukraine. 

‘What are you doing here?’

Like Kaoru and Alex, Laurel Chor has spent months in Ukraine. But her experience is slightly different, because she’s always “the only woman in the room.” Sometimes, generals come and shake everyone’s hand except hers.

Since the start of the war, Ukraine has banned men of military age from leaving the country, while many of the women and children have fled to neighbouring countries. As a result, the country has a much higher concentration of men than usual.

Sometimes, people question what Laurel is doing there. The questions are well-intentioned, “but sometimes they were overprotective. I appreciate people looking out for me in war. But on the other hand, you know, they might underestimate my ability to work under stress.”

She said that war and war journalism are “in general… a male-dominated world.” But Laurel believes that makes it all the more important to tell the stories of women caught up in the conflict, who are often overlooked. She met a single mother from Dnipro, who helps evacuate citizens from the frontlines. Laurel decided to include her in a feature-length documentary, – alongside a Ukrainian journalist and a local firefighter – to show the war from the inside.  

An experienced journalist who has worked for The New York Times, The Washington Post and a number of other prestigious outlets, Laurel is collaborating with filmmaker Arman Dzidzovic, a Bosnian refugee who grew up in New York. They are using their earnings from freelancing to fund the documentary project.

In fact, Laurel wears many hats – she also writes, podcasts and takes photographs. After graduating from Georgetown University with a Bachelor of Science in International Health and Development, returned to Hong Kong and embarked on a career in journalism. Her coverage of the 2019 protests in Hong Kong was internationally recognised, earning her – among other awards – an Emmy nomination.

Laurel fell in love with reporting, especially in Ukraine. At first, she planned to stay for around 10 days, “but we ended up staying six weeks.” She grinned, “I think ever since I’ve fallen in love with Ukraine and I’ve become really committed to the stories here.” 

 “My agenda – in quotation marks – is, you know, reporting on the oppressed, speaking truth to power and holding power accountable,” Laurel added.

She said she saw video as a medium that could reach a wider audience with greater impact. “The [Hong Kong] protesters were inspired by Winter on Fire, the documentary about the Maidan Revolution in Ukraine,” she says.

Laurel describes her Hong Kong story as very typical: “My grandparents fled China during the civil war to Hong Kong, which at the time was a British colony, my parents and my sister were born in a British colony. Then we emigrated to Canada, like many Hongkongers. And then we came back to Hong Kong.”

“We all know what it’s like to have our lives affected by things beyond our control in a way that affects where we live, and where we’re born, and everything about our lives. I think Hong Kong people know very well how regular people are subjected to historical and political forces beyond our control.”

Behind the headlines

Anson Sham, 26, is a freelance filmmaker who graduated from the Hong Kong Baptist University’s Film Concentration course. When the war broke out, he was glued to the live news for hours. “I don’t know why. I felt so attached. I want to do something.”

He soon bought a one-way ticket and arrived at the Poland-Ukraine border with a backpack in March last year. Without a press card, he identified himself as “a traveller with camera” and started filming the lives of Ukrainian refugees, especially the children. “I know that for many people, weapons are interesting. But I’m interested in people. The news footage would tell you about farewells at the train station. But they won’t show many little moments that happen in the corner. I’d like to do stories that are not in the spotlight.”

Aiming to present the war from a unique angle, he talked to as many Ukrainian refugees as possible. At first, the interviews reminded him of the exodus from Hong Kong. “We have shared emotions. Both are forced displacements, a physically and mentally stranded situation. You can’t reach the place you want to go, and you don’t know what the future looks like. It’s a dire situation.”

But later, he found the two incidents incomparable, “the context and pattern are totally different. I prefer not to link them up.”  

In Anson’s ongoing documentary project about millions of Ukrainian refugees searching for new homes, he chose to feature children as the protagonists. “Adults were too good at articulating their feelings. They have a lot to talk about. They always comment on the situation, politics and history. But I’m not here to narrate something. I just want to express feelings.” 

Once, he asked a child who was clutching a toy a simple question: “What are you doing?”

“I don’t know,” the child said. “I was waiting for a bus near my home. Then I took the bus to come here. And I have to wait for the bus again, so I’m waiting here. I play with the toy because I have nothing to do.”

The answer, said Anson, was typical of everyone forced from their homes. “Adults are like children. We are all disoriented, even homeless.”

“But what I believe is, no matter what will happen in the future, these memories are engraved on your heart.”

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While they are the backbone of many Hong Kong families, issues faced by migrant domestic workers often go under the radar in the city, with many turning to their own communities for support in the absence of official assistance.

But during the Covid-19 pandemic, those issues rose the surface as the city faced unprecedented challenges to its healthcare system and administration.

With Monday marking the third anniversary of the city’s first confirmed Covid-19 infection, an NGO focused on the city’s migrant domestic workers said there were lessons to be learned from the epidemic-era as Hong Kong begins to resume some sense of “normalcy.”

Ousted and fined

Manisha Wijesinghe, executive director of HELP for Domestic Workers, told HKFP that while the landscape of the pandemic has changed after three years, the issues faced by migrant domestic workers remained. 

HELP directly aided over 800 domestic workers in the span of two months during the fifth Covid wave last year, when the organisation saw a “large surge” in the number of workers needing assistance, especially for those who tested positive for Covid-19.

Infections rose exponentially in the early months of 2022, peaking at close to 70,000 cases per day in March. As a result, Hong Kong’s healthcare system was paralysed, with patients left waiting on hospital beds outdoors in the cold.

In February last year, HKFP reported that a Filipina domestic worker, J, spent two nights on the streets after testing positive for Covid-19, before HELP assisted her with finding accommodation.

J’s case was not unique. 

Although quarantine in a government-run camp was mandatory at the time, with facilities overwhelmed by the sheer number of cases, many Covid patients ended up recovering at home before the authorities were able to arrange isolation.

However, this left some domestic workers with nowhere to go after becoming infected, having been told by their employers that they could not live with them while carrying Covid-19, even though it is legally mandated that migrant domestic workers must live in their employers’ home for the duration of their contract.

It was one of HELP’s missions to find displaced workers a roof over their heads, and the organisation had to race against the clock to do so.

“If somebody tests positive for Covid, you need to find support within the next couple of hours,” said Wijesinghe.

“Because if not, they are a public health [risk] as well, if they are, you know, sitting in a park or sitting outside, in a coffee shop or something like that. So that was something that we definitely had to face.”

As part of its stringent anti-epidemic regime, the Hong Kong government initially imposed a HK$2,000 fine for breaching related rules, an amount that was eventually raised to HK$10,000 for violations including missing mandatory Covid-19 tests. 

Dozens of migrant domestic workers fell foul of the restrictions during the pandemic, especially those arriving in Hong Kong, who faced ever-changing testing requirements that were confusing for many. 

Additionally, the HK$10,000 penalty could mean parting with more than two months’ salary for domestic workers, whose minimum monthly salary was increased by HK$100 to HK$4,730 last October. 

The Hong Kong Federation of Asian Domestic Workers Unions (FADWU) told HKFP that they had helped with 37 cases and all workers got their money back or had the fine revoked.

FADWU said it was difficult for migrant domestic workers to navigate the latest restrictions, and that they had demanded the authorities revoke fines for all migrant domestic workers, saying that policy information was not provided in languages that workers would understand.

The federation also distributed medical supplies such as facemasks to domestic workers, many of whom said their employers did not provide masks or hand sanitiser.

‘Singled out’

The pandemic also exacerbated discrimination against migrant domestic workers, who were often “singled out” and portrayed as “people who were spreading the virus,” Wijesinghe said.

Domestic workers in Hong Kong are allowed one day off per week, usually on Sundays. However, during the height of the pandemic, employers often demanded that workers stayed in during their rest day. Some pro-Beijing lawmakers urged the government to consider a “lockdown order” for migrant domestic workers. 

“If you looked at the numbers, especially like vaccination numbers… you saw that it was domestic workers who were some of the first communities to take the vaccination in large numbers,” said Wijesinghe.

“And in fact, they were some of the frontlines in terms of fighting the virus… They were the frontline in our homes.”

Government policies, including the launch of quarantine hotels specifically for arriving migrant domestic workers and compulsory testing targeting only domestic workers, were criticised as discriminatory. 

According to a survey released by the FAWDU in June 2020, 83 per cent of respondents said they felt discriminated against.

All domestic workers in the city were ordered to take a Covid-19 test in April 2021, after a single worker was diagnosed with two mutant strains. The government also announced plans to mandate vaccination for domestic workers, but the decision was scrapped following outcry and a diplomatic tussle with the Philippines, where a lot of Hong Kong’s migrant domestic workers hail from. 

Police officers and government workers were often deployed to enforce social-distancing rules in areas where domestic workers tend to gather during their day off, such as pavements and parks, often because they have nowhere else to turn to take some rest.

“When we demand for labour protection and so many times calling for joint-departmental government effort, it’s so hard, But against us, fining us, the government is fast,” Phobsuk Gasing, chairperson of the FAWDU, told HKFP.

The Labour Department told HKFP that it “does not and will not tolerate any discrimination” against migrant domestic workers, and that the government had been enforcing Covid-19 regulations “across the territory and among all groups” including migrant workers.

Anti-epidemic information, as well as information on the responsibilities and rights under the Employment Ordinance and the Standard Employment Contract, were also given to employers and domestic workers, the department said.

Domestic workers were also excluded from the government’s consumption voucher scheme, which was established to stimulate the economy during the pandemic.

The programme was one of the many welfare policies that omit migrant domestic workers. 

Domestic workers cannot be granted permanent residency in Hong Kong, even if they stay in the city for more than seven years – which is the case for most foreigners. The city’s minimum wage, which was recently proposed to be increased to HK$40 per hour, does not apply to domestic workers, either. 

“Domestic workers were right there, sometimes very much at the frontline fighting the virus, despite the fact that sometimes the narrative was framed in a way that it was domestic workers who were not being very careful and spreading the virus,” said Wijesinghe.

Mental health impact

The Covid-19 pandemic gravely impacted the mental health of many Hongkongers, and migrant domestic workers were not immune, said Wijesinghe.

While employment instability during the pandemic was not unique to domestic workers, the marginalised group faced additional challenges imposed by travel restrictions and stricter visa processes.

For much of the past three years, Hong Kong maintained one of the world’s strictest Covid-19 travel policies, at one point mandating 21 days of quarantine at designated hotels. For a period, a limited number of hotels were assigned for migrant domestic workers to quarantine in, with a 21-day quarantine costing up to HK$13,000.

The cost, vaccine requirements and entry rules – along with a shortage of quarantine hotel rooms – made it difficult for workers to come to the city.

“Many workers [were] stuck in their home countries for months. Employers are frustrated [because] the workers they [hired] cannot come,” said Gasing.

The administration also intensified its crackdown on “job-hopping,” which the Immigration Department describes as domestic workers “prematurely terminating their employment contracts for change of employers.” According to FADWU, the Immigration Department denied 2,833 visa applications from migrant domestic workers suspected of job hopping in 2021, a drastic jump from the 319 denials the previous year.

The group said last August that many foreign domestic workers were “trapped in abusive employment situations that they feel they cannot escape,” as they were denied the right to change employers.

While confirming the figures, the department told HKFP that it refused 1,760 visa applications on the same grounds in 2022, and said that potential employers or migrant workers could “make a request for reconsideration along with any fresh information” if the visa application had been refused.

The health of domestic workers’ families in their home countries added to the pressure they felt.

“The stress came with families back home testing positive, we had a number of workers losing family members and not being able to go back to visit them or go back for the funerals,” said Wijesinghe.

Lessons to take away

While the pandemic has wreaked havoc in the city, claiming over 13,000 lives, HELP’s executive director said there were ways it could be seen as a “blessing in disguise,” as it highlighted the importance of migrant domestic workers. 

The pandemic also brought out the “power of community,” said Wijesinghe.

“With the fifth wave, HELP had a public call for support – to support the domestic workers who are homeless – and saw an overwhelming level of support from the local Hong Kong community, people who we hadn’t otherwise engaged with.”

Going forward, the executive director said there were lessons to take away. 

“We want to stress upon the fact that domestic workers, they’re not a foreign problem. They’re not foreign to Hong Kong, they’re part of the Hong Kong community. And we are able to do amazing things by coming together.”

Addressing issues early on “before they become a larger problem” is part of the solution as well, according to the executive director. For a long time, problems faced by migrant domestic workers had been seen as something that should be dealt with by their own governments.

“But what we saw with pandemic was, if you don’t take care of domestic workers, that’s going to be an impact on the wider Hong Kong community.”

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LATEST ON COVID-19 IN HONG KONG

HKFP GUIDES

Leaning into the microphone on a mahogany desk in the Legislative Council, Lamia Sreya Rahman had exactly three minutes to make her case to the 30-odd lawmakers and government officers before her.

The Hong Kong-Bangladeshi, then a second-year university student, read out her carefully timed speech condemning the city’s police for allegedly racially profiling South Asians and Africans. Rahman was among the dozens of activists, academics and others at a public hearing that afternoon in January 2018, delivering statements to a subcommittee discussing issues related to Hong Kong’s ethnic minorities.

“When I was up there, I felt my audience was not just the people in the room,” Rahman, now 25, told HKFP. “I was speaking to the whole of Hong Kong.”

Such scenes, however, are rare at the Legislative Council today.

January marks one year since the current lawmakers were sworn in following Beijing-imposed electoral changes, which ensured that only those deemed “patriots” could run. Of the 90 new lawmakers, only one identifies as not being from the pro-establishment camp.

From ethnic minorities to asylum seekers to domestic workers, the city’s marginalised groups say that without pro-democracy lawmakers, they are shut out of legislative procedures and unable to hold the government accountable.

Traditionally, opposition lawmakers were more involved than their pro-Beijing colleagues in rights advocacy, meeting these groups and fighting for opportunities – like the public hearing that Rahman took part in – so their voices could be heard. Most of those lawmakers have either been detained under the national security law, have quit politics, or have left Hong Kong.

Public hearings, once a regular and vital function of the Legislative Council, have only been held once since Covid-19 began, records show.

Activists told HKFP that they are unfamiliar with the new lawmakers, who seemed to be less knowledgeable about the issues their communities faced.

HKFP reached out to around half a dozen lawmakers, among them veteran legislators and those sworn in last year. Most did not respond to requests for comment.

Nixie Lam, a legislator from the pro-Beijing Democratic Alliance for the Betterment and Progress of Hong Kong party, said she disagreed that minority groups were unrepresented by lawmakers. A newcomer to the Legislative Council, Lam told HKFP she helped organised a Covid-19 vaccination drive at Kowloon Mosque last year and also joined ethnic minority students on a tour of the Palace Museum earlier this month.

Lam admitted that issues relating to marginalised communities, including ethnic minorities, were being discussed less in the Legislative Council compared to before. But that was because of other urgent matters on hand, not for a lack of concern.

“The focus in the legislature has heavily shifted to Covid-19 and how to support the industries that have been hit hard,” she said. “Everything else is less of a priority.”

Another lawmaker, Doreen Kong, told HKFP that her door was open to anyone – including minority communities – should they need help. She said the onus should not be on lawmakers to actively contact communities to “find their problems.”

“I welcome them to reach me,” she said, adding that her email address is on her Facebook page. The lawmaker writes her social media posts mostly in Chinese as it takes additional resources for English translations, she said, but that she intended to post in English more going forward.

‘One-sided’ decision making

For the city’s 14,900 asylum seekers, the lack of checks and balances in the Legislative Council has played out in the introduction of two key pieces of legislation – an amended immigration law in April 2021, and a removal policy last December.

Under the new rules, the city can arm immigration officers at a detention centre that holds asylum seekers, and deport them from Hong Kong while awaiting court appeals.

Like many topics, the issue of the city’s asylum seekers was divided according to political allegiance, with many pro-establishment lawmakers labelling them as “fake refugees” threatening public safety.

Dennis Kwok, a barrister who served in the Legislative Council for eight years, was among the pro-democracy lawmakers working with NGOs supporting asylum seekers.

When it was his turn to speak during a public hearing in 2018, Kwok gave the floor to an asylum seeker.

“The public hearings were a very important show of civil society,” he told HKFP. “Now, I don’t think they have a voice anymore.”

Human rights lawyer Mark Daly, who criticised the lack of public consultation ahead of the new immigration law and removal rule, said an absence of scrutiny would only result in the passing of policies that would make the lives of asylum seekers in Hong Kong more difficult.

“Those legislators who were informed about refugee issues unfortunately are no longer in the Legislative Council,” Daly said.

Discussions held in the Legislative Council before the amendments were passed were “superficial” at best, Daly said.

During a December meeting, lawmakers welcomed the removal policy and said asylum seekers were “exploiting” Hong Kong’s legal system to prolong their stay.

“We hope that obviously xenophobia and racism are not part of patriotism, but we’ll have to see,” Daly added.

Employees vs employers

Hong Kong’s domestic workers, too, said the space for impacting change had shrunk under an opposition-free Legislative Council.

A migrant worker activist, who asked to remain anonymous, recalled how pro-democracy lawmakers spoke up about issues related to domestic workers’ rights, such as calling for increases to their minimum monthly wage and a review of a rule that legally requires domestic workers to live in their employers’ homes.

“We had a lot of collaboration with Long Hair [Leung Kwok-hung], Fernando Cheung and Lee Cheuk-yan,” she told HKFP. The three ex-lawmakers, she said, joined activists’ calls for greater protections for domestic workers after the employer abuse case of Indonesian Erwiana Sulistyaningsih.

On the other hand, pro-establishment lawmakers tended to side with employers. When the new legislators took office last year, one of the first motions passed came from lawmaker Judy Chan, who urged the government to crack down on domestic workers “job hopping,” or terminating contracts early and leaving their employers in the lurch.

Some pro-establishment lawmakers have also made offhand remarks about domestic workers. In 2018, lawmaker Eunice Yung was accused of racism after saying they caused hygiene problems when gathering on their rest day.

“Whatever sentiment and prejudice that these lawmakers are expressing against domestic workers [now], practically no one will counter that,” the activist said.

Current lawmaker Kong said she intended to raise issues related to domestic workers in the Legislative Council, including that they were forced to rest on sidewalks and bridges on their holidays as they had nowhere to go.

During Hong Kong’s fifth wave of Covid-19 in early 2022, however, Kong wrote on Facebook that not mandating vaccines for domestic workers was “a big oversight,” adding that they were being allowed to “gather in the thousands to sing and dance on the street on Sunday.”

Still, Kong told HKFP that she was willing to speak with NGOs and activists to better understand their situation.

“Communication is a two-way street,” she said.

‘I’m doing my job’

Lam, the DAB lawmaker, said minority communities were not being left out of the conversation. She questioned whether pro-democracy lawmakers had truly amplified their voices in the past.

“I don’t know how deep [the ethnic minority community] were represented before… but I’m doing my job on that part,” Lam said, adding that she had raised ethnic minority issues in the Legislative Council before, including calling on the government to enhance employment opportunities and Chinese learning support for non-Chinese students.

Lam admitted that her pool of contacts was limited – while she knew religious leaders at the Kowloon Mosque, where she had helped organise the Covid-19 vaccine drive, she said she had not spoken with any NGOs or activists.

This gap, minority communities fear, meant they had lost access to a crucial battleground for advocacy.

“[The opposition lawmakers] helped us air our grievances and raise our demands,” the migrant worker activist said. “Whether or not the government listens and reforms policies is not the thing. But at least we had this space to be heard.”

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